top of page

A recording of the sermon is available by

clicking the box below.


Sermon, by Pastor Joel

January 5, 2025

Isaiah 60:1-6

Psalm 72:1-7, 10-14

Ephesians 3:1-12

Matthew 2:1-12  

The context of this sermon is

100% written by a human

I am married to someone who loves the colour and sparkle of Christmas and would probably leave up the decorations for months. But of course that is not liturgically correct. And so we have reached a compromise. On the first day of epiphany the gold and glitz of Christmas are put away. But the lights remain on the tree, as does the greenery, sparkling up the house during the long days of winter until Lent. This compromise has not only maintained peace in my marriage but has also kept the comfort and quiet spirit of epiphany in our minds, well after the signs of Christmas have been packed up for next year.

Indeed, it is the glow of wisdom in epiphany that should speak to all of us in the weeks ahead. We heard this morning about the Magi who, having dodged Herod’s inquisition and followed the star, have finally arrived at the manger. These educated people, who have come to see Jesus we are told, lay their gifts before him and are overwhelmed with joy. How that experience informed their teachings from that day forth, we can only guess. But at least, we understand, they did not turn around and go back to Herod to spill what they’d seen. As the gospel says, they avoided the angry ruler by taking another road home.

Where do we find the wisdom of Epiphany? How do we follow the star in the sky that leads us to the comfort and peace of the manger, however that manifests in our lives? Perhaps we might look for Magi in our midst and take guidance from them.

This year, my partner, Erin, came up with an interesting idea in her job covering happiness for The Globe and Mail. She asked Canadians to send in the names of the “happiest people they know.” More than 100 names were sent in, and Erin so far has interviewed only a small number. But I have been hearing about them for weeks – their inspiring idea of happiness, the clarity of their own priorities, and the advice they would offer for those of us searching to be happier. In the end, Erin’s story included 12 kernels of wisdom from the group.

What comes through when you read their stories is that they did not have perfect lives. A young woman had lost her father when she was in university. A father waiting for his first child was diagnosed with an incurable cancer. Maybe, they all said, their personalities leaned toward happiness to start. But they had also worked hard to develop their sense of self, to build happy and meaningful lives. One woman learned to forgive her ex-partner and the friend of hers with whom he had started a relationship. A retired principal, who had left his training to become a Jesuit priest, had wrestled with what he would now do, and went off to Calcutta to volunteer. He found himself, one afternoon, sitting with Mother Teresa, asking her for guidance. Follow your deepest desire, she told him, and it will work out. What I think Mother Teresa was saying was know yourself – learn who you are – and your path will be clear.

So what were the 12 lessons from these happy Canadians? I will share four that especially resonated with me.

The first one: Stay curious about the people you love, a young woman advised. She said she never has her phone out when talking to her closest friends: she listens carefully, watches their body language, and asks questions to truly understand their words. Active listening. A skill we could probably all improve.

The second: When Life is hard, maintain perspective. Today is not tomorrow. The young father had received his cancer diagnose in late winter 2020, around the same time his wife discovered she was carrying their first child. Of course, you know what happened in 2020: the pandemic delayed his surgery, and when he finally started treatment, his wife could not visit. After his daughter was born, he had to return alone to hospital to continue his care. And yet, when he looked back on that year, he had to laugh. It could have always been worse he said. What’s more, he insisted, today cannot be allowed to define tomorrow. You can grow and change and adapt. Perhaps embracing life comes into particular relief when you are not yet 40, and facing your own mortality. But isn’t the time for embracing life right now – whatever your age?

The third: Talk to strangers. I have spoken about this before, but these people were also the ones who would say good morning to their neighbors, who struck up a conversation at the mechanic’s, who learned about the people buying their tomatoes. “Don’t spend a lot of time talking about the weather,” one of them said. When you ask deeper questions, you come away having learned more –even if you never see that person again.

And finally -- this one was Erin’s favourite, and she has won me over, so I will include it: “Have fun. Blow Bubbles. Dance and Sing.” The people talked about how, as adults, we don’t place enough value on fun – blowing bubbles with your mom might seem frivolous when you have work to do. But in these fun, silly moments, they said, you create memories and connections that sustain you when life gets hard. By having fun, you practice joy, you learn to care less what other people think, and build a life of meaning.

In this season of Epiphany, this is my New Year’s Resolution. Not to define 2025 by don’ts. If you want to add some don’ts -- don’t drink alcohol, don’t eat too many cookies – give it a go. But for every don’t, create at least two dos: Do talk to strangers. Do practice gratitude. Do listen better. Do have fun.

The Christmas story is not defined by what the people in the manger didn’t do – but what they did. Just like the Magi following the star, we can be active participants as well. We can follow the gospel, rather than bending to law. For there lies the spirit of God and the divine life. And for the people whom others see as at peace and wise, there lies happiness.

Amen.

A recording of the sermon is available by

clicking the box below.


Sermon, by Pastor Joel

December 29, 2024

1 Samuel 2:18-20, 26

Psalm 148

Colossians 3:12-17

Luke 2:41-52  

The context of this sermon is

100% written by a human

“As God’s chosen ones,” our second lesson suggests, “clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience.” Doesn’t that sound warm and welcoming? The best kind of clothing any of us will ever wear. The most fashion-forward in angry days. The most secure in an uncertain world. And what do these clothes cost? Nothing, nothing at all. Just our attention, our will, and our presence.

For the last few weeks, we have been talking about the power of presence. I shared stories from Rabbi Brous’s book, The Amen Effect. We heard about Andrew, the mysterious man who rescued Allie, when she was struck by a car while out walking. And how Rabbi Brous, herself pregnant, went to the bedside of a woman recently forced for health reasons to terminate her own pregnancy, and brought great comfort to the woman, despite her fears that her own pregnancy would be hard for the patient. Finally, on Christmas Eve, we heard about Hanne who took in a young man named Ryan who was living on the street, even though her friends told us she wasn’t safe.

And so we see how our presence can be offered in different ways – to a stranger in need, to a friend even when it’s awkward for us, and in a way that outweighs the risks against the opinion of society. And we also saw the difference this presence made. Andrew, by acting, likely saved a young woman’s life. Rabbi Brous provided comfort and in return received a generous blessing. Ryan landed on his feet and returned to honour Hanne at her funeral.

Our presence is a gift we choose to give. It is cloth, as our second lesson reminds us, that if we accept it, we may also share. Compassion, kindness, humility, patience, being meek - that is slow to anger - each one of these factors into our stories of presence; they are necessary ingredients that move us to offer ourselves in service to another.

And, of course, on Christmas Eve we arrived at the manger and witnessed the most divine presence – a gift from God in the form of the baby Jesus. This is the presence that inspired the love of young parents – which we hear about in our gospel this morning. The protection of the shepherds, who I imagine would have a thing or two to say about Jesus’s running off like that. And the guidance of the Magi, who might have said to Mary and Joseph: “Relax, he is safe and see what he is learning.” Those are all valid forms of presence: love, security, and wisdom. And in the middle, the future teacher and healer, who will someday make the truest gift of his presence on behalf of everyone.

Now Christmas is days past, and perhaps, having opened the gifts and devoured the turkey, you feel its presence slipping away. Perhaps the warm glow of family harmony is becoming discordant again with old conflicts. Perhaps after all the work, it was over in a moment, and you are wondering where it went.

Of course, the presence of Christmas is not attached to one day; it is a permanent and inseparable gift in our faith lives. The scene at the manger is imprinted upon us, and we can go there anytime. Perhaps we need to be reminded of the manger over and over again. But its presence fades only if we choose to let it.

But are we forgetting something, or someone? If we are to take the cloth of the gospel and share it with others, how do we first acquire it? Who first wraps it around our shoulders and fastens it so it remains whatever life brings to us? This is the presence that begins it all. Without first learning that we are freely offered kindness and compassion and patience – we cannot practice it ourselves. And this presence does not exist on only one day, or one night; it exists in the air we breathe, the sun we watch rise, the snow that falls, and in the bright eyes of a grandchild and the clouding eyes of grandparents. It is the presence of something larger than and beyond ourselves, past what we can imagine, outside our understanding. It is the presence of God.

Do not fret as the Christmas glow fades and the tree starts to wilt and the toy breaks. The presence of God endures. That presence – that warmth of the cloth of forgiveness and kindness and patience – is placed upon the shepherds, Mary and Joseph, and the innkeeper. On baby Jesus, who is entrusted into our presence. It is placed over Andrew and Jackie and Hanne. And it is placed upon each one of us. This is the presence that should warm our hearts and lift our spirits, for it reminds us that we are worthy and loved and accepted – not for winning or striving – but for ourselves. And people who are clothed in this way – who are loved in this way – may offer that same cloak, that same love to others. It is the only way they truly can.

So in this now after Christmas, as the days pass, look for the divine and watch for the presence of God. Wear the cloak that God intended for all of us. And when you’re healthy and strong, extend a hand to share its warmth. For God has presence for all of us.

Amen.

Updated: Jan 6

A recording of the sermon is available by

clicking this week's graphic.




Sermon, by Pastor Joel

December 24, 2024

Luke 2: 1-7, 8-14, 15-20

John 1: 1-14

The context of this sermon is

100% written by a human

Merry Christmas!

And so here we have arrived, once again, at the manger, the divine culmination of our Christmas story. Mary and Joseph are safe and warm with the animals. The Shepherds have followed the star. In the East, the Magi are about to begin their journey. And of course, in the centre of it, is a baby, representing a new beginning, a new way for God to be present, not above and around, but walking our human steps at our sides.

In her book, The Amen Effect, Rabbi Sharon Brous writes about a kind of presence called “sacred accompaniment,” and what could be more sacred than Jesus being born to live among us, to go on to be the friend and teacher and healer we know him to become.

But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Let’s remain here, in this place tonight, among the animals and a set of strangers. For God has made room for all of us, wherever we come from, and whatever we believe, and even if we are not sure of what we believe. The manger is a diverse group of different backgrounds – at the end it will be filled with a stressed-out young mother and her new husband having a baby for the first time, a group of humble shepherds who were curious enough to make the trip, a trio of educated Magi bringing fancy gifts. There is a place for all of us here. That is what makes the story so magical each and every Christmas. It never gets boring – for as our lives progress, we may relate to different characters in the scene. Maybe Mary or Joseph. Maybe a shepherd. Maybe one of the Magi. And sometimes, let’s face it, we might even feel the most kinship with the donkey.

But what is offered to all of us is the sacred accompaniment of God. Not a God who tells us what we must think. Not a God who tells us what journey to take in life. Not a God who judges our doubts or the decisions we make. However we want to understand God, we can feel that presence. For me – and I hope for you – it is the presence of love and peace and hope.

This year – this very difficult year – Hanukkah begins on the same day as Christmas. And for three Sundays, I have been sharing the stories that Rabbi Brous tells in her book. We are reminded that we have much to learn from other faith traditions – that our stories have more similarities than differences, and that we all have a similar desire: to be closer to the divine, to experience deeper connections on earth, to give and receive from those we love. I hope the stories have been as inspiring to you as they have been to me.

I have one more to offer on this special night. It is about an older woman named Hanne, who was walking her dog one day in the park, when she encountered a young man sleeping on a bench. As Rabbi Brous tells it, she invited him for a meal at a restaurant, and then invited him to stay in the extra bedroom in her house. His name was Ryan, and he had been living on the street for a while.

Now Hanne’s friends were anxious about her decision; even Rabbi Brous was worried about her safety. Hanne had taken a stranger under her roof having met him only briefly. They suggested that she should rethink her decision. But Hanne refused to listen: she had offered comfort to someone in need, and she would not take it back.

How similar is this to Mary and Joseph, who arrive in Bethlehem with no place to stay? They knock on an innkeeper’s door and are told that all the rooms are taken. But the innkeeper sees their needs and offers them the best space available: a place with the animals in her barn, where they will be warm and safe. How much is Hanne’s choice similar to ours, when, a few weekends ago, we fed and hosted people who find themselves unhoused with a cold Ottawa winter coming on.

In her book, Rabbi Brous explores her own reaction, reflecting on Hanne’s decision. She asks: why would the risk that Hanne takes on be greater than the danger that Ryan faces living on the street? Hanne has weighed that risk, and found that Ryan’s was greater. The innkeeper weighed the risk of letting strangers into her stable, and found that Mary and Joseph’s need was greater. The shepherds weighed the risk of leaving their sheep and found that their desire to be present at the manger, to support this young family, was greater. The Magi would soon dodge Herod’s dangerous questions about Jesus; their desire to arrive safely at the manger and offer their treasure and wisdom, was greater than any risk they took by concealing the existence of Jesus from a threatened ruler. In the end, they chose divine accompaniment; they chose to offer their presence. And for that they received the most divine presence in return.

What happened with Hanne? Ryan moved out a year later, having found his footing. Years later, when Hanne passed away, he came to her funeral. And before the crowd gathered – in front of the people who might first have doubted her decision to take him in - he spoke words of gratitude for her presence. Hanne, he said, had saved his life. And perhaps, he had also been present for her when she needed it.

I believe this is the most profound gift we receive at Christmas: the chance to offer a joyful and comforting presence, and to receive that joyful and comforting presence in return. It will happen in different ways for all of us – we may experience it among friends and family, in acts of charity, in the way God feels present in nature, and here, among familiar songs and glowing candles.

Look for the chance to be truly present for another, especially those in need. Receive the moments when someone offers their presence as a gift. Savour the hopeful, peaceful presence of a higher power, of a God that lights up our hearts and souls. In this way, we are all connected. In this way, we create a welcoming community. In this way, as we gather together in the manger, love and acceptance waits for us all.

Merry Christmas!

Amen. And Amen!

bottom of page