Copy of God gives us powerful tools in order to be active workers for Love, Peace and Hope in the wo

Sermon by Pastor Joel Crouse

Sunday October 22, 2023

So this morning, we have one of the most political stories in the gospel. The Pharisees, the incumbents in power, have approached Jesus, the Upstart in the hope of tripping him up. They try to butter him up with false flattery about his wisdom and then they gently spring their trap and ask…about taxes, of all things.

First, let’s put this in context. At this period in Jesus’s ministry, taxes were very controversial. There was, in fact, a revolt underway against a head tax that the Emperor Caesar had leveled against Jewish citizens. There were riots, and even executions for some of the ring-leaders. When the Pharisees pose the question of the “lawfulness” of paying taxes, they are assuming that Jesus falls into the anti-tax camp.

So, right away, they think they have him: if he supports the tax, he risks losing supporters - both the powerful ones, who objected to it, and the poor, who could barely afford it. Plus, he would appear to be contradicting scripture, which warns against worshipping false gods.

If he says no to paying the tax, he could be arrested by the Romans and possibly executed.

Either way, as the Pharisees see it, they win.

Ah, but Jesus was wily - and in this passage we see how clever he was. He does not answer right away. He responds to the question from the Pharisees with another question - a savvy rhetorical trick. Instead he asks to see the coin, likely the denarius that would be used to pay the tax. These coins were relatively rare - used in higher circles and by the emperor to pay his soldiers. When the Pharisees readily produce one, Jesus has already linked them to Caesar.

“Whose head is this, and whose title?” Jesus asks, an answer he surely knows already. The Pharisees are forced to reply: “The emperor’s.” On the denarius was a picture of the emperor, with the included inscription: “Caesar Augustus Tiberius, son of the Divine Augustus.” Jesus gets the upper ground: the coin includes a “graven image” and describes Caesar as God-like. And the Pharisees haven’t just produced such a coin; they have done so in a temple.

Jesus’s answer is remarkably simple, seemingly vague, and yet at the same time clear: “Give to the emperor the things that are the emperor’s,” he says, “and to God the things that are God’s.”

Amazed, we are told, the Pharisees went away. More likely, they were stunned at being so cleverly outmatched.

So what was Jesus saying with his answer and what does it mean for us? This text has been interpreted, throughout history, as a case for paying our taxes - but many scholars have questioned whether Jesus intended his response to be about support for taxes, or even taxes at all. For one thing, as we learn later, when Jesus is arrested, one of the charges against him was that he opposed the head tax - rather than supported it. This was essentially a tax targeted at a particular group of people, and the money would be used, not to improve the lot of the poor, but as a war chest for Rome; it’s hard to imagine Jesus’s rallying in favour of it. He was hardly one to go along with authority for the sake of authority.

Given that context, it’s more likely that Jesus’s answer was rhetorical. After all, what would Jesus say were “God’s things?” Were his followers to be so divided in their allegiance - between Caesar and God? Should faith in the gospel, as he defined it, tilt back and forth between earthly authority - and indeed, a questionable one at that - and God’s grace? If the answer to “What is God’s” is “everything,” then what is left for Caesar? The answer: nothing.

But does this mean we should all stop paying our taxes? Let’s consider that question more thoughtfully, from another angle. In his skirmish with the Pharisees and his dodge with Caesar, Jesus raises the question of leadership. The Pharisees, preaching one thing, have used Caesar as their ally, when it was convenient – doing what they needed to hold on to power. Jesus has cast a spotlight on their true motivations;- power for the sake of power. And he has virtually dismissed them: his answer, on the surface, is barely more than a shrug. You worry about what matters to you, he is saying. I will be over here doing the important work.

But to the wide audience – and to us – his question lands differently. What is God’s? And what is Caesar’s? And how do we, living in a complex world, manage that distinction.? We can say that everything is God’s, but we still have to live, and eat, and pay our bills. And what’s more, in a functioning democracy, paying taxes is our collective contribution to a larger, common good. We may not decide where every dollar goes, but we do have a say in who spends it; and we accept that with appropriate checks and balances. It is imperfect. But we aren’t perfect.

But take the taxes away: Pharisees made this the subject, not Jesus. Without the prop of the coin, then Jesus’s question broadens. Caesar becomes our stand-in for flawed human leadership. How do we balance what is God’s against what is Caesar’s? How do we give to both God and Caesar?

In that context, Jesus is posing a larger ethical challenge: how do we follow the gospel in a flawed world? Jesus is lobbing that question to us. Because it is complicated. We want to see an end to poverty, but how do we make that happen in a free-market system? We want to save the planet, but we are accustomed to an ever-expanding consumer economy. We want leaders who do only what is just and fair, but they exist in a system that requires them to please enough of the “right” people to get re-elected. So it becomes our job to ask how faith filters through the complexity of the world.

Jesus doesn’t answer that question for us in our gospel this morning: he leaves us to wrestle with it. So where might we start? We must ask the right questions. Questions like: why have we always done it this way, and is there a new and better way? Questions like: where did this information come from, and what is the truth? If the truth is not yet knowable, should we not wait to learn more? If we think some people are being left out, how do we include them?

For a large portion of his ministry, Jesus works within the “rules” of society, pushing at them, but not snapping them so hard that he falls outside of it. In the end, as we know, he takes the hardest stand of all. But his ministry also shows us how we can exist in a human world, while aspiring to a divine life.

Like Jesus, we must not only be alert to the misleading questions. We must ask the right questions. For chief among “God’s things,” as Jesus says, are God’s people - that is, us. And God’s call to serve others is neither political, nor rhetorical. It is our highest responsibility. Amen

workers for love, peace, and hope in our lives and in the world. Amen.

It takes strength to live by what is just and pure - strength to live with faithful discipleship.

Sermon by Pastor Joel Crouse

Sunday October 15, 2023

Well, that’s quite the gospel, this morning. Basically, we are offered a parable by Jesus that is essentially about God’s “cancelling” someone for wearing the wrong thing to a party.

Even by our current standards of outrage – legitimate and otherwise – showing up in the wrong robe isn’t likely to get that kind of reaction.

So let’s unpackage what is really going on.

In our gospel, this morning, Jesus offers us a parable. This King sends out invitations to a wedding party for his son. He invites some bigwigs, some landowners, powerful people. But they are too busy or can’t be bothered. Some of them even attack or kill those delivering the invitation. The king, in anger, responds by taking revenge.

He then decides to open the wedding up to everyone. Except one man is found not wearing the proper garb. When he can’t explain himself, the king orders the man tossed out of the party. We are to understand that his orders were followed. He was the king, after all. “Many are called,” Jesus says in warning. “Few are chosen.”

First of all, I wouldn’t consider this one of Jesus’s most successful parables. So many of his parables endure across time and traditions. But this one doesn’t so easily translate into our day. We’ve certainly seen our fair share, recently, of vengeful kings or petty leaders. We have seen quite clearly what happens to people who have the power to be “exclusive,” who decide who gets tossed and who measures up. We all heard the former president of the United States once spell it out baldly for us: that “When you are a star” people let you do things – egregious things – that other people couldn’t get away with. So, I don’t know about you, but upon first modern-day reading, my sympathy goes to the man who didn’t follow the dress code and got tossed out the door.

This parable is challenging, so let’s break it down. In some ways, it’s a bit on the nose. The King is God, the son is Jesus. God calls the leaders to follow the gospel, and they reject the offer or ignore it. Worse, they kill the messenger – that is, the prophet, such as John the Baptist, who was sent out to “invite” us to hear Jesus. So, God opens up the Kingdom of Heaven to everyone, no matter who they are, and waits to see who shows up.

First, let us consider this parable against the parables that surround it. In the previous chapter of Matthew, Jesus tells the crowd of a father who asks his sons to help him: one says no but changes his mind and does it.The other says yes but doesn’t help. Which one, Jesus asks, did what his father wanted? The first, the crowd answers. And so Jesus teaches that even when we choose wrong, our mistakes can be corrected. That what we say does not define us, but ultimately our actions do.

The next parable we hear is of a vineyard owner who rents his land to a set of farmers. When it comes time to collect his share of the harvest, he sends his servant, who the farmers beat and kill. A second meets with the same fate. Finally the land owner sends his son, who is also killed. And in the crowd, we hear that the chief priests and Pharisees squirm – for they know that the parable is about them, who hold on to power for the sake of power.

Now the parables of Jesus always have to be balanced by the message that resonates with us today, and the historical context we need truly to truly understand what is happening. In Jesus’s time, a wedding thrown by a King or very wealthy person would have included the host’s providing wedding robes for the guests. Not to wear one, would have been an insult and affront. So, the man is not bounced from the party for his ratty clothes. He is kicked out for not accepting a gift. The wedding robes in this sense are meant to represent grace. The man is not wearing a robe of character, and it costs him his invitation.

But is that fair? Is that even our understanding of the gospel? If many are called, but few are chosen, doesn’t that lead us to a community of faith where some pass, and some fail? This, for me, is a troublesome part of this analogy. It appears to contradict so many of the other teachings of Jesus, which are about grace and forgiveness. In the end, don’t we all want the same chance -- to learn from our mistakes?

But just as I would question anyone who uses one line from the Old Testament to decide their views on a matter, we have to remember to take the gospel in its entirety. Each parable should be seen as a kernel of wisdom; taken together, they give us the nuanced wisdom of the gospel.

It makes no sense that Jesus would be saying, if you mess up and forget to put on the robe this one day, you are out. Or, if you realize your error, and put on the wedding robe, you won’t get back into the party.

But some of the parables of Jesus guide our actions, such as the one about the Good Samaritan. Others make us see how even in our failings, we are accepted, such as the story of the two sons that precedes it. And some of the parables, like this one and the one before it, remind us of our obligation to the gospel. In these parables, of course, Jesus is speaking without much disguise about his own role on earth, to upend and unsettle the powers that be, even if there is a cost.

In doing so, Jesus is reminding us that getting invited to God’s table isn’t something to take lightly. It comes with risk. It comes with effort. Collecting the harvest won’t be easy. We don’t just wake up one day and wander over to the party. This invitation comes with a calling to live with character.

What was the character that God wanted the man to instill by his presence? A character that would be as visible as the clothes he was wearing. Surely it was the humility that the wealthy landowners did not show. But also kindness and generosity -- not looking away when we see wrong. The cloak of character comes with sacrifice. At times, it is a heavy cloak to wear.

But let’s not forget that other story told today. The exchange between Moses and God is one particularly worth noting. God is angry about the golden calf, ready to call it quits on the Israelites. But Moses, in essence, talks God down. And eventually, we are told, God changes God’s mind. Think about that: in a moment, a calm human voice, asking for mercy, was heard by God, and brought change, another chance to wear the cloak of character.

Are we the many who are called, or the few chosen? Faith is, by its nature, aspirational: a goal to which we strive, a cloak of character we try to wear as much as can. Jesus is impressing upon us the cost of the cloak of discipleship, even as he reminds us that the price of the invitation to the party is not perfection. Let us hear the call. Let us be mindful of false idols and Kings. And let us leave the choosing to God. Amen.

Giving thanks and honouring others is not only healing, it is a bond that connects us.

Sermon by Pastor Joel Crouse

Sunday October 8, 2023

Thanksgiving Sunday

Early this week, the Nobel Prize for Medicine was given to two researchers for their long-term research that led to the development of the MRNA COVID vaccine, which has saved innumerable people around the world and restored our lives after long years of lockdowns and limitations.

One of the winners was Katalin Kariko, a Hungarian-American biochemist. A year earlier, she had given a speech while accepting the Gairdner science award in Toronto. She gave a speech of thanks. She thanked her parents, a butcher and a bookkeeper in Hungary who had taught her the value of hard work. The teachers who had fostered her curiosity for science. The mentors who had inspired her to keep going. Her family who loved her. But along the way, she explained, it wasn’t easy: and not just when her experiments failed. She worked in a male-dominated field; she was demoted, fired from faculty positions, and passed over for promotion. And yet she said, “It may surprise you, but I also thank all the people who tried to make my life miserable.” Without them, she said, she would not be there.

I thought of her speech this week, because it seemed like a fitting lesson in gratitude, offered by a woman to whom we all have so much to be thankful. Gratitude is not just an act of saying thanks. It should not be just appreciation for what we have. It is also a choice: to find strength even in hard times, and to be grateful for that strength.

The gospel tells us the famous story of the ten lepers whom Jesus heals. And yet only one returns to give thanks. The healed man who comes back is a foreigner. “Where are the rest? “ Jesus asks. But then he says to the one man who has returned: “Get up and go on our way: your faith has made you well.”

Is it significant that the man who returned was a foreigner, out of place? Perhaps, we might imagine that the other nine ran home to their families to celebrate the gift of new life, to be accepted back into their own lives. In their joy and relief, they forgot Jesus entirely. They claimed their gift and ran. But the outsider valued the gift and recognized the worth of the person who had bestowed it. How often do we, in a moment of success or victory or good fortune, fail to acknowledge the people that led us to that place? How often do we act as if our fate were entirely of our own making? What does that mean when we fail – do we fail all alone as well? Often it is the people who are best at giving thanks who are also the most comfortable accepting help when they need it. Surely that’s a balance for happiness.

And then Jesus says to the man: “Your faith has made you well.” That is an interesting line. Technically, the man has already been made well: he has been healed of a terrible disease. We never hear that the other men who forgot to give thanks are suddenly made ill again.

So what can Jesus mean? The only thing, as far as we can see, that sets this man apart is his act of gratitude. Isn’t Jesus saying that the act of giving thanks, of recognizing generosity, or being able to humble yourself before another person, is an act of healing? It requires intention and risk: in this case the Samaritan risked returning and saying thank you to a leader in society who might mistreat him.. He might have thought Jesus had accidentally healed him; drawing attention had a clear risk. When we make ourselves vulnerable to others, when we say thank you, we are also acknowledging that we need other people, that we can’t go it alone. That’s an attitude that often works against our individualistic society that takes pride in self. Jesus, however, says that recognizing and honouring the role of others is healing for the self. Giving thanks is not a phrase to smooth social interactions. It is a bond that reminds us how we are connected.

Let me end by saying “Thank you” to Dr. Kariko. Not only for changing all of our lives, but for the lesson of gratitude that she passes on.

I hope, this Thanksgiving, that we give wide and honest thanks for the gifts we have, and also for the strength found in our burdens.

May we not be one of the nine lepers who started living again without first pausing to recognize the true value of the gift of that life they’d been given.

May we, instead, be like the Samaritan who returned to Jesus, with humility, and was thus made more whole by being connected to something greater than and beyond themselves. Amen.