March 23, 2025
Third Sunday in Lent
Isaiah 55:1-9
Psalm 63:1-8
1 Corinthians 10:1-13
Luke 13:1-9
While there is no printed version of the sermon available this week, a recording can be viewed.
Bishop Carla Blakley was in Ottawa on the 23rd of March, to preside over a joint Ottawa Lutherans service at St. Peter’s. The service highlighted the different languages that make up our Lutheran family.
March 16, 2025
Second Sunday in Lent
Genesis 15:1-12, 17-18
Psalm 27
Philippians 3:17—4:1
Luke 13:31-35
The context of this sermon is
100% written by a human
How do we know when something is wrong? Is it because the law says so? Is it because our community says so? Is it because it feels distasteful or rude?
Certainly, right now, we are painfully aware that something is wrong. Our closest ally has launched a trade war for manufactured reasons, suggesting that despite our mutually beneficial economic relationship and our long history of support, we have no value. And persisted in threatening talk about our country’s very existence.
We know this is wrong because the emotions it creates in us are anger and betrayal. We know this is wrong because allies around the world – and many, many Americans themselves -- have said so. We know it is wrong because the rule of law is being broken.
We know, deep down, how to do the right thing. And we know, deep down, when things are wrong.
I want to tell you, in this season of reflection and change, about a change I experienced myself as a pastor. Upon reflection, it became a turning point for me, in my professional and personal life. I realized that while I knew right from wrong, I was not always responding to wrongs in the right way.
For a long time, as a pastor, I worked to accommodate every difference, to be universally welcoming. This is the example that Jesus set, and the posture we are called to as Christians. As a church, this should always be our goal – to welcome new expressions of the gospel and different voices, and diversity of opinion.
But as time passed, I began to recognize that there are times when "accommodation" is, frankly, wrong. Sometimes wide and open accommodation makes room for discrimination, and intolerance, and the acts of violence that result from them. I came to see that when accommodation means we allow some people to voice hate openly against other people, we are not serving the gospel -- we are allowing an injustice. Sometimes. I could see the injury being caused, not only to the people who were the target, but also to those who cared about it, and saw it happening. When accommodation means we expect some people to feel unsafe so we can have different voices, we need to ask ourselves: who is really being accommodated?
But it’s not an easy question. The gospel teaches us to practice kindness and tolerance, even when it is hard. In our gospel this morning, we have the example of extreme acceptance. Jesus is still prepared to embrace the people of Jerusalem, to give them a chance, even though they are about to send him to his death. The people of Jerusalem would judge Jesus cruelly and unfairly. Shouldn’t we do our best not to judge someone else ourselves?
Judgement is the theme of our reading today. Abram feels that in being left childless, he is being judged by God. Jesus is facing judgement in Jerusalem. We can imagine this from all sides: like Abraham, we often feel judged by those around us; and, like the people of Jerusalem, we are also often the mob doing the judging.
But there are times when our judgement is called for. We are not just unfeeling animals: what sets us apart as humans is our self-awareness and how that self-awareness leads to a higher awareness of others.
And in the complexity of life, we are called to be self-aware and discerning. That line is even more complicated when our first obligation is to reach out to the stranger, whoever they are, and welcome them.
Nelson Mandela once said that he needed to reach out and understand his enemies in order to move beyond them. As we know, he opened up discussion between the white and Black citizens in South Africa, and the Truth and Reconciliation Commission kept the record of the nation's history, so history would be clearly understood. This work eventually led South Africa past the terrible history of apartheid.
But even as he brought the two sides together, Mandela did not make accommodations with his opinion: He never accepted that apartheid was right or justified from any angle. Yes, he tried to understand why those who perpetuated it would have done so, and to get them on to a different path. But at a certain point, that was it: the law changed, and the country moved on from there. Those who could not accept it might hold to their views, but they would not decide the law and future direction of the country.
Many years ago now, I began to feel similarly in my position as a progressive Christian leader. Our tent can be large, but at a certain point, we have to be done with certain conversations. And once we choose the just path of love and safety, then we have to stand in opposition to those who continue to force upon us thinking that is unloving and dangerous.
This applies to many parts of my life. I used to sit and nod patiently while people spoke of the church in an offensive way, or cast aspersions on my faith, as they presumed to understand - I was being accommodating and tolerant. I stopped doing that.
I used to sit and listen to interpretations of the Bible that directly violated the core message of the Gospel - that we are all loved and accepted and called to serve - and try to listen to a different point of view. I stopped doing that. When the view is intolerant of difference, or judging of a person's skin colour or religion or sexual orientation, I am not silent. I take the inspiration of Jesus who tore apart the temple for the money lenders doing business inside, and I speak up against an interpretation of the gospel that is not centred on charity, kindness, and love.
“Now Pastor,” you might say, “not everyone has your same understanding of what is wrong. Shouldn’t they have the same space to express themselves?”
And I say, no. There are some values that are abhorrent to the gospel. There are some opinions that should be shut down. And as Lutheran Christians bound to Article 4 of the Augsburg Confession, we are called to name them when we see them.
Otherwise what happens? Bullies win, hate takes over, intolerance succeeds, and love dies. None of those things honours the gospel. And we must stand up against them.
Here we are in a time when we must begin to ask the same question: How much should we listen to conspiracies and fake facts/ How much should we accommodate our relatives and friends who dominate the room with anti-immigrant and anti-democracy opinions? When do we speak up?
Over the years, the time to speak up has become clearer to me. That’s the thing about taking a stand: you find your line in the sand more clearly. For me, it comes down to this: If a person is behaving in a way that is doing harm to another in their presence, I cannot accommodate that. If the person is behaving in a way that causes harm to the bystanders listening, I cannot accommodate that. If I hear the message of the gospel being distorted or betrayed, I cannot accommodate that. Then I must stand, and say no. This is the line you cannot cross. And that can apply not only to our personal reactions, but to our political ones as well.
But there is another side to this story -- one which I realized only later. When you decide to stand up against something, you also find yourself standing more often for something. Because I was paying attention to ensure safety and comfort, I was also listening for warmth and compassion. And so when someone said something caring, I would also say: “I agree, and I support you.” When someone stood up for themselves to protect another, I would also say: “I agree, and I support you.”
Isn’t that what is happening with us now, at this very time in our national history? We are thinking more intentionally than ever about what we will accommodate and what we will not. We are deciding what values and principles are worth standing up for. And we are watching for those same decisions in other Canadians – and Americas - so we reach out to them and say, “I agree, and I support you.” Let us support each other
In this way, we are not silencing anyone’s voice; we are not saying we won’t listen to thoughtful and reasonable differences of opinion presented respectfully in the world. There are plenty of valid opinions about how to solve the biggest problems in the world – we need to hear them out.
But we will make our own voices heard. We are saying this is line, and here I stand. And if you want to know where to stand, you need only to read the words of the gospel, which stood, above all else, for self-determination, for freedom of will, for compassion, for community, for equality and mercy and loyalty, for service and for justice.
Make the gospel heard. Find the line, and stand guard upon it.
Amen
March 9, 2025
First Sunday in Lent
Deuteronomy 26:1-11
Psalm 91:1-2, 9-16
Romans 10:8b-13
Luke 4:1-13
The context of this sermon is
100% written by a human
Perhaps Lent is arriving at just the right time. We are living through a period when all principles and treaties are being summarily broken, when the most powerful country in the world is aligning with a dictator instead of allies. This week, my youngest son, Samson, suggested that by the time his kids were grown – if not sooner – the rules of the world will look very different. I could not say otherwise, although I still hope for the best; change is coming.
Lent is the time when we are supposed to confront the trouble in the world, and in our lives, and stare at it for a while. These are the times when we live in the shadows, and we are forced to come face-to-face with our own truths. If we take it seriously, it’s not an easy time. But if we do take it seriously, it is, in the end, a healing time.
This morning, we begin with a meeting between Jesus and the devil in the desert. It’s a good tale – one we’ve seen played out a hundred times since. Our hero is tempted by someone or something to leave his proper path. Maybe it’s pride, or greed, or doubt. But someone usually plants it, and he finds himself at the crossroads.
So, along comes the Devil, sauntering up to Jesus while he fasted alone in the desert. The Devil has come with his three challenges, his clever tricks for the Son of God.
First the devil taunts: “If you are really so great, turn this stone into a loaf of bread.” Jesus was probably hungry – he was fasting, after all. But he refuses: “No one can live by bread alone.” In other words, life, Jesus is saying, is about more than material goods – it is about self-worth, and integrity, and who we are at the core of ourselves.
So, the devil tries again, this time preying on the potential glory-seeking of Jesus. “I promise you kingdoms as far as the eye can see,” the devil says. “And all you have to do is worship me.” Jesus answers: “Worship no one else but God.”
Now, I have always thought that this offer was the easiest for Jesus to decline: the devil, in this telling, isn’t disguising his identity, and Jesus never seemed particularly greedy for fame and glory. But for us, it’s a lot trickier: for us, the devil may hide in more insidious ways and tempt us to seek glory, even if it means selling out, just a little, one small step to one larger step at a time.
Finally, the devil pulls out all the stops - his trickiest of tricks. “If you’re so special,” the devil says, “then throw yourself off the cliff and let God catch you.” Maybe this one gave Jesus pause. He had his own doubts, after all. Perhaps he was tempted to find out: did he really matter to God? Wouldn’t it be great to stick it to the devil and put him in his place?
But once again, Jesus refuses. He says, “Do not put the Lord your God to the test.” And the devil finally gives up and wanders away – departing, we are told grimly, until a more opportune time presents itself.
It’s that last trick of the devil’s that I want to address today.
Who could blame us for not wanting to test God? This question gets put to me in a whole number of ways. Doubt is part of faith, and so it’s a question that often comes up.
People ask: how do you know God is real? Or more precisely, if God is real, why would God let this bad thing happen to me? Or how could God let this tragedy happen? Perhaps we are wondering, “Why doesn’t God step in and resolve what’s happening in the world right now?”
I have a close friend, who is an atheist, and we often discuss religion. Right now, in the middle of a very difficult time, he said this to me: “I wish I could believe as you do, to have this faith in a higher power.” And then he said, “But I know if I did, I would just be angry at God for letting this happen to me. So, any faith I had would be lost.”
This is a significant part of the Lenten journey, to help us develop a deeper appreciation of what it means to follow the gospel, and what it means to trust in the existence of God. When we put God behind the bad things - or even the good things - that happen in our lives, we have put God in the wrong place. God sits beside us and walks with us, and that is quite different.
The faith that each of us takes from the gospel, and, most importantly, the lessons we learn by following it, are what carry us through those hard times, and lead us to the better times. The knowledge of inner strength – that helps us withstand both hardship and temptation. The belief in our self-worth – that tells us we don’t need kingdoms to be powerful. The trust that we are loved and valued – that tells us not to waste time with trumped-up tests and trials.
That is Jesus walking beside us and even helping to carry us over rough patches. Which is what I told my friend: The God who has my faith doesn’t view me as a plaything to manipulate. My relationship to God is more loving than that and runs deeper than that.
God doesn’t let things happen to me; God guides me to get through the crappy things that happen and teaches me how to make things better for myself and for other people.
And that is far more powerful – far more life-sustaining – than a faith that spends time looking to heaven waiting for a sign. We are meant to look straight ahead, knowing heaven walks with us.
So, here’s the question: what if Jesus had leapt from the cliff that day with the Devil, would God have saved him? Well, I suppose that depends on your view of saving. Even when we leap off that metaphorical cliff by mistake or carelessness or intention, God doesn’t abandon us. It’s when we are mistaken or careless that we instinctively lean most heavily on the gospel.
But don’t be misled: our understanding of the gospel should come from a place in which God assumes us to be -- at our best -- thoughtful, reflective, and independent people. I know there are some pulpits where ministers preach God’s grace when certain lives are spared in tragedy. Or where the congregation is encouraged to pray for wealth and prosperity to come to us.
That’s not this pulpit. Because that understanding of God assumes that some are chosen and others are abandoned. It assumes that all the active and gracious life taught in the gospel is just a great story, that really we just need to go home and hope for the best. That kind of faith assumes that God is either pushing from behind or pulling from the front. But God was sitting with Jesus each time he met the devil’s challenge. And God is the strength that sits with each of us the same way.
That’s the thing: We don’t test God. God doesn’t test us. God stands with us while we are tested. And however you articulate that presence, we all have to the make the teachings of the gospel true and active.
When the world is a grim place, when it seems especially dangerous and cruel, the smart question isn’t, “Why did God let this happen?” It’s “What, with God’s help, will we do about it?” The smart emotion isn’t fretting and stewing about what change is on its way. It’s staying curious, listening for the gospel and reflecting in prayer, “What change will I make happen?”
That’s the lesson of Ash Wednesday – accepting the dark thought that we are dust and to dust we shall return and deciding what to do about it. And it’s the journey of Lent, recognizing our shadow selves and seeing them for what they are. What will we do about them?
What will we do? What will we change? What world will we leave behind? Now, that’s the ultimate test -- one worth taking over and over again, until we get it right.
Amen