top of page

SERMON: by Rev Joel Crouse


One of the most memorable experiences on my trip to the Holy Land, was seeing where John the Baptist spent most of his years living. He wasn’t from the polished stones of Jerusalem. He didn’t come from the rolling green hills filled with olive trees and rich vegetation. He came from the yellow, dusty, rock of the wilderness. There is no wind or rain or life running over the hills. There is only dry, dusty rock to crawl around. I learned a lot about who he was by standing in that still, rough wilderness. When we talk about John emerging from the wilderness, our sacred text is not overstating things. He, quite literally, came out from under a rock. But coming from the wilderness, no doubt, shaped John’s message, as surely as our own roots shape ours. He learned to live with little, among people who had little. Living a life where you are just trying to get through the day, narrows your focus. You have less time to think about how your neighbors are doing, what your neighbors are thinking, how much your neighbors are buying. You are focused on surviving. Those attitudes stuck with John: he didn’t worry about his appearance. He wasn’t sucked in by wealth. He didn’t have much time for rules or manners. And when he heard the call from God, he translated it in that context: distilled the gospel down to his core message. He was not wrapped up in the airs of his position. He did not seek to take glory from Jesus. He was immune from all the trappings of society. And he was not shy about being the angry one, so that Jesus could be the loving one. But, be careful: don’t overlook the honesty and kindness of John the Baptist because he is yelling at us. Because his manner is not gentle. Because his clothes are not stylish. Because he is just a little bit smelly. If John the Baptist forces us to listen, then we also learn a lesson – to be awake to hear the word of God, and feel God’s presence, among those who may not look the part. It is not the dirt and grime that makes John the Baptist notable; it is that he did not fit in, he did not follow the rules, he was not the message people would have expected from God. And yet the people listened to him, because amid all the shouting, even with his camel hair clothes, John the Baptist was, in his heart, a protector. He drew the people in and he promised to keep them safe. He welcomed the downtrodden, the rejected, the outcast – for he understood their plight. And when the Pharisees sought to intervene, he shouted them down, and chastised them, for placing themselves above others. And ultimately, behind all that bluster, John was a good news guy. He was an optimist. He believed that the path of God would be put straight. He placed his hope in someone he had not seen since his birth. He trusted in the strength of his own faith, in the power of his own voice. And he believed that people would listen to him. But there is one line, in John’s message to the Pharisees, that would perhaps speaks especially to us today. He tells the Pharisees, that brood of vipers: “And do not think you can say to yourselves, ‘We have Abraham as our father.’ I tell you that out of these stones God can raise up children for Abraham.” John is saying quite clearly that it doesn’t matter where you came from, or what family you were raised in, or what status you claim today; God lifts everyone up. People listened to John. They gathered around him in crowds. They travelled great distances just to hear him preach. They sought to be baptized by him. He was a powerful, eloquent orator, however he might have looked. But in the end, it was because his message was one of hope, faith and grace. It was possible to get ready for a new life, John said, whoever you are. It was possible to turn around from all that stuff that was robbing you of life, and produce new fruit – to start over in this moment. It was possible to release yourself from the shackles of your past, and move forward. It didn’t matter where you were born, or whose daughter or son you were, God would accept you. Jesus would take the wheat in all of us, and leave the chaff behind. It may not sound like a radical message but let me tell you it was. In fact, I still believe it is. Ultimately, John the Baptist comes out of the wilderness to upset things, to rock people out of their perception of comfort, to shock people into action. But the reason why people responded to him, the reason why we might respond to him today, is because the core of his message was one of potential and hope. That is what we hold on to in Advent. The undying, unwavering welcome of God. The openness of faith. The path that John begins to mark out for us, leads straight to the manger, to where everyone finds a place. Behind all that bluster is a message of hope. John the Baptist knew that for us to hear it – so far from the stillness of the wilderness - he would have to get our attention. Listen to the words of John the Baptist this morning and hear the hope for new life that wants to happen. Amen

Sermon By Rev Joel Crouse


This week, while thinking about this sermon on the occasion of Christ the King Sunday, I happened across a quote by Bertrand Russell. “The whole problem with the world,” Mr. Russell observed, “is that fools and fanatics are always so certain of themselves, but wiser people are so full of doubts.” Now the Right Honorable Bert Russell, philosopher, pacifist, winner of the Nobel Prize in Literature, is an odd choice to quote in a sermon. He once described himself as “a dissenter from all known religions,” which he hoped would eventually peter out. He argued that the bad of human-designed religion outweighed the good – surely a debatable position. But his main objection was that traditional religion, as he saw it, prevented free thought. And the all-important value of thinking freely and how to achieve it was his chief preoccupation. So he would probably be surprised to be quoted here today. And even more surprised to hear me argue that Mr. Russell, the atheist, had indeed defined not only a most thoughtful kind of faith life, but also a very modern relationship with Jesus, whose teachings guide us, whose life and death inform our own as Christians, and whose being we celebrate today. That is, to truly live out the gospel, we must be fools, and fanatics, and wise doubters, all at once. First, to live out the gospel we must be fools. Much time and many pages have been spent parsing out the truth of Jesus’s story. What did the writers of the gospel get right – and how could they get anything right at all, having written it down so long after the events they are depicting? Did the virgin birth really happen? Could the son of – of GOD - really have been just a carpenter’s son who became a little bit famous for a few years, and then, thanks to the earnest work of a few human followers and scribes, famous for a lot longer after that? Some parts of the gospel make sense only in the whole. As one New Yorker writer, Adam Gopnik, observed, in an essay about Jesus, “It’s like the idea that the ring of power should be given to two undersized amateurs to throw into a volcano at the very center of the enemy’s camp.” It all makes sense in the Tolkien story, “but you would never expect to find it as a premise at the Middle Earth Military Academy.” But that’s because the stories that most capture us are always – or often – the ones that are carefully fact-checked, or logical, or fit into the real world. Frodo and Sam in The Lord of Rings are the worst choice, and also the best; and more than that, their mission doesn’t just make sense, but we come to feel it, to believe it, to care about it. Just sit with the marvelous narrative of Jesus’s life, and it is wondrous, and funny, inspiring, and terrifying. It reveals the most important truths. We become fools not for the story itself, but for what it means to us, for how it speaks to us, and for what it teaches us. To the second, the word “fanatic” is full of problems, today especially; but ultimately it is about believing something so fully that it seeps into all aspects of your life. Again and again, Jesus taught us the cost of discipleship, and then paid it himself. Jesus covered so much ground with his teaching in a few short years that there is no aspect of our life to which we cannot look to the gospel for guidance. He taught us about the gospel’s place in our family life with the prodigal son, in our community with the widow at the well, at work with the taxpayer in how we relate to leaders, with the Pharisees in the temple, and to strangers with the good Samaritan, and to our friendships with Lazarus. He showed us how to respond to hate with the stoning of the woman, to doubt with the devil in the desert, to love with the Last Supper. Jesus showed us how to be fanatics about the gospel; to be ever guided by it. Reflecting on Mr. Russell’s quote, I don’t think he was saying doubt itself was bad, more that the world would be better if the human fools and fanatics would doubt in equal measure to the wise among us. But I’d argue he had religion wrong; or at least he had the gospel wrong. Because Jesus doesn’t only teach us to think freely; following the gospel requires us to be free thinkers. The gospel as it is written, leaves us with all sorts of parables that aren’t clear, stories without endings. What exactly happens after the father throws the party for the prodigal son? What did Jesus really mean when he told us to cast aside our mother and fathers – even as his mother walked beside him? Think of how many times Jesus answers a question, with another question. Do you say you are the son of God? “Who do you say that I am?” He asks questions to force the followers to think deeply about meaning and purpose. “For what is a man profited, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?” Jesus, by his actions, forced doubt: why was he always hanging out with the lepers, and the women, and the outcasts? What did Jesus see that we were missing? Many of Jesus’s statements are designed to use doubt to lead us to our own conclusions. In one of the gospel’s most dramatic scenes and, in my view, one of Jesus finest moments, a group of men are about to stone a woman for adultery. Rocks in hand, the raw energy is mounting. The law says this is her punishment. They ask Jesus, what say you? Everything we know about Jesus by then tells us he does not want this violence to happen against this woman. But he doesn’t charge in and save her. He crouches down and draws in the sand with his finger. Their attention shifts to him and away from the woman; they want an answer. And then Jesus says, and we imagine he could have just whispered it by then: Let the person among you who has not sinned throw the first stone. The accusers, we are told, slip away one by one. They have been made to doubt themselves. Just as that line brings us pause in our own lives to this very day. There is no such thing as free thinking without doubt. And there is no gospel without it, either. On this Sunday, we celebrate the Jesus as King; and yet the Jesus of our gospel would have thrown off that crown. A king does not countenance doubt; Jesus, the teacher, the storyteller, the person among the disciples, welcomed it. We have elevated this Sunday to pay honour to Christ, to acknowledge Christ’s divinity to celebrate the otherness of the Son of God. And I hope you feel the glorious presence of Christ on this Sunday at the end of the church year. But let us not elevate Christ so high that Jesus becomes out of reach. Perhaps more than King, or at least equal, and what I wish for all of us is to feel the friendship of Jesus, the presence of someone you respect deeply and trust implicitly; someone to whom you are loyal, and who, in return would never betray you. Someone you may challenge and debate; a friend who makes you a better, wiser, kinder person. For there, in that friendship, in that close relationship, we discover our own foolish, fanatical, and wisely doubting way to live out the gospel. Not only for Christ whom we elevate with honour today, but with Jesus who walks, faithfully, beside us. Amen.

Sermon By Rev Adam Snook


He also told this parable to some who trusted in themselves that they were righteous and regarded others with contempt: ‘Two men went up to the temple to pray, one a Pharisee and the other a tax-collector. The Pharisee, standing by himself, was praying thus, “God, I thank you that I am not like other people: thieves, rogues, adulterers, or even like this tax-collector. I fast twice a week; I give a tenth of all my income.” But the tax-collector, standing far off, would not even look up to heaven, but was beating his breast and saying, “God, be merciful to me, a sinner!” I tell you, this man went down to his home justified rather than the other; for all who exalt themselves will be humbled, but all who humble themselves will be exalted.’ Grace, peace and mercy is yours, from our triune God. Amen. It gives me so much joy to bring you greetings this morning on behalf of your Bishop, Bishop Michael Pryse; my colleagues in the office Pastors Doug and Christie; as well as all your Eastern Synod siblings in ministry worshipping in 173 congregations - from Sault Ste Marie, Ontario to Halifax, Nova Scotia…and all of those wonderful places in-between…just like this one!! A BIG thank you to Pastor Joel for allowing me to hijack the preaching spot this morning – and an even bigger thanks to each of you for welcoming me so warmly into your midst! It feels so good to be together. As congregations return to in-person worship after such a very long pandemic interlude, we in the Synod Office are trying to visit as many congregations as possible…simply to say “Hello…it’s great to see you!” But today also provides me with an opportunity to express my gratitude for the ways in which you show such consistent commitment to the mission ministries of our Synod. Your unwavering willingness to step beyond your walls in ways that seek to meet the needs of the community all around you – is nothing short of inspiring. AND I KNOW…THAT IT HASN’T ALWAYS BEEN EASY! And yet…you have, and continue to set an example in our synod, of what it means to live as a creative, innovative, bold and faithful expression of God’s love in God’s world. And so please hear me when I say this: thank you. Thank YOU! And thanks be to God for you! … Let me ask you a question this morning: What are your hopes for the future of God’s church? What are YOUR hopes for the FUTURE of GOD’S CHURCH? Interestingly, this is the exact same question that I always looked forward to asking my confirmation classes around this time of year. (1) What were their hopes for the future of God’s church? (2) What did the days ahead look like to them? (3) What visions were they experiencing for ministry at that time…and in those places? And let me tell you – they had answers! My goodness…did they have answers! Now admittedly, sometimes their answers weren’t all that helpful. In particular, I recall one confirmation class who suggested that lazy-boy recliners with charging stations for cell phones ought to replace the uncomfortable wooden pews in the sanctuary…and another class who insisted that the future of the church would only be realized through the installation of big-screen TVs and Dolby Digital Surround Sound 2.0! Alas, such is the risk of such a question! But more often than not, and when we finally got past all those silly giggles – I was usually impressed by the ideas which rose to the top of my discussion with these beloved confirmation-age children of God. They had a clear vision for their future in God’s church – and just listening to them talk about it would leave me feeling excited! It filled me with abundant hope! You know, as I’ve had the opportunity to visit with congregations, ministries, members as well as Rostered and Lay leaders from across our Synod – I have found that as the big, beautiful body of Christ that we are – we too are grappling with this same question: What are OUR hopes for the future of God’s church. The soil is ripe for such deep discernment and dreaming. We’re asking ourselves: How is God calling us to share God’s love in new…old…and authentic ways? What wilderness are we being led into, willingly (and oft-times not so willingly)? How can the voice of God be heard in our midst…and what is God saying? I don’t know about you – but I love these questions! • For some, questions such as these have led to new or strengthened relationships (just like the ones you’ve experienced here in the Ottawa Region). • Others have discerned new opportunities for missional outreach and partnerships. • There are places that look very different than they did several years ago – choosing the path of redevelopment to meet a social need in their communities. • Still others are doing the difficult work of determining how best to use the gifts they’ve been given to the glory of God – even, and especially, when that pathway leads to some pretty difficult decisions. And yet in each of these examples, and so many others, I find hope in the courage and boldness shown through faith in a God who has been…is…and will always be found at the centre of God’s church…and with God’s people: • It’s the kind of certainty that allows us to step over the uncomfortable threshold so that our eyes might behold the beauty which awaits us on the other side; • It’s the kind of unencumbered creativity that allows us to try something new…knowing that even in failure we grow closer to the one who first created us; • It’s the kind of beautiful ministry which helps us to see beyond the brick and mortar…and into the world that God loves so deeply; • And (I believe) that…it’s the kind of church which God is leading us to be…it’s the kind of people who God is calling us to be…and it’s the kind of disciple that God has equipped us to be. In these ways, we are living into the future (not, perhaps, that we ourselves have dreamt, necessarily) – but we are living into the future which God has dreamt for us! And my goodness – God dreams the most wonderful dreams!!! In a recent talk given by Barbara Brown Taylor, she said: Faith evolves with the times and with the Spirit; it passes away with those who want to remember it the way it was. We are living into it because we are part of what comes next. Hear that last part again: WE ARE A PART OF WHAT COMES NEXT. That line gives me goosebumps...and I hope it gives you goosebumps too! Because notice, that there is no conditional clause tacked to the end of such a profound statement – no asterix nor footnote. God hasn’t insisted on a pre-requisite. There is no minimum grade-point average. No fee for admittance will be rung up. Rather, you are…I am…and we are already a part of the new thing which God is doing. The church, as God’s holy and imperfect table in the wilderness, has already been set! The good news, the gospel, is that we (each of us…and all God’s people) have been invited to pull up a seat where there will always be room for one more!! And it’s around such a table – and in such a church – that we will find moments of laughter and lament, times of joy and sorrow, it’s here that we will take risks and make mistakes (knowing that we can’t break this…we can’t break God); and it’s here that all people will find welcome in the soul nourishing, life quenching love and grace of God. We are a part of what God does next! It’s kind-of like a family gathering – where there will undoubtedly be lots of differing opinions, a few spilled glasses of wine, debate over who makes the tastiest stuffing, noisy children, robust laughter, wayward conversations, and more than a few hiccups along the way. Yes, like a family dinner! But that means that there will also be lots and lots of love. And that love…God’s love for us…and our love for one another, will be our guide for the days ahead. One of my son, Nate’s favourite things to do when he’s trying to stall bedtime (which he does almost every night) is to ask his mother or I, “Mommy, Daddy, how much do you love me?” To which we answer something outlandish like: we love you more than one billion herds of sheep. Of course, to keep his stall tactic alive, Nate will reply: well I love you one billion herds of sheep…plus one! Well, I am not about to let a seven year old get the better of me…so I come back with an even more ridiculous, even more outlandish metric by which to gauge my love for my son. And so it continues. Well, beloved children of God – I am here this morning to tell you that your God loves you more that one billion herds of sheep…plus one…plus two…plus three. In fact, your God loves you more than any metric could ever adequately capture. You are loved – as you are, who you are, where you are – loved fully and completely. May the assurance of such a love sustain you as the Spirit leads you into God’s vision for the days ahead – as you build relationships, dream new dreams, and embrace the godly opportunities which abound. We are a part of what God does next. For this, and for you, I say Thanks be to God. Amen

bottom of page