October 2nd, 2022

Sermon By Rev Joel Crouse

Growing up as a pastor’s kid, I always knew what was expected of me – which was basically whatever my dad needed at the time. My own boys have lived that same life for much of their childhood, and for the most part, I know it has been a gift to help grow them into responsible adults. They were used to being asked to set up tables in the hall, or fill a last-minute empty spot as worship assistant, or play whatever role they are given in the pageant. Even older now, they’re still doing it – cleaning up the church property during the convoy. They are my dumpster boys, my heavy lifters. For the most part, they don’t complain. In fact, they complain a lot less than I used to. But I know it is sometimes a hassle, when they would rather be doing other stuff. We have all been there – doing duties which we quietly resent, or for which we would like just a little more credit. Maybe it’s the extra time you gave at work that no one seemed to notice, or all the cleaning at home, or running to get groceries alone at 5 pm on a Friday. When we train Gus, our dog, it’s entirely about positive reinforcement – he does something great, he gets a reward, even if it is just being told he was a good dog. That version of works righteousness has proven highly effective. And when I have tried to explain to him Article IV of the Augsburg Confession, he has been fairly unimpressed. The fact is we are all conditioned just like Gus: when we do something great, we want to be recognized for it. When it comes to my boys, I hope I am a much better boss than that manager in the our gospel this morning. Because that guy sure is a taskmaster. In the gospel, the question is posed: “If your servant has worked all day long, do you invite him to take a load off and sit at your table?” Heck yes, I am thinking! After a long day of work, that would be the decent thing to do. But if you are the boss in the story, Jesus says, you would be more likely to ask your servant to put on an apron, get cooking and get your dinner on the table. And after all that – do you thank your servant? I don’t think so. Because that’s his job. All I can say, is thank goodness I don’t work for anyone like that! Except, hold on: I do. Jesus is telling one of his parables again, and in that parable it’s pretty clear who the master is, and who we are meant to be. It turns out God is pretty demanding. There is no “one good deed for the day” kind of counting in the gospel. Yet, isn’t that the bargaining we do with ourselves and with each other. If you’re good, we tell our kids, you can get that toy, or do that activity, you want. I ate healthy all day, I tell myself, I deserve that chocolate bar. If I can just save this much money, all will be well. We are constantly living in this bargaining game of “I deserve.” Of course, this is an unhappy state, because what’s the flip side: “I don’t deserve this.” I don’t deserve this nice meal. I don’t deserve my good fortune. And that’s just as toxic. God wants us to avoid both. In the parable told by Jesus, we are directed to say “we are worthless slaves; we have done only what we ought to have done.” But of course, God means just the opposite: because we are worthy, we are called do what we should, and not worry about our standing, or who deserves what. It is a wonderfully freeing thing to stop counting good deeds, and to see our lives as a journey of doing good things, from beginning to end, with no tally kept. So God says don’t seek a reward when you have done well on behalf of the gospel; and neither should you inflict judgement when you fail. For a person who sees themselves as powerful and valued can accomplish countless good deeds. And as our example, we have this touching letter from the apostle Paul to his mentor Timothy. Now as for the origin of the letter, many scholars now take the view that it was written long after Paul’s death, by a Christian writer – but that is a subject of debate left to another time. They are powerful words, and it is their ability to transport us, to make us consider our own place, that is their true value. Paul’s letter reads like a last letter from a son to a father. It feels like a letter a soldier might write to his family on the eve of battle, knowing he will likely die. Certainly Paul, as we read the letter, is clear that he is passing on his charge to another. It is very personal: he takes time to recall Timothy’s mother and grandmother. He recalls Timothy’s faithfulness with love. “Recalling your tears,” Paul writes, “I long to see you that I may be filled with joy.” This is not a lament, but a charge to Timothy to carry on. “For God did not give us a spirit of cowardice, but rather a spirit of power and of love and of self-discipline.” In that sense, we are not to say: we have done all we can because our strength is spent. We are to say, we can do much more, because we are strong and determined. “Join me in suffering for the gospel, relying on the power of God,” Paul says. The term “suffering” is a little off-putting; I think we can all agree that we prefer to avoid suffering not join it. But Paul is saying that the gospel has a cost, it requires energy – that we step outside ourselves, and stop keeping score. This is no small thing. I meet people every day who are trapped in a negative image of themselves. This goes in two directions, usually: people who worry so much about their judgement of others, that they stumble through life. And those so concerned with how others judge them, that spend life always trying to prove their value. Someone once gave me a great piece of advice: people don’t think about you as much as you think they do. And it’s true: all of us have our own worries, our own preoccupations, our own standards. And much of that we impose upon ourselves, trying to manage what other people think. But once we accept that almost everyone else is doing the same – trying to get by, trying to do better – well, isn’t that a relief. The only one to whom must answer, in the end, is God. A God who seeks not to make us slaves, currying favour. But servants, valued and trusted. Paul writes: “Guard the good treasure entrusted to you, with the help of the Holy Spirit living in us.” What is that treasure truly for us? It is a new posture. One in which we no longer regret what we ought to have done. But we look ahead, to what we have yet to do. Amen

September 25th, 2022

Sermon By Rev Joel Crouse

When I was in Grade 10, my parents went away to a church convention, and a woman in our parish named Hilda Findlayson bravely came to stay with me and my brother. Mrs. Findlayson was a teacher. She didn’t have kids of her own, but she was an adult, in my life, who always seemed interested in what I had to say. I remember how she made her stay as special as she could. She bought us ice cream, which we didn’t often get back then. While my parents were away – and, let’s be honest, perhaps because my parents were away, I decided to shave my head. I remember coming home to Mrs. Findlayson, and she just looked at me. She didn’t judge. She didn’t freak out. She just said, “On my watch? Really?” So I guess if I had to say what something was that I liked about church growing up, I would have to say this: meaningful community. As a teenager, it was meaningful to me that an adult not related to me cared about what was happening in my life and didn’t judge me by my mistakes. I had a sense, way back, that church communities were special places that built those kinds of relationships. When death happened, when sickness came, they didn’t go silent and awkwardly slink away; they went into action, baking and cooking and offering support. On Sunday mornings they small-talked and had big discussions about meaning and faith. They mixed up generations in ways few community spaces do. Of course, they were not perfect. There were controversies and cliques. People didn’t always get along. But the common thread was the gospel and trying to live up to the ministry of Jesus and be purpose-driven people as best we could. It’s been my lifelong experience that when people are striving for that goal, meaningful community is what results. Isn’t that, in fact, what our very grim gospel is ultimately about? Jesus didn’t actually spend a lot of time, dividing people up between those worthy and those unworthy; the focus of his ministry wasn’t hell, but rather creating a heaven on earth. So I think we go wrong when we get distracted by all the hell and damnation part of this parable. If we – the comparatively wealthy of the world – just get defensive and offended – we also lose sight of the real message. It is not really about who is too rich and who is poor. It is not about how much money you need to give up to get into heaven. Or whether poverty is being depicted as a noble plight that brings you closer to God. This is a parable, to my mind, about meaningful community. We sometime struggle with how to define that in our church lives and in our own lives. What truly gives life meaning? What makes a community of people meaningful? These are parts of the discussion we will have this morning: what should our ministry as a community look like? Where, in the face of so much need, should we focus our time and treasure? What’s our brand? Those are important questions: ones we shouldn’t just ask once, but steadily, in our faith and church journeys. The definition of meaningful community – the kind that makes a difference – might take time to become clear. But we certainly know what it is not. And it is not the story of one person, rich and well-fed, warm in his grand house, while another person lies at the gate - freezing and sick and abandoned. We can see right away what is wrong with that picture: the one who is able to give is hoarding, and the one who needs help is not getting it. The relationship is not only broken: it doesn’t exist. Lazarus, lying at the gate, is not ignored; he is not even seen. His life seems to have no purpose, not even to make the rich guy inside feel a little guilty about his life’s lottery ticket. And the rich guy, overflowing in wine and food, lacks purpose and meaning as well: What will be his ultimate contribution? And so Jesus reminds us that when we are the haves in a story, it is much harder to give, and so easy to get distracted away from the choices that give life value. We create a trap – a hell – of our own making. How we get out of it is by belonging and being part of a meaningful community. That is what Lazarus and the rich man could have given each other. All it would have taken was opening the gate. I still connect with Mrs. Findlayson, and not only because she gave me some cover from my mom when she came home to find my hair gone. She was part of one of my first meaningful communities, the beginning of the places I have discovered throughout my ministry. They have always been created by imperfect, sometimes squabbling-yetalways-trying groups of people. I look forward to our communities continuing to create something meaningful and purpose-driven from the gift of the gospel. Amen

September 18th, 2022

Sermon By Rev Joel Crouse

You cannot serve God and wealth. That last line in our gospel this morning lands with a bit of a thud right now. Most of us probably aren’t feeling particular wealthy – or at least not relative to how we felt when inflation was low, interest rates were rock bottom, and the stock market was soaring. All around us, we are watching life get more expensive just when life is finally – finally! – getting back to sort of normal. If coming to church meant being poor, that would be a hard tithe indeed. But as with most of the wisdom of Jesus, and the lesson of the gospel, that’s an oversimplification of what Jesus is really saying. In fact, if we pay attention to the complexity of this particular gospel message, it might be the one we most need to hear right now. Jesus packs a lot into his talk to the disciples. First, he introduces us to that parable of the manager who is in trouble. He is being called to answer to a rumour that he has been mismanaging his employer’s property. Worried about losing his job, he goes back to the people in debt and offers them a deal. For the one who owes 100 jugs of oil, he cuts the deal to 50. The farmer who owes 100 bales of wheat now only has to pay 80. And the weird thing is that his boss, when he finds out, slaps the manager on the back and congratulates him for being “shrewd.” Of course, the parable is an obvious one, on the surface: if the boss is God, and the manager has made some mistakes, he solves them, not by taking it out on others, but by showing mercy to those in his power. He doesn’t drag them into his mess, but instead eases their burden. You might say the shrewdness is realizing that when he’s out of a job, he will need friends: he’d better bolster their friendships now. So no, it wasn’t pure altruism. But what altruism is pure? A person realized that when all was said and done, he would need community, and he gathered that community, but using the power he had to make life easier for those in it. That he gained something from it – friendship – doesn’t diminish the act - so long as the manager didn’t make the mistake of pride and hold it over his friends. Most of the time, doing a kindness for someone else usually pays off in kind one way or another. But why was the manager’s boss congratulatory? He was now getting less. I suppose the lesson there is that God is happy with something from us, happier than with nothing at all; and doesn’t want our debts to weigh us down and consume us. But this gospel is really about the manager, so let’s stick with him. And let’s remember that Jesus is talking to the disciples in this case: people who have already decided to follow the gospel and walk with him. It is a very specific audience, and his message to them isn’t about introducing the gospel, but about focusing on the finer points. And this point mainly is, cheat with earthly wealth, and you cheat the gospel. Jesus was trying to make the disciples understand that there is not one set of gospel rules over here and another set of earthly rules over there. There is only one set of rules. If we are shrewd with our personal possessions and money; we must also be equally shrewd with God’s treasure on earth. The gospel calls us not only on Sunday, but on every other day of the week as well. If we are disciples, we are disciples with every decision we make. “Whoever is faithful in very little is faithful in much,” Jesus tells the disciples. The gospel isn’t a faucet we turn off and on. Let’s go back to the manager. He could have reacted all kinds of ways to the threat of losing his job; he could have lied about it. He could have pointed the finger at someone else. He could have grabbed what he could and made a run for it. All those choices might have left him a little richer, at least for a while, but they would also have left him alone. Instead, he showed mercy, and built a community. Jesus goes on to present the problem with that famous line, about serving two masters. A person comes to hate the one and love the other; or to be devoted to one and neglect the other. So we must choose: God and wealth are not in opposition, on their own. It is our slavish devotion to wealth that leads us away from God. This is a time for caution: when we are stressed and anxious, worried about our own futures, we tend to turn inward, to protect what we have at all costs. But Jesus, of course, would advise the opposite: look outward to the need around, and to the people you love; don’t get trapped within yourself. Be shrewd, for yourself, yes, but also for others. Because, of course, hidden in that gospel is the real secret to wealth. When we are shrewd and wise with those around us, we gain important currency for ourselves. We become people of integrity. When we practice the gospel – not only by not cheating at all costs, but also by risking what we have for others, by giving others a break, we grow in wealth, through community and self-worth. When we can live easily with our own actions and look back on our lives as having given more than taken, we are rich indeed. It is true: you cannot serve God and wealth. But to serve God is to be wealthy. Amen.