March 13th, 2022

This week there were so many heart-breaking images and stories from the front line in Ukraine. And there was remarkable bravery as well. There are many ways to tell that story. Of course, there is President Zelenksy who remains in the capital, urging the world to pay attention to whatever it can for this country. The untrained young people who are staying back or travelling home again to fight for their nation’s future. The grandmothers who have remained in Kyiv to help feed those who are defending the capital. For me this week, it was also the story that appears in The Globe and Mail of the convoy – a line of vans and buses and SUVs- that travelled from Lviv to Kyiv. A group of civilians had jammed their vehicles with supplies and food for those still in the capital, and they made the 500-kilometre journey – towards the Russian tanks and bombs - to deliver them. In a suburb outside Kyiv, they loaded those same vehicles with evacuees – including children who need medical care – and brought them home. It was a journey of courage, made at great risk - leaving safety and going purposefully into danger. . So many of these stories linger, even as we carry on living in Canada, watching the signs of spring slowly win out over the cold of winter. What happens to all that courage in the face of the evil of humanity? What happens if those exemplifying it eventually lose? Is courage a moment of conviction, or something more? Don’t we already know? Our gospel this morning helps reveal the answers. Jesus has been teaching in the small towns and villages on his way to Jerusalem. But word had spread. His presence – and the crowds he was gathering - had become known to Herod, who felt threatened by Jesus. The Pharisees have come to see him, to urge him to flee because Herod wanted him dead. But Jesus shrugs them off: Go and tell that Fox, he says, today and tomorrow I will be casting out demons and performing cures. On the third day, I will be on my way. - toward Jerusalem, where my fate awaits. It reads like a challenge to Herod, and perhaps it is. Indeed, it echoes the now infamous words of President Zelensky, who when offered an escape by the United States, declined with his own challenge: “I need ammunition, not a ride.” Zelensky has remained in Kyiv while the Russians close in. And Jesus continued to Jerusalem while the authorities closed in around him as well. In both cases, the grand city is symbolic. It was a place to take a stand. A place to face corruption and cruelty and not blink. What happens to that bravery? In the case of Jesus, he did not win. He was betrayed by his friends, sacrificed by a week leader wanting to appease a mob, and hung on a cross. Brave as he was, he did not win over Herod. And yet, he won. We are still telling his story all these centuries later. His teachings took on new life. His disciples went forth and spread the gospel. And here we are on this second Sunday of Lent, still marveling at the bravery of Jesus. Our world puts a great deal of stock in winning. And yet, it is not the winning that is remembered. It is the bravery and the burdens and the hurdles along the way. It is how we face the challenge of our times that defines us. Someone who wins by crushing others is no true victor. The one who loses by sacrificing for the vulnerable, for what is true, for justice, and what they believe, they are the heroes of the hour. It is as the Bible says: those who lose their life, will gain it. We are seeing that happen in the world right now. The Ukrainians are outmatched and outgunned. They were expected to fall to Putin’s Regime within a couple days at most – so quickly in fact, that little was done to prepare international aid resources on the ground. And yet they have not fallen. They continue to defend democracy, and their nation, and their freedom. Their actions have inspired historic cooperation around the world. So where does that bravery go? We know, of course. It lives on, in the stories grandmothers tell their grandchildren, in the scripture that is read at church. It weaves its way through society. It reaches into the hearts of future generations. Long after the end has come, courage continues to speak to us. Long after the end, courage continues to set an example for us. That, perhaps, is the best we can do. We can reach back in time and convince Jesus to leave Jerusalem; that would be a fool’s errand anyway. We cannot, on our own, change what is to come for the people of Ukraine. But once in a while, we have a moment where an act of courage can change the world. It happened that day in Jerusalem. It is happening now, in a grand city a continent away, even as spring comes peacefully here in Ottawa. Let us be true witnesses. Let us listen for what courage is saying. Let us follow its example. Amen.

March 6th, 2022

This morning, in our gospel, Jesus tangles with the devil in the desert. It is one of the great scenes from the gospel. For Jesus, having gone out alone into the desert for mindful contemplation, for a moment to think on his own, what creeps into his mind? The temptations the devil presents. We imagine Jesus standing with the devil at his side, taunting him to play along with his riddle game. The devil is wily; he knows humanity’s weaknesses well. He begins with a good one, the one that whispers its larger question: Are you good enough? Can you prove it? “If you are who you say, turn this stone to bread.” But Jesus declines: One does not live by bread alone. (Translation: I don’t need to prove myself to you. I know my worth and don’t need to show off.) So the Devil goes with greed: “Look at these kingdoms; join me and they are yours.” Jesus answers, Worship God and only God. (Translation: the path you promise might lead to riches, but the cost of my soul and morality is too high a price.) And finally the Devil tried doubt: does this God really exists? Does God even care about you? He tells Jesus, “Throw yourself off this mountain and see if you are saved.” But Jesus says: I don’t need to test God. By which he means: my faith is enough for me; it keeps my feet on the ground and my eyes looking forward. The tests are passed, and at an opportune time, we are told, the devil gives up and goes away. Still - those challenges! What tests they were: pride, greed, doubt! Temptations that have long plagued humanity before and since, whispers that reach out to us at night, or slip in when our minds are quiet. Am I good enough? (And how to show it?) Am I rich enough? (And how to get richer.) Am I loved enough? (And how to test it.) The devil chose those challenges well. For they lead us down a path of despair to focusing on what we don’t have and losing site of what we do. Even more, they distract us from the gospel. If we are worried about showing how good we are, we are not lifting up others. If we are worried about how rich we are, we are not sharing with others. If we are testing the love of those around us, we are not focused first on loving those around us. The devil is a formidable adversary. Jesus outsmarts him, but we shouldn’t underestimate that. And yet, what happens when the devil is challenged – when instead of hubris, greed, and doubt, the world chooses the opposite? What happens when we don’t give in, when we resist temptation? This week, The Atlantic Monthly published a piece online with the headline “The Impossible Suddenly Became Possible.” The essay explored the world’s unexpected reaction to Russia’s invasion of democratic Ukraine. “Human beings,” the author wrote, “do not always act the way they are supposed to act.” They don’t always “duck and cover,” take the easy way out, give in to an easier path. Sometimes, as we have seen, they stand strong, and together, and face the devil. Sometimes a leader who everyone underestimated refuse to be cowed, and shows remarkable bravery; sometimes, in response to that bravery, other countries step up, and companies sacrifice their bottom line for a greater good. Sometimes, people who were supposed to run refuse to run. They refuse to run even in the face of all but certain defeat because not to fight at all is a more terrible loss. And so the impossible becomes possible. In that moment, whatever happens now, the devil has already lost. This is what we are seeing right now: the power of courage, loyalty, and faith. What happens when a leader stands by his people and risks everything? What happens when people say there are things in life more important than money and profits; qualities such as integrity, that, as we see now, are priceless? What happens when we say let us not doubt and dither; let us act in the way we know we should? In this, whatever happens now, the devil has already lost. So it was with Jesus. We know that after those days in the desert, whatever was to happen next, the devil had already lost. Jesus had prevailed; he had kept his soul, and held to his beliefs, and remained true to himself. Those values would carry him all the rest of the way. I wrote the first draft of this sermon on Thursday; just as the port city of Mariupol fell to the Russians. The convoy outside Kyiv was still stalled, but that wouldn’t last. Putin, in a TV appearance, was vowing victory no matter what. The President of Ukraine has said the Russian plan is to erase Ukraine, and yet they are still here. What’s more, the Ukrainians who refuse to bend to a tyrant have already changed the world. And yet, they fight on, as Andrew Coyne, a columnist in The Globe and Mail wrote this week of the people of Ukraine. “Because they have no choice?” he asks. “No. Because they have chosen.” On that day in the desert, Jesus was playing a game of wits with the devil; he was making choices. He was deciding his path. When we choose courage, faith, and hope, we are making a choice; we are deciding our path. When we need reminding, we might look to the example of everyday Ukrainians – baristas, and grandmothers, and businesspeople – who are defending democracy. Not because they have no choice. But because they have chosen. Amen

February 27th, 2022

I know that for many of us, it is mighty hard to centre ourselves in that moment on the mountain that is described in our gospel this morning. Our thoughts, understandably, are with the people of Ukraine, now at war, a sovereign, democratic country invaded by a tyrant. This is the truth of the moment - a truth we knew already existed; a truth revealed by President Putin’s terrible and evil actions this week. And now the world is transfigured by a terrible truth we don’t want to be real but have to face. That is the epiphany of this moment. It is upon us. So it is hard to travel up that mountain with the disciples, hanging out with the ghosts of old prophets; and yet, as we might find when we get up there, it is even harder to leave the safe space of that mountain. There is always a lesson in the gospel, even for us, who seem so far away, living in a different time. What is an epiphany? It is a sudden insight or change of perspective that transforms our ideas of who we are and the meaning of our lives. There is no going back from an epiphany: there is only the before and the after. The transfiguration of Jesus is the epiphany that we have been waiting for all this church season, the place to which we have been heading. There is no going back from this moment; there is only the before and the after. In our gospel, the disciples are hanging out with Jesus on the mountain, enjoying bit of a relaxation away from the crowd. In part one of the epiphany moment, we hear that while Jesus is praying, he shines bright and his appearance changes. But Peter is maybe enjoying the leisure time a bit too much. He is already thinking of setting up permanent residence on the mountain. Cue part two of the epiphany: the voice of God: “This is my Chosen,” the voice of God says. “Listen to Jesus.” We might note that the story of transfiguration appears to happen in those two parts: the first, during a moment of introspection and prayer that is perhaps meant mainly for Jesus himself, to clarify who he is to God and the world. And the second, a booming voice that must have rung in Peter’s ears for days – for ever – a voice that feels meant for the disciples – and for us - to clarify who Jesus should be for us: the chosen voice of God on earth, whose gospel of tolerance and kindness and other-centredness we should heed. As with all epiphanies – this one, famous ones, our private ones – they don’t come out of the blue. They are truths that always existed but were waiting for us to discover. An apple falls from a tree, and Newton discovers gravity; but gravity existed before Newton figured it out. In Pride and Prejudice, Mr. Darcy was a good guy before Elizabeth Bennett realized it. The reluctant hero of popular culture was a hero well before they accepted the idea themselves. And Jesus, well we know, Jesus was chosen from the beginning. Jesus was always chosen by God. The moment on the mountain only reveals what was always true. The lesson of transfiguration Sunday, the last lesson of epiphany is a reminder to us to learn from those epiphany moments. They are truths we have already created, or that already existed, waiting to be found and faced, waiting to guide us forward. Because epiphanies reveal the truth, they are neutral in themselves. Sometimes they force upon us a truth we don’t want to accept but need to face. Waking up to Russia’s invading Ukraine was, for many of us, a moment of that kind of before- and-after clarity: the truth was always there, but we didn’t want it to be true; we wanted war to be peace. But it isn’t. We are in the changed afterward, and, whatever happens, we cannot go back. The disciples wanted to stay on that mountain, and who could blame them? Down on the ground, in the real world, were crowds of needy people. The pharisees were waiting there to persecute them. Down on the ground, in the not-so-distant future, was the cross at the very end of the road. And yet, they could not stay. They knew they could not stay. They had experienced an epiphany - a truth they had always known revealed in the transfiguration of Christ. That was now the only truth in the world that mattered to them, and it would shape them forever going forward. There is another important part in this story for us to remember as well. And it is this: Christ was not actually transfigured in that moment on the mountain; he had always been chosen by God. A truth was not created; it was revealed. It was the same for the disciples and it is the same for us: we are also chosen by God; we are also worthy. The epiphany - the transfiguration - happens for us when we realize it to be true. That moment happens at different times and in different stages in life - if we are open to it. As we leave Epiphany and begin the journey into what appears will be a hard and difficult, sorrow-filled Lent, what is the lesson to take from Transfiguration Sunday? When we are lucky, the truths revealed in an epiphany are easy and wonderful - revelations that lift life. But also when we are lucky, epiphanies show us the lie that couldn’t last and the truth we needed to hear; they become a new guidepost for us. Transfiguration Sunday is both: a revelation to lift our spirits – Jesus is chosen by God. And a guidepost to send us forth: Jesus is chosen by God. In the choosing of Jesus, so we are chosen. We cannot stop every war, we cannot feed everyone who is hungry, we cannot outsmart every false prophet who seeks to destroy for their own gain. But we can come down from the mountain and help where we can. The transfiguration of Christ in the end was not about God’s choosing Jesus; this was always true. It was not about God’s choosing us: this was also always true. The transfiguration is ultimately about this one important, this one essential follow-though. It reminds us again of what is true, and then sends us forth, down the mountain, into the mess of the world, to do our best to heal it. Amen.