February 20th, 2022

What does it mean to love our enemy? What is God really asking of us? These are important questions to ask during these days of fractious debate and conspiracy theories, when it seems as if we have lost the ability to listen to one another– even ourselves. Families are divided; friendships have been broken. This week a protestor was interviewed who reportedly felt so strongly about not being vaccinated that he had claimed to have chosen to stand by this position rather than be allowed to visit his 9-year-old daughter who was dying in hospital; instead he was protesting for “his freedom.” Whether or not this was true, he felt it was a reasonable position, even a sympathetic one. But of course, most of us hear that and weep for the daughter. How do you love such a father? When a small group of people are disrupting the lives, the property, the income, and the freedom of the majority, how can we love them? We aspire to Joseph’s example in our first lesson. As we know, Joseph was envied by his brothers for the favouritism they felt their father had shown him. Rather than get over it, however, they conspired to sell him into slavery and left him for dead. Years passed, and Joseph turned this dysfunctional family act into a strength. He chose not to be consumed with bitterness and thoughts of revenge, but with God’s guidance, looked forward to what he might accomplish with the life he had. This turned out to be quite a bit. Joseph became a kind and good leader. Then one day, his brothers appeared before him. They assumed, as they had earlier, that Joseph would use his power to destroy them. Instead, he forgave them and welcomed them back into his life. If that story feels fantastical, it may be because we are holding on to regrets, to slights we are finding it hard to forgive. But ultimately, I don’t think the point of that story is the moment that Joseph forgave his brothers; that was just the natural end to the choice he had made much earlier. That choice was to let go of his anger, of thoughts of revenge, or even hate; and focus on what he wanted to be in life and what he wanted to accomplish. Joseph chose to love God and to love himself, and in doing so, he was able not only to welcome his brothers, but even to give them land and make them successful. He was able to love his enemy. This is a reminder to us: loving someone who has truly wronged us is not a quick fix; it doesn’t happen overnight. Joseph’s journey took years; he grew from a boy into a man and found his place in the world. Did he feel anger sometimes? Did he dream of revenge? He was human, wasn’t he? But he chose to live more above the line; he chose to love himself and to extend that love to those around him; he practiced forgiveness long before he saw his brothers again. If forgiveness is the art of seeing that people, while not perfect, have value, then Joseph practiced it until it was the natural choice. I say this because I know that for many of us, wrongs run deep – indeed, the story of Joseph may trigger thoughts of family or friends who have been unkind or cruel in your own lives. The first lesson may leave the impression that the journey of Joseph was swift and easy; but we know, of course, that it was the opposite. But by not focusing on the past, by deciding who he wanted to be in the future, he found his way to forgiveness. Perhaps, in these times of conflict, both personal and societal, we also need to ask, who is our enemy? In Joseph’s case, is the enemy actually his brothers, or is it the envy that poisoned them? Is the enemy the protest downtown -- the people -- or is it the brokenness in our society that makes people feel they can’t belong, the ignorance and intolerance that foster hate and racism? If those things are the true enemy, then our focus, like Joseph’s, must also shift: what future do want, and how - having vanquished these enemies of envy, ignorance, and intolerance – shall we create it? Even so, the instruction from Jesus in our gospel smarts a little: so if someone punches me, I turned the other cheek so they can punch me again? If someone steals my coat, I am to give him my shirt? What foolishness is this? Yet, what is Jesus really saying? He is reminding us that aggression, when met with aggression, leads only to more aggression. When we have the choice – the option to walk away – we should take it. But Jesus goes one step further – he gives us the great challenge. If we love the ones whom we see as family, that is good, but nothing special; of course we love them. We must also love those we see as beyond the pale, those who hassle and disrupt our lives, those who cause us pain. The reason lies with Joseph, who had decided to live a Godly life, and who, when his brothers came, was able to forgive them. That failure to forgive would not only have dragged Joseph down; it would also have prevented him from accomplishing great things. The loss would have been two-fold: Pain for Joseph; and the absence of grace in the world. Joseph’s brothers, having been forgiven, have the same chance now – to let go of the past, and live a new future. That is the circle of the gospel. So Jesus was not burdening us; he meant to release us. The message is there in his famous line: “Do to others what you would have them do to you.” It is spelled out for us: when we forgive, we are forgiven; when we give, we receive; when we do not judge, we are spared judgement. This is a lifelong practice; a goal to which we all must aspire. When we live up to it, as best we can, we spread the gospel circling all around us. Amen.

February 13th, 2022

And so, on this third weekend of the protest in our city, with the bonfires still lit on streets and in parking lots, and the trucks clogging up the downtown core, we find ourselves left to contemplate these most eloquent and graceful words from Jesus. The scene is set for us. Jesus is walking among a crowd of needs. People from all walks of life. People needing to be healed. Others looking for purpose. Wanting to touch Jesus, to feel his power; and to hear him, and know him. And Jesus, we are told, looks at the disciples – looks at us – and gifts us with the Beatitudes. And what do they mean for us in these modern days? What should they tell us during this tumultuous time of protest? During this uncertain time of pandemic? In fact, they define the very nature of discipleship. The challenge for the disciples of the gospel is to find a way to keep that path when times are most trying. When we are hurt, when we are angry, when we are fearful of the state the world is becoming, and the best approach seems to fight violence and aggression with an equal response. And yet, on this Sunday, we find ourselves reminded of our core responsibilities: to care for poor, for those who are powerless, and for those who are filled with sorrow. We are not to be trapped by wealth or cruel laughter. Taken another way, the Beatitudes are a very direct message to each and every one of us – of the qualities to which we should aspire. They remind us that God is closest to us when we are most open to hearing from God. When we need God the most, the gospel echoes loudly in our ears. Blessed are those who are humble, for that is the way to see the reign of God. Blessed are those who are hungry – for knowledge, for understanding, for self-awareness – for in that search we will be satisfied. Blessed are those who grieve, for having loved even what is lost leads to laughter again. Blessed are those who defend justice in the name of the gospel; it may not be easy, but the reward will be worth it. And what of the woes? Those are our missteps: wealth for wealth’s gain, selfsatisfaction, and laughter at the expense of others. For those missteps, the warning is dire: a price will be paid, a hunger will come, sorrow will follow. And then this last one, at the very end. Left to leave its mark upon us: Woe to you when all speak well of you, for that, Jesus says, is a person who believes in whatever works for the moment, and not in whatever is needed to make the difference. And so, how might that discipleship fit into the protest that has seized our city and our country, that suggests a grim force of intolerance, misinformation, a destabilizing of civil society. This very week, a woman called St. Peter’s to ask if protestors could use the space to stay overnight while they were in town supporting the protest. “If we were good Christians, she said, we would make room.” That is a challenging notion because we are supposed to make room for everyone. But in this instance, we need to look to the example of Jesus. For people who came, asking him questions, Jesus always answered. But he invested his time with those whose questions were not listened to, those who had no voice at all. With only so much room, he made space for those who had nowhere else to go, for those who were poor or afraid. This week I was asked to sign a “In Solidarity with our Neighbours” letter from clergy of downtown Ottawa Christian churches. I was hesitant to sign because I didn’t want to add to the polarization that is so evident around this protest. A colleague called and asked: “Joel, why haven’t you signed the letter?” I hummed and hawed, and he cut me off and said, “Do you know what it’s like for me to walk downtown as a black man right now? When you don’t sign the letter, you are saying it’s okay for me to have to continue to feel this way.” Our society survives when we unite. And sometimes, we must unite with others against forces we know to be wrong. We must stand allied with people of colour and the Jewish residents who say they are now afraid to walk their own streets. We must call out those whose sense of freedom means trampling the rights of others to live freely. We must risk this, even if it means that some people may call us bad Christians. This is the challenge of discipleship, and it is the most important line in the Beatitudes. For to keep them, we must be agitators for the gospel; we must be controversial; we must speak up. Sometimes, we need to be angry for the sake of others. We must walk, as Jesus did, among the crowd in need, and with our voices, help them find theirs. Amen

February 6th, 2022

If we were gathering for worship today in person at St. Peter’s, I am not sure it would be safe for us to do so. There have been trucks outside the church all week; the other day a fist fight broke out between a group of men in the laneway while we were trying to have a Worship and Music Committee meeting. This is not about the headache of noise from all the honking. We have heard more and more stories: a rock thrown at an ambulance, people desecrating our most famous war memorial, demonstrators building permanent structures on Federal property, people who can’t get to work, others who right now have no jobs to go to, the harassment of shelter staff, women at a local shelter – especially racialized women – who are afraid to go outside. The flying of Swastikas and Confederate flags, symbols of hate and bigotry. Yes, maybe it is a few people: but a few people flying swastikas, a few people harassing regular citizens with masks on, a few people urinating on the tomb of the Unknown Soldier and the front yard of the church, a few people barging into stores unmasked, a few people smashing windows at a coffee shop with a rainbow banner. Those few people add up to many people. Whose freedom comes first? We might think we have the answer; but it is not always easy to find the solution. When do my rights trump your rights is a classic question of the gospel. If the Ten Commandments tell us not to kill, what of the soldier on the battlefield? If we are to honour our mothers and fathers, what of those parents who are abusive? The world is not a place of simple answers. Luckily for us, the gospel is not designed for a fictional world. It is meant to inform the real world we live in. A place where even when the answers are obvious, the solutions may not be easy. For starters, protests are part of the DNA of our faith as Lutherans. Our church is built on the foundation of protest, with Martin Luther challenging the status quo at great personal risk. The gospel is about a protestor – Jesus – who also called to account the leaders of the day and challenged the assumptions about the way society needed to run. Protest is an important part of a democracy. It is how regular people speak out against injustice and force leaders to pay attention to their voices. As a country that values free expression, we must, as a collective, protect the right to protest. Martin Luther spoke up for what he believed in and hoped that people would listen. He worked hard to get his message across with writing and speeches and conversations in taverns. He protested by trying to educate people, including translating the Bible so they could read it for themselves. And Jesus protested by inviting people to sit with him, by healing strangers and showing kindness to the vulnerable; Jesus protested by setting an example. It’s true: sometimes, we need to shout; but we should use that tool carefully, always mindful to make sure that what we are shouting about merits our raised voices. One test is asking if it is about us and our own personal reward, or if it is about others and a greater good. We might also ask: if we achieved our goal, would the world be better and safer and more just? Does the current protest pass that test? Last week, our gospel set a standard of love that was aspirational, perfect in its acceptance, free of judgement, ever patient. And this week, we hear the story of Jesus’s calling to the disciples to put down their nets and come with him to catch people. And as we know, the people they were called to catch, were diverse, with many different stories. They were not vetted beforehand. Many of them would surely have been called “deplorables” by those around them. The only qualification required was that they came to hear what Jesus had to say and decide for themselves. Jesus set the example of his first commandment: love one another as you are loved. But here is the thing we should not forget: that commandment may be at the top, but it does not erase the other ten, which serve as norms that keep a society together. The protest this week has pointed to the weakness of democracy – when those norms are not followed, an easy remedy is hard to find; a weakness in the wall can crack open. But it has also shown a strength: restraint. While many are angry and frustrated, we have also been patient; we have held to the norms that we hold dear. But I know many of you are angry. Angry at the protesters holding this city hostage and saying it is about freedom. Or angry at how long this pandemic has gone on with no end, and at the rules and restrictions required of us. It is okay to be angry. So long as we know that our anger is a symptom. It represents our frustration, our exhaustion, our disappointment. Spend too much time dwelling in anger, and this is where we remain. I can’t say what will happen; how long this will go on, and what will finally end it. But if I turn to the gospel; if I consider the words of Jesus this morning to the disciples to set aside their own lives and become catchers of people, I know some things very clearly. The story of the disciples is about a group of people who thought they had their priorities all figured out; and then realized that they wanted something more; that the priorities and values they truly believed in required them to be different, to make a different choice. Is our priority at this time anger, and being right? Or might we also invest in a different choice? Ultimately, we have Luther, who protested by education. We can be voices of reason and insight with our friends and families, and try to keep the conversation going, however hard that may be. And we can be like Jesus, the protestor, by example. If we want to change, we must pay attention to what is distracting us, and see what we are missing. In this case, we are distracted by the constant honking and the blocked-up roadways and the trucks. But we can make a difference: we can look to the vulnerable people who have been most affected and try to help. We can be kind and calm with strangers. We can donate to the local shelters who have been disrupted. We can choose, when this is over, to visit the stores forced to close and express our remorse. We don’t have to be people solely distracted by the noisy gong. We can be people who deliberately look in the opposite direction. In this way, we answer Jesus’s call to the disciples: to be catchers of people. The act of catching someone, after all, prevents them from falling. And that is the task that is placed before us, this day and every day, to look where others are not, and reach out to the one who is falling. And to be that Christlike presence for the sake of others, whoever they may be.