January 30th, 2022

Our second lesson this morning will be familiar to many of us. I couldn’t count how many times I have heard it read at weddings. In fact, my mother-in-law read it at my own wedding 25 years ago. We can understand why it captures the idealism and joy of a couple newly-wedded. It is beautifully written, with the cadence of a poem. It is a description of perfect love: a love that is patient and kind, that isn’t selfish or envious. A love that doesn’t anger easily. A love that keeps no record of wrongs. That is a kind of love we all aspire to: both to give and to receive in our lives. And yet, since none of us is perfect; we do not achieve it. At least not all of it, all of the time. And I imagine it might be for you, as it is for me, that the qualities of love that evade in the moment, are the very ones I need most. When we most need patience, we are impatient. When we most need to be selfless, we are selfish. When we most need to be kind, we are neglectful. And it is perhaps no coincidence that the story of the gospel is one where Jesus returns home to preach and finds his most doubtful critics – his own community. For it is among those who know us best and claim to love us most, that this perfection so falters. And yet this does not mean we do not love. It only means that we are not God, who loves us perfectly in this way. We are human, loving as best we can. While these verses in Corinthians are often read at weddings, to describe romantic and family love, they are equally powerful for friendship, and for the love we might show complete strangers. This week, I was sent an essay written by a woman describing how hard it was to maintain her friendships after she lost her baby and was struggling with infertility. It was hard because her friends had what she most wanted and seeing them, she was constantly reminded. It was impossible for her to love them without envy. It was hard because her friends, uncomfortable with her grief, wanting to keep with other happy mothers, also drifted away. It was impossible for them to love with patience. And yet the piece was written gently, without judgement, seeking to understand, and to navigate this difficult space. It was about losing friendships; but it was also about the imperfection of human love. If we were at church today, across the street we would see the truck convoy protest against vaccine mandates. And I imagine many of us would not feel love toward those people; we would easily anger. Their positions, as far as the gospel are concerned, are untenable; some trucks even arrived showcasing the Confederate flag, a symbol of slavery and oppression. They claim to speak for truckers, now mandated to be vaccinated to cross the US-Canada border both ways, and yet at least 85 per cent of truckers are vaccinated. The other 15 per cent refuse to take the vaccine that would protect others and help us to end this pandemic, which is taking such a toll on our mental health. Why do they deserve our love – we might ask? Their love is selfish, angry, judgmental, and unkind. Here is one adjective that the verses in Corinthians do not use to describe love: Love is not a push over. Love may not keep score of wrongs, but it also does not roll over in the face of them; indeed, Love craves justice. Love is a stance, a line in the sand. And so with both these examples, we see a way forward. We do not need to accept the position of the protestors to love them; we can be loving in the way we respond to them. If they are angry, we can be patient. But also, sometimes, we focus our love in the wrong direction; when we are looking at the loudest voices, who are we not seeing? We can turn our loving attention in another direction. If we see actions that are harmful – if we are a witness to bigotry and hate – we may look to those who are feeling that hardest of all and be a loving presence for them. In this way, we may also turn hate into love. Indeed, while Jesus cast the net wide and loved both friend and enemy – he spent more time extending love to the vulnerable and the disadvantaged, than he did to the rich and powerful. To the former, he offered love; to the latter, he often tried to be an example of love and in this way, show them how to love as well. I hope, then, that while the noise and rabble of protest may distract, we will devote more of ourselves to the quiet need for our loving attention. I imagine we all have friends who have drifted away during this pandemic; may we be loving to them when they return. We have people who have been challenging for us during the pandemic; may we be patient with them. And perhaps we have disappointed ourselves and feel guilt and shame; the love described in our second lesson is also for us, perhaps most important for us. When we are kind and patient with ourselves; when we don’t keep score of our own failings – we find it is much easier to share love. Perhaps, it is also no accident that patience is the first descriptor of love in our second lesson. Surely we need it now: patience to let love happen. To be open to opportunities to receive it from others with joy and without guilt. And to look for every chance to share it. The one thing love does not expect is perfection. Jesus sends us out knowing that we will love imperfectly. And yet, this will be more than enough.

January 23rd, 2022

Who has the right to flourish? As Jesus announces his mission in Nazareth, this question is put to us in our second lesson. In modern society, we often play the zero-sum game – someone must lose for another to win. For the rich to get wealthier, the poor must get poorer. For one worker to get promoted, another must be diminished. For one to gain, someone else must give up. Life in the zero-sum game is an exhausting competition. We adopt this stance often in our families, to our great unhappiness, competing for the love of our parents, as if that love were finite; so a sister’s achievements are a threat to our standing, not something to be elevated. We see it in the world, to our detriment: by stockpiling vaccines, we appeared to be winning. Instead we lost: a new variant emerged in Africa, where vaccines are scarce. Our second lesson challenges us to think differently, approaching it in the way we can best understand, referring to the community of faith as one body. Can our eyes say to our hands: I don’t need you? Or our head to our feet? On the contrary, even if we care more about how our heads look, we certainly give equal value to our feet. In fact, our second lesson says, God “has so arranged the body, giving the greater honor to the inferior member, that there may be no dissension within the body, but the members may have the same care for one another.” God, in fact, has cancelled the zero-sum game. The body cannot function optimally if all its parts don’t have value; the body cannot succeed if all parts don’t see that they benefit from the success of the others. How can the body flourish if all parts do not flourish? Flourishing is very different from living – it is a higher bar. In health care, it means not just curing disease, but considering how well the patient thrives. Flourishing doesn’t mean just feeling well; it means experiencing joy. Yet we often decide who gets to flourish by the systems we create, the judgement we pass, the competitions we join. In the zero-sum game, after all, for someone to flourish, someone else must flounder. But yet again, our lessons this week and last week, challenges this idea for us. Indeed, the gospel releases us from it; we are no longer enslaved, we are set free. Our flourishing depends on ourselves and on God – it is not at the expense of another, because God does not elevate one part of the body above another; rather, God lifts up the weaker parts, so they are on a level with the stronger parts. Anyone who says they never needed that lift is only fooling themselves; the open secret of the gospel is that we are all at one time or another in need of the lift. Only hubris makes us think otherwise. But then, as the psalmist writes, “ Who can detect one’s own defenses?” We often fall into the zero-sum games because we are blind to them. We don’t see when we are being selfish, or petty, or vain. Indeed, these are often the most difficult faults to see, because they make us feel good in the moment. And yet, the psalmist pleads with God: “Cleanse me from my secret faults.” And of the sins of which I am aware,” the psalmist says, “do not let them get dominion over me.” For sometimes, in life and in society, we know exactly when we are treading on another, and we don’t get caught; those sins are terrible indeed. How does God answer the Psalmist? God answers with the gospel, and in that gospel with Jesus. For what is the mission of Jesus, laid out so clearly for us? “To bring good news to the poor; to bring sight to the blind, to free the oppressed.” We may understand that literally: in a calling to help those with less than us, to heal those who are sick, and to fight for justice for those who are wronged. But it also speaks to each of us personally. To each of us Jesus says, when you feel poor – in life, in love, in luck – I am here for you; when you have lost your way and cannot see, I will lead you; when you feel trapped, I will free you to something better. Nothing must be traded in return; no price must be paid, beyond what we choose to give out of gratitude for what we have received. This is how to live not playing the zero-sum game, Jesus says. Here is new set of directions; follow them and flourish. To each one of us, that same set of directions is given. Freed from competing, we are meant to see the truth – the key to a flourishing society. When one member suffers, we all suffer. When one member succeeds, we all rejoice in that success. This is not easy: we are trained to compete, to care about scores, to be obsessed with rank; indeed, modern life primes us to behave that way. If we are not competitive enough, we are weak. But God says strength is standing on the side to let someone else win when a victory matters so much more to them. Strength is being able to rejoice in another’s accomplishment. Strength means making room for someone else to flourish. This is how a community thrives; this is how the whole body achieves true happiness. These lessons in our gospel this month are so important; they challenge not only how we walk in the world as individuals, but also call us to question what we need to change in the world as people. What do we replace with the zero-sum game if we choose not play? We choose to strive for the greater good. Amen

January 16th, 2022

The story of the miracle of Jesus’s changing water into wine is a bit unusual. As miracles go, no one’s life is saved, no healing happens. So what is the point? To make sure the party continues into the third day. Then we also have this strange exchange between Jesus and Mary, his mother. Mary points out to Jesus that they have no wine, and Jesus, like other sons before and after him, gets a little frustrated: Why are you telling me this? Am I supposed to fix this? And Mary responds, like mothers before and after, knowing that of course he will. She has asked him to. Just do as he says, she tells the servants. And Jesus turns the water into wine, and not just any wine, but the finest wine. The metaphor becomes clear: the fine wine of the gospel is free and flowing for everyone, without charge. Wine, at the wedding in Cana, kept the party going and the people together. The gospel serves the same purpose; it is a responsibility, yes, but follow it, and life becomes lighter and more joyful. We know what happens when a bottle of wine is opened at dinner; the conversation usually becomes bouncier, people open up, they become more relaxed. The gospel is that which brings together different people with different opinions. It is a radical form of equality. On the subject of those different people, our second lesson also has some points to make. If we think about our own individual contributions to the gospel story through time, we tend to do one of two things: we overestimate our contribution, or we underestimate it. The second lesson is a reminder to us to equalize our contributions; just as God freely shares the gift of faith, the wine of the gospel is with us. “Now there are varieties of gifts, but the same Spirit,” we are told in the second lesson. “And there are varieties of services, but the same Lord, and there are varieties of activities, but it is the same God who activities all of them in everyone.” The second lesson is also an argument for radical equality. If all gifts come from the same Spirit, if all services from the same Lord, if all activities from the same God, then what? Then the ruler is not above the servant, the rich man is not above the poor. The banker is not above the carpenter (surely the Christmas story makes that clear). The largest giver in church is not above the smallest; the chair of council is not above the member who slips out quietly on Sunday mornings. Indeed, there will always be times when the skills of one are needed more than the skills of another. We can’t all be leaders when there is work to be done. When the roof is leaking, who is more essential - a roofer or an accountant? Indeed, the communities that thrive are those for whom value is placed on diversity. A diversity of skills, of gender, of background, and of race. Those are the most innovative spaces, the places where many voices have a chance to be heard. And so we have those blessed with wisdom, others with knowledge, and some with faith, and so on. And from that diversity a common good becomes possible. Many of us will know the old parable of the group of blind people who come across an elephant. The first person, whose hand touches the trunk, says, “This creature is like a snake.” The second person, who touches the side of the elephant, says, “This is a wall.” The person who touches the elephant’s leg thinks it is a tree trunk. These perceptions are different because they have approached the elephant from different places. But the parable works only so far: it is meant to show us how people may have different perceptions, different truths, but it doesn’t value them. After all, the creature is not a snake, a tree trunk, or a wall; it is an elephant. But of course, we know that with different skills, with each of our different stories, come unique perspectives. This is true in our families, in church, even in our own lives, as we age and change. The roofer may admire the elegant architecture of the church that the accountant never notices. The accountant may delight in the balanced budget line that young parents could care less about, and so on. But a diverse community benefits from all those perspectives – all those services. The roof doesn’t leak, the budget is balanced, the Christmas pageant is a success. This is true in workplaces where diverse teams are more innovative and successful. And it is true in our lives when we benefit from diversity among our friends and from exposing ourselves to activities and people outside our comfort zone. There is a version of that old parable in which the blind people get so angry with one another that they come to blows. They lost sight of their common goal – to figure out what the creature was. What if that group sat down and shared their perspectives? Would they see the fullness of the picture? Would they understand truth in a different way? Our readings today are meant to reflect the radical equality of the gospel. This does not mean that all ideas are equal in the gospel; only that there are many ways to achieve them, and many skills required to do so. If the wine flows for everyone, then how is any one above another before God? If all gifts, services, and activities in the name of the gospel come from God, then how is one above another? Indeed, it cannot be. We are meant to rejoice that there are many ways to follow the gospel and see that it is a strength. We are meant to figure out together that what we need to see is not a snake or a tree trunk or a wall; it is an elephant. We are meant, in diversity of service to the gospel, to find the common good.