On stormy nights, hold fast

Sermon, by Pastor Joel

Fifth Sunday After Pentecost

June 23, 2024

Job 38:1-11

Psalm 107:1-3, 23-32

2 Corinthians 6:1-13

Mark 4:35-41

We live in a fearful time, with so much to worry about. We feel fear for the changing ocean that Nova Scotians can clearly see happening before their eyes, or the forests lost to fire, and the long-term effects of all that smoky air. The housing crisis, and what it will mean for our kids. The threat to democracy and international good order. What will happen south of the border in November. The list is long.

So when Jesus asks the disciples, in the middle their storm, “Why are you afraid?” I can think of a hundred ways to answer. I am afraid because we worry more about the location of our smart phones than the care of someone in need. I am afraid because it feels that we see so much violence, that we have become comfortable with it, and I fear that we get truly angry only when it arrives on our doorsteps. I am afraid because mostly we seem to get angry at the wrong time, and not for the reasons that truly matter. Maybe it’s this fear – that this won’t change – that keeps us sitting down.

That is where the disciples sat, huddled in an open fishing boat, tossing helplessly on the sea. They wake Jesus, who is sleeping nonchalantly on a cushion in the stern, and demand to know why he isn’t more worried - doesn’t he care about them? Shouldn’t he be saving them?

We might ask the same of God in moments like these: why is God asleep? Doesn’t God care? Why doesn’t God save them?

On the sea of Galilee, Jesus rises, and we are told that he “rebukes the wind” and commands the sea. “Peace! Be still.” And the wind ceases and the waves calm.

But Jesus does not console the disciples. He lectures them: “Why are you afraid?” he asks. “Have you still no faith?”

That’s harsh, we might think. Are the disciples to be blamed for being afraid? Are we to be blamed for asking for God’s help?

But look behind the words. Jesus is not trying to shame the disciples. Fear is a natural emotion of life - it confronts us all. Fear of change, or death, and yes, even fear of living life. Fear is a driver and paralytic, depending on the circumstance. Humans have always lived with fear and worry, no matter the age and time. Fear is a trait we share with most other animals on earth. By design, fear protects us, warns us of threats, teaches us caution. It urges us to call out to God for guidance.

How does God answer? I suppose we could interpret Jesus’s words to actually mean: “Come on, guys, have a little faith.” Can’t you just trust that everything will work out? Just lie down on the cushions with me in the stern and God will take care of it. Say a prayer and everything will be right as rain.

But I don’t buy that, either. That is not to say that talking to God or prayer to God doesn’t tend to put right our perspective on the world. Prayer brings us closer to God, quiets the other voices. Prayer points us in the right direction. It’s a powerful act alone, or in a group, which is why we gather together.

But the fact is, sitting around praying in a boat caught in a storm may not be the most effective way to handle the situation. That boat needs a captain and crew, a team to keep it balanced as well as possible, to steer it into the wind, to bail the water as fast as it’s coming in. At least some of the disciples were fishermen - they had skills, they knew the sea. Yet, in panic, they shook Jesus awake. They counted on God to rescue them before trying to rescue themselves. They figured God should just take care of it. Think about it: their faith in God wasn’t really the issue - they assumed that Jesus could fix the storm, which is why they woke him.

Consider, then, an alternative: that Jesus was chastising the disciples not specifically for their lack of faith in God - but for not having more faith in themselves - faith in the trust God had placed upon them as followers of Jesus. In that case, he was criticizing their lack of action. He was calling them out for being afraid to take care of the situation as they were able, for not taking charge. For not, after seeing Jesus asleep in the stern, saying to one another, “Okay, we’ve got this.”

“Why are you afraid?” Jesus asks. “Have you still no faith?”

In other words, Jesus was saying to the disciples, Don’t worry; you can handle it.

Storms are inevitable. And in the midst of them, we will be afraid. We get news that we think we cannot handle. We see tragedy we believe we cannot bear. We see problems with no easy solutions. We lose hope and think we will never find it again. And yet, almost always, we do. We handle the news, we carry on from tragedy, we regain hope.

Jesus wanted the disciples to understand that storms were going to happen. But they had the strength to brave them, and the presence of God within them to endure them. True faith does not expect God to solve every problem; God guides and teaches us in a way that leads us to our own solutions. Believing in the gospel does not wrap us up in a bubble through which no wind blows and no rain falls; it teaches us how to brace for the wind and endure the rain. It teaches us to choose what fears are distractions and what fears will get our attention.

Can we handle them? Can we rebuke the wind and command the storm with our faith in God? “Do not be afraid,” Jesus will later tell the disciples, “for I am always with you.” He will tell them this with a dozen different parables. He will speak it plainly to them in the darkest of days. How well they listen will decide the paths of their lives ahead - as it does for us.

On that stormy night, in Galilee, Jesus was reminding the disciples - and us - not to fear their own ability, to hold fast, through their relationship with God, to a robust faith in themselves. Because, asleep on a cushion in the stern, Jesus wasn’t only trusting God; he was also trusting them. Amen

BY LOVING, WE RECEIVE LOVE.

Sermon, by Pastor Joel

Fourth Sunday After Pentecost

Fathers' Day

June 16, 2024

Ezekiel 17:22-24

Psalm 92:1-4, 12-15

2 Corinthians 5:6-10, 14-17

Mark 4:26-34

A researcher at the University of British Columbia recently published a study exploring the connection between happiness and small acts of kindness.   In the study, nearly 400 young adults in Vancouver were asked first to report their number of social interactions over three days, and how lonely they felt during that time. Then, every day for two weeks, they were required to initiate one of three actions – a regular act of kindness, like calling a friend; an anonymous act of kindness, such as donating to an online charity; and taking just a personal break, such as going for a walk. The paper reported that the people in the study who practiced what researchers call the regular acts of contact – the ones where they had contact with the people they were helping – felt less lonely. And they felt less lonely even after the experiment was over.

Now is that surprising? I don’t think so. There is a tonne of research showing that healthy social connections increase our happiness and decrease our loneliness. And what could be more helpful than providing care to someone who is in need?

But I think it still bears pointing out. Because while we perhaps know intuitively those acts of kindness are good for others and good for us, we don’t always practice them deliberately. We lift weights in the gym, or go for a run – because we know it is healthy. But practicing acts of kindness like a workout may fall from our minds – jogged only when we read a study reminding us.

I thought of that study – and the power of those small, caring acts- when I read the story of the mustard seed in our gospel this week.  Jesus uses the parable to describe the Reign of God. A small seed is scattered on the ground, takes root in a miraculous way, and grows into a great plant. And, Jesus says, this smallest of seeds becomes this great, living, growing plant – that puts forth large branches, so birds can make nests in its shade. 

This parable has been interpreted to be speaking about the followers of Jesus, who come to believe, and share their belief, and so others come to believe, and so on, until the crowds have gathered to hear the gospel and the church pews are full. From one believer come many.

But perhaps it is even more powerful to think of the seed as action. When we scatter our acts that cause harm – when we gossip, or tear down, or walk over others – what does that seed produce? Surely, it is a sickly plant, that devours itself, and grows poorly. 

But if our acts are kind – if we are generous to strangers, and caring to friends, and careful with our judgement – well then, we are a seed like that little mustard seed that grows into something beautiful and strong. We have created shade for those who are thirsty. That small seed, as the research paper showed, grows inside us as well, and brings us comfort and joy.

I think this is an important discussion. Because the parable of the mustard seed cannot only be about God’s gospel growing by the number of people who believe. We can believe a lot of things, and do nothing with that belief. We can sit here on Sunday, reciting words by rote, then go home and pack the gospel away until the next Sunday. 

But what does that create? That is a plant that may grow large – by giving people what they need in the moment - but what would it offer the world? Not flowers to bring joy, or seeds to grow more plants, and not shade. Its branches would be too brittle to hold the birds.

The parable of the mustard seed represents not just the reign of God, but the life of the gospel. A living seed tossed into the world falls where it will, and grows true. It is the sum of our actions that creates that growth – the seeds of our acts of kindness that grow, and spread.

Indeed, this Sunday, we honour the fatherly influences in our lives, those who provided shade for us to make a nest. Now, I imagine when we consider our father and uncles and step-dad and big brothers who provided that space for us, it likely the constancy of many small acts that created that bond for us. Knowing we were protected and cared for, someone to pick us up when we needed a drive, and cheer for us on the sidelines of our successes and failures. These are the people that give space for our own seed to grow. For me, I find that as my children grow, they also offer me shade and comfort – by helping me build a deck, or by leaving birthday gifts to show I am loved and remembered. In this way, we all become stronger together, connected but individual, like the branches of a tree. 

So, perhaps we might try that same experiment of kindness that they did in Vancouver.  Go home today and think about how you feel: Is the gospel just words, or are you truly embodying them? Try that one act of kindness, to a person, every day for the next week.  Today you can start with that fatherly influence in your life.  Tomorrow you can tell a friend why you admire them. Ask the cashier at the grocery story how they are doing. Compliment a neighbor on their garden. Invite someone to dinner. Consider how those actions make you feel; what difference you think they made for the people who received them.  I will look forward to your reports.

But this is what I imagine: those acts of kindness will be a seed to inspire more acts. Those acts of kindness will make you feel warm inside; the act of offering comfort will make you feel comforted. By loving, you rceive love. 

In this way, you are not just believing the gospel, but you are incarnating it. You are feeling it. You are experiencing the presence of God.    

Go forth, and be a mustard seed.  Amen

WHAT AM I NOT SEEING?

Sermon, by Pastor Joel

Third Sunday After Pentecost

June 9, 2024

Genesis 3:8-15

Psalm 130

2 Corinthians 4:13—5:1

Mark 3:20-35

This morning our first lesson takes us back to the beginning, to the story of Adam and Eve. We find our human pair already having snacked on the apple of the Tree of Life. Adam, at least, is hiding from God, who has come looking for them. Did you eat the apple, God asks? And Adam, our noble hero, points the finger at Eve: she made me do it, he says – a line that becomes the beginning of another belief, one we must believe was unintended by God. Eve, for her part, also shifts blame: It was the serpent, she says to God; the snake tricked me. For this the serpent is cursed, to crawl on his belly, and nip at human heels and be bashed on the head. And Adam and Eve are sent outside the Garden and into the world, aware of both God and their humanness. As meet-cutes go, to use the parlance of romantic comedy, it’s definitely on the bleaker side. Or is it?

Of course, there are all sorts of theological debates about the Adam and Eve story. Some contend that it is strictly metaphor, and that Adam and Eve were two tribes, who came together. How, after all, could two humans be the beginning of humanity? The more misogynistic of scholars throughout history have taken Adam’s view: were it not for Eve and her duplicitous ways, we would all still be frolicking in that perfect Garden, and so women must be viewed with suspicion, and their voices must be suppressed lest they wreak more havoc. Less often is it observed that Adam made his own choice to eat the apple, and yet was quick to throw his companion under the bus – an act of cowardice that has been repeated by humans ever since. What, in fact, was Eve’s crime? Curiosity – the quality that has driven human invention ever since. The curiosity to know and understand is hardly the worse attribute of humanity, and far more often one of the best.

And so, the story of the garden becomes a matter of perspective. God made a rule God knew humans would inevitably break. Eve and Adam both tried to make excuses to get out of trouble, but it is Eve’s daring choice that leads to their shared act of eating the apple, which might also be considered the first act of community – they took the risk together. The serpent remains ever-present, sneaking into our lives today, the voice of temptation, for worse, and better.

It’s a matter of perspective, as I say.

The story of what happened in the Garden is often problematic because it appears to make Eve subservient, or second to Adam. Eve is created by God, we are told, from Adam’s rib. Eve is named “woman” by Adam. Eve is described as a helper for Adam. But again, we might see it all differently: we might say that God improved, on the second time around, that Eve was created because Adam clearly required her help, and Adam, understanding this, made clear with the name that she was like him, and not like any other creature in the garden. And so we might also see Adam from a different perspective.

And what of Eve herself, whose act of eating the apple began the events that led to humanity’s leaving the garden? If we are to believe in God’s plan, then surely this was part of it – an act of free will that was expected to happen, because a world existed outside the garden and we were called to live in it, for better and for worse.

I say all these things because our perspective is a powerful tool, one we often fail to use. It opens our eyes, it is curious, it enables free will. There is one version: Adam was happy in the garden, until Eve wrecked things by eating the apple. There is also this version: Adam was a bit of an apple-eating dud and Eve created humanity by sending us into the fullness of the world. And there’s this version: Adam and Eve, both wanting to eat the apple and experience what else life offered, did so together, and set out from the garden together. And the rest is history, or faithful mythology.

There is a line at the end of our gospel that relates to this idea of opening ourselves up to many perspectives. Jesus is preaching about the importance of unity, and the weakness of a house that gives in to division. He is told that his mother and brothers and sisters are outside. And he looks at the crowd and says, my mothers and brothers and sisters are here. And we understand that he is not rejecting his family but widening his care and concern beyond his own relational circle. His perspective is that every person is to be valued and treated as if they were family; that is a perspective, that if held, filters into every word and deed.

To live in community is to see life through the eyes of another person. To feel empathy and compassion, we must truly see another side. We must view the story from all angles. How do we gain that perspective? We listen, we ask questions, we ponder the answers. What do you mean? How do you feel? What is your interpretation of this problem or this experience? What do you need? What am I not seeing?

Stories are rarely simple, and people are almost always complicated. That is the truth that the apple told, and the human journey that Eve and Adam began.

Amen