PAY ATTENTION

Sermon, by Pastor Joel

Sixth Sunday After Pentecost

June 30, 2024

Lamentations 3:22-33

Psalm 30

2 Corinthians 8:7-15

Mark 5:21-43

What is a miracle? The trusty Oxford dictionary offers us this definition: “A miracle is a surprising and welcome event not explained by natural or scientific laws and is therefore considered to be the work of a divine agency. A miracle is a highly improbable development that brings very welcome consequences. A miracle is an amazing achievement.”

We are arriving at the stage of Jesus’s life when his amazing achievements begin to make headlines. He has gathered the disciples from their fishing boats. His parables are beginning to spread like whispers through the villages. His defiance of the powers that be is filling people with awe. And now he is performing miracles. And not just any miracle. The very top tier of miracles.

A woman who has been ill for years touches the cloak of Jesus, and when he finds her, he declares her healed. A little girl has died. Her parents are weeping for her. They believe her lost. And yet Jesus says to them, “Why are you weeping? She is only sleeping.” And he calls to her: “Wake up, little one.” And she wakes up. To heal someone by a simple touch from a long illness that seemed to have no cure. To bring back a loved one from a place of death. Highly improbable developments. Welcome events. Amazing achievements.

I know there will be some among you who are a questioning audience of science, who might want to investigate a little further, peer behind the curtain, so to speak. How did Jesus really do this, we might ask. Perhaps Jesus, armed with the gospel, empowered by the Holy Spirit, and having gained the trust of the people, was an incredible healer – a man of wisdom ahead of his time. Certainly, he was ahead of his time in many other ways. Why not this one? Perhaps the stories are exaggerated. Maybe the woman wasn’t that sick, and the daughter truly just sleeping. Did it even happen at all?

But I would suggest we not spend our time trying to figure that out. I don’t know, and you don’t know, not with the certainty of science and reason. We were not there.

I have said before that these details do not matter, because the lessons appear when we look with eyes of faith. To be clear, there are stories in the gospel where the details matter very much. But this is one where we can blur around the edges and look for the story of wonder and love that is being told in the centre.

We have a troubled woman, suffering greatly, who makes her way into the crowd just to touch Jesus. “Who touched me?” Jesus asks. The disciples scoff: look at the crowd, how can we know? But Jesus doesn’t continue on; he seeks out the hand reached out to him, and he finds the woman. And he stops to treat her with kindness. Your faith has healed you, he tells her. But it was also his love for another person that did so.

We have a family grieving, and Jesus does not steer away from them, awkward in the presence of their pain. He goes to them, he consoles them. Do not weep, he says. He tends to their daughter and returns her to them.

These are the healing miracles. But they are the same stories of love and other-centeredness that have formed the journey of Jesus from the beginning. His parents who keep him safe against all odds – a miracle. The disciples who leave their boats to follow him – a miracle. A carpenter’s son who becomes the voice of equality and hope – a miracle. The presence of God and the Holy Spirit – a miracle. Awe-inspiring and wondrous.

I wonder: in this age of facts and figures, and fighting about who is right and who is wrong, have we lost our ability to feel awe? To sit and be transformed by wonder? All around us, miraculous things happen every day. The sun sets on the horizon and casts beauty across the sky – how awesome. The birds sing in a city of concrete – how wondrous. A vaccine is found – what an achievement. A hand is held, a hug is offered – how unexpected.

Are these not also miracles?

When do I experience moments of true awe? It happens when I am paying attention, just as Jesus did in the crowd that day. It happens when my mind is open and my heart is full, just like Jesus approaching that grieving family. I don’t know about you, but when I experience awe and wonder, I feel lifted from within. I feel close to God. It is usually a moment that defies full explanation – what is it about this sunset, or this piece of music, or this moment with another person – that feels somehow bigger than others? Does it matter?

The tragedy of humanity is that we grow up and get used to the world. What was awe-inspiring when we were little, becomes just another butterfly, just another sunset, just another Canada Day celebration. The moments that seem so big become routine. And yet, we can feel awe if we pay attention. We can see miracles if we look for them. And when we do, may we feel close to God. Amen

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