My sermon this morning is another in our congregation’s series of short summer sermons on the theme of joy. Today I will begin with the gospel reading assigned to us by the lectionary.
Recall these lines: “The kingdom of God is as if someone would scatter seed on the ground. . . .” This is Jesus speaking. “The kingdom of God is as if someone would scatter seed on the ground, and would sleep and rise night and day, and the seed would sprout and grow, he does not know how. The earth produces of itself, first the stalk, then the head, then the full grain in the head. But when the grain is ripe, at once he goes in with his sickle, because the harvest has come.”
The paragraph that comes next in this reading from the gospel of Mark is the analogy of the mustard seed and the kingdom of God. Readers of Mark’s gospel are often drawn to that image, but today let’s stick with this first one. In particular, I would like to draw your attention to the opening lines.
This summer the congregation that I serve in Ottawa will be inviting a number of lay preachers to speak on the theme of joy. I’ll preach a bit less, and some of my sermons will deal with this topic as well. So what I’m offering here tracks away from the lectionary and opens up this topic for our congregation.
A number of church bodies, both Protestant and Catholic, have issued apologies for their involvement in running Canada’s residential schools. However, the response to the Truth and Reconciliation Commission’s Call to Action #58 has been inadequate. It’s time for this to be remedied. Here is the text of that action item:
Sometimes the life of faith can be confusing. We can feel overwhelmed by changing ideas and different points of view. This is one of the reasons I find value in the Christian Creeds. The Creeds don’t say everything about God that needs to be said, but they do have a way of pointing us toward the central things.
We think that the oldest Christian creed was just one line—talk about simplifying things —it’s this: “Jesus is Lord.” The line we see in Greek is this: κύριος Ἰησοῦς. The word κύριος, or Lord, was used in the Greek translations of the Hebrew Bible as a substitute for the holy name of God. Greek-speaking followers of Jesus were extending that tradition when they summed up their commitments with the simple phrase, “Jesus is Lord” (e.g. Rom. 10; I Cor. 12).
I was standing with my young sons on the edge of a cornfield. It was late-December and snowing. We let the dog off her leash and watched as she ran across the field. Then she turned and leapt her way back toward us, jumping rows of downed cornstalks two-at-a-time. Bits of unfrozen soil flew through the air. I bent down so my face was even with that of my youngest son. We watched together. The falling snow thickened and the wind picked up. We could hardly see the opposite side of the field. “It’s very pretty,” he said. There was nothing really special about the place—a farm field that abutted a soccer pitch and a schoolyard. But my son was right; it was very pretty. As I dug the dog’s leash out of my pocket, the snowflakes grew heavy, like airborne slush. By the time we got home and I returned to sermon-writing, it was raining. Weeks later we learned that 2020 tied 2016 as the warmest year on record.
There is much at stake in the ecological crisis unfurling around us: places we love, crops we grow and eat, ecosystems we depend on in more ways than we know, even the character of the world our children will inherit. Despite all this, our collective response is falling far short. Too much of our action, including that of the church, is merely individual or half-hearted. What is the way forward? What would meaningfully address the crisis of climate change? Seth Klein’s new book, A Good War: Mobilizing Canada for the Climate Emergency aims to answer this question.
It was an improbable scene. The extended family and close friends of Cornelius had gathered in the courtyard of his large house. This was in Caesarea, a port city along the Mediterranean coast. They were there to listen to a speaker that Cornelius had invited from Joppa, a town further south on that same coast. When the speaker arrived, the second thing he said was, “You know it’s illegal for me to be here.”
There’s a story about a theologian from Texas who was invited to give a lecture on the campus of Harvard University. The theologian wanted to get some work done before giving his lecture, so he set out to find the library. Looking for some help, he asked a passing graduate student, “Excuse me, where’s the library at?” The graduate student replied, “Sir, at Harvard we don’t end a sentence with a preposition.” The theologian rephrased, “Okay, where’s the library at, jackass?”
I like this story because it reminds us that sometimes in our urge to be presentable we miss what’s important. I also like it because it reminds me that there are worse things than ending a sentence with a preposition.
Over these past few weeks we have been thinking about what it means to be an Easter community. Today the question I would like to put before us is more personal: What does it mean to be an Easter person?
It’s spring here in eastern Ontario. The low-lying spots where we went skating just a few weeks ago are now stopover sites for migrating ducks. The fencerows and backyard shrubs host the birds that booked the earliest flights out of the south. While the birds were away and while the snow and ice accumulated, I spent time considering the natural world from a different perspective.
God, inspired by the psalmist, we ask for the gift of unity. In a world where scapegoats are made and the vulnerable are exploited, grant us the gift of solidarity, even as the cross expresses your solidarity with us.
Today our central reading is from the book of Acts. We’re going to stay in this book for a few weeks. As you probably know, the book of Acts is a continuation of the story Luke began in the gospel that bears his name. Both books are written to someone named Theophilus, a name that means “loved by God.” So the Gospel of Luke tells the story of Jesus, and the book of Acts begins the story of Jesus’ impact upon the world.
What we’re diving into, then, is an account of what Easter meant to the first Christians. Without the resurrection, the life of Jesus would have meant something quite different. Now, before we begin thinking about the story Luke tells in Acts, I want to put a question in front of us. It’s this: What do we hope people remember about our community of faith from this moment in time?