“Consider the lilies”
Matthew 6:25-33 (October 13, 2024)
Thanksgiving is one of my favourite times of year! I love this season of autumn, with its cooler temperatures and bright-coloured leaves. I love being thankful for the gifts of God.
I have fond memories around this celebration. On Thanksgiving weekend, three things happened in our family. First, my Dad put the storm windows on the house, preparing it for winter. Second, we went to the Erin Fall Fair, where my Dad met up with friends and neighbours, and my brother and I spent hard-earned savings on rides in the midway. It was very exciting!
The third thing we did was attend the Anniversary Service at Hillsburgh Baptist Church. That’s the village church where some of my ancestors worshipped. The anniversary service was always at Thanksgiving, which seems appropriate to me. I grew up in the city but there, in rural Ontario, in a sanctuary decorated with corn stalks and sheaves of wheat, there was a different feeling: a greater sense of connection with the land and nature.
The windows of the church were clear panes of glass. As the service went on, I could see the branches on trees outside blowing in the wind, the sky and clouds beyond them. It felt like God had set us smack-dab in the garden of Eden.
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“Consider the lilies,” says Jesus to his disciples. He asks us to look around and notice things that God has made. Read them like a book. See if you can discern their message.
Christian theologians sometimes speak of two sources of revelation. There is a general revealing of God that comes to us in creation all around. And there is a more specific revealing of God that comes to us in the history of God’s people. Both are important.
Sometimes Jesus quotes from the sacred scriptures he has inherited from his ancestors: the Torah, the Prophets and the wisdom Writings. But in today’s passage we hear him refer to that larger book of revelation, the scripture which is creation itself. “Look at the birds of the air. … Consider the lilies of the field.” Can you discern their gospel message?
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On a day when we celebrate sowing, reaping and gathering into barns, it may come as a surprise for us to hear that the birds of the air do none of this! “They neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns,” says Jesus, “and yet your heavenly Father feeds them.”
They are not as consumed with their activity as we may be. They still have to gather material for nests, and search for food, and look after their young. But most of the time it all just seems to work out!
“Don’t be so worried,” says Jesus. We have a heavenly Father who cares for us.
Same with the lilies. These wild flowers are not planted by human hands. They need no earthly gardener. They seed themselves and miraculously grow.
They neither toil, nor spin threads to be woven into fancy garments. “Yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not clothed like one of these.” Yes, the richest, most powerful monarch of Israel’s storied past was no better attired than a common butter-cup or daisy.
Wildflowers are indeed beautiful. They often grow in inhospitable places. Meanwhile, in our carefully manicured gardens, we struggle to supply the right amount of nutrients and water. We work hard to prevent the infestation of predators and disease. The dreaded “lily-beetle” is the bane of Lindsay’s gardening existence. She was so frustrated by the end of this summer that she pulled most of her lilies out, vowing to never grow them again!
“If God so clothes the grass of the field, which is alive today and tomorrow is thrown in the oven, will he not much more clothe you – you of little faith?”
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“Don’t worry what you will eat or what you will drink or about your body, what you will wear.”
There’s a kind of idyllic poetry to these words and images. I find them beautiful! They calm my anxiety. They sooth my restless spirit.
But part of wonders, can this be true? Can I really just relax and allow my life to rest in the loving hands of God?
Worry is part of our human condition. If we didn’t plan or think ahead and try to arrange our lives just so, well, where would we be?
One of our much-appreciated handy-persons was working around the church on Friday. Holes were patched, windows closed, outside water taps turned off before the temperature drops and freezes them. That kind of “toiling” is important. Some kind of worry – and the scurrying about that goes with it – seems prudent to me.
But can we worry too much? Can we get our “knickers in a knot” about the silliest of things? Can our fears, sometimes, be overblown? Can the stomach-churning worry we feel inside us make us sick?
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These are anxious times we live in. We worry about all kinds of things, large and small. We imagine huge disasters: the possibility of nuclear war, environmental catastrophes. We fear the kind of world we may be leaving for our grandchildren. We worry about even the most ordinary things: the clothes we wear, the things we say, the food we serve.
“Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? … Can any of you, by worrying, add a single hour to your span of life?” asks Jesus.
The answer is “no, we can’t.” Not one single minute! In fact, worry can have the opposite effect. It can shorten our lives and take away our joy. Anxiety causes us to retreat from life instead of embracing it.
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Don’t worry. Look at the birds. Consider the lilies. When we look outside ourselves and see the big book of God’s creation, the holy scripture of this world that God has made, we find ourselves in awe and reverence.
An exchange was overheard on day, when our then-teenage son invited two of his friends to come over and hang out. They were sitting on the deck in our back yard. And you’ll never guess the conversation they were having!
They were discussing among themselves which was their favourite flower. Pointing to this one or that and praising its particular beauty.
This is not the usual conversation of teenage boys! But there they were, set in the midst of a garden, transported for a few moments to another realm.
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Viktor Frankl was a holocaust survivor, who later wrote a book about his experience. He tells about one afternoon when the men had tramped back several miles from their work site and were lying exhausted and sick and hungry in their barracks. It was winter, and they had marched through a cold, dispiriting rain.
Suddenly one of them burst in and shouted for the others to come outside. Sensing the urgency in his voice, they stirred themselves and staggered into the courtyard.
The rain had stopped, and a bit of sunlight was breaking through under the leaden clouds. It was reflecting on the little pools of water standing about on the concrete pavement.
“We stood there,” said Frankl, “marveling at the goodness of the creation. We were tired and cold and sick, we were starving to death, we had lost our loved ones and never expected to see them again, yet there we stood, feeling a sense of reverence as old and formidable as the world itself!”[1]
Even when things are really dark, there can be light.
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The word in our text which we translate as “worry” means to be “preoccupied with” or “to be absorbed by” something.[2]
When Jesus says “don’t be worried” he’s telling us not to be consumed with the many cares of our earthly existence. Don’t worry so much! Don’t let all these things take over your life.
There is one thing that needs to come first, one matter that deserves our full and undivided attention: “Strive first for the kingdom of God.” Seek to know the realm of God’s providence and loving care. Immerse yourself in that.
“Do not worry saying, ‘What will we eat?’ or ‘What will we drink?’ or ‘What will we wear?’” Folks who don’t know God are preoccupied with such things. But not you!
God feeds the birds of the air and clothes the lilies of the field. Will not this loving, heavenly Father also care for you?
And the answer is, of course! God already knows your every need. Don’t be so obsessed with worry. Turn your attention to the one thing that can save your life and make it whole.
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Strive to live within the reign of God. Love God. Love your neighbour. Be kind and generous. Share what you’ve been given. Look after each other – especially those who are most vulnerable. Aim for peace and justice. Live in right relationship with God and others.
This is the kingdom way. When we do that, everyone benefits. We are all the better for it! Seek first the kingdom of God … and these other things will be yours as well!
This Thanksgiving Sunday, I’m asking you to consider the lilies. Or the birds. Or the … leaves. Or … the northern lights – which have been spectacular these last few nights.
This is a picture of the sky over our neighbourhood park when Lindsay and I were out on our evening walk. We weren’t expecting to see them. But there they were, available to all. They surprised us! One more gift from our gracious heavenly Father.
I wonder what will God reveal to you today from the world of God’s creation?
Don’t worry. Instead, consider all the beauty and blessing that God has put into your life. And whatever else you do today, take a moment to be thankful. Amen.
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[1] Viktor E. Frankl, “Man’s Search for Meaning,” quoted by John Killinger, “Of Rainbows, Geese and Wildflowers,” http://www.csec.org/csec/sermon/killinger_3816.htm.
[2] Chris Haslam, http://montreal.anglican.org/comments/archive/btksgm.shtml, Accessed October 12, 2024.
“In the context of eternity”
Revelation 1:1-8 (November 24, 2024)
This sermon was intended for Eternity Sunday. I pray we will hear it this week, in light of all who’ve had a special place in our lives. We grieve when they are gone. We also give thanks for the life we’ve shared.
We listen for God to speak to us – a word that comes from beyond our living. A word that speaks to us of unseen things, bringing healing and hope. Can we hear it?
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Our scripture reading introduces the book of Revelation. In Greek, the title is “apocalypse.” We sometimes think of that as another way of saying “disaster.” We might call a deluge of rain an “apocalyptic” weather event.
The death of a loved one can be a disaster. But apocalypse is not that. Instead, the word means revelation. When all seems lost – God gifts us with a revelation.
Apocalyptic literature in the Bible arises in a time of crisis. This writing is meant not to scare us, or confuse us, or send us down long roads of speculation about its strange symbolic language. No, none of those things! For the early Christian community, the book of Revelation was meant to rekindle hope!
“Blessed is the one who reads aloud the words of the prophecy. And blessed are those who hear and who keep what is written in it. For the time is near,” the writer says. It’s not about something far off and far away. It’s about finding the courage to live faithfully in a dangerous time.
And make no mistake, those early years of the church’s life were dangerous! The fledgling communities of Christ-followers faced all kinds of trial and tribulation.
By confessing that Jesus is Lord, Christians implied that the emperor was not. By refusing to participate in the worship of false gods, they alienated themselves from others in powerful places. I guess you’ve heard what they did to Christians in the Colosseum. It was a terrifying time!
Yet the book of Revelation brought hope, and still does, that all beastly powers, even death, will be defeated. Darkness will not prevail. There is one Lord who is sovereign over all.
And the saints of God – those who remain faithful – will emerge victorious. The loving sacrifice of Jesus will, ultimately, win the day.
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This passage brings us back to where we need to be: In the presence of God, whose authority knows no limit. Whose love will never end.
“Grace to you and peace from him who is and who was and who is to come …”
The words remind me of an encounter that Moses had in the wilderness, years before, when he came across a blazing bush. It was the strangest thing – the bush was aflame yet not consumed! Out of the bush, came the voice of the LORD, calling to him.
When Moses asked who was speaking, this is what God said: “I am who I am.” Tell the Israelites, “I am has sent me to you.” (Exodus 3:14)
That’s a wonderfully cryptic name, don’t you think? “I am” – the power of sheer existence, standing outside of human time and space. We can hardly get our minds around it. Everything, for us, has a past, a present, and a future. But in God’s realm it’s one and the same. “I am who I am. I will be who I will be.”
Faith pulls us into a bigger world, beyond the clouds that darken our temporal sky. Beyond the present moment of hardship or pain or sorrow. The book of Revelation sets the trials of our time against the broader landscape of God’s eternity.
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“I am the Alpha and the Omega,” says the Lord God, who is and who was and who is to come, the Almighty.”
I guess you know that Alpha and Omega are letters from the Greek alphabet. One is at the very beginning, like our letter A. And the other comes at the very end, like our letter Z.
I picture it this way: like a pair of bookends, with all the chapters of our human lives gathered in between.
God is with us, at our beginning. From the beginning of creation, when God said “Let there be light.” And the beginning of each individual life, as we are born into the world.
And this life-giving God will never leave us!
“Where can I go from your spirit?” writes the Psalmist. “Or where can I flee from your presence? If I ascend to heaven, you are there; if I make my bed in Sheol, you are there. …If I say, ‘Surely, the darkness shall cover me, and the light around me become night,’ even the darkness is not dark to you …” (Psalm 139: 7-12)
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God is there at the beginning of life. And God will be there at the end of all our days. This is the hope we cling to as people of faith. The great specter of death does not mean the end of life with God.
Our lives have many beginnings and endings. All through life we start new things. A new program, a new residence, a new job, a new relationship. After a time, many of these run their course. And so we let them go.
But those endings always open doors to new beginnings. We are invited to walk through those doors and experience what waits for us on the other side. Why should death be any different?
Our scripture passage names Jesus as the faithful witness and the first-born of the dead. The power of God’s love raises Jesus from the grave. Jesus has entered a new reality beyond anything we can ever experience in this life. And he invites us to come with him.
This is a classic Easter Icon, a religious image that depicts the resurrection. Notice that the tomb is smashed, the floorboards broken. The risen Christ is pictured grabbing the hand of the original man, Adam. And what is he doing? Jesus is pulling him up, out of the grave, to share his resurrection life.
Jesus is the firstborn from the dead. He is the beginning of a new humanity. Easter is a promise given to us all.
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“I am the Alpha and the Omega,” says the Lord. The beginning and the end.
And also – listen now – the God who is with us in the messy middle. God at our beginning, God at our ending. And this is crucial: God in the hard and difficult days that fall between those two poles.
Grief can be an isolating experience. When we lose a loved one who is close to us, we feel very much alone. Not only do we miss that person, but we sense that no one else in all the world can be feeling the things that we are feeling. And it’s true.
But God is with us in that grief. God knows, as no other human can ever know, the deepest, most secret corners of our heart. God is with us. Everywhere, all the time. There is no place we can be where God is not!
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The Australian theologian, William Loader, writes, “In the beginning: God; in the end: God;
in the midst of life: God.” And then he goes on to observe something: he writes, “These are less statements about time and place as they are statements of hope and trust.” [1]
Remember, I said the book of Revelation is meant to give us hope and trust. In a falling-down world, it invites us to put our faith in a God of never-failing love. A God whose purpose will prevail.
That invitation is always with us, but somehow it becomes even more meaningful when you’re treading a difficult path. “Let me take hold of you.” says the Lord. “Let me be your saviour. Let me lead you to new life.”
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This last Sunday of the church year is sometimes called “Reign of Christ Sunday,” or the feast of Christ the King. Have you heard of that?
It’s a relatively recent innovation. By recent, I mean 1925. The first world war was over but nothing seemed to be resolved. Tensions abounded. Secularism and nationalistic movements were on the rise. Authoritarian leaders were taking hold. In light of all that, Pope Pius XI called the church of his day to direct their attention to the Lord of all lords and King of every king. Worldly leaders may have their time. Politicians come and go, but they do not last forever.
I don’t know how you’re feeling about your life, or the state of the world today. John Pavlovitz suggests that many of us are grieving loss.
“It may be your idea of God or country or family.
It may be your belief in the inherent goodness of people.
It may be a relationship with someone you once felt fully at home around.
It may be your sense of optimism about the future.
It may be the lightness you used to feel when you woke up in the morning.
It may be every single one of these things, and more that you can’t quite name right now.
You are in good company,” he writes.[2]
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Here and now, in the messy middle between the alpha and omega, the beginning of creation and the consummation of all things, we are invited to put our trust and hope in the risen Lord, who sits at the right hand of God, his heavenly father.
He is with us – over all, in all and through all. And of his kingdom there will be no end. On Eternity Sunday we’re called to put our hope in him. And to live each day in the light of his love. Amen.
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[1] "First Thoughts on Epistle Passages in the Lectionary," Easter 2, William Loader, Murdoch University, Uniting Church in Australia.
[2] Quoted in email from John Pavlovitz, Copyright © 2024 The Christian Century, All rights reserved.
“Opening hearts”
Joel 2:12-13, 28-29 (December 8, 2024)
Maybe you’ve heard the story of Jake Martens – don’t worry, no relation to anyone here! Jake was a frugal Mennonite painter. In order to save both paint and profit, he used to thin his paint.
One day he had a big job, painting his neighbour’s barn. (His neighbour was a Baptist, and he wanted to impress him.) He was painting away, and the job was nearly complete. But just then he heard a loud clap of thunder. And before he knew it, the sky opened up and the rain fell down. It washed all the paint off the barn.
Jake fell from the scaffold to the ground. He was no fool. He knew this was a message from the Almighty. He raised his voice to the heavens, “Lord, forgive me. The paint has washed off! What should I do now?”
From heaven, a voice returned: “Repaint, repaint! And thin no more!”
That’s an old joke and you’ve probably heard it before – minus a few of my embellishments. But it’s a reminder that an important theme in this Advent season is repentance. In light of Christ’s coming we are called to turn around, put our lives in order. Live, even now, as though the Realm of God was already here among us.
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On this second Sunday of Advent, we’re used to hearing the voice of John the Baptist: “Repent,” he said, “for the kingdom of heaven has come near.” (Matthew 3:3)
John was a rough and ready kind of guy. A bit quirky with his diet and the way he dressed. He wasn’t afraid to confront people. Remember how he tore a strip off the religious leaders? “You brood of vipers!” he called them, wiping the saliva off his chin. “Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come?”
Well actually, it was you, John. But that didn’t stop his rant. “Bear fruit worthy of repentance. Do not presume to say to yourselves, ‘We have Abraham as our ancestor.’”
Yes, John was quite a character. But his message was spot on!
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This year, we’re following some different readings for Advent. Last week it was Daniel who learned to trust his life to the God who saves. This week we hear from the prophet Joel, about whom little is known. But whose words have echoed down through the ages, and come again to us this morning.
The voice may be different, but the message is familiar. “Repent,” he says. Seems the prophets of God were always having to call us wayward human beings to change our ways. And to return to the God who made us.
My take on the prophet Joel, at least when it comes to this part of his message, is that he has a tender heart and a gentle soul.
(Now if you ever read the whole book of Joel, you’ll discover lots of difficult, disturbing images. But here, in our passage for today, there’s a lovely warmth to what he says. He takes on the loving compassion of the very God in whose name he speaks.)
“Yet even now, says the LORD, return to me with all your heart …”
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“Return to me.” Can you hear this desire, deep desire, in God for relationship with God’s people? There’s nothing God wants more than this. You and me, we are created in love, for love.
And it is love’s very nature to reach out, to embrace. To forgive when wrong is done. To call for return when the one who is loved wanders far, far away.
“Return to me,” says the Lord, with all your heart.
Have you wandered far away? Are you feeling lost, disoriented? Defiant? The path your life is on – is it taking you closer to God? Or is this path leading you farther away?
Joel’s words chase after us, beckoning to our souls, pleading for our return. “Come back,” says God. “Come home, to the place where you belong. That familiar place that maybe you’ve almost forgotten. But not quite.
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I was back in my home town this fall, the city of Guelph, Ontario. I don’t get there very often any more. And it’s a strange feeling when I do.
Like everything in life, there are many changes. I have changed. The world has changed. The city has changed. So it’s all a bit disorienting. “Is this the street where I turn? What happened to that landmark building? Why is everything so much bigger and busier than before?”
Despite the changes, there is also an eery sense of familiarity. I’ll be sitting in a coffee shop, looking across the street. And suddenly there arises a feeling of déjà vu. Like I’ve been here before. Which I have, sort of. Years ago, in a completely different way.
Perhaps it’s like that in our relationship with God. It never entirely goes away – that awareness of God’s generous love, being at one with all that is, a peace that tells me all is well and shall be well to the end of time.
Is it like that for you? What lingers in your memory? Is there a sense of belonging that you feel?
“Return to me,” says the LORD.
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“Yet even now …” I love that phrase because it implies that God has called to us before. Whether or not we have listened, that is another matter!
“Yet even now, says the LORD, return to me with all your heart …” Even now, after all this time. And events and happenings. After days and years have gone by. After marriages and jobs and houses lived in and travels and learnings. And losses. And failings.
“I’m still seeking you,” says the Lord. Still calling you to that place, where I am. Where you may be also.” Won’t you come?
Repentance is our way of coming home. It’s letting go of our resistance. It’s turning back when we’ve gone astray.
It’s making changes, shifting the furniture of our inner lives, re-arranging things, unlocking the door, opening our hearts, so we can receive God’s welcome. Which is always there.
“Yet even now, says the LORD, return to me with all your heart … rend your hearts and not your clothing. Return to the LORD, your God ….”
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Now wait! You didn’t think repentance was a one-time thing, did you? Give your life to Christ and suddenly it’s over – one and done?
As we walk with Jesus, we realize there is more we have to offer, and more that Jesus has to claim. So repentance becomes part of who we are. We are people turning to Jesus, growing deeper in his love.
As I think about this, here’s what I’ve come to realize: There are things about my life that are relatively easy to change, and things that are very difficult.
https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Stained-Glass_Image_of_John_Newton_-_Amazing_Grace_Writer_-_St._Peter_and_Paul_Church_-_Olney_-_Buckinghamshire_-_England_-_02_(27656254594).jpg" width="182" height="164" />And those hard things in life don’t get fixed quickly. Attitudes become ingrained! Practices harden into habits. How we do we shift them? How do you teach an old dog, like me, new tricks? Is it even possible?
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I do take heart in the knowledge that others before me have changed. Some really famous people. Like the English slave trader, John Newton, who later in life became an abolitionist.
Talk about “Amazing Grace”! That hymn we sing tells the story of his life. And the story of God leading him to a different place. A better place.
Here's an artist’s depiction of the apostle Peter, a leader of Jesus’ disciples. You can see he’s red-faced, distraught, and maybe terribly embarrassed. After claiming to be Jesus’ most loyal friend, he was brought face to face with the truth of his life: Peter folded under pressure.
Sometimes we have to learn who we really are. “Now Lord, where do we go from here?”
Repentance is a hopeful act, one that opens the door to new ways of life and Spirit.
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“Return to me with all your heart …” Because if any change is going to happen it must happen, first of all, in the heart, the very centre of our being.
With all your heart. Because there are parts of ourselves we tend to close off, not allowing God – or anyone else, for that matter – to enter.
https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Palma._La_Porciúncula._Vitralls_(17).jpg" width="149" height="63" />
There are parts of ourselves that hurt. We put up walls of protection. There are parts we try to hide. We don’t want anyone to see or know what’s in those undisclosed places.
I’m reminded of that story of the first humans who ate the forbidden fruit. They thought they could keep it a secret.
When they heard the sound of the LORD God walking in the garden in the coolness of the evening breeze, they went and hid themselves.
They didn’t want to be found. But God sought them anyway. “Where are you?” called the LORD. (Genesis 3:8-9)
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I told you that Joel’s call to repentance is not harsh, but gentle. It’s an invitation rooted in his strong conviction that God is love.
“Return to the LORD, your God, for he is gracious and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love, and relents from punishing.”
How does Joel know this? It’s not something he invented for himself. One commentator has called it a “creed” of the Hebrew people because, all through history, we find them repeating it over and over again.
When Moses stood before God on the holy mountain, the presence of the LORD passed before him. A voice declared: “The LORD, the LORD, a God merciful and gracious, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love and faithfulness …” (Exodus 34:6)
I can remember singing words to that effect in a choir anthem. Music, I think, gives them enduring power. And so they’re with me, and I never forget.
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In a few moments we’ll share communion. We’ll be together in God’s presence in a very special way.
If there are things you need to confess before God, I invite you to do that. If there are parts of your heart that are still closed tight, impermeable, inaccessible, here is an opportunity to open them to grace and mercy, and the transforming power of God’s Holy Spirit.
“Yet even now, says the LORD, return to me with all your heart. … Return to the LORD for he is gracious.” Come back to where you’re meant to be. May it be so!
