Sermons

CHRIST COLLIDES WITH OUR CONDEMNATION

Have you ever read a story, and realized you weren’t entirely sure of its point? Some Bible stories are so familiar that they’ve worked their way into everyday language. When an underdog faces a powerhouse team, it’s called a David vs. Goliath matchup. Last week, we heard about the Good Samaritan, a parable that practically preaches itself—a call to love our neighbour, even when it’s inconvenient. But this passage? It’s less well-known, yet no less significant. Jesus is asked to comment on two breaking news stories—a government-sanctioned massacre and a workplace accident. People debated these events, asking, ‘Why did this happen?” But instead of reaffirming their assumptions, Jesus tells a parable about a fruitless fig tree—and just leaves it there. No explanation. No tidy conclusion. That’s striking because Jesus often explained His parables. With the Parable of the Sower, He sat His disciples down and explained what the different soils represented. But here? Nothing. It's just a story about a fig tree running out of time. Maybe that’s why this passage feels unsettling. We gravitate toward stories with clear heroes and villains, easy application, and satisfying endings. Instead of answering speculation, He turns the question back on them: "Are you ready to stand before your Maker?" And that’s the question before us today: What happens when Christ collides with our condemnation? What happens when Christ collides with our assumptions about life?

Breaking Down Luke 13:1-5 – Christ Collides with Our Condemnation

• The Galileans Slaughtered by Pilate (Luke 13:1)

Luke 13 opens with a reference to a horrific event: “Now there were some present at that time who told Jesus about the Galileans whose blood Pilate had mixed with their sacrifices.” This specific event—the massacre of Galileans in the Temple—isn’t recorded in any historical sources outside the Bible. However, the Jewish historian Flavius Josephus (c. 37–100 AD) repeatedly describes Pilate as a ruthless governor who had no problem spilling Jewish blood when it suited his agenda. As a historian writing for a Roman audience, Josephus offers valuable insight into the turbulent relationship between Rome and the Jewish people. His work Antiquities of the Jews (c. 93 AD) confirms that Pilate often used violence to suppress dissent. We know of at least three major incidents where Pilate brutally clashed with the Jewish people:

18. A) The Standards Controversy: Pilate brought Roman military standards with the emperor’s image into Jerusalem. Jews protested, and Pilate threatened them with death. When they refused to back down, he relented (Antiquities 18.3.1).
19. B) The Temple Treasury & The Aqueduct: Pilate took money from the Temple treasury to build an aqueduct. When people protested, he had soldiers blend into the crowd in disguise, and then violently attack them, killing many (Antiquities 18.3.2).
20. C) The Samaritan Massacre: A group of Samaritans gathered on Mount Gerizim, believing they would find sacred artifacts left by Moses. Gearing rebellion Pilate sent in troops and slaughtered them. The Roman governor of Syria was so disturbed by this that Pilate was recalled to Rome and removed from his position (Antiquities 18.4.1).

In other words, Pilate had a history of violently suppressing Jewish people, so it is entirely plausible that he had Galilean pilgrims killed in the Temple itself. And that’s where things get even more interesting—because Jesus Himself was a Galilean. It wasn’t just anyone who was slaughtered. This wasn’t some abstract theological discussion for Jesus. These were His people. Several of Jesus' closest disciples were Galileans. This is why, during Jesus' trial, Peter is recognized as one of His followers: “Certainly this man was with Him, for he too is a Galilean” (Luke 22:59). So, when Jesus hears this report, you might expect Him to condemn Pilate or call for political action. Instead, He does something shocking—He turns the conversation around.

Jesus’ Rhetorical Strategy in Luke 13:2-3

“Do you think that these Galileans were worse sinners than all the other Galileans because they suffered this way? I tell you, no! But unless you repent, you too will all perish.” Jesus asks, ‘Were these Galileans worse sinners?’ The assumed answer was yes—people linked suffering to divine punishment. But Jesus rejects this thinking. But Jesus flips the script: “I tell you, no! But unless you repent, you too will all perish.” Instead of blaming Pilate, Jesus challenges His audience to examine their own hearts.

• The Tower of Siloam – A Seemingly Random Disaster (Luke 13:4-5)

Jesus points to another tragedy: 'What about the eighteen crushed by the Tower of Siloam? Were they more guilty than others in Jerusalem?' Unlike the Galilean massacre, this was a random accident.

Underlying Theological Assumption: Do Only People Suffer Because of Sin?

Jesus is not just addressing two tragic events—He is confronting the deeply held cultural belief of the day that suffering is always the result of sin. Two key distinctions:

1. A) Some suffering is a direct consequence of sin or folly: Break trust, and you might lose relationships. As a kid, if I went to work with my dad, I earned spending money, but if I skipped or slept in, I was broke.
2. B) Some suffering is seemingly unexplainable: A natural disaster, a sudden illness, a tragic accident—these are not the result of personal sin.

Jesus here rejects simplistic theology that says, “bad things only happen to bad people” or “good things always happen to good people.” The reality is that life is unpredictable, and tragedy can touch anyone. And Jesus says, the real question isn’t “Why did tragedy happen?” but “Are you ready if your tragedy touches your life?” In verse 5, Jesus repeats the same statement He made in verse 3: “But unless you repent, you too will all perish.” Repetition in Jewish teaching is a way to emphasize what truly matters. Instead of discussing who deserved what, Jesus calls for repentance. Instead of feeding speculation, He urges preparation. Instead of answering why suffering happens, Jesus asks: what are you doing with the time you have? Jesus isn’t just responding to historical events—He’s confronting the way we think about life, God and suffering. Life is unpredictable, but grace is available.

The Parable of the Fig Tree: An Illumination of the Issue

Jesus often used parables to illustrate deep spiritual truths, wrapping them in imagery that was both familiar and thought-provoking. Jesus doesn’t explain the Parable of the Fig Tree, and that means we must carefully reflect on its meaning. Throughout church history, one of the primary ways Christians have understood parables without explicit explanations is through the allegorical method—a practice used by the Church Fathers to uncover spiritual meaning in the text. Last week, when we looked at the Good Samaritan, we saw how early Christian interpreters understood it allegorically:

• The wounded man represents humanity—broken and left for dead by sin.
• The Good Samaritan is Jesus—the outsider who rescues and restores us.
• The inn represents the Church—the place where the wounded find healing.

So what happens when we apply this same approach to the Parable of the Fig Tree? “Then he told this parable: ‘A man had a fig tree growing in his vineyard, and he went to look for fruit on it but did not find any. So he said to the man who took care of the vineyard, “For three years now I’ve been coming to look for fruit on this fig tree and haven’t found any. Cut it down! Why should it use up the soil?” “Sir,” the man replied, “leave it alone for one more year, and I’ll dig around it and fertilize it. If it bears fruit next year, fine! If not, then cut it down.”

At first glance, it’s an agricultural story, but in context, it’s Jesus’ response to the tragedies. If we use an allegorical lens, here’s what emerges:

• The fig tree represents God’s people—who hear Jesus’ message.
• The owner of the vineyard represents God, who expects fruitfulness.
• The gardener interceding for the tree represents Jesus, who pleads for time.
• The one-year extension represents God’s patience but coming judgment.

This parable is not just about agriculture—it’s about grace. Just as the Galileans didn’t know their time was up and the eighteen people crushed by the tower had no warning, so too does this fig tree not realize how close it is to being cut down. But here’s the key difference: The fig tree is given another chance. This is where Jesus wants His audience to examine their fruitfulness. And that leads us to ask: What about us?

The Message for Us: Personal and Corporate Reflection

As we move from Jesus’ world to our own, we need to ask: What does this parable mean for us today? Individually, this parable is an invitation. If you’ve been waiting to take your spiritual life seriously, the time is now. If you’ve been assuming you have lots of time to decide. The Vinedresser is pleading: the call to repentance isn’t about fear—it’s about embracing the life God has for us today. Corporately, this parable challenges us as a church to consider our fruitfulness. We are a small congregation, part of a historic Anabaptist tradition, and many people here have been faithful for many years. But Jesus’ question still stands: Are we still bearing fruit? Are we a fig tree that looks healthy but is barren? Not measured by activity, but by embodying the values of God’s kingdom—extending hospitality, loving our neighbours, deepening in faith? Do we need some TLC from Christ the Vinedresser or perhaps a little fertilizer to help us recover our fruitfulness?

Jesus’ Lament and the Call to the Table

Jesus’ lament over Jerusalem in Luke 13:34-35 is not just the cry of another rejected prophet—it is the sorrow of the Messiah over a city that was running out of time: "Jerusalem, Jerusalem, you who kill the prophets and stone those sent to you, how often I have longed to gather your children together, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, and you were not willing!"(Luke 13:34).

Throughout Israel’s history, prophet after prophet had been sent to call God’s people back, yet time and time again, they were ignored, resisted, or even killed. Jesus was not just a prophet—He was the Christ. The city that rejected Him was where He would lay down His life as the Lamb who takes away sin. Yet, His warning was not empty. Within a generation, in AD 70, Jerusalem was destroyed by the Romans under Emperor Titus. The city that had refused to be gathered under His wings was left desolate. What Jesus spoke was not only a spiritual warning—it was a prophecy of judgment that came to pass. But even in judgment, there was still an invitation. The table was still set. The invitation still stands. When we come to the Lord’s Table, we remember that Jesus is not just the gardener pleading for more time—He is the vine, the bread of life, the Lamb who was slain, the only one who can make us fruitful. Communion is not just a ritual; it is the place where we stop delaying, stop making excuses, and come to Jesus as we are. It is where we remember that the call to repent is not about fear—it is about embracing the “yes” God has for us.

So, as we come to the table, let’s reflect:

• Where is Jesus calling you to abide in Him and bear fruit?
• Where do you need to surrender to His grace and be gathered under His wings?
• Will you come to Him today—not just in word, but with your whole heart?

We are given Jesus Himself. What will you do with Him?

You Can’t Stay Here: Faith That Moves Beyond the Mountaintop
Luke 9:28-36

Introduction: A Story of Disfiguration

Have you ever seen something that had fallen into a state of disrepair? Perhaps a barn? An antique car? Or a house that was once beautiful but now sits with peeling paint, sagging steps, and shingles that are curling at the edges? Maybe it was a place that had once been full of life, but over time, neglect and wear took their toll, leaving it a shadow of its past glory.

I remember the first time my wife and I walked through what would become our first house. We were expecting our first son, Asher, who is now 10, and with a baby on the way, we knew it was time to find a place to make a home. The house had been well-built in the 1950s, and at one time, it had been well cared for. But by the time we saw it, it had fallen into disrepair. Every room on the main floor had a different type of ugly flooring—none of it matched. The walls were covered in layers of outdated wallpaper, some with peeling floral borders. The upstairs bathroom had a pink bathtub, and the basement had that old orange shag carpet that was once all the rage and recently the original wood paneling had been painted a soft pink! As we walked through, my wife was nearly in tears. “I cannot live in this house,” overwhelmed by the reality of the mess. But as I wandered through, my eyes were wide with excitement. Not because of how it looked at that moment, but because I could see what it could become. I wasn’t focused on its current state of disfiguration—I was beginning to dream of its transfiguration.

Transfiguration: A Glimpse of Glory

The Transfiguration of Jesus is one of the most striking moments in Scripture. Peter, James, and John follow Jesus up a mountain to pray, and suddenly, His appearance changes. His face shines like the sun, His clothes become dazzling white, and Moses and Elijah appear beside Him. A cloud descends, and a voice from heaven declares, “This is my Son, whom I have chosen; listen to Him.”

But what exactly is transfiguration? One of our quilters has a church calendar and boldly told me this week: “This Sunday is Transfiguration Sunday!” But what does that word mean? It means a complete transformation that reveals a deeper truth. Jesus wasn’t simply glowing for dramatic effect—His divine nature was being unveiled. The disciples had followed Him as a teacher and miracle worker, but here, they saw Him for who He truly was—God in the flesh.

The Old Testament Foreshadowing: Moses on the Mountain

The story of Moses on Mount Sinai provides a powerful parallel. In Exodus 34, Moses ascends the mountain to meet with God and receive the Ten Commandments. When he comes down, his face reflects God’s glory so intensely that the people are afraid to look at him. He has to veil his face because it shines so brightly.

Throughout Scripture, mountaintops are places of divine encounter. Moses meets God on the mountain. Elijah hears God in the whisper on the mountain. Jesus is transfigured on the mountain. These moments reveal glimpses of God’s presence. But there is a key difference: while Moses’ face reflected God’s glory, Jesus radiated it from within. Moses was like the moon, reflecting the sun's light, while Jesus was the source of the light itself. The transfiguration wasn’t just about Jesus experiencing God—it was about revealing His divine identity as the Son of God. Yet, as incredible as that moment was, neither Moses nor Jesus stayed on the mountain. Faith isn’t just about seeing glory—it’s about what happens when you step back down.

A Closer Look at Luke 9:28-34

Luke tells us that Jesus took Peter, James, and John up the mountain to pray. This moment follows Jesus’ warning that He would suffer, die, and rise again (Luke 9:22). The transfiguration happens in the shadow of the cross.

As Jesus prays, His face shines, and His clothes become dazzling white. Moses and Elijah appear, representing the Old Testament scriptures of the Law and the Prophets, speaking with Him about His coming departure (exodus in Greek), foreshadowing His death and resurrection. The disciples, groggy with sleep, wake to witness this divine revelation. Overwhelmed, Peter blurts out, “Let’s build three shelters!” He wants to stay in this holy moment. But before he can act, a cloud—representing God’s presence—envelops them, and the voice from heaven speaks: “This is my Son, whom I have chosen; listen to Him.” This moment confirms Jesus’s divine identity, but it also serves as a reminder: they cannot stay on the mountain. The journey of faith calls them forward.

Transfiguration in Literature: A Surprising Parallel

You might be surprised to learn that transfiguration—a transformation that reveals a deeper truth—shows up in literature as well. One of the most striking examples comes from C.S. Lewis’s The Voyage of the Dawn Treader.

In the book, there’s a boy named Eustace Scrubb, and as Lewis bluntly puts it, he “almost deserved” such an awful name. That’s how unlikeable he is! Eustace is selfish, whiny, greedy, and completely lacking in imagination or kindness. He complains about everything, thinks only of himself, and treats others with arrogance and contempt.

During a voyage, Eustace stumbles upon a dragon’s hoard of gold, greedily slips a golden bracelet onto his arm, and falls asleep on the treasure. When he wakes up, he has been transfigured—not into glory, but into a dragon!  His outward form now matches what had been true of him all along—his greed, selfishness, and isolation.

At first, he is terrified, but slowly, something changes. Being a dragon forces him to realize how miserable he has been. Then, Aslan—the Christ figure of the story—appears and tells him that if he wants to be restored, he must shed his dragon skin. Eustace tries to claw it off himself, but each time, another layer remains. Finally, Aslan tells him, “You must let me do it.” When Aslan reaches out, his claws cut deep—deeper than Eustace could ever go on his own. It is painful, but it is only in surrendering to Aslan’s work that he is truly transformed. The dragon’s skin is peeled away, and Eustace is restored—not just to his human form, but to a changed heart. This is what true transfiguration is about. It’s not just an outward change—it’s a transformation that only God can accomplish. And like Eustace, we cannot do it on our own. Real transformation requires surrender to Christ.

Transfiguration in Art: Raphael’s Theological Vision

In our church bulletin today and on the screen in the sanctuary, you’ll see an image of Raphael’s The Transfiguration—and that’s no coincidence. Religious art isn’t just about beauty; it reflects a theological interpretation of reality. Raphael’s masterpiece does more than capture the dazzling glory of Christ on the mountaintop—it also forces us to confront the reality of the broken world below.

At first glance, the painting is divided into two distinct sections. The upper half is luminous, full of divine radiance. Jesus is at the center, His body suspended in glory, flanked by Moses and Elijah. His garments shine with a brilliance that symbolizes His divine nature, and the use of bright, contrasting colors draws our eyes upward to this moment of revelation. This is the Christ who is fully God, the fulfillment of the law and the prophets.

But then, our eyes are pulled downward. The lower half of the painting is chaotic, dark, and almost frantic. Here, we see the scene from the very next passage in Luke 9:37-43—the moment Jesus descends from the mountain and is immediately met with a desperate father and a demon-possessed boy. While the disciples above bask in divine revelation, the figures below writhe in confusion and suffering. It is a stark contrast—glory above, brokenness below.

Raphael’s decision to combine these two moments is profoundly theological. Peter wanted to build shelters to abide in the glory of the mountaintop experience. But Jesus didn’t stay. The incarnate Christ comes down. He leaves the brightness of the mountaintop and steps into the pain and struggle of the real world. Because transfiguration isn’t just about seeing glory—it’s about what happens after. It is a call to action, a reminder that faith moves us from revelation to restoration. Jesus shows us that true glory is found in descending into the suffering of humanity to bring healing.

Transfiguration in Everyday Life

One of the concrete ways to live out transfiguration is through presence—showing up in the lives of others. Jesus didn’t stay on the mountain because real ministry happens in the valleys. We live in a world full of people who are struggling—those facing loneliness, dealing with loss, navigating change, or searching for purpose. Sometimes, transformation doesn’t come through grand gestures but through the small, faithful acts of being with people—listening, praying, and sharing life.

A story about a colleague of mine: for years, Tammy faithfully supported her husband, who was a pastor, while raising their four children and serving in their local church. But as her kids grew older, she felt drawn to the university campus, a place filled with young people navigating big questions about life and faith. But when she expressed her desire to step into campus ministry, some denominational leaders were skeptical. She had no theological degree, no formal ministry experience – what could she possibly offer?

What she had was presence. She showed up. She started building relationships. And she brought muffins. That’s right—muffin diplomacy. Tammy realized that something as simple as fresh-baked muffins and a conversation could open doors. She sat with students, listened to their experiences both good and bad and became a steady presence in their lives. What started as small, faithful acts became transfigurational. 15 years later, Tammy’s presence has reshaped the spiritual landscape of that university for many students. She has walked with students through doubt and discovery, grief and joy. She didn’t wait for permission. She didn’t wait to feel qualified. She simply participated.

Tammy’s story reminds us that transfiguration isn’t just about what happens to us—it’s about stepping into the places where transformation is needed and being present for the work God is already doing. Sometimes, all it takes is a willing heart, a listening ear, and maybe even some homemade muffins.

Conclusion: Faith that Moves Beyond the Mountaintop

Throughout Scripture, in the Old Testament, in art, in literature, and in everyday life, transfiguration is a moment of transformation that reveals a deeper truth. Moses reflected God’s glory, Raphael captured both the mountaintop and the valley, and Eustace Scrubb had to surrender to be made new. But at the heart of it all is Christ—transfigured before His disciples, revealing His divine nature, and calling us forward into a transformed life.

But here’s the challenge: You can’t stay here. The temptation of nostalgia is real. It’s easy to hold onto past experiences, to build a monument for what once was, just like Peter wanted to do on the mountain. But Jesus calls you forward. If you have glimpsed the glory of Christ in a new way today, don’t let it remain just a moment. Let it move you. Let it change you. Listen to Him. Step into what He is calling you to do and who He is calling you to be.

And as a church, we can’t stay here either. We honour the history we have inherited, and we give thanks for those who have gone before us—faithful leaders like JJ Thiessen, whose dedication helped the foundation for this community of faith. Their legacy is a gift, but it is not a destination. We do not exist to simply preserve their work—we are called to build upon it. To step forward in faith and to embrace the story that God is writing today. That story includes the people in this room right now. And it also includes those whom God will bring to us in the days ahead. Like Jesus, we must walk down the mountain and embody a faith that touches real people in real places, with real needs. Our community, our city, needs the presence of a transfigured people—people who themselves have been transformed and now radiate the image of Christ wherever they go.

So, will you follow Him? Will we follow Him? Because you can’t stay here. And we can’t stay here. Faith moves us forward. As we have ascended the mountain to see the glorious presence of Jesus, let us also now descend with a faith that moves us beyond the mountaintop.  

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“Living together – the story we share”

1 Corinthians 15:1-11 (February 9, 2025)

Today we arrive at the third and last in a series of sermons using the lectionary texts from Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians. It’s also my last sermon together with you. So you’d think I could come up with some profound, stunning new insight to leave. But alas, as I’ve said all along, these passages remind us of familiar things in the life we share together.

The Christian faith has been handed down through generations – two thousand years, for goodness sake. That’s not to say we shouldn’t hear it in a fresh new way. Or that the Spirit cannot lead us to new insight and understanding.

The pastor of the first pilgrims to arrive in America told them before they departed, “The Lord hath yet more light and truth to break forth from his holy word.”[1]

So don’t go thinking we can just retreat into the past. The Spirit has always led followers of Jesus in bold new directions.

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But before we go any further today, I want to ask if there is a favourite story that you remember from your past.

When I grew up, the Hardy Boys were all the rage. These fictional teenage brothers had exciting adventures and solved mysteries. I read the books voraciously.

What stories have stuck with you over time? Which authors have been most influential: Shaping your point of view? Inspiring? Enlarging your life?

The prominent Canadian author, Margaret Atwood, has said: “You’re never going to kill storytelling, because it’s built into the human plan. We come with it.”[2]

In other words, we are, by nature, storytellers. Whether written and published in a book. Or shared verbally around a blazing fire – like I imagine those ancient Hebrews did, as they reflected on their place in God’s creation. Sometimes we simply repeat them silently to ourselves. The stories we tell take many forms, but there’s no getting away from them.

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What we have in our scripture today is a foundational story of our faith. Without it, none of us would be here, in this church. In any church.

“Now I would remind you,” writes the apostle Paul, “of the good news that I proclaimed to you, which you in turn received …” Paul too is reminding people about something they’ve heard before. “I handed on to you as of first importance what I in turn had received …”

Paul heard a story that changed his life. Then he shared it with others, including the Corinthians. And it changed their lives too. So we are all drawn in to something bigger than ourselves. A community. A way of life. A set of values. A lens through which to view the world.

Where did you first hear the gospel story? How did you find out about it?

I can remember my mom reading to me from a Bible Story book at bedtime. I also remember a Sunday School teacher who loved her students into life. I remember Uncle Donald and Aunt Jean helping me to memorize the 23^rd Psalm. I remember the pastor of my church, who prepared me for baptism. So many people who, like the apostle Paul, had received the Good News, and now were sharing it with me!

Can you name some of those folks in your life? Can you say when the story finally began to sink in? How did it touch you? What was its appeal? Why do you hold on to it, even still?

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“For I handed on to you as of first importance what I in turn had received …”

I’m struck by that phrase “first importance.” We’re not talking about side matters, controversies. Even denominational distinctives – as important as these may be.

Serving with you has reminded me that the whole church is bigger than any of its parts. I’m grateful that you’ve welcomed this “outsider” into your midst, introducing me to Mennonite ways. Though I feel I’ve barely scratched the surface. (By the way, I received the Anabaptist Study Bible you gifted me, and am looking forward to using it in the days to come.)

Paul tells us to stay focussed. Hold to the centre. Allow that to inform who we are and the way we live.

There’s a lot of crazy chaos in the world right now, some of it rather serious. The church too can get sidetracked into silly things.

I value this wise motto, which you may have heard before: “In essentials, unity; in non-essentials, liberty; in all things, charity.”[3] That sentiment should always be our guide.

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So what is the essential thing, the story at the heart of our faith? Can you tell me?

For the apostle Paul, it boils down to this: Christ died for our sins, was buried, and was raised on the third day. All of this in accordance with the scriptures.

You see, it all fits into a much longer narrative, that goes back to the beginning of time. The story of a God who created the world, and called a people, and walked with them, and loved them through thick and thin. The story of Jesus grows out of that.

No wonder Easter has always been the great celebration at the heart of our faith community. No wonder we meet to worship every “Lord’s Day,” the first day of the week. Death and resurrection. A life given in love. New life promised to God’s creation!

The story of Jesus is simple, but life-changing. Paul says the Corinthians are being saved by it. Changed, redeemed, altered. For good! Jesus has a way of doing that to us, doesn’t he?

“I love to tell the story, ’Tis pleasant to repeat what seems, each time I tell it, more wonderfully sweet. …”[4] It’s amazing how this story’s been handed down, all these years. Still fresh, powerful. Still incredibly “sweet”.

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There’s a point at which the story of Jesus and our own personal stories are bound to intersect.

I picture it like those two disciples on the Emmaus Road. Remember how it goes?

They’re walking along the path, living out their lives – which happened to be grim and rather hopeless.

We all have our stories: Some are sad and some are joyful. And probably, for most of us, it’s a mix of both.

So these two are walking along, wrapped up in their own little world, when suddenly a stranger comes along. Who happens to be Jesus. But they don’t recognize him.

He opens the scriptures. Helps them to see the events they’ve been living through as part of something bigger. Which is God’s story.

And this is the point where our two narratives come to meet. Our personal stories encounter the presence and purpose of the living God.

They invite the stranger in. Bread is broken. Eyes are opened! And so they see … How everything has changed. And nothing can ever be the same. And it sends them running back to Jerusalem to tell others.

He’s alive! The one who suffered and died, has defeated death. And we have seen him and walked with him.

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We all have our story. For me, it’s a pretty ordinary one.

You may think our present world is chaotic, but, as I think back, I can remember all kinds of things swirling around us in the 60’s and 70’s when I was growing up, especially south of the border: The assassination of a president, the Vietnam war, race riots and civil rights, hippie culture, drugs, rock and roll, free love, a lunar landing. Here at home, we had the FLQ.

Those were tumultuous times! Many of my classmates in Sunday School stopped attending church when they reached a certain age, never to return.

But somehow God found me and hung on tight. In baptism I made a commitment, which I have never regretted.

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What’s your story? And tell me this: In what way has God’s story entered into it? Each one of us is unique, you know. We all have a special place here, in the community of faith, and ultimately in the Reign of God. None of our living is lost. Everything can be turned into something good and beautiful.

Paul calls himself the “least of the apostles,” unfit for ministry, because of his violence and bloody self-righteousness.

“But by the grace of God I am what I am,” he writes, “and God’s grace toward me has not been in vain.” God’s grace can take any of our lives, however broken and messed up we may be, and use us for some creative purpose.

Each of our stories may be caught up into a larger story that stretches beyond time and leads to life.

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But now, here’s the last thing I want to say. Stories are one thing. Sometimes we think there’s nothing to them, that they are a form of entertainment perhaps, purely fiction.

Giovanni Antonio Galli, 1585-1652.

In our passage of scripture, Paul points to the reality of Jesus’ death and resurrection. Jesus was raised “in accordance with the scriptures.”

And then he appeared! To Cephas, then the twelve. Paul says, “he appeared to more than five hundred brothers and sisters at one time, most of whom are still alive …” So ahead, ask them. This is more than fantasy.

The physical appearances of Jesus may be finished now, more or less. I’ve certainly never seen him, and I doubt I will. Those of us who follow Jesus today encounter him in a different way. But it’s no less real.

A starlit night, a moment of wondrous awe. A sound, a vision that brings me to tears. A faint echo of that voice that comes from beyond my own being. A flicker of light that will not be extinguished. A power that takes hold of me. A universe that embraces me. A “love that wilt not let me go.”

If there was no reality to the Gospel Story, it surely would have died out many years ago. And yet it persists! It’s maybe the most persistent thing on earth.

I pray that, in the days to come, the living Christ will continue to lead our congregation, and each of us individually.

We never know everything that lies ahead. We may be uncertain of the way. But we do not walk alone. The One who died, was buried, and raised to life on the third day – he goes with us. He will keep us.

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That’s nothing new. I know you’ve heard it before. But I’m here … well, “To remind you, brothers and sisters, of the good news that I proclaimed to you, which you in turn received, in which also you are being saved, if you hold firmly to the message …”

It may be familiar. But it’s also the very centre of our life together in the community of faith.

Well that’s my story and I’m sticking to it! In fact, it’s a story that belongs to all of us. May we treasure it! Stand within it. Hold the message firmly to the end. Amen.

[1] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Robinson_(pastor), Accessed February 6, 2025.

[2] https://www.azquotes.com/quotes/topics/storytelling.html, Accessed February 6, 2025.

[3] Variously attributed, but probably comes from a little-known German Lutheran theologian, Rupertus Meldenius, in 1627.

[4] Catherine Hankey, 1866. HWB #398.