“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.
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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.
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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!
“In a hard place”
Daniel 6:6-27 (December 1, 2024)
Welcome, everyone, to Advent – this time of year when we learn how to wait for the coming of Christ. And to help us today, we have an unusual reading for the season: from the book of Daniel.
It’s a really great story! A well-known one, for those of us who grew up in Sunday School. Daniel in the lion’s den. What might this story have to say to us, I wonder – living in the world we do, waiting for the Christ to come?
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The story begins with some familiar things. There’s a crowd of people who’ve got it in for Daniel. Why? Because he’s not one of them. He’s a Jew living in exile.
Here, in this story, we see human rivalry. Jealousy, conniving, manipulation. Prejudice and the politics of power. Sound familiar? Turn on the news tonight and see what you think.
There are people who don’t like Daniel. So they devise a scheme to get rid of him.
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One day they sidle up to the king, and say, “O King Darius, may you live forever!” And this king is susceptible to flattery. He likes to have his ego stroked.
They tell him he should issue a command that anyone who prays to any god, or man other than him – should be thrown into a lion’s den.
It pleases the king. He signs a document. And the scene is set.
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How does faith respond to all this turmoil I our lives? How do we live as Christians among others who may not share our values? Who do not follow the way of Jesus?
Do we lash out, push back, try to grab the levers of power for ourselves?
When Daniel heard the document had been signed, he went back to his house. There, in the upper chamber, was an open window that faced toward Jerusalem. It was Daniel’s practice to pray there three times a day.
He prayed to the Hebrew God, not to the gods of the surrounding culture. Not to the gods of the state. And certainly not to a pompous man.
The law declared: “Pray only to Darius.” Daniel determined: “I will pray to God.”
So that’s what he did, knowing full well that someone would be watching. And that when he was reported, there might be serious consequences.
He meant no disrespect. He was happy to serve the king. But there was a line he would not cross. Not even to save his life.
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Now let me stop there and ask, have there been times when you gave in to pressure and compromised your values? Acted to preserve your place or position? It’s a rare one who has never made some accommodation.
Perhaps we allow things to slide a bit, and then a little more. And before we know it, we’ve drifted a long way from being the kind of people we want to be. The kind of people Jesus calls us to be.
“Seek first the Kingdom of God,” Jesus says. But we let other priorities take over. “What will it profit anyone to gain the world but lose your soul?” he asks. But the world has its attractions and it’s not easy to do the right thing.
This story invites us to examine our priorities. What comes first? To whom do we owe our allegiance?
It’s a simple question. But in the real world, at least the one I live in, it can be hard to untangle all the messy threads that weave their way through complicated relationships, difficult decisions, contested areas of life. The choices we have to make are not always simple.
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What did Daniel do?
He shrugs his shoulder and goes home to pray. He does this in plain sight of all. He’s not rattled by threats, but is steadfast in his spiritual practice.
It’s a brilliant response to the turmoil of the world around him! Evil’s lurking, edicts are ordered, chins are wagging. So? What else is new?
I’m wondering if you have a spiritual practice? What keeps you anchored when the world is shaking? What centres your life and holds it firm?
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I was at a funeral, not long ago, for a friend of mine. One of his grandchildren spoke at the service. He told of coming to stay with his grandparents. His grandfather was an avid reader, as was he, and they would sometimes discuss the books they were reading.
When his grandfather came to visit his family, several months later, the grandson noticed he was still reading the same book! “Grandfather, haven’t you finished that yet?”
“No, I’m not finished,” he replied. “This is my Bible, you see.”
The Bible’s not the kind of book you ever “finish” is it?
What is your spiritual practice? It’s hard to stay rooted in the love of Christ without one.
Our habits can be sporadic. In Advent we’re invited to renew these things. If you don’t have a practice, it’s time to begin one.
Lindsay and I have been reading from a devotional book. In the morning we drink our coffee, light a candle, share a reading, and reflect on it.
I guess you’ve heard: we’re having an Advent Bible Study here at the church and also at Bethany Manor. We read, share, sing, pray.
This is one way we can prepare our lives for the coming of Christ. This is how our faith is strengthened.
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But back to the story. Things are getting tense. Daniel is outed by his rivals, who are secretly rejoicing.
The king, however, considered Daniel to be one of his top officials. He realized, now, that he’d been manipulated into passing this ordinance. But what could he do?
He stewed and fretted. As he gave the command for Daniel to be cast to the lions, Darius said, “May your God, whom you faithfully serve, deliver you!”
Did we just hear the king of the Medes and Persians praying to the Hebrew God? It’s hard to say. But I’ll tell you this: there was no one in the kingdom more concerned for Daniel’s safety than Darius. What will happen next?
We’re waiting to find out. What kind of God does Daniel have? Is this God one who saves? When powerful forces conspire against us. When legal systems let us down. Will the LORD come to the aid of faithful souls?
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At the break of dawn Darius arrives at the den of lions. “Daniel,” he cries, “O Daniel, servant of the living God …” Can you hear the anxiety in his voice?
“Has your God whom you faithfully serve been able to deliver you from the lions?” He waits.
And now a voice arises out of the dark den below … proclaiming something about an angel!
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I love this picture on our bulletin cover. Those wild lions look stunned and mesmerized. They don’t seem very ferocious, do they? One of them appears rather playful.
Daniel kneels calmly in prayer while this unseen, lion-taming, angel does its work.
They haul Daniel out of the pit, unscathed. Not a scratch!
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“Do not put your trust in princes,” writes the Psalmist, “in mortals, in whom there is no help. … Happy are those whose help is the God of Jacob, whose hope is in the Lord their God.” (Psalm 146:3-5)
Where is our hope? In whom do we trust?
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King Darius rounds up the conspirators and throws them into the den – a rough form of justice, I suppose.
Then he issues a proclamation, that in all his royal dominion “people should tremble and fear before the God of Daniel: For he is the living God, enduring forever. His kingdom shall never be destroyed. … He delivers and rescues, he works signs and wonders in heaven and on earth …”
It's nice to see a humble ruler who knows his place.
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But wait. Does God always save? If you find yourself in a hard place, will God always, always, step in to bring release?
I ask because maybe some of you have been praying and wondering, in the darkness of whatever trial you face, why help has been so long coming.
In a few moments we will pause on this First Sunday of Advent to remember those whom we have lost. People die. Sometimes disease is not cured. And prisoners do not escape.
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I was reminded this week of one of our forebears. But you probably know this story better than I do! Dirk Willems was a Dutch Anabaptist, condemned by the Church of Rome for his beliefs and arrested in 1569.
He managed to escape from prison, using a rope made out of knotted rags. He crossed a frozen moat. But the guard pursuing him fell through, yelling for help as he struggled in the icy water.
Willems turned back to save his life, embodying Jesus’ teaching to love our enemies. As a result of this, he was recaptured and burned at the stake.[1]
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There is much that is unknown in our life of faith. Sometimes God does not save in the way we expect.
One thing I do know is that our world is very much in need of a Saviour. As am I. Advent announces the coming of One who has been through death and returns to us with the gift of life.
Christ is coming! Not only as the little child of Bethlehem, but as the Saviour of the world who brings an everlasting kingdom. May we welcome this coming Christ. Amen.
[1] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dirk_Willems
“The providence of God”
Ruth 3:1-5; 4:13-17 (November 10, 2024)
Do you remember last week, how we read the first part of the book of Ruth? That may be a lot to ask – since I myself can barely remember my message from week to week. So for those of you who are scratching your heads and wondering “what did he say?”, let me briefly remind you.
The story opens with a Hebrew woman named Naomi, who faces a series of tragic events in her life, one after another: A famine strikes. Her husband dies. Her children die as well.
And it pulls us right into the story because, of course, it’s heart-wrenching to see all this. And maybe you know someone who has also faced some enormous difficulty. And maybe, if the story fits, you can even see yourself in it.
How would we ever get through these things if we had to journey by ourselves?
There’s a poignant line in that first chapter, when Naomi tells her daughters to go away. “Turn back,” she says. Don’t stick with me. “It has been far more bitter for me than for you because the hand of the LORD has turned against me.”
Did you hear what Naomi just said? “The hand of the Lord has turned against me.” She’s trying to make sense of all that has happened – from a theological point of view: Why is this happening? And where is God in the midst of it?
These are “God-questions.” All of us, at some level, are theologians. Maybe you never thought of yourself that way, but when you’re thinking about God that’s what you are.
The conclusion Naomi reaches, is rather devastating: “God has turned against me,” she claims! How else can she explain it? It seems to her that God, the source of life itself, has somehow borne a grudge against her.
We can understand how she might feel that way. But also, understand this: How such a thought would make her slough of despond even darker! What an awful thing.
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So, was Naomi right? Well, that’s not the God we’re presented with in this biblical story. All we’ve read so far is the opening scene. It’s not the conclusion of the matter.
In today’s scripture reading, we jumped to the final bit. And, as you can see, there is a stunning turn-around. Naomi coaches Ruth on how to present herself to her kinsman, Boaz, who has an obligation under Hebrew law to look after his relatives.
Romance is followed by a promise. Then a marriage. And then a child is born. So widowed Ruth finds a husband. And Naomi has a descendent, an heir to land and riches. And both are embraced by the community of God’s people.
What started as tragedy has just as suddenly turned into blessing. Which is not to minimize the early pain of this story – those days were definitely not easy. But by the time we get to the end of it, the pain begins to fade and a new and promising horizon opens up before us.
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We’ll talk more about this in a minute. But for now, let me say that all of us are somewhere in the middle of our stories and we cannot possibly see the conclusion of them.
When we’re surrounded by darkness, we cannot see the light. And yet we know this: Just because a dark cloud fills the sky is no reason to think the sun above has ceased to shine.
No, sooner or later, that cloud will break. And rays of warmth and light will come streaming through. And the world, or at least our vision of it, will be transformed.
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On the front cover of your bulletin is a series of vignettes created by the artist John Swanson. The pictures show us individual episodes from the book of Ruth. It reads the same way as you would read a comic strip. When you go home this afternoon, have a closer look and see if you can recognize some of the scenes.
When you find yourself in the midst of any one of those episodes, you only have small part, a tiny fragment of the whole. So it is with all of us. What happens today or tomorrow or in any one season of our lives is only part of a larger whole.
Only as we stand back from it, when all the pieces are finally fitted in like a puzzle, only then can we see meaning or significance of any individual moment.
All of which is to admit that, at any given moment in time, we know so little! We humans, who are subject to all kinds of limitations, we don’t get to stand outside the daily drama.
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One of the things this story assumes is that there is another character at play. You thought the only significant personalities were Naomi, Ruth and Boaz, didn’t you? But wait, there is another! One who does stand apart from the tiny movements of our lives.
The Bible assumes the larger presence of God is everywhere, all the time. Even when we cannot not see it. Or comprehend it.
In all the many twists and turns of our lives, we never walk alone. Like disciples of Jesus on the Emmaus Road, we are accompanied by a traveller whose true identity remains hidden. Until suddenly it’s not!
In the opening of scripture, in the breaking of bread. A voice, a touch, a movement, a prayer … there is a flash of recognigion. And it’s enough to make us leap for joy. Or shed tears of gratitude. And send us running to tell a friend.
We are not alone! Through all our living. There in the midst … walking, waiting, guiding, inviting … there is God.
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And the recognition of that cosmic reality changes everything.
At the beginning of the story, Naomi’s life is filled with sorrow and hopelessness. But now, at the end of the book, we see that tragedy has turned to blessing. New light has dawned.
Those separate frames you see on the front of your bulletin are just momentary glimpses. Now that we’re at the end of the book we can stand back and take in the whole blessed thing. Just as God sees our lives from beginning to end.
Naomi’s neighbours turn to her and say, “Blessed be the LORD, who has not left you this day … He shall be to you a restorer of life and a nourisher of your old age …”
So this widow whose future seemed doomed, finds security. She who had lost her family is gifted with loved ones. “That daughter-in-law, Ruth, is more to you than seven sons!” her neighbours declare.
Now she has a little one to hold and treasure. “Naomi took the child and laid him in her bosom ….”
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Then finally, the narrator lets us in on a secret! None of the characters in the book of Ruth would ever realize this. Our lives are short. But our legacy is long.
I believe this to be true for each and every one of us. The legacies we leave are as important as the lives we live. Your words, your actions – they ripple out, affecting things far away and long into the future.
Listen as the legacy of this child is revealed: Obed (that’s the baby’s name) became the father of Jesse. And Jesse the father of David!
This child will bring forth, eventually, the greatest, best-loved king in the history of Israel. Who knew? Who knows half of what our lives may mean!
Each of us is called to live our days in the confidence that God will use them. And that somehow, somewhere, the good we bring to the world will be fitted in with God’s ultimate purpose for creation.
Obed becomes the grandfather of David. But it goes even further! David becomes the ancestor of … well guess who? The Christ who comes to bring salvation to all the world. So this one little story becomes a story that impacts us all!
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Theologians speak of God’s providence. By which they mean they mean the way that God provides for us. God gives us what we need.
Providence can also mean that God’s will prevails. That God’s purpose will not be thwarted.
As we live our lives, each of us has a part to play. And we need to do that as best we can. Naomi cooks up a plan for her daughter-in-law to encounter Boaz. “Now wash and anoint yourself and put on your best clothes and go down to the threshing floor.” Plans are made, details set in place.
But human scheming can only go so far. Because the Spirit of God is at work, moving in and through our human actions. We do what we can. And the rest we leave to God!
“We know that all things work together for good for those who love God, who are called according to his purpose.” (Romans 8:28)
Think of Israel’s forebear, Joseph, sold into slavery by jealous siblings, transported to Egypt, and there rising to the highest office in the land. So that when food was needed in a time of famine, Joseph was there to help.
“Even though you intended to do harm to me,” he said to his frightened brothers, “God intended it for good, in order to preserve a numerous people.” (Genesis 50:20)
I think of the Easter story and the power of God to take our human sin and turn it all around. So the cross, an instrument of suffering and shame, becomes the source of forgiveness and healing for all humanity. From death comes new life!
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The providence of God works in wondrous ways! And far be it from me to explain all this. But I do trust it. And today I invite you to trust it as well.
On this Remembrance Day weekend, when we are very much aware of the destructive forces that have and continue to swirl in the world around us, wreaking havoc, bringing death and suffering to so many … When events and politics and personalities cause us to be full of anxiety and fear … Can we trust that God is with us? That God is working, even now, in ways we may not see?
Here’s what I believe: That trusting is simply a better way for us to live.
Apart from faith, our lives are full of anxious worry. Dark clouds that overshadow our world may even cause us to despair. Yet faith believes the sun still shines. Even if we cannot see it.
Faith inspires us to work for good. To love our neighbours. To be agents of justice and peace. We cling to the promise that good will win. Love will triumph. Ultimately, evil will not prevail.
Can we trust this providence of God?
Just as importantly, can we act on that trust? Because faith without works is dead, you know. It’s not really trust at all.
In so many little ways, you and I are called to do our part. Even though we may never see the end result.
We live for a kingdom that is bigger than any one of us. Bigger than our church and all the churches put together. It transcends the ages and bounds of human history.
We live for God’s kingdom. We pray for it. We trust our lives to a God whose kingdom never ends and whose love will never fail. May it be so! Amen.
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