These blogs are the true and unedited me. They are spiritual, religiously liturgical, honest, and transparent. This is me.
Thursday, February 29, 2024
A Review of the Book "What's the T?" by Juno Dawson
Friday, February 23, 2024
The Joy of Expectation: A Sermon for the Second Sunday of Lent
Let the
words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable to you, O Lord.
Amen.
My mom has always been that mom who buys Christmas presents all year and then,
as soon as December hits, she gets them all wrapped and put under the tree. When
we were younger, my brother and I would be tortured by seeing a big pile of gifts
of all different shapes, colours, and sizes just sitting there, waiting to be
opened. Every day after school, we’d sit there, playing with the boxes wrapped
in pretty paper, rearranging the pile – by size, by name, by colour…
The
anticipation of Christmas morning was almost painful. There was so much joy and
expectation amassed in those gifts. One year, I decided to add to the fun and try
to guess what each of my presents were. Turns out, I guessed correctly almost
every time which, as it turns out, took away all of the fun of opening the gift.
It seems that the joy found in the unexpected was higher than the joy of the
expected.
Life
is full of expectant moments: expecting a visitor that you haven’t seen in a
long time, a baby that you’ve waited months to meet, an award you were
nominated for, a new job you applied for. The joy of these moments is found in
the nervousness of waiting, of expecting something new, big, exciting…
Expectant
joy is the joy that we know is coming, but it is not here yet in its fullness. Expectant
joy trembles with shimmering possibility that has not yet come into being but
will, and that sheer potential is enough to lighten loads, strengthen hearts,
unbind minds, and stir hopes. Practicing
expectant
joy might look absurd: it’s an act that resists rationalization and believes in
six impossible things before breakfast, à la Alice in Wonderland. Expectant joy
invites our faith, and it demands our trust.
This
expectant joy echoes through God’s words to Abram, even before Abram’s son
Isaac is born: “I have made you the ancestor of a multitude of nations”. God
shows up and repeats the covenantal promise to Abraham that his descendants
would be exceedingly numerous. And Abraham, now 99 years old, with a
90-year-old wife, “fell on his face and laughed.” Abraham simply did not
believe that God could or would keep the promise. The thing about expectations
is that God always seems to exceed them, to do the completely unexpected. God
kept the covenant with Abraham and Sarah, who gave birth to Isaac. Abraham then
trusted God’s promises and there was an expected continuation of deliverance
from God on the other promises that were made.
This
expectant joy is also revealed in the gospel text. Jesus stands in the center
of the scene, the Messiah who has come to fulfill God’s ancient promises. Peter
knows this. He just said it himself in the verses leading up to today’s reading.
But here is the Son of God with a repellent forecast, quite openly telling his
disciples that he must go to Jerusalem and undergo great suffering and rejection,
be killed, and rise again after three days, breaking the power of sin and
death. That, Jesus knows, is the good news that he has come to bring, embody,
and accomplish. The expectant joy at the very center of Christian faith comes
from his resurrection from the dead. This is the jubilant realization of God’s
salvific intent, but it cannot arrive until after Jesus suffers crucifixion.
Peter
can’t buy Jesus’ absurd proposal. Why does Jesus need to suffer and endure
anything to introduce pure joy? Isn’t his presence on earth already joyful
enough? The man can heal the sick and cast out demons! He preaches, and crowds
gather to listen! He teaches, and the experts can’t refute him! He is baptized,
and the heavens are torn apart! What is this nonsense about suffering and rejection?
Where is the joy in that? Jesus interrupts Peter’s well-intended lecture. “Get
behind me, Satan,” he says. “You are setting your mind not on divine things,
but on human things” (Mark 8:33).
It’s
only from behind Jesus that Peter, or any of us, can learn to follow him. If
Jesus gave us a choice, we’d never pick the path that leads to the cross. That,
Jesus tells us, is exactly what he’s
asking
us to do. He promises that there is joy on the other side: beyond the cross, he
will be raised. Beyond the cross, we will find our lives. Beyond the cross, we
will learn that joy does not need a reason to exist that the world deems
“sufficient.” We will find it in the darkness before the dawn, in the emptiness
of a tomb, in the weeping confusion of the Easter proclamation that the women make.
Christians
live in between the right now and the not yet. So how do we find joy in the
time of expectation, in the period of coming, but not here yet? The present
moment is often fraught with grief: neither the world nor we ourselves are as
God desires. Creation is rife with violence and division, suffering and hate,
and we don’t know if we will see it change in our lifetimes. But God will fulfill
all that God has promised. That joy is with us even in the midst of the not
yet, and it has the power to shape our encounter with the right now. Through
this complexity, God invites and equips us to cultivate expectant joy, a
persistent trust in God’s future promises that empowers us to work toward God’s
vision immediately.
Lent
is a time of waiting and of expectation. Peter and the rest of the apostles
might not understand, but Jesus knows that he is walking towards something new,
big, exciting… Jesus knows that there will be joy on the other side of the
cross. It thrums through his promise to the displaced disciples that he will
prepare a place for them. It inhabits each crumb of communion bread, a
foretaste of the feast to come. It resounds through baptism and funeral liturgies
when we recall Paul’s words: “if we have been united with him in a death like his,
we will certainly be united with him in a resurrection like his”.
There
is joy in the waiting, in the expectation. We know something important is about
to happen. When we hear the promise of the resurrection, we can feel joy in
that expectation. And while laughing might seem like the wrong thing to do
during a time like Lent, as we wait for Easter, as we hold our expectation of
promises fulfilled, sometimes, in all of that expectant joy, all you can do is laugh.
God
of joy, turn our laughter into the joy of expectation and the realization of
faith. Teach us to laugh with Sarah and Abraham, with Peter and the apostles,
and with all whom you bless.
Amen.
Saturday, February 17, 2024
The Joy of Rainbows: A Sermon for the First Sunday of Lent
Let the
words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable to you, O Lord.
Amen.
Have
you ever noticed that when you’ve heard or read a story so many times that it
becomes so familiar that you don’t even have to read all the words to play out
the story in your head? Take, for example, the story of Noah’s Ark. Now, for
most of us, we have heard this story since we were kids. I bet just hearing the
words “Noah’s Ark” you can practically picture the entire story but I’m going retell
it here anyway.
God
called down to Noah and told him to build a big boat because God was going to
send a huge flood to wipe everything off the face of the earth – people, animals,
plants, everything. God wasn’t happy with the way people were living so God
wanted to erase it all and start over. God gave Noah lots of instructions about
this boat and who all was allowed on it – Noah and his family as well as two of
every animal.
So,
everyone got onto the boat and suddenly it began to rain. It rained for 40 days,
and 40 nights and the entire earth became covered in water. Eventually the rain
stopped, and the boat came aground on a mountain. God told Noah and his family
and all the animals that they were to fill the earth once again. God also
promised that never again would an attempt be made to destroy the earth.
What
is one of the first things that comes to mind when you think back on the story
of Noah’s Ark? A Rainbow! Noah and his wife, in front of the ark, surrounded by
all sorts of animals, and a giant rainbow across the sky. Something like that,
right?
Ah
but listen to this. Here is Genesis verse 13: “I have set my bow
in the clouds, and it shall be a sign of the covenant between me and the earth.”
The
bow mentioned here is a weapon, as in bow and arrow. By setting the “bow in the
clouds”, God is hanging up his weapon, God is disarming himself. The hanging
bow is a reminder to God that God will not lift up such violence again. It is a
reminder that God’s way of “doing business” will forever be different. And just
as all action of the covenant is initiated by God, all promises in the future
are God’s alone. There is no action required by people, there is only a promise
that God’s way of dealing with creation will never include destruction again.
Suddenly,
the story of Noah’s Ark seems even more powerful than it was before. It wasn't
just that God looked around after the flood and thought, "Gee, the place
could really use some more color." It was that God looked around after the
flood and felt an emotion so powerful that it led God to put down God's weapon
of war forever – or rather, to hang it in the sky as a sign and a promise that
God would never again destroy the earth by flood.
So,
while the bible never actually uses the word “rainbow”, it has become a visual
reminder of God’s willingness to put down a weapon of destruction, a visual
reminder of God’s faithfulness to all people, a visual reminder of the beginning
of a new relationship between God and humanity. The rainbow is potent because
it follows a great tragedy and marks God’s change of heart.
I
guess you could say it’s a pretty famous rainbow because plenty of people have
an idea of Noah’s story and God’s placing of that rainbow in the sky. The
second most famous rainbow, in my opinion, is the rainbow flag.
In
recent years, some more conservative Christians have tried to declare that the
queer community has “stolen” the rainbow from God, citing Genesis 9 and calling
on their followers to reappropriate it as a Christian anti-Queer symbol. And while
the rainbow obviously has deep roots in Jewish and Christian scripture and
tradition, as we just talked about, the scriptural references to a rainbow
indicate God’s inclusion, redemption, love, and joy, not exclusion or
condemnation.
It's
also important to note here that the queer community is not the only group to
fly a rainbow flag. In the anti-nuclear movement, rainbow flags waved for a
world free of nuclear weapons in the wake of the nuclear age. Rainbow flags
flew for peace when Europe became involved with the invasion of Iraq in 2002.
They also waved over movements for Indigenous rights and freedom in Peru. The
rainbow has become a symbol of diversity and liberation.
However,
the 2SLGBTQ+ flag has become the most recognizable rainbow flag and no, we didn’t
steal it from anyone. Its celebratory colors bore witness to events from the
assassination of Harvey Milk to the AIDS pandemic to hate crimes. It was flown for
the legalization of same-gender marriage, and it’s raised every year at Winnipeg
City Hall to mark the beginning of Pride Week. Like the biblical rainbow, the
pride flag’s rainbow is a vivid witness to the suffering and survival of its
people. Today, the flag’s colors are multiplying, representing more pieces of
the 2SLGBTQ+ community, making the flag that represents inclusion even more inclusive.
When
you see a rainbow, whether flying high in solidarity or through the water
following a rainstorm, it’s hard to feel anything but joy. The rainbow is a
powerful symbol of joy across time periods and cultures, and wherever it is
used, it marks faithful persistence through suffering and injustice. Like joy,
the rainbow gains richer meaning from what it endures.
God’s
rainbow covenant does not guarantee that humanity will never suffer again but
it does promise to accompany and persist. Likewise, joy persists in order to
assure humanity that God will never give up on us. The joy that is represented
in God’s rainbow gives humanity’s most vulnerable people the courage to heal,
gather strength, and thrive into the future.
Therefore,
while we are singing the Hymn of the Day, I want to share with you the joy of
rainbows by giving you all a rainbow sticker to take home with you. Keep it as reminder
of God’s promise to always be with you, to stand by you in times of distress,
and to give you hope for the possibility of a brighter future.
Amen.
(If you've read this blog and would like a sticker mailed to you, please mail a pre-stamped envelope to Reverend Theo Robinson c/o Lutheran Church of the Good Shepherd 106 Sawchuk Drive St. Andrews, Manitoba R1A 4B4)
Tuesday, February 13, 2024
To Love You Shall Return: A Sermon for Ash Wednesday
Let the
words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable to you, O Lord.
What
an odd mashing up of days this year – Ash Wednesday on Valentine’s Day. It’s
like the Christian and secular calendars have conspired to play a cruel
practical joke on us with the irony of wanting to enjoy a box of chocolates on
the first day of Lent, a time of fasting and self-denial.
Valentine’s
Day wasn’t always about the chocolate though. There are a number of versions of
the history of Valentine’s Day but the most noted legend is of a Roman priest
who secretly performed marriages for soldiers against the wishes of Emperor
Claudias II, who prohibited his soldiers from marrying. He felt that soldiers
served better without being tied down to a wife and children.
Because
of his willingness to join couples in holy matrimony, Valentine became known as
the “friend of lovers”. When he was discovered, Valentine was imprisoned and executed
on February 14. In 496 AD, Pope Gelasius I declared February 14 to be a day of
celebration in honor of St. Valentine. Modern day commercialization has turned
the day into what it is now.
Ash
Wednesday marks the beginning of our Lenten season. Lent is a time for
Christians to examine our lives, repent our sins, and be renewed in forgiveness
for our sins through the crucified and risen Christ. It is a day when we reveal
our invisible cross.
When
you were baptized, a priest would have marked your forehead with a cross in
oil. This marking sealed you by the Holy Spirit in Baptism and marked you as
Christ’s own forever. Ash Wednesday is a special day of the year because we use
the ashes from the previous year’s palms to make that cross appear on our
foreheads once again.
By
making visible again the cross that we received at Baptism, we acknowledge our
impiety, our lack of repentance, our apathy to the suffering in the world. The
imposition of ashes on our forehead is an outward symbol of our repentance and
the renewed visibility of our baptismal cross reminds us of our baptismal
promises.
By
marking ourselves with the sign of the cross to signify the beginning of Lent,
we also honour Jesus’ 40-day trek through the wilderness.
How
strange it is to combine a day of commercialization and overabundance of food,
drink, and of course, chocolate with a day where we begin a fast of such
luxuries.
How
strange it is to combine a day of love with a day where we are acknowledging
the departure of Jesus into the wilderness and the time leading up to his
gruesome death.
So,
can Valentine’s Day and Ash Wednesday coexist? Can the frivolity of Valentine’s
Day offer anything to the penitence of Ash Wednesday?
There
is one obvious common denominator between the two days…love.
On
Valentine’s Day, we celebrate the love we share with one another, whether it be
with spouse, family, or friends. And tonight, we celebrate our love for God.
In
the reading from the book of Joel, God asks for us to "return to God with
all our heart" and to "rend our hearts".
God
wants to have ALL of us, every piece of us, loving God... as the Almighty gave
it ALL to show love for us. We do that partly by showing God our dedication,
commitment, and love in showing up for Lent – giving up earthly things to focus
on the sacred. Setting aside the chocolate and reveling in the love of God.
And
while it seems that Valentine’s Day is very much a secular custom rather than a
celebration of the life of St Valentine the martyr, there remains a very
Christian message that should be remembered.
Ash
Wednesday points us towards the greatest act of love when Jesus gave up His
life on the cross so that we might be forgiven of our sins. The love of our
Lord Jesus Christ is a sacrificial, selfless, and unconditional love. Jesus
died for us knowing we might never love him back. Such is the love that each
Christian is called to express in their own lives, for God, and for neighbour.
Tonight’s
readings from Joel and from the Psalm speak of the Lord’s steadfast and
everlasting love. In Corinthians, Paul declares us to be ambassadors for
Christ. And never forget what Jesus said in John chapter 15, “This is my
commandment: love one another as I have loved you. There is no greater love
than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.”
St
Valentine fulfilled this command, and we need to do the same. In a world where
hate, distrust, and violence seem to be on every news channel and every social
media feed, we need to remember Jesus’ commandment and sacrifice of love even
more than ever.
Today,
in honor of the love of Valentine’s Day and the holiness of Ash Wednesday, let
us take Jesus’ message into our hearts and pledge our love to our family, our
friends, and to the stranger, praying for their intentions, promising fidelity
to them, and never expecting anything in return.
Jesus
broke death through love. God sent Jesus to break that death for us because of
God’s love for the world. In our death, we remember that we are loved. We say,
“remember you are dust and to dust you shall return.” But we could just as
easily say, “remember you are loved and to love you shall return.”
A
friend provided me with this affirmation that I think applies to us all
tonight: Deep in the center of me flows an infinite wellspring of love that
fills my entire being and radiates out from me in all directions, returning to
me multiplied. I give and receive more love every day and the supply is
endless.
May
you feel an abundance of love tonight and forever.
Amen.
Saturday, February 10, 2024
A Review of the Book "Firestarter" by Stephen King
Monday, February 5, 2024
Transgender Liturgies: Why Are They Important?
Friday, February 2, 2024
To Work, To Serve, To Minister: A Sermon for the Fifth Sunday After Epiphany
Grace, mercy, and
peace to you in the name of Christ our Saviour. Amen.
One
of the things that has always irked me about the Bible is the lack of details.
When you read a good novel, there are chapters that introduce you to characters
and their backstories. These chapters are used to get you involved with the
people and then you want to read on to find out what happens to them. But in
the bible, those details are lacking. One of the most poignant examples is what
was Jesus up to for 30 years? I won’t get into that right now, but you get my
drift.
Today’s
Gospel reading is no different. Jesus is at Simon and Andrew’s house where
Simon’s mother-in-law is sick with a fever. I have questions. Why do Simon and
Andrew live together? If Simon has a mother-in-law, it implies that he is
married. So to whom is he married? Saying that she has a fever is pretty
general. Is it just a fever that most of us would just sleep it off? Or is it a
more life-threatening illness? Where are the details??
Especially
when it comes to women, the Bible more than not leaves them nameless even
though they are some of the most important pieces of the development of our
relationship with Jesus.
Simon’s
mother-in-law is left nameless, Simon’s spouse seems to have been left out of
the story, and we have no idea how threatening the illness is, but what we do
know is that Simon was worried enough that after witnessing Jesus dispel the
unclean spirit from the man earlier in the day, he asked Jesus to come and heal
his mother-in-law.
The
healing of Simon’s mother-in-law is a classic healing story. It’s all fine and
good. It’s what Jesus does. It’s what he’s good at. But there is something disturbing
about this story that doesn’t seem to have anything to do with healing.
According
to the NRSV translation, verse 31 goes as such: “He came and took her by the
hand and lifted her up. Then the fever left her, and she began to serve them.” Did
anyone else bristle at these words?
Assuming
that this fever was life-threatening, this woman was just brought back to life
with Jesus’ healing. What would you do if you were brought back from the edge
of death? Would your first instinct be to get up and serve people?
I
decided to look up some other translations.
NIV
– “So he went to her, took her hand and helped her up. The fever left her and
she began to wait on them.”
KJV
– “And he came and took her by the hand, and lifted her up; and immediately the
fever left her, and she ministered unto them.”
Message
– “He went to her, took her hand, and raised her up. No sooner had the fever
left than she was up fixing dinner for them.”
Yikes.
That last one especially gets my goat.
Of
course Jesus healed her – they needed someone to make them some dinner! As if
Jesus is saying, "What do you mean she’s sick? We can’t have this. I’ll
have her up and cooking in no time.” As my friend Rachel Twigg put it in her
2018 sermon, “Jesus heals her and immediately she gets up and begins to serve
him. What did she serve him? A sandwich?”
I
say again, yikes.
I
don’t tend to read the King James Version, but I think that translation hits a
little closer to home than the rest. Here’s why I say that.
Mark
1:31 uses the word serve which translates to diakoneo in the Greek language.
This same word was used in Mark 10:45 “for the Son of Man came not to be served
but to serve” and in Mark 1:13 when “angels waited on him.”
Translating
the same Greek word as “minister” when angels are the subject but “serve” when
a woman is the subject downplays her action. As translated, Jesus’ healing of
Simon’s mother-in-law and the miracle’s outcome are extremely gendered in ways
that veer too close to the stereotypes we know to be tired and destructive.
Instead,
let’s look at the fact that diakoneo is the root of the word Deacon.
Perhaps Simon’s mother-in-law is the first to understand what it is to follow
Jesus thus becoming the first deacon. Unlike many stories of healing in the
Bible, she doesn’t get healed because of her great faith; there is no mention
that she believed at all. But once she is healed, the woman gets right out of
bed and begins to work, to serve, to minister.
Though
the details about her are left out of the story, details like her name and the
reason for her illness, this woman who appears not to have been a believer, is
now a follower of Christ. She has been transformed by her encounter with Christ
and will now live out her life in service of others.
Just
as the demons do in the previous scene, the fever “leaves her.” Having been
“raised,” she “serves” them. While literally it could mean she served them food
and drink, the word’s presence here shows that her service is to be interpreted
as a model response of faith. Meaning both to serve at a table and to do
ministry.
I
agree with Rachel Twigg when she says, “Simon’s unnamed mother-in-law is really
a model of Christian discipleship, the embodiment of the type of discipleship
that Jesus will embody in his own life and ministry, and which he will call his
disciples to emulate. A type of service that his male disciples will often fail
to live up to.”
So
while the words “she began to serve them” makes us cringe because of how we
know society treats women, then and now, the healed woman’s reaction to her
encounter with Christ is actually something for us to strive towards.
Jesus
heals this woman – she is brought to wholeness, to completeness – and she takes
her rightful role in service to others. We could learn so much from her.
Serving
is not “woman’s work”, nor is it lesser than being served. Simon’s
mother-in-law is more than a cook, waiter, and dishwasher. She’s also a
follower. If she’s a follower, and a follower who is willing to serve as she
goes, then she’s also a disciple. If she’s a disciple, then to her “has been
given the secret of the kingdom of God” (Mark 4:11). Service is not the “proper
place of women” it is the proper place for all Christians.
This
woman shows us that when we allow Jesus to come near and touch us, we are
raised to the highest calling – to serve others. And her service was not a
one-time, over-and-done-with action, like cooking a meal. Simon’s mother-in-law
began to serve Jesus and his followers. But the meaning of her actions was
transformed by Jesus’ healing touch. She did not serve and minister to them because
of some duty. She served out of love. Simon’s mother-in-law became as much a
follower of Jesus as any of his disciples. Mark describes her using language
that makes her the first deacon in Christianity. She was the first person to
have their ordinary diakonos, or service of others, transformed into
servant ministry.
Simon
Peter’s mother-in-law provides us an example by which to live – to respond to
the love of God, the healing and forgiving touch of Jesus, by sharing that love
with those around us. And, as you share God’s love, you are living into your
own vocation as a minister of the Gospel as a teacher, lawyer, salesperson,
doctor, volunteer, parent, grandparent, spouse, friend to the glory of God.
Your ordinary work will be ministry simply by the virtue of your baptism.
Amen.