“I Pray God, Rid Me of God” – sermons for Trinity Sunday

Eckhart rid me of GodMeister Eckhart’s fervent plea: “I pray God, rid me of God” becomes a sort of mantra for me whenever the task of contemplating the Trinity rolls around on the liturgical calendar. Once again, I have failed to have the foresight to book my holidays so as to avoid the task of preaching on this festival of the church, so I find myself plumbing previous sermons in search of a way through the quagmire of doctrines which threaten to overcome even the most dedicated of preachers. I offer them here to my fellow preachers as my way of saying, “I pray God, rid me of God!!!” Shalom

click on the sermon title

While Preachers Dutifully Ponder the Doctrine of the Trinity,

Our Congregations Shrink???

 

“Trinity: Image of the Community that is God” Desmond Tutu

The Athanasian Creed and an Unholy Trinity

Wolf Blitzer Learned that there are Indeed Atheists in Fox-holes

Poor Old Nicodemus – Doomed to Play the Fool – John 3:1-17

Be the Crack that Lets the Light Shine In – a sermon lamenting the election

img_0693Our readings included Ecclesiastes 3:1-8 and Luke 21:5-19, our Contemporary Psalm was “Anthem” by Lenard Cohen

Listen to the sermon here

“There is a time for everything,

a season for every purpose under heaven:

a season to be born and a season to die;

a season to plant and a season to harvest;

a season to hurt and a season to heal;

a season to tear down and a season to build up;

a season to cry and a season to laugh;

a season to mourn and a season to dance;

a season to scatter stones and a season to gather them;

a season for holding close and a season for holding back;

a season to seek and a season to lose;

a season to keep and a season to throw away;

a season to tear and a season to mend;

a season to be silent and a season to speak;

a season to love and a season to hate;

a season for hostilities and a season for peace.” (Ecclesiastes 3:1-8)

 

“The birds they sang

at the break of day

Start again

I heard them say

Don’t dwell on what

has passed away

or what is yet to be.

Ring the bells that still can ring

Forget your perfect offering

There is a crack in everything

That’s how the light gets in.”  (Anthem by Lenard Cohen)

 

What a season we are in; a time to grieve, a time to weep, a time to harken back through the ages to seasons when our ancestors spoke of rending their garments.

Tearing their clothing, the fabric that protects them from the elements.

Tearing the fabric that adorns their body, the fashion that identifies them, shows the world who and what they are ripped and torn as they throw themselves down to the ground and wail in their grief.

In these past few days, the sound of rending garments has haunted my very being as if the fabric of civility is torn in two and our hopes and dreams as timid as we allow them to be, are ripped asunder.

Wailing and gnashing of teeth can only begin to express our grief.

What we need is the ululation, that long, wavering, high-pitched scream, the kind of howling that has long since got out of fashion in our civil society.

“We asked for signs

the signs were sent:

the birth betrayed

the marriage spent

Yeah the widowhood

of every government —

signs for all to see.”

Our hopes and dreams of a new season had barely begun to surface.

When our own demons tore the curtain asunder to reveal the reality that white supremacy and male supremacy, are not going gently into the great night.

“Ah the wars they will

be fought again

The holy dove

She will be caught again

bought and sold

and bought again

the dove is never free.”

Women grabbed as once again misogyny is worn as a badge of honour.

Walls erected.

People of colour taunted with lynching ropes.

Our fragile planet groaning under the pressure of our filth, threatened by the ignorance of powerful deniers who now wield the power of the richest purse. 

“Ah the wars they will

be fought again

The holy dove

She will be caught again

bought and sold

and bought again

the dove is never free.”

Conversion therapy is on the books again.

Tired tropes of white supremacy.

Muslim bans, deportation squads, treaties broken, pipelines built, clean coal replacing suspicious solar, as our energies are directed and distracted by promises of taking back and making great again.

“The holy dove is never free.

The wars they will be fought again,”

 water-boarding and torture back in vogue again.

Even generals cower before visions of their new commander-in-chief, promises to “bomb the shit out of them” as the generals wonder who are “them.”

Let’s build a wall. Let’s build it high.

Let’s dig a moat. Let’s fill that moat with crocodiles.

Let’s keep them out.

What a season this is.

Only the promise of winter can cheer our hearts, the drifting snow, the promised birth.

Let Jesus come.

Let Christmas mirth distract us here.

Jesus saves.

But Christians cheer.

They’ve found their saviour.

“Two Corinthians” is their guy.

Pussies be damned we hear them preach.

What a season this is.

I’ve struggled wondering what to say to you this morning; what hope can I offer?

When the message of the one we profess to follow has been used in ways that have convinced 81% of white evangelicals to vote for change such as this?

The majority of Roman Catholics joined in.

33% of the women who voted cast their lot with a misogynist.

75% percent of those who voted profess to be Christian.

Jesus weeps.

The curtain is torn.

Wars and rumors of wars.

“The holy dove

She will be caught again

bought and sold

and bought again

the dove is never free.

Ring the bells that still can ring

Forget your perfect offering

There is a crack in everything

That’s how the light gets in.”

“Here we stand.”

We Canadians.

Convinced that we are above it all.

Polite and kind are we.

Have a nice day.

Your welcome.

Excuse me.

“Here we stand.”

We who have yet to elect a female prime minister or a prime minister of colour.

Our last prime minister called for a burka ban and a barbaric practices hotline and we had already elected him 3 times.

But we’re not them.

No orange tan, just pretty locks of hair and a name that takes us back to simpler days when the just society, and multiculturalism inspired a mania whose child now feeds our arrogant notions of sunny ways.

We’re not them.

Our fingers point to the racist south while First Nations die in a slow creeping genocide.

It’s been a year since McLeans’ announced that our Indigenous peoples are incarcerated at ten times the rate as other Canadians.

 

But we are not them, despite the fact that our Indigenous peoples are murdered at more than six times the national average.

NO we are not them, even though our Indigenous peoples must survive on 40% less than the average wage in Canada.

We are not them.

139 active drinking water advisories in 94 First Nations communities across the country, more than 1000 missing and murdered indigenous women and girls and to which we say,

“Have a nice day

your welcome.”

We are not them.

Even if it is true that by almost every measurable indicator Canada’s indigenous population suffers a worse fate and more hardship than the African American population in the United States.

We are not them.

We are not racist.

“The birds they sang

at the break of day

Start again

I heard them say

Don’t dwell on what

has passed away

or what is yet to be.”

 

There is a season turn turn turn, to every purpose under heaven.

Jesus saves.

And here we stand, right smack in the middle of a season in which the Gospel and the church are associated with bigotry, racism, misogyny, sexual assault, climate change denial, and persecution of people based on ancient myths interpreted as facts.

Here we stand, an inclusive, progressive, science loving, historically critical, knowledge loving family that continues to struggle with the teachings of Jesus, refusing to take the Bible literally while trying to take it seriously.

Here we stand, convinced that we can do no other.

Opening our arms wide, extending a promise of radical welcome.

 

“Ring the bells that still can ring

Forget your perfect offering

There is a crack in everything

That’s how the light gets in.”

Ring the bells that still can ring:

the bells of justice

the bells of hope

the bells of peace

the bells of joy

“Forget your perfect offering.”

The cracks are there for all to see.

The light shines in.

And still we sing.

And still we stand.

Trusting that every tear will be wiped away.

That all shall be well and all manner of things shall be well.

LOVE will turn our mourning into dancing.

Here we stand for we can do no other.

Ring the bells that can still ring.

The LOVE that is God is the only hope I have to offer you in this strange season that we are in.

The LOVE that is God is the best hope that we have to give.

There is a crack in everything.

Be that crack.

Let the light come in.

Ring the bells that can still ring.

Be that crack.

Let the LOVE come in.

BE THE LOVE SHINING IN.

                            

 

Raging Storms are All Around Us – a sermon for Pentecost 4B – Mark 4:35-41

lift every voiceIn addition to being Fathers’ Day, today was National Aboriginal Day, the beginning of Pride Week celebrations, and yesterday was International Refugee Day. All of these events were overshadowed by the tragic events in Charleston on Wednesday. The Gospel text from the Gospel of Mark tells the story of Jesus stilling the storm and calming the waters. Our worship begin with the singing of what has become known as the African American anthem, Lift Every Voice and Sing.  Listen to the sermon here

Truth and Reconciliation – sermon for Pentecost 3B

Pastor Tom Doherty & Terry Hutchings shared their experiences at the Kairos events which preceded the Truth & Reconciliation Commissions delivery of their report. Our readings included Ezekiel 17:22-24 and Mark 4:26-34. The hymn sung after the sermon, “As One” with  words by Gretta Vosper to the familiar Huron Carol – UNE JEUNE PUCELL

The video is a bit choppy at the beginning but settles down in a few moments.

“I Pray God, Rid Me of God” – sermons for Trinity Sunday

Eckhart rid me of GodMeister Eckhart’s fervent plea: “I pray God, rid me of God” becomes a sort of mantra for me whenever the task of contemplating the Trinity rolls around on the liturgical calendar. Once again, I have failed to have the foresight to book my holidays so as to avoid the task of preaching on this festival of the church, so I find myself plumbing previous sermons in search of a way through the quagmire of doctrines which threaten to overcome even the most dedicated of preachers. I offer them here to my fellow preachers as my way of saying, “I pray God, rid me of God!!!” Shalom

click on the sermon title

While Preachers Dutifully Ponder the Doctrine of the Trinity,

Our Congregations Shrink???

“Trinity: Image of the Community that is God” Desmond Tutu

The Athanasian Creed and an Unholy Trinity

Wolf Blitzer Learned that there are Indeed Atheists in Fox-holes

RISE-UP Demand Justice for Murdered and Missing First Nations Women!

canada's shameFor those of you who have asked for a print copy of Sunday’s sermon, I have posted it below. You can find the readings that preceded this sermon here and listen to the audio of the sermon here 

God forgive me, but I can’t even remember her name. Staring back through the mists of time, I can barely remember the pain in her eyes. More than three decades have passed since I lived and worked in Vancouver’s east end. I was young, young and foolish, young and carefree, young and adventurous, young and callous. In my early twenties, I was still trying to figure out who I was. I was in no condition to understand who she was. How could I know? None of us knew.

I knew Jesus back then. Some might even say that I was obsessed with knowing Jesus. I went to church every Sunday and I hung out with church people. I knew the Father well back then. I was young, the world was my oyster, my future stretched out before me. I knew that my work in the travel industry was only temporary; just a means to an end, a way to make money so that I could spend it enjoying life. At the time, I was working in a pretty unglamorous part of the wholesale travel industry packaging holidays, to Mexico and Hawaii. We used to joke that it wasn’t brain surgery, just bums on seats, just filling every plane our company chartered with warm bodies so that they could get away from Vancouver’s gloomy, rain-soaked winter; bums on seats, anybody could do the job; day in day out filling airplanes, it was positively mind-numbing work.

The company I worked for occupied an entire three-story office building on the northern edge of Vancouver’s East-End. The East-End of Vancouver is still one of the poorest neighbourhoods in Canada. Back then, the gentrification of the East-End that Expo 86 and then the 2010 Olympics brought, couldn’t even be imagined. Good upstanding middle-class people avoided the poverty of the East-end, unless of course they were young like me, and then the depravity of the neighbourhood was kind of a badge of honour; as we braved the streets on our way to dance the night away in the clubs that sprang up on the edge of the East-End were rents were cheep and cops had so much more to worry about than the kind of mischief that we got into. So, I lived and worked in the East-End and saved my money for the life that stretched out in front of me.

I wish I could remember her name. I’m ashamed to confess that I cannot remember her name. But the pain in her eyes, those dark mournful eyes that I will never forget. I’d warned her more than once. It was against the rules. She was hired to clean our offices. She was to go about her work and make sure that she had the place spick-and span ready for us when we arrived in the morning and then she would be on her way. But time and time again, I’d find her lingering, long past the time when she should have left; lingering and talking on the telephone; she was the cleaner, she had no business using the phones. I was the newly minted supervisor of the reservations department; it was to me that the staff came to complain about the untidy conditions in the staff room. If she spent as much time doing her job as she did sneaking around making phone calls, we wouldn’t have to put up with the unwashed mugs in the sink. I warned her over and over again, but she just wouldn’t listen. My boss told me to fire her; but I was young and I’d never fired anyone before, besides wouldn’t Jesus want me to give her just one more chance; God forgive me I thought I could save her. Oh don’t worry, I wasn’t planning to save her for Jesus or anything as crass as that, oh no, I was going to save her from herself. I was going to redeem her from her lazy self and see to it that she kept her job. God forgive me, I did not know what I was doing. Continue reading

Arise on this Mothers’ Day: a sermon

justice missingThe plight of particular mothers in Canada promoted a change to the readings for this Sunday. You can find Luke 23:26-34, The Mother’s Day Proclamation, and Luke 24:1-5a by clicking here. The music for the song sung after the sermon “Sweetgrass and Candle” can be found here.

You can listen to the sermon here  

To further explore the issues discussed in the sermon, I highly recommend watching the National Film Board’s film “Finding Dawn” it can be viewed by clicking here

 

Blanket Exercise at Holy Cross in Newmarket

IMG_0190Yesterday, the Holy Cross’ Global Justice Team hosted a Kairos Blanket Exercise. The experience of participating in the Blanket Exercise was  powerful, humbling, enlightening and inspiring. The Global Justice Team did a splendid job of guiding us through Indigenous Canadian history.  We were blessed by the presence of indigenous leaders: Suzanne Smoke (The Georgina Arts Centre and Gallery) and Cathy Elliott (DAREarts). Suzanne brought along her sacred bundle and graciously led a smudge ceremony and talking circle. Cathy gifted us by singing and drumming. Reflecting on the range of emotions that the experience generated, it is clear that in addition to providing a powerful educational experience the gathering opened our hearts and minds to a history which many of us have remained ignorant of for far too long. We have been challenged and inspired to continue to advocate for our First Nations sisters and brothers. 

I am not by any stretch of the imagination a filmmaker, but I did manage to collect a few clips to give you a taste of the experience.

The Global Justice Team has organized a followup to the Blanket Exercise in the form of a Book Club. Check out the titles:

Blanket Exercise Book Club

To view a video of a Kairos Blanket Exercise recorded at New Hope in Calgary click here

Enough of John the Baptist Already! a sermon for the Second Sunday of Advent

mandelaIn addition to Isaiah 11:1-10 and Matthew3:1-2, the readings today included Maya Angelou’s poem “His Day Is Done: a Tribute to Nelson Mandela“.  I am indebted to Glynn Cardy for much of this sermon and we are both indebted to John Dominic Crossan and Robert Funk for providing historical perspective. 

Ubuntu: Compassion brought into colourful practice.

go be love

“I must never allow my neighbour to go hungry while I’ve got a little food in my house…We as human beings must sustain each other even during times of greatest peril.”  Let our Thanksgiving become compassion and let us bring our compassion into colourful practice!