Prayer (7th after Pentecost, 2025-07-27)

7th  Sunday after Pentecost

27th July 2025 Wolf Kirchmeir

Prayer

Hosea 1:2-10; Psalm 85; Colossians 2:6-15, (16-19); Luke 11:1-13

May the words of my lips and the meditations of all our hearts be ever acceptable in your sight, O Lord.

Dear Friends in Christ,

“Teach us to pray”. That’s what the disciples asked, and Jesus gave them what we call the Lord’s Prayer. We use the longer version as recorded in Matthew. There are also several modern versions of it. They aren’t strict translations, but paraphrases. They are intended to make the intentions of the prayer easier to understand, so that we may pray it more mindfully.

But what exactly are we doing when we pray? What is prayer?

“Teach us to pray.” A simple request, wouldn’t you say? Just four words in English. And such a simple answer, just a few sentences. What’s the problem? Just repeat the words that Jesus gave the disciples, and problem solved, right?

No problem at all, until we start to think about it. Then we may see a puzzle. We know that merely repeating the words isn’t enough. The disciples were asking for more than the words.

I think it’s the context that points the way. Usually, Jesus went off by himself when he prayed. The disciples didn’t know how he prayed, but they clearly thought there was something worth learning. After all, the Jewish tradition is public prayer, out loud,  in the temple or in the synagogue. So when Jesus went off to pray by himself once again, the disciples wondered what was going on.

And we should wonder, too.

So let’s start at the beginning: What is prayer? That looks like an easy question. So let’s try out a few ideas.

Is prayer asking for some blessing? If so, does that mean that you won’t be blessed if you don’t ask? But then what about the people who don’t ask, and receive the same blessings you enjoy? Or what about the ones who don’t ask and receive even more blessings than you do?

OK then, is prayer asking for some personal favour, something just for you? Doesn’t that sound as if you believe that you deserved more or better things than other people? That seems to go against Jesus saying that the last shall be first and the first shall be last.

Well then, is prayer just talking to God? Moses talked to God a lot. Their talk was mostly about God’s plans for the Israelites. That sounds like a conference, not prayer.

Maybe we should ask a different question. What is prayer for?

We are supposed to engage in prayer, praise, and thanksgiving. I think it’s fairly obvious that we should praise God and give thanks for all the blessings we enjoy.

But then, what’s prayer? Aren’t praise and thanksgiving forms of prayer?

I think you can see where I’m going with this. In any simple answer to what prayer is, there’s something missing. I have a few ideas, which I’ve cobbled together from what wiser heads have said. I’ll share some of them with you, and pray that my words will help us not only to understand better what we think prayer is, but will also help us to accept the guidance of the Spirit in our practice of prayer.

One of the things we learn as children is to pray for what we want. Here’s a story about little Johnny. You know, the kid who figures in all those jokes about sassy answers, or awkward questions, or mischievous pranks.

The family was staying at grandma’s house. It was bed time and Johnny was saying his prayers. “Bless Daddy and Mummy and Suzie. And bless Nana,” he said quietly. And then he shouted out loud, “And please send me the red bike from Smith’s hardware store.”

“You don’t have to yell,” his mother said. “God isn’t deaf!”

“Yes, but Nana is,” said Johnny.

Many people pray for a miracle. It seems that some people think of prayer as some kind of magic spell. The rule for magic spells is simple: You say the right words, and perform the right actions, in the right place, at the right time, and in the right order, and the magic happens. Make even one little mistake, or forget even one word of the spell, and the magic won’t work. But do it right, and God will do what you want.

To me, that looks like trying to control God. And if there’s one thing you can’t do, it’s to control God.

Little Johnny knew better. He may not have been able to say it, but he knew that God works his miracles by using whatever is handy. Usually that’s people. For Johnny, it was Nana. Johnny wanted God to help her decide to give him what he wanted.

For us, it’s usually us. When we ask God to do something, we’re asking for God to help us decide what to do and to do it. That’s a thought I will come back to.

Well then, if asking for what we want, and using the right words, is not what it’s about, then what is prayer about?

Look at Jesus’s example of prayer again. He lists a series of petitions. So at first glance it does look like praying means to ask God for what we want and need.

But the three first petitions focus on God. Listen.

Father, hallowed be your name. That sentence acknowledges God as the ruler of the universe.

Your kingdom come. That says that we know we have become exiles from God’s kingdom, and wish to return to it.

May your will be done on earth as it is in heaven. That is how God’s kingdom will be re-established, and it explicitly states that it’s God’s will that matters, not ours.

So the first three petitions make us aware that it’s not what we want, but what God wants that counts. Prayer is not like a magic spell, we aren’t trying to control God. On the contrary, we are reminding ourselves that God is in control.

With the first three petitions we give up control to God. We align our desires with God’s desires for us.

Having aligned ourselves with God’s will, we ask for the essentials. Listen.

First, we ask for the means of bodily life: Give us each day our daily bread.

Second, we ask for the means of spiritual life: Forgive us our sins, for we also forgive everyone who sins against us.

And third, we ask for protection against the dangers that surround us: And lead us not into temptation.

Now, we don’t really have to ask for these essentials. God will provide them. So why does Jesus recommend that we ask for them? What’s the point of asking for what we will receive anyhow?

Well, I’m reminded that when I was very young I was taught to ask politely for a snack, to say “Please”. And then of course to say “Thank you”. I knew that I would get the cookie or the glass of milk, but asking and giving thanks for it made some kind of sense. What kind of sense?

The sense of belonging, of being part of the family, of being loved.

I think that’s a clue. I think prayer is like asking for the snack we know we will get anyhow. I think prayer is about belonging. It expresses our desire to be a child of God. It acknowledges that we are unable to be good children without help. It asks for those changes in mind and heart that enable us to be part of God’s family.

Prayer asks for that transformation that we cannot accomplish on our own.

That transformation has real life consequences. When we pray for the sick, the poor, the victims of crime and oppression and natural disasters, we’re not reciting a magic spell. We’re asking that the helpers have the skills and the resources and the compassion needed to carry out their work. We’re also praying that we will have the insight and the will to do what we can to help in that work. To be part of God’s family is to care for our neighours and the world around us.

To put it bluntly: To pray for others means to pray that we will act to help them.

Prayer may be expressed in words, but it is an action. It’s something we do. It’s spiritual exercise.

Its purpose is to connect us to the Divine in ourselves and in each other.

Its purpose is to make us aware of the creative and sustaining power that brought this universe and us into being.

Its purpose is to transform our relationship to each other and to the world in which we live.

So how do we do this praying thing? Listen again to the prayer that Jesus taught:

First and foremost, we begin by focusing our attention on that divine power that we label the Creator.

Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name.

Second, we open ourselves to the guidance of that divine wisdom that we label the Spirit.

Thy kingdom come.

Third, we ask that we may amend our lives to practice the love that we label the Christ.

Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.

Then we acknowledge the source of our life by asking for the bread that sustains it.

Give us this day our daily bread.

We ask for renewal by asking for forgiveness.

Forgive us our trespasses.

And we ask for a loving relationship with each other.

As we forgive those that trespass against us.

Finally, we ask that the troubles which we will meet will not overwhelm us.

And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.

The prayer that Jesus taught his disciples covers the ground. It’s a model for us, not so much in the words, but in what those words imply, in what those words describe, in what those words say.

They imply that prayer connects us to the Creator.

They describe that connection as one of love.

They say that we are connected to each other by and through that love.

Let us praise God for the gift of life, and give thanks for his everlasting love. Amen.

Commitment (3rd after Pentecost, 2025 June 29)

 3rd Sunday after Pentecost

June 29th, 2025 Commitment

Wolf Kirchmeir

1 Kings 19:15-16, 19-21; Psalm 16 ;  Galatians 5:1, 13-25;  Luke 9:51-62 

May the words of my lips and the meditations of all our hearts be ever acceptable in your sight, O Lord.

Dear Friends in Christ,

Today’s Gospel reading has two main parts.

There’s the Samaritan village that refuses to accommodate the disciples. They want to call down fire upon it, but Jesus rebukes them for their vengeful thinking.

Then we get some notes on what happened when Jesus attracted new followers. There’s the man who says he will follow Jesus wherever he will go. Jesus replies that “Foxes have holes and birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.”

That doesn’t sound like an invitation to come along.

And then there are the two men that Jesus does invite to come along, but both have prior commitments that they must fulfill.

Well, which part of today’s reading would you focus on?

What stood out for me was the last sentence: No-one who puts his hand to the plough and looks back is fit for service in the kingdom of God.

That’s a hard sentence. It tells us that there are some things that matter most, and we had better not be distracted from them.

Distractions.

It’s never been easier for us to give in to distractions. That little electronic device in your pocket or purse vibrates or rings, and you answer, and talk to someone, and then touch End Call. But you don’t put the phone away. You open up some app and read somebody’s post about their latest experience with face cream or fish bait. Or you follow a link to a video showing a cat tippy-toeing through a maze of dominoes without touching any of them. Or a video of an ATV slooshing through a mud puddle and drenching its riders in muck.

Or whatever.

Distractions.

It’s not only humans that can be distracted. You can distract a cat by jiggling a piece of string in front of it. The cat can’t help itself. That jiggly bit of string attracts its attention and it swipes at it. If you have a dog, you will get its attention just by opening the fridge door. Because that’s where you keep the dog food, and the dog knows it.

It seems that anything with a brain can be distracted. You just have to figure out how, and it will work almost every time. That’s what the social media companies have done. As you may know, it works only too well.

Distractions.

They do have their good side. A wailing toddler can be soothed by distracting them. Offer them their favourite soft toy, and the wailing will likely stop.

Distractions can even change how we feel pain. Here’s an anecdote about that. I found it online.

As toddlers, whenever we'd fall down and start to cry, my dad would be like "OHMYGOSH! OH NOOO!! The floor!!!? Did you hurt the floor???" And we'd be shocked into forgetting we'd just fallen (and gotten scared-hurt).

It was hilarious seeing younger siblings do this –  to go from traumatized and in desperate pain to stunned in about half a second... guppy faces and wide eyes like- 'Oh no! I'm not the victim here at all, am I?' Maybe you'd have to see it to understand. Surprisingly, it really did make everything stop hurting.

Distractions.

They can also do serious harm. They are often used by politicians to shift attention from unpopular policies or decisions. I won’t give examples, there are enough of them in the news.

Political distractions are bad enough, but distractions can also interfere with commitments. Suppose you decide to read a book, or make a snack, or chat with a friend. If there’s no commitment to fulfill at that time, then these are not distractions. A distraction is doing anything at all when you should be doing something else. That means that even chores can be a distraction.

What I’ve mentioned are minor distractions, and we usually get back pretty quick to what we have to do. No real harm done. The serious problem is the distraction that is also a commitment. Then we have to make a choice. A real choice. One that makes a real difference.

That’s what the core of today’s Gospel is about. And Jesus does not make it easy for us. He demands 100% commitment.

Let’s hear again what Jesus says.

To the man who wants to follow him, Jesus says The Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head. That implies, If you choose to follow me, you will have to put up with all kinds of hardships.

To the man who wants to first arrange his father’s funeral, Jesus says, Let the dead bury their dead. That implies If you choose to follow me, you will live a life with radically different obligations.

To the man who wants to say goodbye to his family, Jesus says, No-one who puts his hand to the plough and looks back is fit for service in the kingdom of God. That implies You must leave behind everything that you hold dear.

In other words, the commitment to follow Jesus is life-altering or it’s nothing.

Any commitment is serious business. To promise that you will do something may require more work, more time, more effort, more money, than you imagined when you made the promise. But that doesn’t excuse you from trying. External circumstances that you can’t control may prevent you from fulfilling your promise. Then you may be excused. But otherwise, you must do whatever it takes to keep your promise.

As I said, making a commitment, any commitment, is serious business. It looks like the prime take-away is Don’t promise more than you can deliver.

Now suppose that’s what you do. You never take on more than you can handle. You make sure there’s a back-up plan.  You always promise less than you could do, just to be on the safe side. You will say that you will try, you don’t promise delivery. And if in doubt, you don’t commit.

Sounds like a plan, right? A fail-safe plan. One that reduces risk to as close to zero as the Universe ever allows.

Somehow, I don’t think that’s what Jesus has in mind when he says, Follow me.

Commitment to service in the Kingdom of God is the most serious commitment of all. And Jesus repeatedly says it comes with a risk, it comes with trouble. The Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.

And that’s the least of it.

The history of persecution, of strife between Christians, of political hi-jacking of religion, of scams and worse in the name of the faith, these show us the risks and the harms are both physical and spiritual. They come from other people. They come from within ourselves. There is no escaping them. We are flawed creatures, and we will make mistakes.

Often we will make mistakes believing we are doing the right thing.

We call ourselves Christians. That means we’ve answered Jesus’s call. If you answer Jesus’s call, that’s a total commitment. You’re promising everything. There is no back up plan, there is no “I’ll try”, there is no guarantee that you can handle it.

You have signed up for an obligation that will take you beyond your comfort zone. Way beyond, out there on the open sea, where there is nothing to hold onto, no one to reach for you, no way to get back to shore.

Commitment takes courage. We are naturally afraid when we don’t know what’s coming. Or when we know the odds are that what’s coming won’t be pleasant. Or when there’s no way out.

We each have some fears that are worse than others. They are the ones that make it difficult or even impossible to do certain things. I recall as a child being afraid of the dark at the bottom of the stairs. I still feel a small twinge of something before I turn on the light. I’m glad I can overcome those twinges, though. Many people have fears they can’t escape. My little twinges help me imagine what it must be like to suffer from a phobia. And that gives me another twinge of fear, the fear of being afraid.

What if you are afraid of not being able to keep your promise?

Commitment takes resolve. It’s a promise to ourselves and others.

Commitment takes courage, because we may have to act despite some fear.

Commitment takes faith, because we may have to act with no guarantee of success, or even with the odds against us.

But we’re not alone.

Jesus promised us the Spirit, the Comforter. The root of “comfort” is fort-, which means strength. We see it also in the words fortress, and fortitude.

The Spirit will give us strength.

The strength to do what we need to do when we need to do it. The strength to face whatever makes the commitment difficult. The strength to face whatever fears make us shrink from doing what we know we should do. The strength to cut distractions short, and to avoid them altogether.

That’s the promise of Pentecost.

The Spirit is a Spirit of Wisdom. The spirit will give us insight, so that we know what to do, and what to say. The Spirit will give us skill, so we know how to do it and how to say it. The Spirit will give us understanding, so we know when to change what we do and change what we say.

That, too, is the promise of Pentecost.

Finally, the Spirit is love in action. It works through us when we commit ourselves to follow Jesus. We become God’s hands, doing his work. The Spirit unites us in the body of Christ. It is the Word made Flesh, living within us when we accept the Redemption offered us through the sacrifice on the Cross.

That, to is the promise of Pentecost.

We started with some thoughts about the relationship between distractions and commitment.

We went on to some understanding of Jesus’s the life-altering invitation, Follow me.

We have come, once again, to the mystery of the Love of God.

May we love God with all our heart, soul, mind and strength; and each other as ourselves.

Amen.

Sin and Repentance (Lent 4, 30th March 2025)

Sin and Repentance

Wolf Kirchmeir

[Joshua 5:9-12; Psalm 32; 2 Corinthians 5:16-21; Luke 15:1-3, 11b-32]

O Holy Spirit, assist us we contemplate your word, that we may be enlightened by your truth. Amen.

Dear Friends in Christ,

All our readings today are about sin and repentance and forgiveness. God tells Joshua that he rolled away the reproach of Egypt from you. The Psalmist meditates on the blessed gift of forgiveness of sin. Paul reminds Corinthians reminds that in Jesus God has reconciled sinners to himself. Luke records the story of the Prodigal Son, one of the best known parables.

Nowadays, sin is not a popular subject for sermons. Hellfire and brimstone sermons have gone out of fashion. Even the evangelical churches don’t preach sin and repentance as much as they used to. The emphasis nowadays is not on the punishment of sin, but on God’s loving forgiveness.

It’s in many ways a good thing that we don’t talk about sin as much in the past. We take a great deal of pleasure in thinking about the awful things that other people do. Enumerating the sins of the flesh can be a little too entertaining to be healthy. That may be why scandal has become a staple of the tabloids and YouTube videos, which enjoy a large audience, even though nobody admits to paying attention to them.

Well, today I’m going to talk about sin. I’m going to talk about what sin is, what repentance is, and what forgiveness is.

We’ve all heard the tagline, The Devil made me do it. That’s a common excuse, based on the notion that the Devil is the source of sin. He isn’t, you know. In the Bible, Satan makes three important appearances: to Eve, in the book of Job, and to Jesus.

In the Garden of Eden Satan doesn’t tell Eve to do anything. He just has a little conversation with Eve in which he plants the seed of a desire – the desire to become like a god. Eve doesn’t have to fulfill this desire – she chooses to do so. And Adam, faced with the same choice, makes the same decision.

When God comes to find out what Eve and Adam have been up to, Adam tries to shift the blame to Eve, and Eve tries to shift the blame to the Serpent.

Did the Serpent make Adam and Eve disobey God? No. It was their choice. Did the Serpent make Adam and Eve shift the blame? No. It was their choice.

In the story of Job, Satan talks with God, who is pleased with Job’s righteousness. Satan claims that Job is righteous only because he is a very fortunate, very rich man, with a loving family, many friends, and good health. Take those away, says Satan, and Job will curse God.

Well, God lets Satan take away all those things and more. And Job curses his fate. Whereupon God speaks to Job out of the whirlwind, and reminds him of his littleness and lack of understanding. Job repents, and submits to God’s will.

Last, we see Satan tempting Jesus. Jesus’s response to every suggestion and offer is to quote Scripture, and every quotation he uses underlines the same idea: that we are to obey the Lord our God, and to do his will.

What we see in these three stories is that Satan offers choices. The same kind of choices over and over again: just do what you want to do.

Sin is very simple to understand: it’s doing what you are not supposed to do, and not doing what you are supposed to do.

Supposed to do, not what you want to do.

Supposed not to do, not what you don’t want to do.

There may be some argument about what we are and are not supposed to do, but that doesn’t affect the nature of sin.

There may be doubts about whether we properly understand what God does and does not want us to do, but that doesn’t affect the nature of sin.

We may be mistaken about what is and what is not a sin, but that doesn’t affect the nature of sin.

Sin is what happens when we choose not to do God’s will. That’s it. It’s our choice.

It’s not what the Devil does, so don’t blame him.

It’s not what other people do, so don’t blame them.

It’s not what society expects you to do, so don’t blame society.

It’s your choice, and only yours. 

And that means it’s your responsibility, and yours alone.

Well, having gotten this far in our thinking about sin, we come up against an unfortunate fact. There are several names for that fact, such as original sin, or human nature, or moral weakness. Each of these names expresses a different understanding of this unfortunate fact. I won’t go into that part of the issue. For regardless of what we call it, the fact is that sooner or later we will make some bad choices.

What’s more, we will know that we have made bad choices. And we won’t like that knowledge one bit. The Psalmist puts it this way:

When I declared not my sin, my body wasted away through my groaning all day long. For day and night thy hand was heavy upon me; my strength was dried up as by the heat of the summer. (Ps32:3-4)

No wonder that we will try to shift the blame. We will blame anyone and everything except ourselves. That’s not good, for trying to shift the blame prevents repentance. And repentance happens to be necessary if we want get past that sin that we are blaming others for.

What is repentance? It’s accepting blame, no matter how painful that is. In fact, the word means feeling pain. Repentance begins with remorse, with feeling the pain of knowing you done wrong. It continues with declaring my sin.

It’s very fashionable these days to apologise. Politicians, hockey players, movie actors, anyone in the public eye – they fall all over each other apologising.

And what do they apologise for?

They apologise for making a mistake.

It was a mistake to say something that gave offense.

It was a mistake to act in the heat of the moment and clip someone with a hockey stick.

It was a mistake to get so drunk you lost control of what you were doing.

But these apologies strike me as rather odd. They all say or imply that it wasn’t me that did that bad thing.

It wasn’t me, it was a lapse of judgement.

It wasn’t me, it was my anger.

It wasn’t me, it was the alcohol.

And so on.

In all of these apologies the apologiser more or less obviously passes the buck. In all these apologies, there is a shifting of blame. Just like Adam shifts the blame: It wasn’t me, Lord, it was Eve, she gave me the apple.

It’s not how the Psalmist does it:

I acknowledged my sin unto Thee, he says, and I did not hide my iniquity.(Ps 32:5a)

He does not say, Sorry, I made a mistake.

But there’s more. Repentance, feeling the pain of knowing you have sinned, then acknowledging that you have sinned, is just the beginning. Now you seek forgiveness from those you have wronged, and from God. You want to make amends. Those you have wronged may demand restitution or compensation.

But God takes a different tack. He forgives without demanding restitution.

Now, the Psalmist is quite sure that God will forgive:

I said, “I will confess my transgression unto the Lord”; then thou didst forgive my sin. (Ps32:5b), he says.

That certainty that God will forgive is repeated many times in the Old and New Testament. One of the best known illustrations of this is the parable of the Prodigal Son. We all know it.

The younger son asked for his share of the property, and had a great time paying for what the Revised Standard Version calls “loose living.”

When a famine struck, he hired out as a swineherd, and he came to himself and realised that he would be better off back home as one of the hired hands. So he returned, and said to his father, Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; I am no longer worthy to be called your son. But his father had him clothed in a new robe, and ordered the fatted calf to be killed, and there was a party with music and dancing, because this my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found.

The older son was of course annoyed by this. The father says to him, Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours. It is fitting to make merry and be glad, for this your brother was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.

Here we have the whole of the biblical teaching about sin. The younger son does what he wants to do, not what he should do. He comes to himself, and feels the pain of knowing he has sinned. He acknowledges his sin to his father, and is willing to do whatever he can to make amends. But his father rejoices and forgives him. And when his older brother, who obeyed the rules, complains, the father repeats his words of forgiveness: This my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found.

The father’s forgiveness of his wayward son’s waywardness is the point of this parable. Jesus intends that lesson to apply to us too. We too are wayward children who too often do what we want, sometimes thoughtlessly, sometimes through sheer cussedness, sometimes for reasons we don’t admit to ourselves but which are only too obvious to those who know us. And like the wayward son, we too may come to ourselves and feel the sting of remorse. And like the wayward son we may believe that we are no longer worthy to be a child of God, and must make amends.

But God doesn’t operate with our human notions of worth. God forgives. He forgives because we were lost, and we are found again. All we have to do is return to him and admit that we sinned. More, God had himself made amends for our sin.

In our Anglican tradition, we return to God in every worship service. We say the Confession, and receive the assurance of forgiveness in the Absolution. May we accept the promise that this part of our worship gives. Amen.  

Fish Story (5th Sunday after Epiphany, 9th February 2025)

5th Sunday after Epiphany - February 9th, 2025

Fish Story

Wolf Kirchmeir

Isaiah 6:1-8, (9-13); Psalm 138; 1 Corinthians 15:1-11; Luke 5:1-11

O Holy Spirit, assist us we contemplate your word, that we may be enlightened by your truth. Amen.

Dear Friends in Christ,

Today’s Gospel is about fishing.

It feels like everybody has a fish story.

Even people who don’t fish have fish stories.

Now, I don’t know whether Luke ever fished. The tradition is that he was a physician, and a physician’s apprentice was unlikely to be told to go fish. Maybe Luke fished when he was a boy.

Here we have a fish story told by Luke. I think it resonates, as we say these days. It resonates with me in many ways. I grew up next to a lake.

I watched the fishers morning and evening going out in their flat-bottomed boat haul and set their nets. They were a couple. She was short and round, and he was tall and thin. They pumped square shovel-shaped oars to move the boat.

They hung the nets to dry on frames made of spruce poles. The nets bleached in the sun, and waved in the wind. When the fishers mended the nets, they used a flat piece of wood to carry the line back and forth, and over and under to make the knots. I never could figure out how that worked.

I still can’t figure it out.

The fishers stuck the smaller fish on pine splints which they ranged in the smoke house. The smoked fish was a delicious snack, sweet and salty and smoky. Sometimes the fishers gave us children one or two to share between us.

In England, I saw fresh fish laid out on marble slabs at the fishmonger’s. They were bedded in crushed ice, which glistened even when there was no sun.

Fish was on the menu at least once a week. Granny had a limited kitchen repertoire, but what she cooked tasted good. I still think that fish should have as little added flavour as possible. Except for kippers, which should taste sweet and salty and smoky.

Fishing was and is important business all round the Mediterranean, and also on the inland Sea of Galilee. So I don’t think it’s much of a surprise to read that Jesus met up with fishers. He asked Simon to put the boat out from shore a little ways so that he could teach the people who came to hear him. Good choice. Sound carries over water, as anyone who lives on a lake knows very well.

Afterwards, Jesus asked Simon to set his nets again.

Simon wasn’t sure what to do. “We’ve been out all night, and caught nothing,” he said. “But since you say so, we’ll do it.”

Then, when the catch was almost too much for Simon and his partners to land on shore, he fell at Jesus’ knees and said, “Go away from me, Lord; I am a sinful man!”

And Jesus answers, “Don’t be afraid; from now on you will catch men.”

I suspect that when we hear this story, it’s the miraculous catch that first attracts our attention. And when Jesus says that from now on Simon and his partners will be fishers of men, that seems to be the point of the story. Well, it is, and we’ll come back to it.

But first, I want to consider the exchange between Jesus and Simon.

When Jesus said, Put out into deep water, and let down the nets for a catch, Simon answered,  Master, we’ve worked hard all night and haven’t caught anything. But because you say so, I will let down the nets.

Not exactly an enthusiastic agreement, is it. I mean, I recall when my mum asked me to do something I didn’t think was worth doing, or didn’t really want to do. But I did it anyway, because, well, because she was my mum. “Well, okaaay ....”

That’s Simon’s attitude.

Let’s pause a moment and think about that.

How often do we grudgingly agree to do something just because of who’s asking? Or because refusing would cause a problem? Or because, well, it’s just easier to agree? Or because we have this awkward sense of duty?

Too often, I think. But we sigh, and do what we’re asked to do, and we think that, well, we did it, so we should get some credit for doing it, and we should get some extra credit because we did it even though we didn’t really want to do it, which is a sacrifice, really, and sacrifice is good, really, isn’t it? So more points for us.

I’m not at all sure that this line of reasoning is, well, let’s say God-approved.

And what happens when we aren’t exactly enthusiastic about what we’re doing? I think we all know the answer to that question. Mistakes, and shoddy workmanship, and more.

Not good.

So Simon and his partner row out some distance, and set their nets, and then haul them in. And the catch is so large that their nets begin to break. When their partners on the shore put out to help them haul in the catch, the catch is so heavy that the boats ride low in the water and are almost swamped.

Simon’s reaction is I think a bit strange. You’d think he would be pleased at such a huge catch. A very profitable one, probably a week’s worth of fish. What’s not to like?

You might expect Simon to say something like, Well, that worked out better than I thought it would. Thank you very much! 

But Simon says Go away from me. And he adds, I am a sinful man.

When I first came to this point in today’s Gospel, I was puzzled. It was not obvious to me why Simon would say Go away from me. Admitting he was a sinful man, well, that seems easy. It amounts to saying something like I don’t deserve this bounty. 

But Go away from me?

Then, as so often happens, I was thinking about something else entirely, when a little voice in the back of my head said “Simon is ashamed.”

Shame is an unpleasant emotion. One of its effects is wanting to be invisible. To have nobody see you. To disappear. That’s why Simon wants Jesus to go away. It’s so Jesus can’t see him any more.

Shame is unpleasant, but it does have its uses. One use is to keep us in line. We are ashamed when we violate what the comment sections call “community standards.” The fear of shame, of being exposed, usually makes us behave better. 

At the least, shame prevents us from annoying other people, and it may prevent something worse.  You can see, I think, that a sense of shame is good for all of us.

But there’s also a more personal side to shame. I think that’s what is eating at Simon. I think he’s deeply ashamed by his ungracious acceptance of Jesus’s advice to set his nets again. I think it makes him feel that he has betrayed his sense of himself. He has not acted as he wishes he had acted.

That, I think, is why he says I am a sinful man. Or, I am not who I want to be.

I think we can empathise with Simon. We may grudgingly do our duty, but we don’t expect a good outcome. In fact, we may even hope for a less than perfect result, just to prove that we were right to have doubts. And when good things happen, we may look for the flaw that proves we were right. Instead of being grateful that things went well, we may carp and niggle and nitpick.

That’s ingratitude. It’s wrong.

Did Simon react that way? If so, he realized he was wrong. I am a sinful man, he says. I think we may read that as his awareness of the sin of ingratitude.  If we see Simon’s words from this angle, we can understand his anguish. Like Simon, we may feel the same shame when we realise that we’ve acted reluctantly, unwillingly, grudgingly. Because we felt we had to, not because we wanted to.

 But I hope we can also accept the grace that Simon received. For Jesus says, Don’t be afraid; from now on you will catch men.

That is what this story leads up to, and there’s a lot to unpack.

Jesus says Do not be afraid. Afraid of what? What does Simon fear? I think he fears Jesus’s anger. But instead of imposing punishment, Jesus offers Simon forgiveness, and more than that, he offers the grace of working with him to redeem humankind. You will be fishers of men, Jesus says to Simon and his partners. And they leave their boats and follow him.

Jesus offers us the same grace. I came not to judge but to save sinners, Jesus says in another place. And he means it. Do not be afraid, he says to us. Do not fear punishment, but follow me. Do the work that I have given you to do.

Well, what is the work that Jesus has given us to do?  It is to proclaim the Good News. It is to catch men. It is to gather in the lost and the strayed, so that they too may be citizens of the Kingdom. It is to welcome the prodigal children, so that they too may be members of the family. That is what Simon and John and James went on to do when they left their boats and followed Jesus.

Today’s Gospel is one of several that tell how Jesus assembled the Twelve and gathered many others round him. There are two common threads in these stories. One is that Jesus didn’t seek out the respectable or influential people. True, some respectable and influential people sought him out, and some became his followers. But they had no special status.

Nor did Jesus look for moral and ethical qualifications. The Disciples, including the inner Twelve, were ordinary people. Simon and his fellow fishers made a decent living catching and selling fish. They knew their trade, and that was about as far as any qualifications went.

Several of Jesus’s followers were people on the margins of society, and some were despised. The respectable folk repeatedly wondered that this prophet, this truth-speaker, this insightful teacher of the law and the prophets, that this Jesus hung out with disreputable people.

But his followers did have something in common, and that’s the other thread. They knew they were sinners. Go away from me, for I am a sinful man, says Simon.

That self-knowledge, that confession, is what Jesus looks for.

For Jesus does not impose his redemption. He offers it. It’s up to us to accept it. And when, like Simon and James and John, we do accept it, we like them will become fishers of men.

We will do the work that God has given us, each according to our gifts.

And by so by word and deed, we will witness to the love that seeks out sinners, not to judge them, but to save them.

And that witness, by God’s grace, will draw people to that love.

Let us pray.

Creator God, grant us the grace so to follow Simon’s example that we may be faithful followers of our Lord, and like Simon be fishers of men, by our witness drawing people closer to your Son, Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, now and forever. Amen.

Epiphany (2nd Sunday of Epiphany, 18th January 2009)

2nd Sunday of Epiphany (18 January 2009)

Wolf Kirchmeir 

Epiphany

[1 Samuel 3:1-20; Psalm 39:1-16; 1 Corinthians 6:12-20; John 1:43-51]

May the words of my lips and the meditations of all our hearts be ever acceptable in your sight, O Lord.

Dear Friends in Christ,

The season of Epiphany celebrates the revelation of the boy and the man Jesus, son of Joseph of Nazareth, as the Messiah. Today’s readings deal with the Epiphany as an encounter with God. Samuel hears God speak to him. The Psalmist recognises God as the source of his being. Paul understands the human body as the temple of the Holy Spirit. Nathaniel meets Jesus, and says, Thou art the Son of God.

I like etymology, the history of words. Most English dictionaries give you that information. Epiphany comes to us from the Greek, and it has two parts. The first is epi-, which means “outer, outward.” You may know that the outermost layer of your skin is called the epidermis, which just means “outer skin”. A lot of medical terminology is merely a translation from English into Greek or Latin. It makes the doctor sound learned, which is a great comfort to patients. Tucholsky, an Austrian humorist, said that more patients are cured by words than by medicine. There may be some truth to that.

The other part of the word, -phany, comes from a Greek word meaning “to appear, to be visible.” It’s related to the word phenomenon, which in English means “That which is visible.”

The Latin equivalent of “epiphany” is “revelation”. The English word for it is “uncovering.” So you see that in these three language there are three different takes on the process. The Greek word implies that the hidden thing shows itself. The English word suggests that we, the onlooker, move aside the veil. The Latin word encompasses both ideas.

So much for etymology. Interesting, but it doesn’t explain what’s going on in the readings appointed for today. I want to think of epiphany from another angle. Think of it as an encounter. From this angle, the season of Epiphany focusses on and celebrates the first encounters between Jesus the Messiah and the world he had come to redeem. 

The Gospel story is part of the history of the Apostles, whom Jesus called to follow him, and who saw in him the Messiah. “Thou art the Son of God,” says Nathaniel, when Jesus invites him to come along. Pretty simple story: the Apostles all one way or another say what Nathaniel said, and that’s why they were the Apostles, I think. Many people met Jesus, heard him speak, encountered him as preacher and healer and prophet. Many of them became his followers. A few saw in him the fulfilment of the promise, that God would send his Anointed One to redeem his people. And fewer still saw in that Messiah as the Son of the living God. A dozen of these few were chosen to accompany Jesus on his mission journeys.

So we may read this Gospel passage as testimony: these men and women testified, they spoke about what they encountered when they met Jesus.

We can’t prove that Jesus is what they claimed he was. “Thou art the Son of God” is not a logical conclusion. It can’t be proven by reasonable deduction from first principles. Nor is it by itself evidence in the legal sense. To be legal evidence, personal testimony must be objective, it must describe what any reasonable person could have known if he or she had been in the same situation. It’s about what you saw or heard or tasted or smelled, it’s about what you did or saw others do. It’s not about what you believe, it’s not about what you think, it’s not even about what you, being a sensible person, conclude. Conclusions are not evidence, since a few additional facts or data could change the conclusion. It helps if there is some material evidence, that supports the testimony. And so on.

In other words, what the Apostles tell of their experience, and what they came to believe because of it, wouldn’t stand up in a court of law. But of course it wasn’t and isn’t meant to be presented in court. Nor would their testimony pass the test of scientific analysis or experiment. But of course it wasn’t and isn’t meant to pass that test. As for common sense, that much misunderstood capacity to navigate this rather confusing world we live in –  what does talk about a man-god or god-man have to do with that? Nothing.

In the end, we are left with people’s accounts of what they experienced, what they encountered, what they believe is the truth. When Nathaniel says Thou art the Son of God, we confront a mystery. He’s either babbling nonsense, or he’s trying to say something that can’t be said in merely human language.

We may claim to share that belief. That is, we may say the same or similar words. We may believe that by doing so we mean exactly what Nathaniel meant. But of course that’s not so. We don’t exactly know what Nathaniel experienced. We don’t exactly know what we experience when we encounter God, for that matter. Saying it, talking about it, describing it, that is an attempt to make clear to ourselves what it was we experienced.

Nathaniel encountered a mystery. His response was a statement that on the surface is sheer nonsense. We too encounter a mystery. We may use the same language that Nathaniel uses. That’s one reason I believe it’s the same mystery. But that’s about all we can know for sure, if we can know it at all: that Nathaniel and we encountered the same mystery. For there is something about Jesus that defies human logic and understanding, and extends beyond human experience. We read the stories in the Bible, we read the life stories of the mystics and saints, we study theology, we testify and discuss and argue, and we talk and talk and talk.

Like I’m doing now, trying to explain why I think I can’t explain anything.

That phrase “the Son of God” will have as many meanings as the people who utter it, as many meanings as the times it’s uttered. Trying to communicate to someone else just what it means to you is like trying to point at something you see out of the corner of your eye. By the time you turn to look at it, it’s moved. There it is, just at the fringe of your vision, and if only it stood still, you could look at it, and see it clear.

But it won’t stand still.

So you’re left with this whatever-it-is that you express by saying that Jesus is the Lord, the Messiah, the Anointed of God, the Son of the Father, the Redeemer. Being able to say that, being able to say those words with some sense of their truth, being able to say them as an expression of something you’ve experienced, that’s what it means to have received the epiphany, the revelation of Jesus as God and Man.

Well, perhaps I’ve gone a little further than is good for me and you. Let’s leave this part of the meditation with this thought: that if you can echo Nathaniel’s “You are the Son of God”, then you’ve arrived at the starting point.

Because, you see, we still have to respond. The Epiphany, wherein God reveals himself to a human being, is not the end of the story. The other readings appointed for today each tell of a response to an encounter with God. Each shows us one of the ways we respond to God’s revelation of himself.

There’s the story of Samuel, whom God called in the night, and who thought at first it was his master Eli calling. Eventually Samuel was able to say, “Speak; for thy servant heareth.”

The Psalmist reflects on how God knows him intimately, has known him in the past, even before his birth, and will know him in the future. His response is praise: I will praise thee; for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.

The excerpt from Paul is one of his many attacks on bodily lusts and passions, and another reminder that there is more to us than our bodies. 

I’ll focus on the story of Samuel. It shows us what happens when we first encounter God. We’re puzzled, we’re not sure what’s going on, we don’t immediately recognise it. Three times Samuel thought Eli had called him, three times Eli told him no. Then Eli told him to listen again. What Samuel heard was not good news for Eli, but Eli accepted it. We know that Samuel became one of the great prophets, a great truth-speaker.

I think there are at least three lessons to be drawn from this story. First, when we encounter God, we don’t always realise that’s what is happening. Second, that it sometimes takes another person to help us make sense of that encounter. And third, that the encounter may or may not be a pleasant one.

So how do we recognise an encounter with God? How do you know that the voice you hear in the night is God’s voice? Samuel didn’t know – but it sounded a lot like Eli’s voice. Like the voice of an older, more experienced person. It was Eli who told him to listen, and find out what the voice would say to him.

Well, I don’t know about you, but I don’t hear voices in the night, leastways none that I don’t recognise or can’t identify. But God speaks to us in many ways. He speaks to us in the very nature of this world we are part of, in the bodies we inhabit, in the mind with which we think on these things. That’s what the Psalmist has experienced, and that’s what he testifies to.

But of course, just because two people look at the same object doesn’t mean they will see the same thing. Even to recognise that one is fearfully and wonderfully made is an insight that takes us a good way beyond the everyday taking for granted of the exquisite machine that is us. To see in that intricacy the mind and hand of God goes several steps beyond that. And to see that thereby our bodies are temples of the Holy Spirit takes us another few steps.

Now it’s easy to say these things, but is it easy to understand what they imply? Paul sees that this means we must honour God in our bodies. I add to this that we must honour God in each other’s bodies – that we must not let bodily harm and degradation and pain be visited upon the bodies of other people, neither by our action nor by our inaction.

So Paul’s insight is not only a call to discipline ourselves, but also a call to protect and support each other. That’s some of the theology behind what we call charity, which is the giving of time, service, and treasure to the healing of the sick, the comforting of the lonely, the rescue of those in peril, the feeding and clothing of the poor. We may do these things directly and personally by helping those we know, or indirectly by charitable giving or paying taxes. In other parts of his letters, Paul goes into this and related questions surrounding our living together in mutual love in many ways, and you have heard many sermons exploring his insights.

However, Samuel needed Eli’s advice in order to learn how to listen to God. Just so, we need other people’s advice. We know it, too, which is why we so often ask other people for advice. But how often do we want advice on what to do, and how often do we want approval for what we’ve already decided to do?

Samuel thought he knew what was wanted, but he was mistaken. Just so we may also be mistaken. After all, how do we know what God wants from us? Because it feels right, right? But sometimes what we want to do also feels right. We need another opinion, an Eli to direct us to listen again, to help us distinguish between what feels good and what feels right. Because what’s the right thing to do is sometimes the difficult thing to do, as I’m sure we all know only too well.

Then when Samuel listened, he heard something he didn’t really want to share. He was told that things would go badly for Eli. He didn’t want to tell, but Eli insisted. And when Eli has heard God’s message, he accepts it. God will do what is right, says Eli. He submits. And the story of Eli ends there, with his submission to the will of God. So also we should submit to the will of God, we should accept his message. Even when we don’t like it. And I’ll end there, for to consider what it means to understand and accept the will of God is another sermon, and this one has gone on long enough.

Let us end with a prayer.

Lord God, give us the grace to recognise you in each other, in the world around us, in the promptings of our reason and faith. And having recognised you, give us grace to accept your will, that your Kingdom may be established here and in the world to come, according to your word. We pray in the name of that Word, in whom and through whom you reveal yourself to the Apostles, to the saints, and to us. That Word redeems us your creatures, and your Spirit sustains us. May it be so now and forever. Amen.

Endings & Beginnings (1st of Advent, 3 December 2023)

 1st Sunday of Advent, 3rd December 2023

Wolf Kirchmeir    Endings & Beginnings

[Isaiah 64:1-9; Psalm 80:1-7, 17-19; 1st Corinthians 1:3-9; Mark 13: 24-37]

O Holy Spirit, assist us we contemplate your word, that we may be enlightened by your truth. Amen.

Dear Friends in Christ,

[Mk 13:34] It’s like a man going away: He leaves his house and puts his servants in charge, each with his assigned task, and tells the one at the door to keep watch. [35] “Therefore keep watch because you do not know when the owner of the house will come back — whether in the evening, or at midnight, or when the cock crows, or at dawn. [36] If he comes suddenly, do not let him find you sleeping. [37] What I say to you, I say to everyone: `Watch!’“

Today we begin the season of Advent. When I was a child in Austria, we put up the Advent Calendar. It showed a castle-like mansion with many windows. Every window revealed a surprise, a toy, and animal, a flower. Then on Christmas Eve we opened the double front doors and discovered the Christchild and his family. Advent was a season of expectations, of looking forward to something wonderful.

It still is. We look forward to something wonderful, the coming of God into his creation. We look forward to God living a human life as one of us.

Expectations of the future are also reminders of the past. As today changes into yesterday, and tomorrow becomes today, something ends, and something begins.

So we may think of Advent as a time when old things end and new things begin. Endings and beginnings, that’s one of the themes of the Gospel appointed for today.

But expectations are not always wonderful. As we grow older and learn something of how the world really works, our expectations become darker. We realise that the future holds as much evil as good, perhaps more.

Today’s gospel is one of several that deal with the end times. Jesus sometimes spoke of the ending of the old world and the beginning of the new one. Here, Jesus talks about the end of the universe. That is the end of the world as we know it. In other words, he’s prophesying. And most of the time, his prophecies are ignored. Or else they are misunderstood.

We look around the old world, decaying, running down, a time of wars and conflict, of selfishness and greed, of irresponsibility, self-indulgence, and carelessness. As the Irish poet W. B. Yeats wrote, we feel that Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold...  The best lack all conviction, while the worst Are full of passionate intensity.

But this ugly old world will give way to a beautiful new one, the Kingdom of Heaven.

That’s what we say we believe.

Our actions suggest a different attitude. We are constantly planning for the future as if there will be no end. Planning for the future lets us imagine that our lives will go on. And if and when we do think about the end, we make a will, so that our plans will continue to be fulfilled past our endings.

But here is Jesus telling us we can’t know when the end will come. Not for ourselves, not for our civilisation, not for the Earth, not for the universe.

Of that day and of that hour knoweth no man. [Mk 13:32]

When he talks about the stars falling from the sky and the moon losing its light, Jesus is quoting Isaiah. Even so, I don’t think Jesus is really concerned with explaining how the universe will end. He’s setting up a contrast between the end of time and the here and now. What really concerns him is how we live our lives here and now, in this generation, as he says.

He knows perfectly well that the world as we know it is always ending, because the world as we know it is always changing into something else. He knows, too, that for each of us our own personal world will end. The only world that is real for us is the one we live in now, not the one that came before us, and not the one that will come after us.

That’s why I think Jesus ends his discussion of the end times with a parable:

It’s like a man going away: He leaves his house and puts his servants in charge, each with his assigned task, and tells the one at the door to keep watch.

He ends with a one-word command: Watch! [Mk13:37]

Because something huge will happen.

Something wonderful. Something so amazing that we rarely pay attention to what the words tell: God will enter his creation in exactly the same way as each of us come into being. He will be born as a baby.

This Advent season reminds us once again of that event. At this time, the beginning of the Church Year, we commemorate the long wait for the Messiah, the Chosen One of God, who would be born to lead his people into the Kingdom.

Many of the first followers of Jesus believed that the kingdom would be a political one, that Jesus would drive out the hated Romans and establish an independent Israel.

For us, the Kingdom is a spiritual one, it’s the Kingdom of Heaven.

And that’s a puzzle. Throughout the Gospels, Jesus says two things: one, that the Kingdom is coming; and two, that the Kingdom is at hand. It is both something to look forward to, and something that is here already. How can that be?

Well, there is no single definite answer. The are many possible answers, and what matters is how these answers affect the way we live. I want to explore one of these many possible answers.

Have you noticed that whenever Jesus talks about the end of the world, he talks about the beginning of a new one? He does that here too. Watch, he says. The master has left on a far journey. He has left you in charge. He will return. But you don’t know when. So make yourselves ready for him. Watch!

He has left us in charge. He has made us stewards of his creation. He will return. He will demand an accounting of how we spent our time while waiting for him.

That’s why I think that we should not ask How will the world end? but How shall we live in this world?

How then are we to spend our time while we wait for God’s chosen one?

We already know what we should do. But we need reminders. So let us remind ourselves of what we have done and of what we have left undone.

Today’s Gospel gives us some clues: each servant has their assigned tasks.

Last Sunday, we heard the parable of the sheep and the goats. That’s another clue.

When I think about what Jesus wants from me, I think of Zacchaeus the tax collector. I think of the widow who gave far more of her little wealth than the Pharisee gave of his surplus. I think of the many Psalms that ask God to protect the poor and the weak from the greedy and the strong. I think of the prayer we recite every Sunday: Give us this day our daily bread. Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.

I think of the summary of the Law and the Prophets: Love God, and love your neighbour.

These are all clues to how we are to live this life. They are all direct and indirect guides to the tasks set before us.

We each have work to do, according to our talents. St Paul lists some of them:  teaching, healing, giving wise advice. What’s your talent? How do you use it in the service of God?

We have our daily round of tasks that keep our world functioning. St Benedict said Laborare est orare, to work is to pray. That’s a reminder that we should do our work mindfully, as best we can. We offer our daily work as a service to each other, and by so doing, we offer it to God.

We have treasure in abundance to share with those who have little or nothing. Like the Pharisee, most of us have more than we need. Sharing what we have is what Jesus wants us to do. And while sharing what we don’t need is good, the sacrificial sharing that Jesus admired in the widow’s offering is better.

Think of time. None of us has more time than we need. Time is most precious gift we can give. Spend time with someone who’s lonely. Chat with someone who has few friends. Visit someone who’s shut in. Call someone whom you haven’t seen in a while. Send a card or an email for someone’s birthday. All these things take time, time shared, time given as a gift.

What you did to the least of these brethren you did to me, says the Son of Man when he divides the sheep from the goats. That means that in God’s eyes the least of these our brethren is at least as valuable as we are. Each is a vessel of the Holy Spirit, a child of God. To serve them is to serve God.

In another place, we are told of the rich young man who heard the Good News. What must I do to be saved? he asked Jesus. Sell everything you own and give the money to the poor, is Jesus’s answer. That’s a hard lesson for us, for like the rich young man we love our things, and we want to keep them.

God demands justice and offers mercy. We pray that he may forgive our trespasses as we forgive those that trespass against us. That’s a tough petition. It’s saying we desire the same forgiveness from God as we offer to others. What if we hold a grudge? What if we won’t forgive? I think it’s clear: we are to forgive each other, as we hope and pray God will forgive us. 

Love God, and love your neighbour.

To love God is to love his creation. Exploiting its riches without repairing whatever damage we cause is wrong. Sustaining the abundance of life that God has created is right. If these tasks cost us some wealth and comfort, well that’s the price we have to pay.

We pray for our daily bread, for what we need. God will supply our needs. Giving up some whims and desires in order to sustain God’s creation so that it can supply our needs, well, that looks like fair exchange to me.

Love is what we do, not how we feel. Sure, a feeling of affection makes it easier to do what we have to do, but it’s the doing that’s the love. Love is an active verb. Love one another, as I have loved you, Jesus tells us. I don’t think he means Have nice feelings about each other. He means Do what I’ve done.

And what has Jesus done? He’s given his life for us.

We will soon celebrate the Incarnation, the coming of God into his own creation. In the meantime, in the season of Advent, we will watch for him. We will do the work he has left for us to do, each with our assigned task.

Let us pray.

Lord, you made us to love and serve you by loving and serving each other. By the power of your Spirit strengthen our trust in your promises, so that as we watch and wait for your kingdom we may live as you desire us to live. We pray that we may each know our assigned task and perform it faithfully. We pray in the name of that Love that will return in glory, who lives and reigns with you and the Spirit, now and forever. Amen

Sacrifice (25th after Pentecost, 10 November 2024)

25th Sunday of Pentecost  - Remembrance Sunday

Sacrifice

10th November, 2024 - Wolf Kirchmeir

[Ruth 3:1-5, 4:13-17; Psalm 127; Hebrews 9:24-28; Mark 12:38-44 ]

O Holy Spirit, assist us we contemplate your word, that we may be enlightened by your truth. Amen.

Dear Friends in Christ,

We all know the story of the widow’s mite, and Jesus’ praise of her offering to the Temple treasury. Jesus said, For [the rich] did cast in of their abundance; but she of her need did cast in all that she had, even all her living. (Mark12:44) There are many lessons in this single sentence, and we have no doubt heard most of them.

Today, I want to focus on an aspect of this story that is not named as such. This aspect underlies Jesus’ remark. It underlies all the most common discussions of the widow’s mite. For example, exhortations to give until it hurts make no sense without this concept. It’s the concept of sacrifice. ... but she of her need did cast in all that she had, even all her living.

The widow gave everything she had. She gave her life.

Tomorrow we will remember those whom we sent into war on our behalf, and who gave everything they had. They gave their lives. I want to think about that sacrifice, and what our remembering should inspire us to do.

For it does no good to feel sad about those who died in war if our remembrance ends with those feelings. Our duty is not only to remember what the fallen soldiers have done for us, but also to act so that their deaths will have meaning.

I am old enough to remember the last years of the war and its aftermath. When someone of my age refers to the war, it means the Second World War, the one that started on the German-Polish border in September 1939 and ended in Nagasaki and Hiroshima in August 1945. Just how many people died in that war will never be known for sure. The best estimates average out at about 23 million soldiers and 45 million civilians. That’s about twice today’s population of Canada.

But those are mere statistics. If you want to know what war is like, talk with those who lived through it.

Soldiers who saw combat very rarely talk about it. But you can see how their memories affect them when you watch their faces as they stand at attention at the Cenotaph during the Remembrance Day ceremonies.

My father talked about it once only, when he thought the time was right for his grandchildren to learn something of what to them was only history in books.

Those who didn’t see combat are more likely to tell stories, but they too avoid talking about the fighting that they knew indirectly, through the death and wounding of their friends. The civilians who endured bombing, flight from the front, refugee camps, starvation, invasion and counter invasion, the oppression of occupation and foreign rule, they sometimes talk about it. But they leave out a lot.

I don’t remember much. We lived in a small town by a lake, far from the battle fronts. Bombers flew over on their way to bomb the cities and the railway yards. The sun glinted on them, they were like little silver fish high up in the blue air. The sound of their engines came from everywhere, from one side of the sky to the other. When the bombs fell on the railway yards ten kilometers away, we felt it in our bellies and the soles of our feet. A few times I saw black mushrooms grow on the horizon. Most of the time, the air-raid sirens chased us into the cellar, where we were dressed in several layers of clothing. It was a guarantee that we would have something to wear if the house was destroyed. The woolly underwear itched. There was a candle lit, and others ready to be lit if the power went out. When the bombs fell, we heard a dull thump, very far away, and dust trickled down from the ceiling. We crowded close to Mummy, and felt safe.

I hate war. I can’t tell you how much I hate it. And yet I know that war will come again and again. And if I were still of combat age, I too would go and fight.

War will come because we fear those who are different, and that gives an opening to those who want to exploit that fear for their own ends.

War will come because those who have power and wealth want to wage war for their own purposes.

War will come because we leave too much up to the politicians that we elect to do the boring business of government for us.

War will come because as long as we have something like a good life, we leave things up to the scribes, which love to go in long clothing, and love salutations in the marketplaces, and the chief seats in the synagogues, and the uppermost rooms at feasts: Which devour widows' houses, and for a pretence make long prayers. (Mark 12:38-40)

It’s not pleasant to think about these things.

It’s not pleasant to think about war, or the poor, or the damage we’re doing to our planet.

It’s not pleasant because it reminds us that we, each of us and all of us together, have a responsibility.

Tomorrow, on Remembrance Day, we will have before us the example of those whom we sent to war.

Those who placed their bodies between us and the enemy.

Those who gave everything they had.

I know and you know that they had many different reasons for putting on the uniform. But whatever their reasons, they went.

And too many of them died.

We owe them.

We have a duty to them.



The last stanza of In Flanders Fields calls us to this duty:

Take up our quarrel with the foe:

To you from failing hands we throw

   The torch; be yours to hold it high.

   If ye break faith with us who die

We shall not sleep, though poppies grow

   In Flanders fields.

The foe is not the enemy soldier. He died as our soldiers died, his family grieved as our families grieved. Those who survived suffered the rest of their lives. The memories of war cannot be erased.

No, the foe is us. We are the ones who wage war. The soldier is merely an instrument of war. He’s just another weapon that we, the wagers of war, use to fight our battles.

We must change our attitudes, our feelings, our thoughts. We must replace fear with hope, hate with love, indifference with caring. It sounds like tall order, but it can be done.

If you look at the advice that Jesus gives us, one thing stands out: he doesn’t talk about systems. He doesn’t talk about governments, or politics, or businesses, or enterprises, or organisations. He doesn’t talk about methods or processes or procedures. He doesn’t talk about checklists, or the seven habits of successful people, or how to make every minute count.

He talks about forgiveness.

He talks about faith.

He talks about love.

The rich young man asked, What must I do to be saved? Sell what you have, give the money to the poor, and come and follow me, Jesus answered.

The disciples bickered about who would be first in the Kingdom. Jesus told them, The first in this world shall be last in the next, and the last in this world shall be first.

What must we do to enter into the Kingdom? we ask. He that would save his life must lose it for my sake, says Jesus.

By what rule should we live our lives? Love God with all your heart, mind, soul and strength; and your neighbour as yourself.

That’s Jesus’s answer.

In short, we must change. We must change the way we think, the way we feel, the way we act. We must think of all humans as being People Like Us. We must feel that every person we meet is a member of our family. We must do whatever we can to make life better for other people, just as we do whatever we can to make life better for ourselves.

A tall order indeed. It means giving up the notion that we are the centre of the universe. It means giving up what makes us comfortable. It means giving up our lives in service. It means sacrifice.

The kind of sacrifice that Jesus saw in the widow’s offering.

The kind of sacrifice that we will remember tomorrow.

The kind of sacrifice that Jesus himself made, when he gave up his life that we might trust in his forgiveness and be free.



Let us pray.

Lord God, you made us, you gave yourself for us, you sustain us. By your grace give us the mind and heart and will and strength to serve you in all that we do, and to offer ourselves in service to others. Make us truly aware of the sacrifice that sets us free to serve you by loving each other as you have loved us. Make us thankful for those who gave their lives in defending us from the enemy, and those whose lives were taken in those wars. Forgive us for making war, and help us to so to change our understanding of ourselves and others that we may see that all human beings are your children, and therefore are our brothers and sisters. Grant us a change of heart, that hate may be replaced by love, fear may be replaced by joy, and indifference may be replaced by caring. Grant us these our petitions for the sake of Jesus Christ you son, who reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever. Amen.