Truth Telling is Dangerous! from the Worship service at Harrow United Church, Sunday, January 23, 2022

Video of the worship service

The first time I was asked to read scripture in my home congregation I was honoured, and afraid, and worried about getting it right. This was different from teaching Sunday School, or giving presentations at school, or even making speeches, which I’d done for school assemblies, many times. I am always grateful to our lay readers on Sunday morning, because I remember how hard it was.

The sanctuary was dark. The lights were down low because it was the Christmas Eve service, and later we’d be passing the flame from candle to candle. The chancel area was lit from above with a tiny spotlight, just enough for me to find my way on the carpeted steps, and not trip up the stairs. It was good the lights were low. I couldn’t really see people’s faces.

I read from Isaiah- not the part that Jesus read from in today’s Gospel story, but an earlier part in chapter 9 that starts off “ The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light” and ends up with “ for a child has been born for us, a son given to us; authority rests upon his shoulders; and he is named Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.”

I’d written the words out on a piece of paper, (this was before I had a computer) so I wouldn’t have to hunt for the right page in the big pulpit bible. I copied the passage from my Good News Bible because it was easier to read than the version the minister used.

Even so, I stumbled over the words, and raced through the passage. I probably read the whole thing without taking a breath. And then it was done. I stood there feeling relieved, but also a little embarrassed, because I felt like I’d done a bad job. I focused on not tripping as I went down the chancel steps and back to my seat. I had to walk all the way to the very back of the church to get to the steps, because my family were all up in the balcony.

Imagine what it was like for Jesus, reading from the scroll of Isaiah, in his home synagogue, in front of people who’d watched him grow up. He’s reading along, and saying, “God’s Spirit is on me; he’s chosen me to preach the Message of good news to the poor, Sent me to announce pardon to prisoners and recovery of sight to the blind, To set the burdened and battered free…”

Perhaps Jesus realized, not for the first time, that for him, these are more than beautiful words, from an ancient scroll. They light a fire inside him, and he burns with the powerful, perhaps overwhelming awareness that these words are meant for his time, his place, and his life. He’s been given the job of telling people to change their own lives, and change the world, so that things will be better. Jesus knows he’s been called to say to people who watched him grow up, “We need to get busy, the world’s a mess, and the cleanup starts right here, with us!”

How would the hometown crowd take what he had to say? He likely knew it wouldn’t go well, and it didn’t. They got very angry with him and threatened to toss him off a cliff.

I’ve been reading more about Autumn Peltier the young woman we just saw in the video. When she was 12 years old, she was chosen to present a ceremonial gift to the Prime Minister at a meeting of the Assembly of First Nations, in Gatineau, Quebec. She was told ahead of time not to talk to the Prime Minister, just walk up and give him the gift.

She discovered she couldn’t do what the organizers had told her. She found that she just had to speak. Her words came out in a wash of tears as she told the Prime Minister what was on her heart. She challenged his environmental record and told him he was failing the First Nations people who don’t have safe water to drink.

In an interview with Maclean’s Magazine, Peltier said, “That was my opportunity to say something to the literal Prime Minister of Canada. Like, who gets the chance to actually share their thoughts with him? So I took the opportunity. I gave him a piece of my mind.”

She said, “He made a big promise to me, which was: “I will protect the water.” I was 12 at the time, I am 17 years old now, and I’m still holding him accountable to that promise.”

The Macleans interviewer asked Peltier, “Do you believe that he cares about that?”  She said,“I feel like he could care more. I know [his government] did make a commitment to resolve all boil water advisories in Canada by March of 2021, and of course that didn’t happen. To promise to resolve a big issue like that within a certain amount of time and [not do it], and there are still communities that can’t drink their water after over 25 years, how are we supposed to trust the government? How are we supposed to believe him?”

She asks good questions, that aren’t about partisan politics, but about human rights, the environment, and long-standing commitments- promises that have been made. Not everyone appreciates her efforts.

She said, “I get a lot of negative comments, negative feedback. It’s a lot more than I thought I would get, because the work that I do is for a good reason, and you wouldn’t generally think that people would be against this or try to bring me down. Like, “She’s just a kid, what can she do?” Or “Why does what she says matter?”

She’s not the only one saying that the government has failed to do what it promised us, and the people of many First Nations communities. The most recent Auditor General’s report says, “Overall, Indigenous Services Canada did not provide the support necessary to ensure that First Nations communities have ongoing access to safe drinking water. Drinking water advisories remained a constant for many communities, with almost half of the existing advisories in place for more than a decade.”

According to the Government of Canada, as of January 7 there are 37 water advisories in place in 29 First Nations communities. 28 of them are in Ontario, affecting 21 communities.

Can you imagine how quickly the situation would be remedied if it happened where you and I live? As Autumn Peltier said in the Macleans interview, “just think about how fast it would be resolved and fixed if there was to be a drinking water issue in an area like Toronto or Ottawa, how fast they would call that a state of emergency and how fast they would fix that. But a First Nations community of 200, 300, 400 people can go without clean drinking water for over 30 years, where they literally have to bathe their babies in bottled water, cook and clean with bottled water, wash themselves with bottled water.”

We need people like Autumn Peltier, who do what Jesus did. They recognize their calling, to stand up for what is right, and challenge what is wrong, and point out what needs to be fixed. As much as we need the prophets, and whistleblowers, those who remind us the Emperor’s new clothes are usually sewn together with lies and pride and greed- we are, typically, terrible towards them.

We like things to be smooth and polite, and happy. We don’t want our applecarts to be upset, even if deep down, we know that things aren’t as they should be.

When we are pushed by the prophets in our world to look honestly at things, and see the problems, then we are in the difficult position of wanting to do something about it. That often leads to the even more uncomfortable realization, that making change is hard.

The world is complicated, and can make us feel small and powerless. We don’t like that. It’s much easier to silence the prophets. Which is exactly what the people in Jesus’ hometown tried to do when they realized who he’d grown up to be, and what he had to say.

The Good News is Jesus got away from the angry crowd that day. They did not silence him. The Romans, and the religious authorities would try again, when he got to Jerusalem, but God did not let that be the last word.

God shone through the words and actions, and the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus. God is on the side of those who say what needs to be said, and who inspire us to work to mend our broken world.

People like Autumn Peltier remind us of what is right. Their witness can also give us courage, and a good example to follow, when we need to speak our own truth, even though it may be difficult. Amen

“J.C.’s Greatest Hits” The Learning Time for Sunday, January 16, 2022 at Harrow United Church

Audio file of Learning Time

I like the way Johnny Cash said it at the beginning of the video we watched. He turned the water into wine, of all things. Johnny was impressed by the Jesus story, and by being in the very place, as the tour guide told him, where Jesus performed his first very public miracle.

In John’s Gospel, that’s the Gospel writer, not Johnny Cash, the first thing Jesus did, after getting baptized, and gathering a few disciples, was turn water into wine while attending a wedding with his mother. Why would that be his first public miracle?

John’s Gospel is a bit different from Matthew, Mark and Luke. Those three are often called the Synoptic Gospels, which is a technical way of saying that Matthew, Mark and Luke present a similar view.

The optic part of the word means viewpoint or lens.  The first part of the word, Syn, means the same, as in synonym, a word that means roughly the same as another. So, synoptic means basically the same view.

The Gospels of Matthew, Mark and Luke cover much of the same material when they tell the Jesus stories. The authors, or compilers of these Gospels seem to present stories of Jesus that were cherished and passed on in their local communities of Jesus followers. Where they diverge, it may be that particular communities remembered another version of the story, or only passed on the stories they liked, in the way that was meaningful for them.

For example, Mark does not say anything about the birth of Jesus.  Mark’s Gospel starts with Jesus all grown up. His community either did not have the nativity story, or did not consider it necessary.

Matthew and Luke each tell stories about Jesus being born, but not they are not the same stories. Luke has shepherds and angels and a baby born in a stable. Matthew has magi and a star and the visit happens in a house.

John takes another approach. John’s Gospel replaces the story of a little baby with “In the beginning there was the Word”. John goes on to say, “And the Word became flesh and stayed for a little while among us; we saw the Word’s glory—the favour and position a parent gives an only child— filled with grace, filled with truth.” Those lines take the place of a nativity story in John. It’s less about what happened, and more about what it means.

 Scholars think John’s Gospel was written at least a generation after the first three. More than Matthew, Mark and Luke, who seem to just tell the particular stories, John’s Gospel does more interpretation of the big story- choosing and arranging which stories about Jesus to preserve, and what to leave out. Thought has also gone into what order to present the events in Jesus’ life. The writer, or compiler of John’s Gospel has been compared to a mural painter, carefully selecting, and arranging the images in a big painting, to build a bigger picture, that guides how they want us to think about Jesus.

There’s a saying from the world of creative writing. Any story told twice is fiction.

The first time someone tells a story, they repeat events back as they remember them. What comes out of their mouth may sounded jumbled, fragmented, disorganized.

The next time, the story-teller is already editing, re-arranging, fixing the story, to make it a better tale told, and to support, consciously, or unconsciously, their own biases. You can learn about a person by observing what kind of stories they like to tell.

When you sit down over a cold drink or warm beverage with an old friend, and they share a story, you can probably also tell if they’ve told it before. There will be a noticeable rhythm, and style, and appropriate dramatic pauses.

Professional interrogators and counselors can recognize when a story has been rehearsed- formed and shaped to have a beginning, middle and end, and a point, or punch line, or moral. That doesn’t necessarily mean the story has been fabricated, but it has at least been distilled.

Usually, by the time a person has told their story a few times, they have also reached their own conclusions about what it means.

When Johnny Cash told the inmates about his visit to Cana, and how it inspired him to write a whole song during a short car ride, it sounded to me like a set-piece, a bit of dramatic monologue he hauled out and used every time he introduced his song. By the time he performed that song at Folsom Prison, he had the story down pat. It came out smooth and set up the song perfectly. That doesn’t mean the story was a fake, but it had definitely been polished, and practiced.

I was also thinking John’s Gospel could be compared to a best of, or greatest hits collection, a retrospective for which the producers carefully select songs that are memorable, and reflect the progress of the singer, and perhaps the messages or themes that mattered most.

The first part presents stories about Jesus’ public ministry, his growing notoriety and following, leading up to his arrival in Jerusalem for the Passover festival. Before the clash with the Jewish and Roman officials that results in Jesus being arrested, put on trial, and crucified, there are 7 big moments- Jesus’ greatest hits, so to speak. Scholars call them “signs” that Jesus is the long-awaited Messiah, sent by God to fulfill ancient promises to the people of Israel.

The seven signs include:

(1) Turning water into wine at the wedding in Cana (2:1–11)

(2) Healing a royal official’s son at Capernaum (4:46–54)

(3) Healing a lame man at the Bethesda gate in Jerusalem(5:1–15)

(4) Feeding a multitude on the shores of the Sea of Galilee (6:1–15)

(5) Walking on the water (6:16–21) as his disciples crossed a stormy sea in a boat.

(6) Giving sight to a man who’d been born blind (chap. 9)

(7) Raising Lazarus from the tomb (chap. 11)

When I mention Johnny Cash, what do you think of as his greatest hit? I would think of “Ring of Fire” or “I Walk the Line”, or even “A Boy named Sue” long before I got around to “He turned the water into wine”.

When I look at the signs in John’s Gospel that Jesus was the long-promised Messiah, turning water into wine seems pretty small, almost ordinary when compared with feeding thousands, healing sick people, or raising Lazarus from the grave.

Even so, there are things about this first sign that capture my imagination. The first is that Jesus did not seem to want to get involved. It was his mother’s idea. She points out the problem and he says something like “What’s that got to do with me?”, and he sounds exactly like a son talking to his mom.

Scholars note John’s Gospel records only two moments when Jesus spoke to his mother. There is this time at the Wedding of Cana, when she seems to nudge him into action, as moms sometimes do. The other is near the end of the Gospel, when he speaks to her from the cross about the beloved disciple and says, “Here is your son,” and to the Beloved Disciple he says, “Here is your mother.”

In the first conversation, Jesus’ quiet private life ends, and he does his first public sign, that kickstarts his career. It’s like mom hands him a microphone and says, get on stage, and sing your heart out. In the last conversation, Jesus commends the Beloved Disciple into his mother’s care, and effectively says goodbye to them both, and hands the mike to the Beloved, often thought to be John, to carry on, keep the song going on.

There is wine in both these scenes. The soldiers soaked a sponge in cheap wine and held it up to Jesus’ lips. That’s a nice artistic touch, to have wine present at the beginning, and at the end. But it’s also not surprising.

Far more than is true for us, in our part of the world, wine was ubiquitous, almost always present, in the time and place in which Jesus lived.  Water could rarely be trusted to be fresh, or clean, or safely drinkable. The relatively low alcohol content would act to preserve and make the drink hygienic, whether it was stored in pottery jugs or sewn animal skins.

The ordinariness of wine in Jesus’ world may go a long way to explain why it was central to the first story, the first sign, the first of Jesus’ greatest hits, on the album according to John.

Scholars point to the magical nature of wine- that it’s the result of a mysterious fermentation process. The ancients had no idea how it worked, and that’s a good working definition of magic- when something happens that we can’t actually understand or control. Parallels are drawn between the spirited drink and the presence of God’s spirit, the spirit of love.

Preachers talk about how the alcohol adds a vibe, a buzz, an element of joy to the wedding celebration. I like that, but I think it takes us away from the daily reality of life in the ancient Middle East, and how clean water was scarce, and wine and beer took its place in many situations, as the only safe things to drink.

The production of wine for the wedding was two things at once- quite magical and also very ordinary. The guests needed something to drink. That it was good wine was an added bonus.

This suggests to me that this first sign, of the coming Messiah, pointed to God being at work, not in big, dramatic, spectacular events, but in ordinary, daily life. This brings me back to a line from the beginning of John’s Gospel, “the Word became flesh and stayed for a little while among us”.

This introduces a way of thinking about the meaning of Jesus’ life and work. Jesus came to show us and teach us that God is with us, in the everyday, here and now, ordinary things of life. If we pay attention, we can see that because of God’s presence, even the most ordinary moments are actually very special, and that love, and spirit, and magic are always mixed in with the ordinary. Amen

Big Read

A Big Read for the United Churches in Essex and Harrow

7:30 pm, Tuesday March 8, 2022

Rev. Lexie Chamberlain and Rev. Darrow Woods will host an online discussion of The Undertaking of Billy Buffone.

Here’s the plan:

1)Promote the Big Read.

2)Give folks time to get and read the book.

3)Host a meeting to talk about our responses to reading the novel.

4)Host a second meeting to talk with the author, David Giuliano. (Date to be determined)

David Giuliano is a retired minister who also served as the Moderator of the United Church of Canada.

David is an award-winning writer of articles, essays, and poems. The Undertaking of Billy Buffone is his first novel. He lives in Marathon, Ontario with his wife Pearl.

The novel is a fictional take on actual events that happened in Marathon. From the publisher’s website: The Undertaking of Billy Buffone is a story about the trauma – immediate and ongoing, personal and collateral – inflicted by Rupert Churley, who preyed on boys in Twenty-Six Mile House, an isolated town in northern Ontario.

Here are some notes from a reviewer:

Every once in a while, a book comes along that captivates you, all of you. This is one such book. The title reveals itself to the reader in gradation, the character development captures your attention as each page divulges a bit more. Teachings from the indigenous culture combined with teachings from Christianity allow the reader to grow spiritually. The narrator speaks honestly about some pretty tough topics that can wake in the reader the trials and tribulations of people who walk on our streets now. Just maybe reading this book will build empathy and compassion resources. -Anna Maria Barsanti

The book is unfortunately not in the collection of the Essex County Public Library, but is available in print and digital versions from bookstores and online.

Please let us know if you want to take part in the Big Read by emailing us at: or and we will send you a Zoom link.

Baptism of Jesus/Renewal of Baptismal Vows at Harrow United Church Jan. 9, 2022

Audio of Learning Time for Jan 9, 2022
Video of the Worship Service for Jan 9, 2022

When was the last time you felt really, really thirsty? Remember that feeling, and imagine you are thirsty now. When was the last time you felt really lonely, or alone, or lost, or confused about who you are, and what you should do? Can you remember that feeling?

Thirst is a powerful metaphor for that kind of spiritual need, that we may not have an exact word for, that is about this thing we need, in order to be who we really are, to know the peace that comes with doing what we are meant to do.

Jesus lived in a hot, dry climate, in a part of the world where people understood that water was precious. It makes sense that when they made themselves ready for a new life, when they re-dedicated themselves to living as faithful followers of God, they would use water.

Jesus’ older cousin, Elizabeth and Zechariah’s son, John the Baptist was at the Jordan River, preaching, and calling people to begin their lives anew, with a commitment to follow God, to be who God knew they could be. As a symbol of that commitment, they would enter the waters of the Jordan, and be ritually washed, baptized. It was as if they were rinsing off the residue of their old ways, and starting fresh and clean.

Jesus came out to hear what John had to say. He was part of the crowd who heard John call people to repent, to turn away from lives of selfishness and narrowness, and to turn towards God, and God’s ways. If they felt ready to do that, they could be baptized.

Immediately after Jesus had been baptized and was coming up out of the water, the sky suddenly opened up and Jesus saw the Spirit of God descending as a dove and hovering over him. 

With that, a voice from the heavens said, “This is my Own, my Beloved, on whom my favor rests.”

In that powerful moment the thirst in Jesus’ soul was quenched. He was filled with love, surrounded by grace, and knew exactly who he was, and what his living would be for. He knew himself to be a beloved child of God. 

That is a good way to talk about what we deeply desire for ourselves, and others. We want them to know that God loves them, they are beloved children of God, they matter to God. We want to know that we matter to God. It can be so easy to wander away from that knowing, to forget who we are meant to be, as beloved children of God.

In Christian churches, baptism is usually just done once. We use the ritual to welcome, and to bless, and as an outward action that represents an inner desire, to follow God.  For John and his followers, baptism was a ritual that could be repeated, as needed.

Do you remember the instructions they used to have on shampoo bottles? Wash, rinse, repeat. Wash, rinse, repeat. It’s a great marketing strategy.

If you took it literally, and to a ridiculous extreme, you could be caught in a never-ending loop of washing, rinsing, and repeating. But there is some truth in it. I don’t just wash my hair, or any part of my body once, and be done with it. Pretty much every day, I need to clean up.

This is true of all the things we do to be a healthy, fruitful people. We do them over and over again. Wash, rinse, repeat. Get enough sleep, eat things that sustain our body, breathe deeply, drink enough water, exercise. Smile, and say hello, and please and thank you. Follow through on things you said would do. Give other people the benefit of the doubt and pause a moment before judging them. Ask people how they are, and listen for their answers. Look for ways to be helpful. Give generously from what you have. Leave things better than you found them.

Most things that are important for us to do, to live well, need to be done over and over again, and have to be taught. We need to be trained, shown, encouraged, guided, supervised, held accountable. We need each other in order to be healthy human beings. This is true in our faith lives as well. We need each other’s help, and encouragement, and guidance, and teaching. These are some of the benefits of a faith community.

An vital part of what we do when we gather as a congregation, is remind each other of what we need to do, to keep ourselves healthy, and whole, and faithful. An old-fashioned word for it is “discipleship”. We are meant to encourage each other in our lives of faith. We are to comfort each other when needed, but we are also to challenge each other to keep going, keep moving, keep growing, and learning, and deepening in our understanding of God.

This morning we are picking up on a tradition started by a man named John Wesley. Wesley began his career as a priest in the Church of England. He came to see that people needed help to bring faith out of the sanctuary, and into the everyday. He did not limit his preaching to the pulpit, but took it to the streets, and spoke to thousands of people who would never set foot in a church. He organized new believers into societies, small groups that met regularly so that the members could encourage each other, and challenge each other, and help each other live out their faith.

The group leader would ask each member in turn, “How is it with your soul?” and the whole group would listen to each member. They studied scripture together, prayed together, and for each other. They worked together on projects to help others. They talked about how their faith changed and shaped their lives, and was the basis for the choices they made. Faith became personal, and real, not just something you heard about at church once a week.

The movement Wesley started was called Methodism. At first the name was a put down, coined by those who made fun of Wesley’s strict, methodical program. Over time, the movement grew into a new branch of Christianity. The Methodist Church was one of the three denominations that joined together to form the United Church of Canada in 1925.

Wesley taught that baptism, and confirmation as members of a church are outward signs of the covenant between each of us and God. God has promised to be our God, and love us, and strengthen and guide us, and help us overcome sin and weakness in our lives. In return, our covenant calls us to learn and grow in our faith, and to live out our faith in every part of our lives.

Wesley believed it helpful to offer believers opportunities to re-new their covenant relationship with God, and with their fellow believers. Wesley tended to have these covenant services around New Year’s- it seemed like a good time to make a fresh start. Wash, rinse, repeat.

When I’ve done this service in pre-Covid times I would invite people to come up to the baptismal font and dip their fingers in the water, and make the sign of the cross on their forehead.  We can’t do that right now.

Instead, I am going to ask you the same questions we often ask when parents present their child to be baptized, or when we baptize an adult. It won’t be a test, because we’ll have the questions and answers up on the screen. 

After the questions and answers we can each take a moment to trace the cross on our own forehead, as an outward sign of our inward desire to renew our faith commitment.

If you have not been baptized, and want to be, let me know, and we can plan a time to do that. What we are doing today doesn’t take the place of a baptism.

This is a chance to say to ourselves, to God, and to each other, that we choose to live as beloved children of God. Amen

Learning Time for Epiphany at Harrow United Church

Video of the Worship Service for January 2, 2022

Acknowledgment of the Land

In the teachings of many indigenous peoples, the year is comprised of a cycle of 13 moons. Each moon reflects changes in the environment, and traditional teachings provide ongoing guidance on how to establish the good life. In the Anishinaabe calendar, it is the time of the Great Spirit Moon, when we are encouraged to sit in silence and reflect on our place in creation.

Nothing does that for me more than looking up at the stars on a cold clear night. Where I grew up, we could sometimes see the Northern Lights. The night sky has stories.

On the church calendar, we are entering the season of Epiphany. It’s a time to celebrate the showing of a great light. We listen again to the story of the Magi, sometimes described as astrologers, observers of the night sky. They travelled from distant lands, following a star, to visit the newborn Christ child. The Magi were not Jewish, and their presence in Matthew’s Nativity story has come to represent the promise that the message of the Christ child is for all people.

In the many centuries since the Magi made their pilgrimage across land, and cultures and traditions, many followers of Jesus have travelled to bring their faith to new lands. Too often, the wondrous gift of the message of God’s love came wrapped in a package that included the assumption that non-European cultures and peoples were inferior, or even unwholesome.

We only need to think about Canada’s Indian Residential School System to see how disastrous it is when a religion’s missionary efforts are uncritically aligned with our biases and worst impulses.

We acknowledge that this place where we gather, to seek and share the light, and hear the stories of faith, is on landhonoured by the Wampum Treaties; agreements between the Anishinaabe , Haudenosaunee , Lenni, Lenape and allied Nations to peacefully share and care for the resources around the Great Lakes. We acknowledge the presence of the Three Fires Confederacy (Ojibwe, Odawa, Potawatomi and Huron/Wendat) Peoples and the Caldwell First Nation. We share history and desire a better future with all First Nations, Inuit and Métis people.


Hawaiian-born Shawn Ishimoto, does his version of the James Taylor song “Home by Another Way”.

Scripture Readings

Reader: Isaiah 60 :1-6 (The Inclusive Bible)

 “Arise, shine, for your light has come!

the glory of YHWH is rising upon you!

Though darkness still covers the earth and dense clouds enshroud the peoples,

upon you YHWH now dawns, and God’s glory will be seen among you!

The nations will come to your light and the leaders to your bright dawn!

Lift up your eyes, and look around:

they’re all gathering and coming to you—your daughters and your sons

journey from afar, escorted in safety;

you’ll see them and beam with joy, your heart will swell with pride.

The riches of the sea will flow to you, and the wealth of the nations will come to you—

camel caravans will cover your roads, the dromedaries of Midian and Ephah;

everyone in Sheba will come, bringing gold and incense and singing the praise of YHWH.

Reader: Gospel of Matthew 2:1-12 (The Inclusive Bible)

After Jesus’ birth—which happened in Bethlehem of Judea, during the reign of Herod—astrologers from the East arrived in Jerusalem and asked, “Where is the newborn ruler of the Jews? We observed his star at its rising and have come to pay homage.”

At this news Herod became greatly disturbed, as did all of Jerusalem. Summoning all the chief priests and religious scholars of the people, he asked them where the Messiah was to be born. 

“In Bethlehem of Judea,” they informed him. “Here is what the prophet has written:

‘And you, Bethlehem, land of Judah,

are by no means least among the leaders of Judah,

since from you will come a ruler

who is to shepherd my people Israel.’ ”

Herod called the astrologers aside and found out from them the exact time of the star’s appearance. Then he sent them to Bethlehem, after having instructed them, “Go and get detailed information about the child. When you have found him, report back to me—so that I may go and offer homage, too.”

After their audience with the ruler, they set out.  The star which they had observed at its rising went ahead of them until it came to a standstill over the place where the child lay. They were overjoyed at seeing the star and, upon entering the house, found the child with Mary, his mother.

They prostrated themselves and paid homage. Then they opened their coffers and presented the child with gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh. They were warned in a dream not to return to Herod, so they went back to their own country by another route.

Learning Time: “Kings? Magi? Wise Men?”

Link to Audio File of this learning time:

This may be a trick question. Who invented the light bulb?

I used to think it was Thomas Edison. The truth is many other scientists and inventors experimented with different models of light bulbs for at least 50 years before Edison. Edison’s laboratory hired a Princeton physicist named Frances Upton to study the earlier efforts so the lab could perfect a commercially viable version. Edison bought one of the earlier patents and used much of that design for his own light bulb.

Most inventions are collaborations, based on earlier work. Which is a less dramatic story than that of Edison slaving away, all alone in the lab, burning the midnight oil, (because there is no electric light) trying thousands of variations until he finds the design that will do the job. 

I’ve heard motivational speakers and preachers use Edison as an example of what you can do if you just keep trying. They use his famous quote, “Genius is one percent inspiration and ninety-nine percent perspiration.” It’s a great message about persistence, that also perpetuates the myth that Edison invented the light bulb all by himself.

It’s one of those cases where unfortunately, the truth can get in the way of a great story. It really does make such a great story.  And such a great image! Often in comic strips or tv shows they show a light bulb shining over someone’s head when they get an idea, or when everything suddenly makes sense. We talk about the moment the light comes on, or we say something has dawned on us, or we have seen the light.

If you look at icons, religious paintings, even stained glass windows, there are often halos, or glowing light around the faces- this is an artistic convention that says- this was a holy, or special person- who seemed to radiate God’s love.

For the last few weeks in church we’ve heard about the Magi. We have the idea that because there are 3 gifts, the gold, frankincense, and myrrh, there must be three people delivering them. We even have names for them: Caspar, Melchior, and Balthazar, but those names were added to the story hundreds of years after Matthew’s Gospel was written.

Syrian Christians call them Larvandad, Gushnasaph, and Hormisdas. In Ethiopia, the Magi are called Hor, Karsudan, and Basanater.  Many Chinese Christians believe that one of the magi came from China. In some traditions they talk about there being as many as 12 travelers. 

The word Magi derives from an Old Persian word “magus”, the name for priests of the Zoroastrian religion. Zoroastrians were very interested in the stars. Their reputation as astrologers led to the term Magi being connected with the occult, and this led to the development of the English word “magic”.

The Zoroastrian faith predates Judaism, Christianity, and Islam, and is still around. It was the first monotheistic religion- featuring the worship of just one God, that they call Ahura Mazda.

They believe humanity has a role to play in the universal conflict between order and chaos. They have a moral code summed up in the words “Good Thoughts, Good Words, Good Deeds. They teach the equality of all, regardless of race, sex or social position.

Zoroastrian worship and prayers always take place in the presence of some form of fire, which is considered to evident in any source of light. We kind of do that, with our Advent and Christ candles, and passing the flame from candle to candle on Christmas Eve.

When the Magi leave Mary and Joseph and the baby, they are warned in a dream to avoid King Herod, and they head home another way, and are never mentioned in the Bible again.

Traditions built up over time to continue their story. One story is the Magi continued to travel for many years, and they met up with the Apostle Thomas while he was on his way to India, after the first Easter. That legend says Thomas baptized them, and they later became bishops.

Another story says Helena, mother of the Emperor Constantine found their buried remains, had them dug up, and brought to Constantinople. Later the bones were moved to the Shrine of the Three Kings at the Cologne Cathedral. One story said the remains of each Magi were carried on a different boat, which is reflected in the old carol “I saw three ships come sailing in”. 

Another tradition is the visitors from the East were Kings. The gifts they carried were all very expensive, the kind of things Kings might have laying around the palace. There is also a line in Psalm 72 that talks about kings from foreign lands bringing tribute gifts to Israel’s king.

Epiphany, the name for the day when we tell the story of the Magi, is an English word that comes from ancient Greek words “Epi-phanos”, which translate roughly as “manifestation” or “appearance” or “making known”. It means that something previously hidden has been revealed. A sunrise is a kind of epiphany, a moment when darkness is sliced open by light. 

That sounds a lot like the prologue to John’s Gospel, which has no nativity story, but instead says:

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was with God in the beginning. Through him all things were made; without him nothing was made that has been made. In him was life, and that life was the light of all mankind. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.

No baby. No stable. No Magi. Not even Mary and Joseph. Just the Word, and life, and light.

The early Christians didn’t do Christmas. For the first 3 centuries of Christianity, there was no celebration of Jesus’ birth.

The Easter story was celebrated every Sunday. Epiphany was the big holiday, celebrated early in the new year. It marked not the birth of Jesus, but the visit of the Magi, or Wise Men to the infant Jesus. This was considered vitally important, because the Magi were not Jewish.

The Good News about God’s love is not just for one people in one place, but for all people in every place. The light shines for everyone.

I have another trick question. Who discovered God? Who has the right story to tell about God?

Some Christians give the rest of us a bad name, by claiming to have exclusive rights, to the only right story about God. It reminds me of the myth that Edison invented the light bulb. Christians didn’t invent God, and do not hold the patent or franchise on seeing the light of God.

Because Matthew’s Gospel includes the story, and the early church kept the story- we have a clue that the earliest Jesus followers gave respect to people of other faiths and backgrounds.

They recognized that the Magi, and other people from the foreign lands they represent, could know and follow after God, even though they were not Jews. They were also not Christians, because being Christian hadn’t yet been invented. The Magi were people of another faith, who were remembered because they honoured the founder of our faith.

Perhaps one of the best ways we can let our light shine in our time, is to offer friendship and respect to sincere people of all faiths, even people from cultures that seem very foreign to us. Jesus has shined God’s loving light on us. We are free to see God’s light shining in a whole sky of stars- not just one light.

Shepherd School: 4th Week of Advent at Harrow United Church

Audio file of the Learning Time
Video of the whole service

Welcome to Shepherd School.

Congratulations on taking your first step towards a rewarding career in the field of well, being in a field.

My name is David ben David, which means, David, son of David. My father was David ben David, and his dad’s name was, well, you get the idea. Taking care of sheep has been our family’s work for many generations.

You may wonder, since we’re in Bethlehem, famous for David, the shepherd boy who became the king of Israel, is my family descended from royalty?

I don’t want to pull the wool over your eyes, spin you a yarn that isn’t true. The further you go back in history the fuzzier things get.

My grandfather David used to say, do you think if I was a prince I’d be out here in the cold, watching these flocks by night? He had a point, my old granddad, he was as sharp as a needle, and great at knitting things together.

As soon as David was crowned, he left the fields and sheep behind, and moved into the biggest tent in the village. He spent time with soldiers, generals, and the general’s wives- but that’s another story. David sometimes acted more like a wolf than a shepherd!

Shepherding is good hard, honest work. It doesn’t pay much, has no retirement plan, and won’t make you famous. Can you name the shepherds who visited Jesus on the night he was born? See!

We are anonymous. But the whole economy depends upon us. Can you think of any other jobs that pay poorly, have long hours, get little respect, and if nobody did them, the country would starve? Can you imagine royalty doing any of those jobs?

There’s no getting around the fact that King David was a well-known shepherd. But between ewe and me, he wasn’t much of a shepherd. He abandoned his flock to follow his brothers into war. He’s the one who picked up smooth five stones, and his sling, and took down Goliath. I guess you could say he was a real rock star!

There’s a whole album of King David’s greatest hits- not the ones he inflicted on the giant Goliath, but poems he wrote that were set to music and became psalms.

His most famous one, interestingly, goes back to his roots. You’ve probably heard it. It starts with, “ The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want; he makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters; he restores my soul.”

I’ve always liked that one. Old King David offered a picture of God, not as a mighty king, but as a humble shepherd, who guides the flocks to good grazing places and stays with them in the scary times. The Good Shepherd is there to guide, protect, and comfort the flock.

Which is pretty much our job description.  Makes you wish more Kings were like shepherds.

But should more shepherds be like Kings?  Would it be a good thing if we lived in biggest tents, or castles, and had servants to do everything for us that was hard or messy? I don’t think that’s the life I was made for.

My family claimed the name David, only because we are shepherds from David’s city. The difference between us, and that other family, is we still do the work.

Like my old grand-dad used to say, there are shepherds, and there are crooks. Not everybody understood his sense of humour.

A crook is another name for the long staff we carry, with the hook on the end. We use the pointy end to fight off wild animals, and curved end to hook under a sheep’s leg, or around their neck, when we need to pull them to safety. They fall, or get stuck, and we have to rescue them.

I have to warn you, the work can be dangerous. We go places no one really wants to go, to rescue the little lambs. There are risks, and the hours are long.

I mentioned earlier those anonymous shepherds who visited the baby Jesus on the night he was born. I’ve always loved that they were welcomed in, by Mary and Joseph, to see the special baby. The world usually looks down on us, but not on that night, in that place.

My guess is the shepherds had to take turns, because there’d be too many sheep to bring along for the visit. Someone would have to stay back with the sheep. You don’t abandon the flocks. That’s like one of our big rules in shepherding.

When Jesus grew up, he told a story about sheep, and a shepherd. Maybe you remember.

Jesus was talking to a crowd that included some disreputable people- tax collectors, who collaborated with the Romans, and other folks the religious types called “sinners”. Sinner is kind of an all-purpose word applied to anyone the religious bullies didn’t like, or who didn’t look, or act, or smell like them. Most shepherds fall into that category, let me warn you!

The authorities weren’t happy about the company Jesus kept. I guess it didn’t give them warm fuzzies. It was not a compliment when they said, “This man welcomes sinners and eats with them.”

Personally, I take it as a good sign when a person is interested in me, not for my job, or what the neighbours whisper about me, but for who I am, what I care about, dream about, hope for in life.

Shepherds have a lot of time to think about these things, on those long nights out under the blanket of stars. Spend a few nights out in the fields near Bethlehem, watching the flocks, and looking out for wolves and jackals, and you sort out who your friends are, and who are the real predators.

Those clean-handed, well-dressed religious authorities wouldn’t know what to do if one of the lambs was in danger. They’d need help.

Jesus said, “Suppose one of you has a hundred sheep and loses one of them. Doesn’t he leave the ninety-nine in the open country and go after the lost sheep until he finds it? And when he finds it, he joyfully puts it on his shoulders and goes home. Then he calls his friends and neighbors together and says, ‘Rejoice with me; I have found my lost sheep.’ I tell you that in the same way there will be more rejoicing in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who do not need to repent.”

I am not sure what to make of all that bleeting about repentance. I’ve heard too many preachers try to tell me that God will only love me if I walk, talk, and look like them. But I do know how good it feels to find a vulnerable lamb you thought was lost and bring it home to the flock.

As a professional shepherd, there’s a part of Jesus’ story I wish he’d been more clear about. When the shepherd noticed one of flock was missing, did he abandon the 99 to go look for the 1?

Here’s the thing! Shepherding is lonely work, but it’s not solitary work. If I am taking care of a flock in these fields, I don’t do it alone. If I was on my own, and a wolf attacked on one side of the flock, and I run with my pointy shepherd’s crook to deal with him, I need my partners to watch all the other edges of the flock. Otherwise, the wolf’s buddies could pick off the tasty sheep on the north end, while I’m dealt with the threat at the south end.

Taking care of sheep is a big job, and it requires teamwork. If I had to do a solo job, I’d guide my sheep to a field where there was another flock, watched over by some of my shepherd friends. If something happened, we’d have each other’s backs.

After your classroom training, when you start your apprenticeship, you’ll be going out as part of a squad.

I think when the Good Shepherd in Jesus’ story chased after the one who was lost, he left the other 99 in good hands. When he found the one who’d wandered off, and brought him back on his shoulders, the other shepherds were there, waiting with the rest of the sheep.

The other shepherds would understand what David had gone through, looking for the lost one, and rescuing the furry, smelly silly little thing. They would have been worried about him, out on his own, seeking the lost sheep, and they would be filled with relief and joy on his return.

We shepherds need to stick together.

Third Sunday of Advent: Joy

We invited Harrow’s own Elvis Tribute Artist, James Gibb, to be our special musical guest for this Sunday. In a ‘normal’ year, James and some of his musical friends would put on a fundraising show in our sanctuary. In lieu of that, he shared his talents with us during our worship service.

In place of my regular “Learning Time” I wrote a letter to the editor of The Bethlehem Gazette, in the voice of a certain famous, or infamous inn-keeper.

Here is the audio file of the Learning Time:

“This is no Heartbreak Hotel” a letter to the editor of the Bethlehem Gazette

Ever since the birth of the baby,

I’ve had this story to tell

My inn’s on Bethlehem’s only street,

But it’s no heartbreak hotel.

It’s been years that cold winter night. Every hostel, inn, rest spot, spare room and courtyard was full to bursting with visitors, people summoned by the Romans to be counted in their ridiculous census, just so Caesar could tally up how much more he could squeeze out of the people in taxes.

Caesar, and his governor Quirinius, they were the bad guys,

But small business owners like me took the rap.

I was not the one who sent all those poor, hungry, cold travelers on road trips at the worst possible time of the year, to places like Bethlehem that didn’t have the capacity for all those extra people.

Folks gave me a hard time for having to say no, I don’t have a room.

What was I to do- pick one of the other families that were sleeping under my roof,

and toss them out?

Who wants to make that choice?

You have to go, they get to stay! How terrible!

Either way, I’d still be sending someone out into the cold dark night.

Bethlehem in those days was just a little crossroads town.

Usually, our only customers were scraggly shepherds looking for a mug of something to warm them up,

a few Roman soldiers looking to spend their pay,

the occasional traveler in search of the “King David was born here” monument.

We weren’t set up for the insane number of people who claimed Bethlehem as the hometown of their ancestors.

What a hare-brained, or Herod-brained idea anyway!

Who ever heard of going back to where your great-great-great-grandparents came from,

just to be counted?

Doesn’t it make more sense to record a person’s current address?

Wouldn’t it be easier to do that, I don’t know, maybe at your current address?

People don’t seem to have much to say about that.

But when the story gets told about the birth of Mary’s son,

they usually manage to take their shot at the poor innkeeper. Me.

I am not even sure how it got out.

If you read the official story, recorded by that guy Luke,

There’s no mention of me, or my family.

All it says is Mary gave birth to her firstborn, a son; put him in a simple cloth wrapping, and laid him in a feeding trough for cattle, because there was no room for them at the inn.

But people like to add details, to colour in between the lines, even when the lines aren’t actually there.

Take a look at Luke’s Gospel for yourself, and you’ll see. We aren’t actually in the story.

Sometimes, when the story gets told, or acted out, they put a no vacancy sign in the hands of actor that plays me, or my wife.

What they don’t tell you, in those half made-up versions, is our house was full to the rafters with all those travelers, and their families. And a lot of them were poor folks, like those two that ended up where we kept the animals. We let them stay, and we fed them, and took care of them. And it didn’t matter if they could pay us. We took in as many as we could because that’s how we were raised.

I should not have to tell the editor of the Bethlehem Gazette that the history of our people goes back much farther than Jesus, or even King David. We descend from Father Abraham and his wife Sarah. Do you remember what happened to them?

Three strangers appeared outside their tent in the heat of the day. Abraham followed the code of hospitality of all desert peoples, treated them as honoured guests. He bowed before them, and offered food, and drink, and a place to rest. He instructed his wife Sarah to prepare bread. He chose a calf from his herd and had a servant butcher it and cook the meat. Then he himself fetched milk and curds, and with the meat and the bread fed his guests a big meal.

Our ancestor did these things not for any reward, but because that is who we are, and what we do. We do not let the traveler go hungry, stranger or not.

The story goes on to say these guests told Abraham that in less than a year, his wife Sarah would bear a son. Sarah overhears them from inside the tent, and laughs, because she and Abraham are very old, and gave up trying a long time before.

Sarah laughed, but it came to be true. She bore a son, Isaac, who became Abraham’s heir, and through him, the family line was carried on, and became a great nation. None of us would be here today if it wasn’t for him.

Not that we do these things expecting a reward. It has been said that some of us have offered hospitality and were surprised to discover we had entertained angels unaware of who they were, or where they came from.

Some say it was three angels that Abraham and Sarah took care of that day, so many years ago. I couldn’t tell you. I personally wouldn’t know an angel if they flew over my own barn.

I did hear some shepherds talk about angels in the Bethlehem area, around the time that couple stayed in our cowshed. But I didn’t see them. I was too busy seeing to the needs of all those guests in our home, and those in our outbuildings. Because that’s what we do. We care for the hungry, the poor, the wanderers. That’s what it means to be faithful.

But that’s not the story that gets told. We hear, year after year, about the couple we had to turn away, but not about all the other families who found shelter from the cold night, at our inn.

Maybe this will help to set the record straight.

2nd Week of Advent at Harrow United Church

On the 2nd Sunday of Advent we light a candle for peace. With the helpful and sage advice of my friend Susanna Suchak, I wrote a new land acknowledgment rooted in that theme.

Jeff Suchak, a contemplative fine art photographer, provided this image to be shown while the acknowledgment was read. You can view more of Jeff’s amazing work at

“According to the teaching of some Indigenous cultures, we are now in the dark time of the year, waiting for the return of the light. That sounds very familiar. Many cultures share these ideas. Another name for December is Little Spirit Moon. It is a time for healing, a time to attend to visions, and renew our intention to walk the right path. I hear echoes of John the Baptizer in the wilderness, calling the people of Israel to ready themselves for the coming of the expected Messiah.

Today we light an advent candle for Peace. Is Peace a thing, a noun, or is it a verb, an action? The Haudenosaunee people teach there can be no peace without justice. The ancient Hebrew word is Shalom, which is a greeting, a prayer, a call to build right relationships. There is no Shalom while there is oppression, or cruelty, or a lack of respect amongst neighbours.

We live and work on land that was known, cherished, and travelled upon for thousands of years before the arrival of colonizers and settlers. We are meant to live in right relationship with the land, with our neighbours, and with Creator, who sends the light whose coming is a sign of hope, and a call to peace.”

The YouTube Video of this week’s service can be viewed by following this link, which should be live by Sunday evening , December 5, after 6 pm.

The Learning Time for this week takes the form of a letter from Joseph to Mary written by David Giuliano. David is a retired United Church of Canada minister, who lives in Marathon, Ontario. He served as the 39th Moderator of the United Church, from 2006 to 2009.

See the source image

David is the author of several books, including “The Undertaking of Billy Buffone”, for which I was privileged to write this “mini-review” which is in the liner notes for the print edition:

“The landscape, and the lake are living presences, and provide a setting for the mystical and the messy aspects of life to meet in ways that are both familiar, and surprising. As someone who grew up in Northern Ontario, I recognize the places, and find the characters believable.

David’s writing is infused with love for the landscape of Northern Ontario, and for its people. There is beauty and brutality in the narrative, which is rendered with honesty and compassion. I love the glimpses of the spiritual reality that supports and surrounds the characters, as they each grapple with mystery.”

Here is the text of David’s delightful “letter”, which I used this week with his permission:

With Deep Regret: A Letter to Mary

Dear Mary,

I intended to address this letter to “My Dearest, Beloved Mary,” but feared that at this point you would welcome only the barest of salutations from me. Maybe you have already torn these words and the papyrus upon which they are written into a thousand shreds and scattered them with the excrement that flows in the gutter. Who would blame you? I have been a fool. Worse than that, I have been an arrogant fool.

I have much more to write about you and me…but first I want to convey my deep relief and joy at the news that you are well and there with your cousin, Elizabeth, and her fine husband, the priest, Zechariah. The morning after you left, your father came to my house in a rage. He demanded to know where you were and what I had done with you. You won’t believe this, but he even broke my nose with a wooden bowl. Each time I touch it, I feel its thick pain. It makes me think of you. I’m glad he broke it!

Your mother came next, screaming like an eagle. Your father and I were rolling around in the red dust like a couple of synagogue boys. She grabbed your father by the ear, pointed an ominous finger at me, and ordered us inside the house. Quite a crowd had gathered. I’m sure that before I wiped the blood off my face, Mrs. Zebedee’s tongue had gone wagging like a dog’s tail around the village telling everyone what had happened.

Your mother told me that when they woke up that morning you were gone from your mat. I said that you had probably gone to the hills for the day. After all, since you were a little girl, that is exactly where you went whenever you were angry—to watch the spiders, you’d say. But my heart began to sink as I sensed that this was different. They said you were crying when you got home the night before and demanded to know what we had talked about.

I told them I had called off our wedding—and why. I was so shocked and hurt when you told me that you were pregnant, Mary. My heart turned to ice. And I felt insulted when you said that you believed that it was God’s will that this child, who is not mine, would change the world, liberate the people, care for the poor. It was as if you, an ignorant peasant girl, (I know this isn’t true but that’s what I was thinking) were calling me, a man, a religious elder, and your husband-to-be, a fool. My pride opened my mouth. I even convinced myself that I was doing the noble thing. Quietly calling off our engagement seemed to be the kind thing, the honorable thing. After all, everyone knows that I do “the right thing” to a fault. I would face the ridicule from the likes of Mrs. Zebedee, even from my own friends, but they would also say, “Isn’t he kind when he could have had her stoned to death?”

I was there when they stoned Deborah, Jacob’s wife. I still have nightmares. It was there, when Deborah was stoned, that I first realized that you were special among women and girls, and that I loved you. How old were you, 10 or 11 years? You must have sneaked out of the house—a pattern for you it seems. By the time your mother arrived at the stoning, you were screaming and tearing at the robes of the elders who were throwing the rocks. I was hoping that your mother would drag you away before…well, before Deborah died. So, I felt noble and honorable, sparing myself that horror.

I am glad your parents came. They told me of their shame too. They told me what they had always said to you about girls who got pregnant before they were married. People say things like that, Mary. They don’t really mean it. Not about people they love. Your father sobbed. “Cast the first stone? How could I say such a thing to my little girl?” Those are his exact words.

I was 12 years old when you were born and I watched you grow up. When your father and I agreed that you would be my wife, it was the happiest day of my life. I know—and you were right to say it—we men treat women like cows or donkeys, the way we wheel and deal over you. But, I don’t mean I felt happy in the same way I would be if I had made a good bargain with an animal. I mean I felt the deep joy of the completion of something I had always dreamed would come to pass. You helped me understand what the Torah means when it says that God saw the first human’s loneliness and said, “It is not right that this one should be alone,” and from a rib fashioned the one who would complete him. You, Mary, complete me.

So, when you told me that you were pregnant, I felt as though my whole life, my dream, everything had been ripped from my hands in an instant. I was angry. I didn’t understand. I still don’t understand completely, but I’m willing to try.

You see, the truth is that I really am the sort of man who does the right thing, not because of what the neighbours will say, but because that’s how I am. When one of my customers overpays me, even a coin or two, I return it. If I find something that doesn’t belong to me, I could no more keep it than turn water into wine. That’s just how I am. I think that it is doing the little things right that leads us to God. It’s like practice for when the big thing comes along.

The big thing, Mary, is to step through whatever gate God opens to us. You and this child are the Creator’s gate for me. What else could account for this love that feels like drunkenness, but which helps me see the world more clearly, more beautifully, than ever before? Our love, this child, will lead us to both joy and suffering. Love always does. To deny that love, however, would lead to emptiness and to death.

Mary, please come home! Give my regards to Elizabeth and to Zechariah and wish them well with their own surprising birth, but please come home. Already I am under pressure to leave for Bethlehem in order to fulfill my census obligations. I would very much like to make that journey, and all journeys from now on, with you. Together we will find the way.

With all my love, Joseph.

“Zechariah hits a home run” The first Sunday of Advent at Harrow United Church

(This monologue in the voice of Zechariah was a joint effort of my partner, the Rev. Lexie Chamberlain and I. It is based on the story in the first chapter of Luke’s Gospel. Her version is a bit different from mine.)

Have you ever seen or heard something, had an experience that was too incredible for words? Ironically, there are lots of words that get used to talk about how it feels.

Gobsmacked!  Tongue tied!   Speechless! 

It was all of those, and more, or less for me, I am still trying to come to terms with what happened to me, to my wife Elizabeth, well… to our family!

Here’s my story. My name is Zechariah.  I am a priest at the Holy Temple in Jerusalem.  Some of you may have heard the term Rabbi before, but I am not a rabbi.  I’m a priest. 

The people of Israel are descended from the sons of a man named Jacob, whose name was actually changed to, well, Israel, after his encounter with a messenger from God. Our scriptures tell us that he wrestled with an angel. That kind of thing can make you see things differently, believe me.

One of Jacob’s sons was named Levi. Tradition says the priests of our nation come from the tribe of Levi. A priest does not study the laws of our religion like the rabbis do. We are not teachers, or preachers, thank goodness. The priests, and there are a lot of us, a whole tribe, make sure all the rituals of the temple are done properly.

We take care of the daily prayers, the sacrifice of animals, holy offerings, the ritual of purification after a woman gives birth, and circumcision. (That’s cutting edge technology, let me tell you.)

We priests of the tribe of Levi only serve at the Temple in Jerusalem. The rabbis, who teach our stories to the people, are based in our branch offices, the local synagogues.

Here’s the thing. Over the centuries, all the tribes of Israel have grown in number. There are a lot of us priests. So many, there is a roster, a schedule for when we each get a turn to serve. When it’s a high holy day like the Passover there is lots of work to do, but for most of the year, it’s much quieter.

We are divided up into clans or teams, that take turns to go to Jerusalem and stay at the temple when it is our week. It’s like when a rookie gets called up to big leagues. It’s very exciting. We all look forward to our turn at bat, to actually go in the holy of holies, and burn the incense. It’s a real honour, and with so many of us wanting a turn, it could be a once in a life time opportunity.

Actually, so many priests wanted to do it, we had to start drawing lots, like pulling a name out of a hat. This drawing of lots is something we do to leave the choice up to God.

I never expected my name to be drawn.  I wondered if I’d done or said something to upset God, because things never seem to go my way. Some people might say that was just my lot in life.

My wife, Elizabeth and I, had been married a long time and we wanted children, but it didn’t happen. Some suggested God was punishing us for some sin we had committed. People can be cruel, and small-minded.

Some questioned if I should be a priest, or wondered what kind of a priest I could be, because there must be something wrong with me.  On nights when Elizabeth and I would sit in our sorrow, and shame, I tried to remind her we are human, and God is God, and we don’t know the mind of God. God may not answer our prayers in the way, or on the schedule we prefer.

Speaking of schedules, as I was saying, I didn’t expect my name to ever come up on the Temple roster. But there it was! I was going to have my shot at the big leagues, my trip into the holy of holies, the heart of the Temple, to offer incense at the altar.

My fellow priests, some close cousins and some almost strangers, we are a pretty big tribe, had heard of me, and knew the rumours. When my name appeared on the batting order, some were amazed, and some were envious. Why would I be chosen? I admit, I also wondered.

We all grew up hearing about the holy of holies. The grandeur of this room, at the centre of the holiest part of the Temple, at the centre of our faith! In our tradition, there’s that word again, it’s the place on earth closest to the throne of God. A room that shone with gold, and where the only sounds were murmured prayers, and the sizzle of oils ladled on the fire.

Our fathers, and uncles, and their fathers and uncles told us about the smoke, the holy fumes, the sweet smell of the incense that rose up from the flames, taking the prayers of our tribe, of our people, up to God.

It’s a scent that stays with you. I can still smell it today. Do you have scents in your life that  evoke a particular time or place?  Maybe it is the smell of homemade bread, or gingerbread cookies, or a freshly cut pine tree, or the perfume or cologne a loved one used to wear. 

The smell of the incense wafting up to God, and the knowledge I’d fulfilled my duty, this life-time longing to serve, these things would have been enough. But wait, there was more.

I did not just get my turn at bat. In words you might understand from your time, I also hit the ball, and it was out of there! A home run, with the bases loaded!

No, I didn’t actually hit anything. I don’t even play baseball. The robes would get in the way. I didn’t do anything, except stand there, in awe of the moment, and of what happened next.

There was an angel. I did not do as our ancestor Jacob did, and wrestle with God’s messenger, although I am wrestling with trying to understand, to grasp what the angel told me. Gabriel said my dear wife, Elizabeth, after many years of sadness and disappointment, of hope stretched thin to the point of almost breaking, would bear a child.

As if just being in the holy of holies was not enough to have me shaking and shivering in my sandals, and speechless, Gabriel said, “You and Elizabeth will have a baby, and you are to name him John. As a sign that what I say is true, you will not be able to utter a word, until the day of your son’s birth. Every word I’ve spoken to you will come true on time—God’s time.”

After that incredible moment in the batter’s box, running the bases, and facing the scrum of reporters after the game would be a letdown, at least for me.

One of the reporters, named Luke, said that because I’d been in holy of holies room for so long, and hadn’t come out, the congregation was getting restless. When I came out and couldn’t speak, they knew something had happened, that I’d had a vision. At least that’s what Luke said. I didn’t say anything.

When a priest leaves the holy of holies their next stop is the steps of the temple, to offer a blessing to the people gathered there.  I had practiced the blessing, over and over, making sure I could say it without stumbling. 

I went to the top step, raised my arms, and nothing, absolutely nothing came out.  I could not speak.  I was overcome by emotions.  I raised my hands and I looked at the people, people whose prayers I had helped send to God, and I uttered not one word. 

Some people realized something special had happened to me.  Some said the silent benediction was more profound than the traditional old words. 

The words I wanted to say that day, are these:

May life bless you with moments of wonder and awe that leave you speechless.

May hope sing deep in your soul.

May God bless you and keep you.

When my scheduled time in Jerusalem was finished, I went home to Elizabeth. A few months later, she confirmed that she was pregnant. I didn’t know what to say then, either. Amen

Reign of Christ Sunday: Jeff Bezos, Jesus, and other Kings

My wife and I used to go every year to a fundraising dinner at a Presbyterian Church where our friend was the pastor. It was an all you can eat lobster dinner, followed by a silent auction. A local funeral home bought our meals, so we knew for sure we had to buy something.

Our friend is an amazing baker. Her contribution to the auction was a gift certificate good for a pie a month, for a year. Your choice of filling. I bought it every year.

There was a charity gala in Hollywood last weekend, for a nonprofit called Baby2Baby, which provides essentials to children living in poverty.

It was a ballroom full of A-list celebrities. Pretty much the same guys I see at the Legion. Hollywood executives, screen stars, models, recording artists, gazillionaires, and people famous for well, being famous. Celebrities who can’t sing, dance, act, write, make or do anything, and probably have a personal assistant to tie their designer shoes.

One of the guests was Jeff Bezos, the second wealthiest human on the planet. His wealth is estimated at over 190 billion dollars, and it increases by $147,000 per minute. That’s a lot of pie.

The big news was not how much money this gala was raised. They brought in 8.5 million American dollars. Which is lovely, I think.

I often have mixed feelings about charity fundraising. I’ll walk on the Coldest Night of the Year to support Windsor’s Downtown Mission, because I hate the idea of people going hungry, or sleeping outside. But I feel I should be doing more. Rather than just collect money to help those who’ve been cast to the waste heap, we need to change our society, so we throw less people away in the first place.

So anyway, at this gala where they raised a huge amount of money to help children living in poverty a very uncharitable thing happened.

Jeff Bezos donated a half million dollars, and there were audible groans from the crowd. Not exactly booing, but groans that meant, “Is that all Jeff? Couldn’t you do a little better?”

Seriously. The guy donated enough cash to buy 14 thousand boxes of Pampers, and people in the crowd grumbled like he’s Ebenezer Scrooge.

The appropriate response when someone makes a donation is thank you. Period. Regardless of the size of gift, the response is the same. Thank you.

There were hundreds of people there, and this man gave a huge proportion of the 8.5 million raised.  What I find interesting is the expectation that just because Mr. Bezos is exceedingly wealthy, he’d be more generous. They expected more from him than from themselves.

Celebrities are our contemporary equivalent of royalty. They are kings and queens of the internet with huge followings. People live vicariously through them, know all about them, and talk about them like they just had a beer with them at the Legion.

There is a fantasy element to this. Most of us will never own a company that builds space rockets, but we can follow their exploits, in the same way we follow the right-hander who’ll get 14 million a year to pitch in the major leagues. We can live vicariously through their stories.

We look up to celebrities, and attach all kinds of qualities to them, that aren’t real. We want them to be nicer, better looking, richer versions of us. We buy into the dangerous, ridiculous lie that there are different classes of people, and that some are better than others.

We all have nobility, and pride, and goodness in us. We all have greed, and ego, and depravity in us. We are all saints and sinners, and no-one is better, no matter the number of digits in their bank account, or the history of the blood that runs through their veins.

Think about how Jeff Bezos makes his money. Amazon uses mostly minimum wage employees to buy, sell, and ship consumer goods made by other people, mostly in China for even lower wages. He’s a ruthless businessman. Thousands of people got COVID working in his warehouses. Why would we expect him to be a nice guy?

Over the centuries, we have done the same thing with actual royalty. We pray for their well-being, call them things like “gracious”, and try to get them to visit our town. We expect them to be kind, friendly, and to really care. Some are wonderful, but even if they aren’t, we want them to be.

Back in the day, if the monarch wasn’t kind and caring, it could be very, very bad for the rest of us. In some places in the world, this is still true. The only practical difference between a king and a tyrant is their behaviour.

Trace the family tree of many royal dynasties back far enough, and you don’t find a genteel tea-drinker who cuts ribbons to open bridges and hospitals. You find a ruthless, bloodthirsty warrior chief who smashed heads, burned villages, and slaughtered rivals. 

The fortunes of the European royal houses were made by investing, largely in shipping and trade. As their agents claimed and conquered India, Africa, North and South America, Australia and New Zealand, they needed to control the price of what was produced, and brought to Europe to sell. They needed cheap labour. Around the world, representatives of European kings and queens bought and sold enslaved humans as property.

They exploited local populations for whatever they could get, ultimately taking the very land they lived on.

This is not ancient history. There are people living today, whose grandparents were bought and sold. The last African American survivors of enslavement died in the early 1970’s.

Around that time, our residential schools were going full tilt, and the Royal Canadian Mounted Police were scooping First Nations children from their families, and doing it all in the name of Queen and country, to try to re-make them into “better” people.

The Bible warns us about the abuse of power. Early in the history of Israel, the people approached their prophet, their religious leader, and said, choose us a king. We need a strong warrior to lead us and protect us from our neighbours. They have kings and we worry they’re coming for us.

The prophet said, basically, be careful what you wish for.

A king in those days was a warlord who ruled not by wisdom or compassion, but with fear, force, and the willingness to inflict violence on others.

The people said, not quite in these words, yeah, we know, we can see what the kings next door are like. But we need one, or they’re going to get us. So please, pick us a good one.

Over time, this developed into the idea that God raises up and support the dynasties of certain families, who the church taught had the God-given right to rule over us commoners.

Our Gospel story described an encounter between Pontius Pilate, and Jesus. Pilate was the Roman Governor, who represented and wielded the power and might of the Emperor of Rome.

Pilate was posted on the edge of the Roman Empire, with battalions of soldiers under his command, to protect the trade routes from Palestine back to Rome, maintain the flow of goods and money, and keep the commoners under control.

Pilate had to sort out what to do with this peasant Jesus who had a following and was raising a ruckus. His message was innately challenging to the good order of the Empire.

Jesus treated everyone as an equal, deserving of dignity and respect. Regardless of their station, their rank, their nobility or lack thereof, Jesus taught, with words and actions, that each person is a beloved child of God. Decades after Jesus’ earthly life, the apostle Paul would put it this way: “There is neither Jew nor Gentile, neither slave nor free, nor is there male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus.”

If Jesus was a king, he’d be a different kind of king. He’d be fair and just, moral and ethical. His methods would be love, compassion, empathy, and patience. He’d be trustworthy, kind, and good.

Pilate might be interested in these ideas in a philosophical way. What is truth? But Pilate was in the empire business, and needed to know if Jesus was a problem.  If Jesus had the backing of a political movement, he represented a threat that had to be dealt with the way kings deal with threats. Send in the troops, or the RCMP. We can’t have the commoners getting uppity, expecting fair treatment. We need cheap labour and order in society. Everyone must stay in their place. Get back to the fields. Black Friday is coming, we need you to work overtime at the warehouse.

Reign of Christ, or Christ the King Sunday was added to the Christian calendar by a Roman Catholic Pope. His motivation was complicated, but we can take the opportunity to ask some good questions.

Do we really believe in different classes, that some people are better than others?

Are Kings put in place by God, or by human maneuvering?

What kind of King would Jesus have been, given the opportunity?

Who or what is actually in charge of our lives? Who or what do we bow down to?

Today is the last Sunday of the Christian year. Next week we are in Advent, the time of preparation for Christmas.

In our part of the world, as we head into the colder months, and worry and pray for folks who are homeless, and those folks in BC whose lives have been devastated by floods, we remember that we are not waiting for a warrior king to born.

The one who is coming is not about power and might. The one who is coming will be born anew for us as a vulnerable, needy, helpless little child, who teaches from the start, about love. Amen