SUNDAY JANUARY 5TH 2025

THE EPIPHANY

This week`s reflection is on The Epiphany and is by John van de Laar, a minister of the Methodist Church of Southern Africa.

“The focus of Epiphany, as usual, is the visit of the Magi. The other readings, though, add some wonderful nuances and textures to this story, emphasising the inclusivity of Christ and the priority of God for justice and for defending the least.

In a world where faith is often used to exclude and exploit, and with the tough conflicts and divisions across our planet, the Epiphany message is a timely word. Since this is the Year of Luke in the Lectionary (Year C) the themes of justice and inclusivity are particularly appropriate, offering the possibility of links between the shepherds (from the Christmas season) and the magi (this week).

Either way, the scandalous truth that we must face in this celebration

is that the light of God’s glory shines on all people and through all people –

if we only have eyes to see it!

Although the Epiphany readings are the same every year, and focus on the visit of the magi to the Christ Child, this year we add the particularly emphasis of Luke’s Gospel to this festival. There is no question that Luke’s passion for inclusivity resonates strongly with the Epiphany message. All of the readings stress two main themes.

Firstly, there is the inclusivity of God’s saving work in the world. All of the readings speak of the diverse groups that are drawn into God’s grace and glory in one way or another (the nations, wealthy and poor, powerful and oppressed, Jew and Gentile).

Secondly, there is the worship and the offering of gifts that accompanies the experience of being included. Only the epistle has no mention of people bringing gifts to Christ. It is significant that, at the start of his human life, the one who is God’s gift to the world, who brings God’s grace and salvation to humanity, first receives the worship and the gifts of humanity. It is also significant that the ones who bring those gifts are those who would have been excluded from the worship of God in the Temple – Gentile foreigners who were sorcerers (the literal Greek word).

The message here is twofold: the incarnate Christ has come for all humanity, not just a particular national or religious group, and the glory of God, reflected in the incarnate God-child, teaches us that God’s glory is also reflected in all humanity. Although no Gospel has the shepherds (from Luke) and the magi (from Matthew) together, it is appropriate thematically, especially in this year of Luke, to hold the two visits together because the message is essentially the same – no one is excluded from the grace and glory of God.

Every church community, and every person, longs for the light of God’s glory and blessing to shine on them. This longing often leads us into trying to earn God’s blessing through legalism, doctrinal purity or separation from those who are considered “unrighteous”. Too often faith becomes something exclusive, something to defend against others who see things differently. Epiphany reveals an alternative view of God’s glory – that in Christ’s incarnation God’s glory and blessing are already ours – not something to earn; and that the experience of God’s glory is found in connection and sharing with others, while protecting and defending the least.

It is a good discipline to ask: “Who needs to be included in our community right now?” and “Who needs to be protected?” – two questions that necessarily call us to emulate Christ’s self-sacrifice in our own lives.

Of course, all this begs the question of evangelism. What does it mean to bring others into the light of God’s grace or to reflect God’s glory to them?

How do we allow our worship to shine, without it becoming oppressive, elitist, judgmental or just plain creepy to others?

The answer, suggested by the readings, and by Christ’s example, is in self-sacrifice. When we are trying to “win souls” or “grow our church” or even “be obedient” the focus tends to be on us, and other people sense this and feel manipulated.

But, when our focus is on serving, empowering, standing with, and loving those around us, with no particular expectation of their response, then they sense this too, and are drawn to the Christ they see in us – rather than to any particular doctrine, church or theological position.

If Epiphany is about God’s glory filling the world,

it must happen through our Christlike love and service,

not through “Christian dominance” over people, other religions

or society’s structures and systems.”

SUNDAY JANUARY 12TH

THE BAPTISM OF CHRIST

This week`s reflection on the  Gospel Luke 3:15-17,21-22, is by Karoline Lewis, Luther Seminary, Saint Paul, Minnesota, USA.

“Never underestimate the power of “you,” especially in the second person singular. We know how “you” feels.

Like you are the only person in the world.

Like someone is paying attention.

Like someone means it and means what they say.

Of course, its negative is equally powerful, but for the sake of this week’s column on Luke’s version of Jesus’ baptism, I am focusing on “you” in the positive.

And, what “you” feels like when you hear it from God.

A quick comparison of the Gospels confirms that only two out of the four Evangelists record this “you” address from the heavens — Luke and Mark.

Matthew’s version is the demonstrative third person “this” and any affirmation from God at Jesus’ baptism would make absolutely no sense in John.

Mark’s private message to Jesus seems to support Mark’s wider theme of the secrecy of Jesus’ identity.

That is not, I don’t think, true for Luke. For Luke, the “you” to Jesus heralds the “you” that God, in Jesus, says to all persons.

Those persons we don’t see, easily pass by, and overlook.

Those persons we don’t want to see.

This is an essential theme in Luke.

Jesus sees those no one else does — the widow of Nain. Zacchaeus up in a tree. Jesus tells stories of persons whose goodness is defined by coming near and seeing those whom most refuse to see, the parable of the Good Samaritan.

The Samaritan, who is never called “good” in the parable by the way, is first good because he draws near and truly sees the guy in the ditch.

The priest and the Levite? They see, but do not see.

They do not see for whom Jesus came.

They are unwilling to see those whom they themselves have excluded from God’s favour.                                                                                                               

And so, I wonder, just like how much Jesus learned from his mother so as to preach his first sermon, how much Jesus needed to hear “you” so as to recognize who he needed to see. It’s hard to pay attention to another when you have never had another pay attention to you.

Moreover, the remarkable thing about this “you” is that as soon as we hear it, according to Luke, we are called to see, to acknowledge, to come near, to free, any “you” who has not heard the good news of great joy.

The “you” in Jesus’ baptism reiterates the regard for Elizabeth, the regard for Mary.

To hear “you” is to be regarded, to be favoured by God.

That’s what “you” should feel like.

And that “you” you are called to say, in Jesus’ name, to others.

The Baptism of Our Lord Sunday can easily digress into sermons about proper baptismal beliefs and doctrines or expositions about the meaning of baptism devoid of any kind of Scriptural foundation.

And so, how does Luke’s interpretation of Jesus’ baptism invite us to think about baptism in a specific way; in a way that might even look forward to what Jesus’ baptism truly means for his ministry, and what it means, at least in Luke’s eyes, for anyone who chooses to follow Jesus?

When I was pastor of a church outside of Atlanta, I ended up writing a dialogue sermon for Baptism of Our Lord Sunday because the church I served was a unique denominational blend and yet was a Lutheran church.

The dialogue sermon quoted and paraphrased much of Luther’s Small Catechism so that my congregation would know that baptism is God’s claim of “you.”

Many years later, I preached this same sermon with my husband in south Minneapolis. After the service, a long-time member of the church, 90-year-old Dot , came up to me and said, “Karoline, is that really true?” “What?” I responded.

“That GOD baptizes you?” “Well, yes. This is what we believe, Dot.”

She then told me why she doubted the “you.” Dot had a sister, born too early and not expected to live, about three years before Dot was even born. The only option was to bring her home for her two-to-three-month lifespan. During that time, the grandmother baptized her. Then, when Dot’s sister died, of course her parents set up a meeting with the pastor for the funeral.

The pastor told them that he would do the funeral, but not in the sanctuary because he had not baptized the baby. The funeral was held in the basement of the church.  

Dot then said to me, “Do you mean my sister is okay?” The sister she never met. The sister she had mourned for her entire 90 years. The sister for whom she wondered, “is God really for her?”

Oh, yes. I said. The “you” your sister heard; God meant.

And God did not, and will never, let her go.                                                           

That, dear friends, is the power of “you.”

JANUARY 19TH 

SECOND SUNDAY OF EPIPHANY

This week`s reflection on the Gospel passage(John 2:1-11) is by Rick Morely,  Rector of St David’s Episcopal Church, Devon, Pennsylvania, USA.

“In the 25th chapter of Isaiah we find a beautiful vision of what happens when God’s victory is made manifest: 

On this mountain the LORD of hosts will make for all peoples, a feast of rich food, 

a feast of well-aged wines, of rich food filled with marrow,                                      of well-aged wines strained clear.

A feast. Rich food. Well-aged wines. Sounds pretty good, right?

In the Revelation to John, towards the end when the victory of God is nearly fulfilled, we find a similar theme:

Blessed are those who are invited to the marriage supper of the lamb.

Jesus, the Lamb of God, after evil and death are finally defeated, throws a feast. And the invitees are blessed.                                                                                A good party is a sign of the Kingdom of God—it’s a foretaste of the Reign of God.

There’s a horrible mistake been made when “religion” and “church” are words synonymous with “boring,” and “lifeless.” Yes, of course there are things to be serious about, and there need to be moments of great solemnity in our common spiritual life.                                                                                                        But, the Kingdom of God is like a party. A feast. With fine food and well-aged wines. That’s the very opposite of boring and lifeless.

And this is why Jesus does what he does at the wedding feast at Cana.                The party was going. The food and the wine had been carefully planned and executed…and the wine had run out.                                                                      The hosts had either not thought that part through very well, or their guests were particularly thirsty that day.

“Boring-Jesus,” “lifeless-Jesus” would have said, “Great. Now that the wine is gone, the party is over. We can all leave, go home, and get down to serious business.

I didn’t want to be here anyway.”

But, no. That’s not the Jesus that we have. Jesus is asked by his mother to do something about it, he does.                                                                                He turns water into wine. 120 to 180 gallons of it. (Wow!)

And, when the steward takes a sip, he finds out that Jesus hasn’t made any old plonk. He made the good stuff!

Well-aged wine, like the feast of God in Isaiah.

This is the first of the signs in the Gospel of John, and this sign not only points to Jesus as someone who can do miraculous things, but it points to Jesus as the Messiah who has come to fulfil the promises of old.

The One who has come to bring on the feasting.

Until it’s not someone else’s wedding he’s supplying the drink for, but his own.

So, get that dour look off your face and start spreading the Good News:                  The Church isn’t boring.                                                                                        The Kingdom of God is near.”

JANUARY 26TH

THIRD SUNDAY OF EPIPHANY

This week`s reflection on the Gospel passage Luke 4:14-30 is entitled

“Keeping our eyes on Christ” and comes from the Taizé Community.

“This short account of Jesus’ visit to his hometown is disturbing: how could he stand such a change? At the beginning people are amazed at him, and then all at once the crowd seems to turn into a lynch-mob.                                                     

The people are all waiting for the Messiah (Luke 3:15), who was to come in order to create communion with God and among human beings.

Jesus’ reputation precedes him (Luke 4:14)—undoubtedly as well as news of his healings and his concern for the poorest of society, who feel close to him—and this is true for the people in Nazareth, too. Now he comes to his hometown himself, to proclaim the Good News of God’s Kingdom there as well.                                      

After Jesus reads out the words of Isaiah, all those present in the synagogue open their eyes wide: they see in the man standing before them the Messiah announced by the prophets and then by John. And Jesus himself confirms this:

“Today this scripture is fulfilled” (Luke 4:21).

Looking with amazement is, in the Bible, the constantly repeated reaction of human beings to an encounter with God. Have not we too experienced this wonder during meetings or experiences that allow us to glimpse something of God’s presence?     

Following this acclamation, the question “Isn’t this Joseph’s son?” marks a turning-point. Instead of common rejoicing at God’s presence, a doubt insinuates itself, almost undetected, into the assembly: Is he not one of us, a simple man who left town and now all of a sudden, promoted to a higher rank, comes back?

Why him? Does he still belong to us?

At that time, as today, people looked at themselves and others, often unconsciously, comparing and delimiting in order to define who belongs to a community and who remains outside:

between neighbours in the small town of Nazareth, or with the inhabitants of neighbouring Capernaum, in families, at work, or in one’s circle of friends.

Such behaviour creates a safe haven and bonds people together.

But as soon as the eyes that were at first turned towards Jesus begin to turn away from him and compare—worrying about their own standing—Jesus seems to become a danger that needs to be done away with.

With examples taken from Bible history, Jesus tries to explain that the community formed by God does not come into being in this way. When God becomes human—coming as close to us as the son of their neighbour Joseph—in order to open a way of communion, he goes beyond all human borders and calls into question the order of society which sets “ours” in contrast to “theirs.”

So as more and more to be people of communion, this text invites us to keep our eyes focused on Christ. Then our way of looking at ourselves and others gradually changes. We discover that it is not our boundaries that make community possible, but rather that he is the one who brings us together.

How do we look at ourselves and other people?                                                      Why is it that so often we compare ourselves to others?

What holds our communities together? What divides them?

What turns my eyes away from Christ?                                                                  What helps me to keep my eyes focused on Christ with amazement?”

FEBRUARY 2ND

CANDLEMAS

February 2^nd is observed as Candlemas in the liturgical calendar and we will be reflecting on its meaning in worship this Sunday.

Below are some thoughts on Candlemas (and the Irish saint Brigid)

by Jan Richardson, an artist, writer and ordained minister in the United Methodist Church in the USA.

“The beginning of February offers us another lovely feast day on the heels of today’s Feast of St. Brigid. In the rhythm of the Christian liturgical year, tomorrow marks the Feast of the Presentation of Jesus, also called the Feast of the Purification of Mary.

This day bids us remember Mary and Joseph’s visit to the Temple to present their child Jesus on the fortieth day following his birth, as Jewish law required, and for Mary to undergo the postpartum rites of cleansing.

Luke’s Gospel tells us that a resident prophet named Anna and a man named Simeon immediately recognize and welcome Jesus. Taking the child into his arms, Simeon turns his voice toward God and offers praise for the “light for revelation” that has come into the world.                                                                               

Taking a cue from Simeon, some churches began, in time, to mark this day with a celebration of light: the Candle Mass, during which priests would bless the candles to be used in the year to come.

Coinciding with the turn toward spring and lengthening of light in the Northern Hemisphere, Candlemas offers a liturgical celebration of the renewing of light and life that comes to us in the natural world at this time of year, as well as in the story of Jesus.

As we emerge from the deep of winter, the feast reminds us of the perpetual presence of Christ our Light in every season.                                                          With her feast day just next door, and with the abundance of fire in the stories of her life, it’s no surprise that St. Brigid makes an appearance among the Candlemas legends. The stories and prayers of Ireland and its neighbours often refer to Brigid as the midwife to Mary and the foster mother of Christ.

Chronologically, this would have been a real stretch seeing as how Brigid was born in 454 AD!   However, the legend says that Brigid walked before Mary with a lighted candle in each hand when she went up to the Temple for purification.

The winds were strong on the Temple heights, and the tapers were unprotected, yet they did not flicker nor fail.  

On this Candlemas, where do we find ourselves in this story?

Are we Mary, graced by the light that another sheds on our path?

Or are we Brigid, carrying the light for another in need?”

FEBRUARY 9TH

FOURTH SUNDAY BEFORE LENT

This week`s reflection on the Gospel, Luke 5 vs. 1-11 is by Karoline Lewis,              Professor at Luther Seminary, Saint Paul, Minnesota, USA.

“Catching people” might not sit very well with a number of our congregants. Compared to the parallel accounts in Matthew and Mark where the phrase is, “fishing for people. Luke employs a different verb, “to catch,” to describe the primary activity of apostleship.

The verb “to catch” implies a one-way action, and a violent one at that.

This difficulty is important to acknowledge. This text is not permission to go around nabbing people here and there so as to save their sinful souls.

Indeed, metaphors like this one have succeeded in forceful coercion and conversion; justification for forcing belief systems on the unsuspecting and insisting that those without a relationship with Jesus are most definitely not in the net of Jesus’ community.

Furthermore, this story seems to perpetuate and exacerbate a dangerous ecclesial assumption — the larger the “catch” the greater the missionary, and subsequently, the church from which such missionary hails.

And lest we think such thoughts and expectations are only limited to assessing apostolicity, we should remember how readily we count up our “catch” in our churches, our membership numbers, how many on the rolls, how many in church on a given Sunday, as if numbers alone are the hallmark of successful church leadership and effective mission.

But that is exactly what we do. We tout abundance as our doing and not God’s.

We locate confidence in our ministry in our own abilities to procure loyal believers. We insist that without our making, the catch of fish would be a merely meagre and inexperienced fishing expedition. Inflated figures, exaggerated amounts, extraordinary claims never backed up by any kind of evidence or experience seem to be the ticket to admiration when it comes to assessing ministry, as if Jesus had the pews filled at the foot of the cross.

Maybe, the promise of Jesus realized in the extraordinary catch of fish

is not in what we can do, and even what our potential future might look like,

but in what God can do.

Maybe the amazing catch of fish is not to command what the apostles should do as loyal followers of Jesus but to witness to what God has done and will always do.

We have ample evidence of God’s abundance made possible and visible in our actions toward bringing about the reign of God. And yet we are more often than not looking to give credit to our own capabilities instead of God’s faithfulness.

This past week, I tweeted the following quote:

“Stop waiting for Friday, for someone to fall in love with, for life.

Happiness is achieved when you stop waiting for it

and make the most of the moment you are in now.”                                                                                     

This quote is a reminder that so much of where we locate abundant life

is what will yet be.

A reminder of our ongoing inability to see the abundance around us.

A reminder of our tendency to explain away abundance as too good to be true, excessive, and undeserved. 

After all, more often than not in life, there is no such thing as a free lunch.

What’s too good to be true ends up not being true.

What’s too good to be true is immediately considered suspicious.

What’s too good to be true can’t possibly be real.

We’ve almost stopped believing in too good to be true, haven’t we?

Somehow, somewhere, some way, we’ve lost hope in the impossible,

belief in the unbelievable, trust in the incredible.

In our cynicism, scepticism, and pessimism how quickly we lose sight of what’s truly good news and what isn’t. Easily swayed by those who insist on proof rather than faith. Those who take the Gospel for granted instead of relying on its grace.

And we tend to limit the “catch” to numbers alone instead of engaging a wider imagination around the individuals in the net.

In Luke, the acts of the apostles as first and foremost acts of God; the miraculous, the abundant, the transformative, are all God’s doing. Every incident of conversion, every incident of belief in Jesus, is attributed to God by the apostles themselves.

We would do well to remember that the extraordinary catch of fish happens in Jesus’ presence.

These newly minted apostles don’t haul in the net of fish on their own.

They don’t leave everything and follow Jesus because they are confident in their own abilities.

They leave everything and follow Jesus because they are confident in Jesus’ command,

“Yet if you say so, I will let down the nets.”

FEBRUARY 16TH

THIRD SUNDAY BEFORE LENT

This week`s reflection on the Gospel passage - Luke 6 vs 17-26                              is by R.M. Fergus of the website Clergy Stuff.

“I don’t want to hear this.

It makes me scared.

Scared that if I’m enjoying my life (which I really, really am)

it means that one day I’ll have it all snatched away

and I’ll have to pay dearly on behalf of those whose lives are profoundly challenged by poverty, war, sickness, abuse, and other kinds of trauma.

I live a very small life.

No one in the United States would call me rich.

But the majority of people in the majority of the world would say I am.

So I have to own it.

Own that my having hot running water and air conditioning

and access to fresh food and medical care puts me in a minority.

Own that my having these things also means I’m complicit in systems that give me these benefits at the expense of others.

Own that if I asked Jesus what more I should do,

he might say to me, “Sell everything that you have, give it to the poor,

and follow me.” Yikes.                                                                                                      

So what hope do I take from this passage?

Simply this: Jesus’ reign is one of justice and equity,

and that I am responsible to help bring that reign about.                                       

There are things I can do to change systems.                                                     

There are things I can do to reduce my complicity and lower my impact.               

And I can trust that I’m responsible for the footwork                                              and God’s responsible for the outcome.                                                                  Falling into despair and self-recrimination isn’t the answer.                                      (Hiding in justification and denial isn’t either).

God, please direct me to people who can help me take actions                                to make the world more just in the here and now                                                  and let me turn over the future to you.                                                                  Amen.”

FEBRUARY 23RD

SECOND SUNDAY BEFORE LENT

This week`s reflection on the Gospel passage, Luke 6 vs. 27-38,

is by Catherine McElhinney and Kathryn Turner

from the website Weekly Wellsprings.

“At first glance, today’s Gospel could look as if Jesus is asking his disciples to become doormats - turning the other cheek - or handing over a tunic when someone asks for a cloak.                                                                                    However, Jesus was not a doormat and it is very unlikely that he intended his disciples to be. Rather he is offering a way of life in which the poor and powerless can act from a position of strength - to take an initiative which confronts their opponent and which leaves the wrong where it belongs. Their dignity does not depend on how others treat them. He does not suggest that this is an easy option but a radical alternative - something beyond what “even sinners” do. It is very easy to be kind to those who are nice to us - and to love those who love us. The challenge for Christians is to go further.

Among Jesus’ own disciples there were strong characters and the potential for disastrous relationships.                                                                                      Simon the Zealot was violently opposed to Roman occupation.                                Matthew had made a living as a tax-collector in effect collaborating with the Romans.                                                                                                          In the early Church at Philippi, Luke would have met a community in which a wealthy woman called Lydia met and worshipped on equal terms with dockers from the local port.

Christian communities are never uniform - people hold different political views - or have strong opinions - belong to different social groups and so on.                          And yet, week by week, we gather to worship God and, hopefully, to build up the Body of Christ in our own community and the locality in which we live.                  To do this, we have to employ much of the teaching in today’s Gospel, cultivating qualities of compassion, forbearance and forgiveness.                                       

We have to go beyond what might be expected in a club or other organisation - being willing to sacrifice something of our own self-interest in order to create harmony.                                                                                                          Such a community is a powerful witness to the world and will attract others to us. Yes, we may find ourselves exploited from time to time - but, as Jesus says,

God is never outdone in generosity - and what we give we will receive back in even greater abundance.                                                                                                       

What would it mean for you to live by Jesus` challenging teaching this week?”

MARCH 2ND

THE SUNDAY BEFORE LENT

The reflection on this week`s Gospel, Luke 9:28-36 (37-43a) The Transfiguration,    is by Karoline Lewis, Professor Chair of Biblical Preaching, Luther Seminary,

Saint Paul, Minnesota, USA.

“Mountains are particular and poignant. They rise up from the plains of our lives to invite majesty and awe; wonder and fear; to call to mind the heights of the heavens and yet the reality of the valleys below.                                                              Mountains have a way of disarming you. There are those who choose to conquer certain mountains, whether an item on the bucket list or simply a quest that meets a certain life need, want, desire. The truth is, mountains can kill you.                      And perhaps there is a certain truth to that when it comes to the Transfiguration.

Mountains have a way of disrupting you. They change your framework, your way of seeing the world. Mountains don’t lie.                                                                    Mountains have a way of transforming you.

Yet, at the same time, this is the difference between Luke’s version of the Transfiguration and Matthew and Mark (the Transfiguration does not occur in John).

Notice that immediately after Jesus descends from the mountain in Luke,

he is met with need.

Whereas Matthew and Mark include a dialogue about Elijah,

in Luke, Jesus has to address healing and not theology.

This may be our clue to understanding the Transfiguration from Luke — that mountaintops provide moments for seeing reality and not making up theology.

That mountaintops create spaces for perspective instead of justifying preconceived perceptions.

That mountaintops truly change your way of interpreting or making sense of the world. One cannot escape some sort of draw toward the mountains of the Holy Land. They force you to make sense of your confession of faith that is outside any predetermined, isolated, and limited opinion.                                                                                                                                                                              As permanent as mountains appear to be, mountaintops are fleeting.

Mountaintops are temporary.

Mountaintops are momentary.

Yet, we so long for them to be lasting. Why is that?

We are not strangers to this quest.

Maybe this is the issue to pursue this week: why we want the mountaintops to last, to make a difference, to mean something. Why?

Because we long for understanding.

We long for a viewpoint that others do not have.

We long for mountaintops. We need them.

But what is different in Luke’s Transfiguration account is the radical revelation of a mountaintop experience that is then interrupted by the urgency of reality.

Luke reminds us that our proclamation of the good news will elicit real need.

Are we ready to handle that?

Are we ready to embody that?

Are we ready to preach that?

There’s a lot of terrain between hills and valleys, mountaintop experiences and the trenches of real life, the highs and lows of human existence.

The Transfiguration of Jesus has to be a moment of revelation that extends and exists beyond the mountaintop experience. Otherwise, it will only justify glory, power, and privilege.

And so, our call to understand the Word this Sunday has to be grounded in the ways in which God grounds God’s very self in transfiguration.

God has chosen to reveal God’s self in ways that are breathtaking, miraculous, wondrous. Why? Because we have a tendency to tame God, to think that God will adjust to our many needs, to think that God will conform to our ideals.

When the Transfiguration becomes a sort of embarrassment for the church, an example of the ways in which the church hopes for glory, an argument for Jesus’ divine identity, a chance to wax nostalgic about mountaintop experiences, well then, it will cease to matter.                                                                                          Make it matter by seeing it for what it is — no ordinary mountaintop experience.”

MARCH 9TH

FIRST SUNDAY OF LENT

This week`s reflection on the Gospel Luke 4 vs. 1-13 is again by Karoline Lewis, Professor at Luther Seminary, Saint Paul, Minnesota. USA.

“The First Sunday in Lent. Are you anxious? Concerned? Disillusioned?                    All of the above? And maybe we should be.

What to do with Lent is cause for significant pause.

How to make it meaningful in the midst of betrayal.

How to tell the truth of its complications and yet suggest something beyond.

How to acknowledge its mood and yet live into the truth of what lies ahead.

“Filled with the Holy Spirit.”

That’s the only way you can get through something like this. This detail is one of Luke’s unique redactions to this story. In fact, in Luke, there is not much Jesus does without the presence and power of the Holy Spirit.

The Holy Spirit is a major character in Luke-Acts and preaching from this Gospel will tend to its manifestation and its role — constantly. And maybe that is the point of the Holy Spirit that we tend to forget — its constancy.

“Filled with the Holy Spirit.”

The truth of the incarnation? That’s the only way you can get through something like this. Same for Jesus. Lest we think Jesus has some supernatural powers — ok, maybe be does, granted — the purpose of Lent is that he doesn’t. Jesus takes on our humanity in such a way that he is tempted and tested. Not for the sake of our own claim to such feats but for the sake of knowing, deeply, intimately, that this is what it means to be human.

This is why the concept of “temptation” is tricky. And I was reminded that I have always been uncomfortable with this story. In fact, I resist it. It even makes me angry. Why? Because I know that there is no way, no how, that I could resist such temptations. Yes, I know. I get that this is the point of the story. I can’t. That’s Jesus’ job. But I go there anyway, thinking that my incursions toward perceived wrong, my inclinations toward that which might be called into question, my impulses toward “sin” in all of its definitions and demonstrations can somehow be curtailed with enough prayer, enough Spirit, enough Jesus.

That I can just will temptation away.

And then, I am indicted on another level. I want the power Jesus is offered — on all of its levels. And this is the unnerving and upending truth of this story. That which Jesus resists, his “passing of the test,” his resistance to temptation, in the end for Jesus, is a bold “no” to power as we know it.

Power that dominates.

Power that controls.

Power that lifts up for the sake of idolatry and ideology.

Power that insists on your own power.

And the temptation not only to power itself, but what the claim of power then leads to, has a hold on, or determines. Our attraction to power is often unable to see the consequences on the other side. Jesus has the aftermath of that which Satan offers fully in view.

“Filled with the Holy Spirit.”

It is hard, so very hard, to resist the power that the world loves and values.

But how this story starts is the promise of this text. You do not do this on your own.

“Filled with the Holy Spirit.”

And you are. This is your promise.

Is not the promise to Jesus also the promise to you?

If it’s not, then what are we doing?

On what can we ground our discipleship, our proclamation?                        

And “filled with the Holy Spirit” is God’s promise that extends beyond Luke to Acts. This is a moment to bring in the promise of Acts 1:8,

“But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you; and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, in all Judea and Samaria,

and to the ends of the earth.”

Jesus “filled with the Holy Spirit” is not an isolated incident, a temporary truth,

but a promise that has been for God’s people since the beginning and will always be.

“Filled with the Holy Spirit” means giving witness to God’s grace and truth that will only know its fulfilment when it reaches the ends of the earth.

And filled with the Holy Spirit is the only way possible to share such prophetic proclamation.

You are filled with the Holy Spirit, brothers and sisters.

Believe it!”

MARCH 16TH

SECOND SUNDAY OF LENT

This week`s reflection on the Gospel passage Luke 13 vs.31 – 35 is adapted from a longer article by Karoline Lewis. It is also appropriate as The World Day of Prayer, formerly Women`s World Day of Prayer was March  7^th and International Women`s Day was March 8^th.

“We need to be a community of love and belonging.”

That’s my paraphrase of Jesus’ desire to gather together Jerusalem’s children, just as a hen gathers her brood under her wings. And if you add Psalm 27 into the mix, it all makes sense.

Communities of love and belonging are beautiful yet rare; necessary, yet elusive; desired, yet seem always met with stipulations. You know what I mean, right? Communities of love and belonging are those places and spaces of gathered folks that give you life, that nourish your soul, that remind you of who you truly are.

Because there is no love and belonging when there is no regard and respect.

There is no love and belonging when you are overlooked and dismissed.

There is no love and belonging when you are told you don’t measure up, don’t meet expectations, or that you are not enough.

If you rarely, if ever, hear about God’s femininity, female images for God, or female characteristics of God, then even that biblical truth will be hard to believe. And, if God is mostly assumed to be male, referred to with male pronouns, and described as male, then it will be more difficult and take more energy to imagine God in female categories — and to believe that you have a place in the kingdom of God.

This week`s Gospel is an opportunity to imagine Jesus, as a hen gathering her brood; to claim an image so very rarely preached, not for the sake of an agenda, but for the sake of those in your pews who need to hear themselves in the Bible, need to see themselves in the Bible.

Why? Because, there are only 93 women who speak in the Bible,

49 of whom are named.

These women speak a total of 14,056 words collectively — roughly 1.1 percent of the Bible.

Mary, the mother of Jesus, speaks 191 words;

Mary Magdalene gets 61;

Sarah, 141

(Freeman, Bible Women: All Their Words and Why They Matter).

This is Jesus’ wish, Jesus’ invitation — a community of love and belonging under Jesus’ wing; knowing the safety and protection of such a place which then invites you to imagine and live in to the person God has called you to be.

Because here is the truth. How can you know who you are, even one known by God, if you don’t have the safe space to explore what that means? How can you know your truth if no one is willing to listen? How can you believe that your unique self matters for the proclamation of God’s Word, in preaching, in presiding at the sacraments if you don’t hear that the particularity of you matters when it comes to the incarnation of God’s Word?

I sense that this is Jesus’ call this week. Calling all of us into the security of God’s love so that we might know we are safe as well. Safe from the harm of ridicule. Safe from the harm of rejection. Safe from the harm of dismissal.                            That is, at its heart, Jesus’ promise this week. Jesus envelops us, brings us under his wing, protects us.

Why?

So that we can give witness when it’s hard.                 

So that we can preach when we know rejection will be the result.                            So that we can live into our authentic selves                                                      even though so many will continue to say you need to be someone else.                  So that we can live into the person Jesus sees.”

MARCH 23RD

THIRD SUNDAY OF LENT

This week’s reflection on the Gospel passage Luke 13 vs. 1-9 comes from an article by David Lose.

“This passage is rife with both promise and peril. The promise is to address one of the persistent questions many people have: why is there so much suffering in the world? Or, put more theologically, is suffering connected to our behaviour?            Does God cause suffering? Is suffering or calamity a form on punishment?         These are questions usually asked in moments of extreme suffering and loss and they are as poignant as they are important. And this week we have a chance to address them more reflectively than we can when asked in the emergency room or hospice centre – that’s the promise of this week’s reading.

Firstly, suffering is not a form of punishment. If there is anything we can take from Jesus’ sharp retort to his audience – “Do you really think that because these Galileans suffered in this way, they were worse sinners than all other Galileans?” – it’s that suffering and calamity are not God’s punishment for sin. Just to make sure the crowd listening gets the point, Jesus goes on to offer a second example of folks killed when a tower fell on them, asking once more, “do you think that they were worse offenders than all the others living in Jerusalem,” again answering definitively, “No.”                                                                                             

Secondly, just because suffering is not punishment doesn’t mean that it is disconnected entirely from sin. Pilate’s murderous acts of terror – as well as those horrific actions of today’s tyrants that we read about in the news – are sinful. Moreover, what if the wall Jesus references was built by a fraudulent contractor? Sin has consequences, and there are all kinds of bad behaviours that contribute to much of the misery in the world, and the more we can confront that sin the less suffering there will be.                                                                                       

Thirdly, God neither causes nor delights in suffering and calamity. This is where the parable about the fig tree comes in. Now, a quick warning: we tend to read this parable allegorically, assuming that the landowner is God and the gardener Jesus. But nowhere in Luke do we find a picture of an angry, vindictive God that needs to be placated by a friendly Jesus. Rather, Jesus portrays God as a father who scans the horizon day in and day out waiting for his wayward son to come home and as a woman who after sweeping her house all night looking for a lost coin throws a party costing even more than the coin is worth to celebrate that she found it. Luke’s Gospel overflows with the conviction that “there is more rejoicing in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine who need no repentance” (Luke 15:7).

Given Luke’s consistent picture of God’s reaction to sin, then perhaps the landowner is representative of our own sense of how the world should work. That is, from very early on, we want things to be “fair” and we define “fair” as receiving rewards for doing good and punishment for doing evil. (Except of course, when it comes to our own mistakes and misdeeds – then we want mercy!) So perhaps the gardener is God, the one who consistently raises a contrary voice to suggest that the ultimate answer to sin isn’t punishment – not even in the name of justice – but rather mercy, reconciliation, and new life.

Rather than imagine, that is, that God has to punish someone – and that we’re just lucky Jesus was around – what if instead we recognize that God’s answer to sin isn’t punishment but instead is love. That is, in Jesus God loves us enough to take on our lot and our lives fully, identifying with us completely. In the cross, then, we see just how far God is willing to go to be with us and for us, even to the point of suffering unjustly and dying the death of a criminal. And in the resurrection, we see that God’s solidarity and love is stronger than anything, even death.

So what can we say in the face of suffering and loss?

That God is with us.

That God understands what our suffering is like.

That God has promised to redeem all things, including even our suffering.

That suffering and injustice do not have the last word in our lives and world.

And that God will keep waiting for us and keep urging us to turn away from our self-destructive habits to be drawn again into the embrace of a loving God.

That’s what we can tell people and this, at last, is all promise.

We need to proclaim that message. It’s never been needed more than today.”

MARCH 30TH

FOURTH SUNDAY OF LENT

MOTHERING SUNDAY

This coming Sunday is the Fourth Sunday of Lent and it is also Mothering Sunday, not to be confused with Mother`s Day, which is an American invention.     

Mothering Sunday has its roots in medieval Christianity when the Latin texts of the Mass on Laetare Sunday referenced mothers and metaphors for mothers.            These included a verse from Galatians where Saint Paul refers to Jerusalem as “the mother of us all.” After the Reformation, the Book of Common Prayer continued to assign the same readings.

During the 16^th century people continued to return to their `Mother Church`, which could be the church where they had been baptised or the nearest cathedral, the Mother Church of the diocese.                                                                      For those who worked and lived away, this meant travelling back to their home town or village and anyone who did this was commonly said to have “gone mothering,” a term first recorded in 1644.

Sadly, the modern observance of the day has taken on the American title of Mother’s Day and has lost any religious significance.

Some of us however, still seek to retain the Christian ethos of the day and honour not only our earthly mothers but the Church, which even the Protestant Reformers regarded as “the mother of us all.”                                                   

So as we come to worship and to pay tribute to our mothers, both living and departed, we also remind ourselves of the motherly and nurturing role of the Church in our lives, as it seeks to remind us of the love of God

who is our heavenly Parent.

APRIL 6TH

FIFTH SUNDAY OF LENT

This week`s reflection on the Gospel passage John 12 vs. 1-8, is by Karoline Lose.

“I wonder if in this moment, when Jesus is being loved with a grace upon grace kind of love, an abundance of love, a love that you could even smell, with a fragrance that would linger for days, that Jesus remembered his mother.

Three years ago. Back in Cana. At that wedding. His mother, who loved him, who knew who he was and what he was capable of doing. His mother, without whom, I wonder, when Jesus’ ministry would have actually gotten started.                             Jesus insists it is not his time, but his mother knows better, as mothers often do. Because of her insistence, Jesus starts doing what he came to do. Because of her encouragement, Jesus realizes the time really had come.

Because of her love, Jesus can do what he was sent to do. Jesus’ mother loves Jesus into his future as the Word made flesh.

Now, in Bethany, Jesus finds himself in the same kind of position, the same kind of transition, the same kind of situation. Immediately after Mary anoints Jesus, he will enter the city of Jerusalem. And so, Jesus needs that same encouragement, that same love, to do what he must do.

Mary’s extravagant love for Jesus makes it possible for Jesus to show extravagant love in what follows — washing the feet of his disciples, handing himself over to be arrested in the garden, carrying his own cross, dying, rising, and ascending.

Mary loves Jesus into his future as the fulfilment of, “for God so loved the world.” In other words, Jesus needed Mary’s love as much as she needed to show Jesus how much she loved him.

That’s pretty much how love works. How relationships work. Because, here’s the thing. To what extent you cannot do what you need to do, have to do, even want to do, without another saying, “yes, you can do this;” without another loving you into your future. Jesus is loved into his future by these two remarkable women — his mother and his friend.

In the last week, I have attended two ordinations. I am always moved when, after our hearty and heart-felt applause, the newly ordained thanks all those who made the day possible. Youth group directors, pastors, parents, friends, family, church members, etc. It is quite extraordinary when you have a room full of the ones who loved you into your future.

Of late, I have had to imagine and then begin to implement some changes for my future. What I could not imagine is how to step into that future without being loved into it.

Do you know what I mean? What it feels like to love someone into their future, even a future that is uncertain, even a future that will mean suffering? And what it means to be loved into your own? That without being loved into that future, you would have stayed where you were? But we also know those who object to this kind of love. Who find it unnecessary, a little over-the-top, in fact. Those who dismiss such love as wasteful, who think people are better off fending for themselves; that real strength means relying on individual fortitude rather than the faithfulness of others. That real power comes from trusting in your own autonomy and self-made success, rather than believing in the confidence of others.

Along comes Judas for many reasons, but one in particular is to remind us of these love resisters. These persons who either dismiss this kind of love or insist that only the weak would look for such prodding. These persons who, somewhere along the line, decided that the only future was the one they themselves determined. Or those persons who, for reasons we will never know, never experienced a Mary kind of love and have never known what a difference it can make — all the difference in the world.                                                                                                

I think Jesus took Mary’s love with him into Jerusalem. I think he acted out her love when he washed the feet of his disciples, especially when he washed the feet of Judas about to betray him and Peter who would deny him. I think he felt once again Mary’s love, her gentle touch, when he was beaten. I think he held on to Mary’s love, desperately, when he hung on that cross. And I think he remembered Mary’s love and then, once again, his mother’s love when he looked into her eyes one last time and said, “It is finished.” And then, I think Jesus took all of that love into the tomb, all of that love that would then love him into his future as the resurrection and the life.”

APRIL 13TH

PALM SUNDAY

Our reflection for Palm Sunday is by Katie Munnik, a writer, wife and mother who lives in Cardiff. She blogs every Monday, at presbyterianrecord.ca.

“When I was growing up, Palm Sunday was the day when it felt like everyone was in the choir. I loved being in the choir. Processing was the best part. The organ swells, you are surrounded by singers--adults and children alike--and you are marching. A little glimpse of glory every Sunday morning for this suburban girl.

I even wrote about it in my middle school yearbook profile.

Not a cool move socially, but processing with the choir, I always felt mighty.
Then on Palm Sunday, everyone took to their feet. Or so it seemed. Really, we were just joined by the rest of the Sunday school. But with banners and palm branches waving, we thronged to the front of the church, shouting our loud hosannas to beat the band.

As an adult, Palm Sunday feels different.
I'm not sure if it is awkward because waving at parades is out of character for most Presbyterian congregations or because we know all too well where the week ahead will lead. Or maybe this kind of imaginative historical re-enactment doesn't quite feel like worship. We are self-conscious when we're handed the palms.

There is also an undiscussed story of disappointment running through the Palm Sunday narrative. The crowds have heard the age-old messiah promise. They were expecting a king, and it was high time, too. Rome's boot was heavy and their religious leaders had no real comfort to offer.

But the kingdom Jesus proclaimed was almost unrecognizable when held up against the crowd's expectation. This disappointment led the crowd to fickleness, and, less than a week later, they were the ones who called, "crucify!"

Enter our adult Palm Sunday guilt. We know how easily we, too, turn fickle, how readily we lash out.

But let's look at that disappointment. And that awkwardness, too. It comes because we, like the crowds, believe we've heard one promise--comfort, order, safety in the moment--and really, the gift is going to be so much bigger.

Jesus is the fulfilment of God's promises because he is transcendent.

There's a word to teach the kids. To be transcendent is, quite literally, to step over and to go beyond. Palm Sunday is one illustration of that eternal moment of going beyond. When Jesus enters Jerusalem, he surpasses every expectation we've had of how God will be present in our lives and in our world.

There is an illustration that shines with transcendence in the children's devotion book Thoughts to Make Your Heart Sing by Sally Lloyd-Jones and Jago. Often child-friendly art is soft-focused or overly bright and shiny, aiming for easy and friendly rather than compelling and contemplative. Jago's art in this book is neither; instead, it is rich, delightful and full of references to centuries of faith-filled artists. The transcendent illustration is a reworking of a fresco by the Italian Renaissance painter, Piero della Francesca showing the moment of the resurrection. The Risen Christ stands with one foot firmly planted on his tomb as if he is stepping over the edge of the grave, going beyond the limits of death to emerge victorious into life everlasting. In Jago's illustration, the edges are blurred as are the faces of the sleeping guards, and your eye is drawn to the openness of the sky and to Christ's living flesh.

The accompanying meditation by Sally Lloyd-Jones asks us to reflect on Christ's words from the cross: "It is finished." Lloyd-Jones writes:

"What was finished? "Jesus was saying: Everything you need to come back home to God, everything you need to be free and happy in God. everything you need to live forever; I've done it all!"

Palm Sunday's awkwardness has its roots in our understandable incomprehension of what that means. Maybe kids are better at not understanding. Maybe that's why their Palm Sunday joy is easier and louder. We feel awkward and can only humbly echo Martin Luther, mumbling that "as little as children know in their mother's womb about their birth, so little do we know about life everlasting."
But we are given glimpses. In every celebration, every ritual of human life, sparks of eternal life shine through. We glimpse lasting joy in our fleeting celebrations. Palm Sunday's parades can feel awkward because we do know what else will happen in Holy Week, but isn't that life, too? In every family celebration, we know that the day will come when we won't all be together. In every seasonal feast, we know that there will be hungry days and lonely days. But just as we know that

Good Friday is not the end of Holy Week's story,

we know that our hunger and our loneliness will not be the end.

We hold the promise of life everlasting.

We do not understand it but we hold it as a gift."

APRIL 20TH

EASTER SUNDAY

Our reflection for Easter Sunday is adapted from an article by the late Rev Sharron R. Blezard, who served as an Evangelical Lutheran Church of America pastor for 15 years before her death from breast cancer on July 10, 2021. 

Now it was Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Mary the mother of James, and the other women with them who told this to the apostles. But these words seemed to them an idle tale, and they did not believe them. 

Luke 24:10-11

"The apostles did not believe them. They were, after all, women. What could they possibly know? The apostles themselves were spent, devastated, and fearful; all they had staked their lives on was over. Dead and stinking gone. And now these women come back babbling about Jesus rising from the dead! What kind of idle tale and foolishness were they prattling on about? It was, of course, simply too fantastic to be true.

Peter, dear fallible and impetuous Peter, heard a ring of hope in the women’s story. Perhaps he, too, remembered Jesus’ words. He had to see for himself, so he ran and witnessed with his own eyes that it was just as the women had said. Amazing!

This is the snippet of the story given in today’s gospel.

The rest of Luke’s account includes the sighting on the walk to Emmaus, Jesus appearing among the disciples and eating some fish, followed by the ascension. It’s a chapter jam-packed with action.

Yet for this Year C Resurrection Sunday, all we really get is what is perceived as an idle tale from some most unlikely evangelists. And what are we to do with that?

Maybe on April 20th, 2025, this is just the account we need to hear.

Perhaps we all need a reminder that Jesus’ resurrection is announced to the most unlikely of people — women without power and stature — and then confirmed by a flawed disciple who denied his Lord three times on the night of Jesus’ arrest.

It could be that we need reminding that Jesus continues to turn things upside down and inside out, surprising folks with good news that defies logic AND the forces of evil, empire, and even death.

In a year where political posturing and bluster, terrorism, climate change, a massive refugee crisis, hunger, and economic uncertainty fill the media and confound our minds, a dozen short verses may be just the ticket–enough to surprise us and shake us out of our fearful complacency.

Yes, God is doing a new thing in a new way for a new day. Jesus is risen and because of those first women witnesses, we have an audacious hope and a real future. All of us! Everyone!

This is news that is celebration material and praiseworthy proclamation.

How can we keep from singing and sharing this amazing news.

So pull out the stops today. Steward well and share prodigally this real hope and amazing truth. Whether you gather in the pale light of a cemetery at daybreak or in a lily-scented, gussied-up church building, do these three simple things:

Remember Jesus’ words and the wild witness of the women,

Return to the world after worship, and

Recount the resurrection story to others.

We are not defeated. We need not be dismayed. The One we seek has risen.  

What we have is more than enough.

We have life, real life now, and real life forever.

Thanks be to God who will enable your faithful proclamation and willingness to share what may seem idle and fantastic but is joyously and blessedly true.”

APRIL 27TH

SECOND SUNDAY OF EASTER - LOW SUNDAY

Our reflection for the Sunday after Easter is by Jeanie Miley, a writer and columnist, retreat leader, and speaker on topics of spiritual growth and contemplative prayer. She is the author of ten books including Meeting Jesus Today.

“What do we do, after Easter? Can we really just walk away from the whole experience, putting away the stuff of Easter and going back to business as usual? Doesn’t it mean more to us than that? If my Easter observance means anything to me, it has to make a difference after Easter Sunday, doesn’t it? And if I take seriously the spirit of Easter, then it is important for me to be thoughtful and intentional about just what it means to be a person of Easter in the world I inhabit.

Here’s the bottom line for me this year: I cannot/dare not observe Ash Wednesday, Lent, Holy Week, Good Friday, and Easter Sunday and just yawn and go back to sleep at the wheel of my life as it used to be.                       

Being an Easter person surely means that I live in radical hope in the present, and not just the sweet bye and bye, doesn’t it? Easter must require me to exhibit hopefulness in a world that offers up multiple reasons to feel despair and hopelessness.                                                                                                                                                    

Being an Easter person means that I live in radical grace, accepting the forgiveness and mercy I’ve been offered and giving it with generosity, as it has been given to me.

If I am going to be an Easter person, that means that I am called to love people instead of using them as objects to meet my own needs. It means that I am going to have to give up manipulation, power, and control and am clean and clear in the love I give. Authentic love for others does, indeed, introduce me to my own deep pockets of selfishness and neediness, but the grace of Easter can lead me to a change of heart and new, more loving actions.

I may make only one small change or many in my life in the coming year between this Easter and next year’s Ash Wednesday, but I want to do Easter justice by living it out in the ordinary parts of my daily life.

What about you? What did Easter mean to you this year?

What will there be about the observance of it all that might be transformative for you, bringing you closer to the one wild and precious life you are meant to live? Will you experience the Presence of the Living Christ more fully, once you have observed Easter?

Will you give grace more easily when you have received the grace of the season?

How will you be more hopeful, having celebrated the wonder of resurrection?

Will you be more loving, compassionate, empathic, or tolerant when you have remembered the extent of God’s love for you?

Lamentations 3:23 affirms that God’s mercies are new every morning.

Surely that means that with the dawn of every new day, it is possible to begin against, re-claiming Easter and living it, one day at a time.

And when I forget to claim God’s mercy and grace in the morning, the good news is that it’s always morning somewhere, all the time.

With God, I can begin again at any time of the day.

Each hour, each moment, then, can be the moment of beginning again…if you are an Easter person. Each morning is an opportunity to proclaim again the affirmation of faith, “Christ is risen, indeed!” and an entire day to live within that mystery.

So…why wouldn’t you want to be an Easter person, all year long?”

Minister ~ Rev Alan Kennedy 07733153203 01612703296 alanrk1690@gmail.com