Our daughter loved to have bedtime stories when she was small. She had her favorites, which we read over and over again, to the point of boredom for me. Just to amuse myself, I would sometimes skip a section, or change a detail. "Dad! That’s not how it goes. Read it right." And so I had to go back to the printed text.

The sameness of the story was important for her, as was the constant repetition. My boredom with the stories was no reason to mess with something that gave her comfort—which was the main reason for the bedtime story.

We have gathered tonight to do something of the same thing—to hear a story that many of us have heard every Christmas since our childhood, to sing familiar carols, and to light a candle for the Christ child.

It is a very familiar story. But it is also a story that people never tire of hearing. The story line is simple: Mary and Joseph travel to Bethlehem, the child is born and laid in a manger, the angel proclaims the birth to the shepherds, who then go to see the baby.

Think how many thousands (millions, even!) of depictions have there been of this story, in song, in picture, in drama, in poetry, in essays, in retold stories. Some of it has been great art, some, well, not so great. But every one reminds us of the story of the birth of Jesus. Hearing the story, singing the songs, viewing the art—all these give us the comfort of knowing that God fulfills his promises, especially the great promise of a Saviour for all humankind.

Families have stories that we tell and re-tell. These are the ones that form us as families. "Do you remember when…?" We remember—reminding ourselves of the story—and our identity as family is strengthened and deepened.

The Christian family says, "Do you remember when Jesus was born?" We remember—reminding ourselves of the story—and our identity as the family of God is strengthened and deepened.

The Christmas story is one that people love and revere, and hearing it does help to strengthen our faith and build up the family of God. But let us never forget that it is the story of a birth. It is a beginning, not an end in itself.

Perhaps there were other families caught up in the registration ordered by the emperor, families with their own stories of difficult travels. Perhaps other babies were born on the road. We know nothing of them, but we remember this family because this baby came to die on a cross, and to rise again. We remember this baby’s birth because of his death.

We come to Christmas observances to celebrate a birth, and that is indeed right and proper, and a joyous thing. But let us leave this place tonight in knowledge that the story—for the baby, and for each of us—has really only just begun.

Tonight from this place, like the shepherds we will return to the place we came from. But because of this night and because of what has here been proclaimed, by God’s grace that place will be transformed. Having encountered the Incarnate Word of God in the child of Bethlehem, having welcomed him into our hearts and into our homes, may we become more faithful in worship, more dedicated in prayer, and more generous in our lives.

We have heard the story again. Our hearts have been stirred again by the fulfillment of God’s promises. May we go from this place with our words and deeds proclaiming to a darkened world the love of our God who gave us his Son, so that we might believe and have eternal life.

May it be so.

This homily is shorter than usual, because tomorrow's service will begin with a Sunday School presentation.

Text: Luke 1.26-38

In case you hadn’t noticed, we are in the midst of a federal election. I used to follow every election campaign avidly, but it’s now much harder for me to get excited about these things. What’s more, I’m pretty sure I’m not alone in feeling this way.

It’s a shame, because there is so much at stake in any election, but what we hear from so many people is distrust of politicians. I suspect that this comes partly from over-familiarity. In the days of John A. Macdonald or even Mackenzie King, people didn’t see and hear their political leaders every day as we do. One of the facts of political life is that people often have to backtrack, and we then perceive them as having broken promises.

Everyone makes promises from time to time. And almost everyone finds it necessary occasionally to break promises. It even happens to parents:
"Can we go to the zoo on Sunday?"
"Sure," I said…and then it poured rain all day Sunday.
"Sorry, sweetie, we can’t go today."
"But you promised!"

As we become adults, we learn to distrust people’s promises. We become cautious, even suspicious. We want things spelled out in painstaking detail.

People may be less than totally trustworthy, but there is one who is good for every promise. God promised that his love for us would never end. God promised that he would be victorious. God promised that he would send a Saviour, the incarnation of God’s love, the conqueror of sin and death.

The fulfillment of God’s promise began with another promise, as the angel told Mary that she would bear a son. "He will be great, and will be called the Son of the Most High…"

Today we remember how God’s victory began—not with armies and thunder and lightning, but with a young woman, in a village in Galilee, hearing a promise of new life within her. We hear her astonishment at the angel’s words, and we hear her humble acceptance of the great trust God has placed in her.

And we give thanks—for God’s promises, for the fulfillment of those promises, and for the Virgin Mary, through whom the great promise came to be.

A strange man appeared in the wilderness, calling people to repent and to be baptized. People were excited and huge crowds flocked to him. Some, perhaps, were just thrill seekers. But most likely the majority went because they sincerely hoped he would be The Messiah.

In one respect, 1^st century Judea was not much different from 21^st century Canada, or any other country: crowds make leaders nervous. In 30 AD that was especially true for crowds gathered around someone who might or might not be sent by God, and who might or might not upset the Jewish leaders’ religious or political apple cart. Therefore, they sent a delegation to ask this strange man "Who are you?" John the Baptist firmly ‘confessed, "I am not the Messiah."’

Twice more they questioned him, and twice more he denied being who they thought he might be—he was not Elijah, he was not "the prophet," he was not anyone expected by various groups of Jews.

In effect, John said, "Whoever it is you are looking for, it’s not me."

John declared to them that his role was solely to bear witness to the one who was to come, who indeed had already come, but who stood unknown in their midst.

John stood as a herald to the coming Messiah, as a signpost to the coming of the Kingdom.

Signposts are valuable, especially if you’re on an unknown road, which you have never traveled before. The children in the back seat call out "Are we there yet," and we can tell them to watch for the signs. Then we see it: the sign says "Centreville 30 km" and we say to the children "Almost there. Just twenty minutes or so…" The sign has told us what is coming, and give us the assurance that we are on the right road. That’s comforting knowledge.

Imagine yourself lost in that strange district, looking for a place you’ve never visited before. You’re driving down a lonely road, wondering if you’re even headed in the right direction, and getting more anxious by the minute. Then you see that sign—"Centreville 30 km." Anxiety vanishes, and you feel the joy of knowing that your destination is near, just down this road—maybe closer than you thought. The signpost has turned our anxiety into joy. We greet it with cries of delight, but just as John was not the Messiah, the signpost is not the destination. You are still on the road, still driving down that unknown road, still looking for the place you’re headed to. Nonetheless, there is joy in knowing that this road will shortly lead us to your goal.

John brought a message of hope to the people of Judea, a people who longed for the coming of God’s Kingdom, and for the long-awaited Messiah who would bring that Kingdom into being. John pointed ahead, telling them that they were on the right road, and that the journey ahead was shorter than they thought.

People responded to John by repenting and accepting baptism in token of repentance, preparing themselves for the Lord’s coming. Final preparations are in order when the signposts to the Kingdom are in view. As the airline pilot says "Now on final approach. Please fasten your seatbelts, and return seats and trays to the upright position."

My friends, the signs are in view. There are signposts to the Kingdom all around us, if we just take the time to look. So let us look, and see…

• Let us see people striving to live lives of faithful devotion to Christ, whether gathered to sing God’s praises, or alone in their homes.
• Let us see people reaching out to others in love, in the name of Christ.
• Let us see the scriptures, the principal written record of God’s ongoing relationship with the human race.
• Let us see people in our fellowship and beyond, working for the good of all.
• Let us look around today, and see signposts to the kingdom here in our very midst—and let us rejoice!

But let us always remember: this is not the kingdom of God. Not yet! The kingdom was ushered in through the birth, death, and resurrection of Christ, but we still await its coming in its fullness. The church stands like John the Baptist as the herald of that kingdom, calling people to repentance, to baptism, and onward to life in the kingdom.

Our calling as church is to proclaim the kingdom, to celebrate the kingdom, and to model the kingdom—living the life of that kingdom to the best of our ability, and by the grace of God.

So let us remember in this Advent season that we are called to stand—both individually and as a church—as signposts to the coming Kingdom of Christ.

Let us seek to be people who give joy and hope to others, as we joyfully and joyously live into the hope that God has set before us.

And let us lift our voices in praise of the one who came at Bethlehem, the one who comes to us daily, the one who will come again at the last day.

The signpost says, "God’s Kingdom—any time now."

Thanks be to God.

God has a Christmas present for us—today.

And God wants us to have it—today.

"What?" we say, "Christmas is four weeks away. What’s the rush? Why not wait?"

Well, OK, let’s wait. Let’s look forward to the joy of carefully (or not so carefully) unwrapping the packages under the tree on December 25. And let’s look forward to the joy we see in our children’s and grandchildren’s faces when they see what’s inside. And let’s also look forward to the dinner we will share with family and friends.

And let’s be honest with ourselves. Sometimes waiting for Christmas—that sense of eager anticipation—is better than the actual event. The gift God presents to us today is exactly that sense of anticipation and longing, of yearning for the coming of God’s Kingdom. We call that gift "Hope."

More than anything else, the season of Advent is about hope. This four-Sunday journey begins in a dark place, with anguished Hebrew Bible texts calling out for God to act, and with the vision of Christ’s Second Advent, when he shall gather his people from the four winds.

The prophet prayed to God:

The psalmist sang:

Both are pleas to God to act, to set things right, to save his people. We hear anguish in them, even desperation. We hear the voice of a people who know that things are not right—people who know their own iniquity. And yet—these are hopeful texts, full of the sense that God might yet act, that the people might yet return to God, and God to the people, that God’s power will shed its light into the darkened hearts of humanity.

And so they hoped, and lived in hope. The author and poet Robert Louis Stevenson wrote:

Living in hope allows us to move forward—to travel hopefully—into the light of God’s presence, perhaps at first with only a glimpse of that light. But let us remember that saying attributed to Eleanor Roosevelt:

We lit a candle today, one small flickering light to signify the hope of all humankind, the hope that was born anew in a stable in Bethlehem, the hope that will come to its final fruition in God’s time, the hope which leads us forward day by day.

The prophet and the psalmist offered their words of hope to a people whose situation was truly desperate. Paul wrote to the Corinthians in the clear expectation of "the revealing of our Lord Jesus Christ," giving them hope for the journey to that day. Mark wrote his Gospel in a time of strife between Jews and Christians as well as Romans and Jews, speaking to a church whose members were scorned by all. The early Christians looked for a sign of hope in a time when imperial power was growing. They were accustomed to speaking in vivid and dramatic images—and the image of Christ returning on the clouds is certainly that. We may find such images terrifying, and there are people who use this passage and others like it to "scare people into heaven." But to the early Christians, this was a message of hope, an assurance that God was not absent, that God’s purposes would be fulfilled, and that they would number among God’s elect.

But we—this nice middle-class group of people in Brandon Manitoba in 2005—what do we hope for today? Where is our longing for the Kingdom? Where is our sense of needing God to act?

One thing is certain: we won’t find the fulfillment of this hope under our Christmas trees. We live in a land that is an object of hope for many people around the world. Our way of life is the dream of the developing world.

Even in the midst of plenty, God still needs to act in our midst, opening our eyes to his bounty, opening our hearts in gratitude, and opening our lives in generosity. Let us then use this Advent season to turn our lives anew to his purposes, studying God’s word, renewing ourselves in prayer, and denying our own wants so that others may enjoy the blessings which we know.

God offers hope in this season. Hope for us, and hope for all his people. This hope is God’s gift to us—the only Christmas present that lasts beyond Christmas Day, right into eternity.

Let us then share this best Christmas present of all, this wonderful message of hope, as we live into God’s future, and call others to live it with us.

From time to time, people will ask what things the Cathedral needs that they could donate as a memorial to a loved one. Such inquiries are always welcome, but the truth is that it is harder every time to make an appropriate suggestion. This church has many possessions, lacking very little in the way of "holy hardware" or other furnishings.

However, its important to honour people’s desires for a memorial to their loved ones, acknowledging that for many people that means having something you can see.

The physical is important. This is a sacramental church, which enshrines a very physical reality at the heart of our worship. Each Sunday we come to receive something we can feel and taste—the bread and wine of the Eucharist, a tangible memorial of our Lord Jesus Christ. In every Eucharist, we make memorial or (in Greek) "anamnesis," meaning literally "not forgetting."

Take a look around this Cathedral, at the memorial plaques on the walls, the dedications of the windows, the assorted bits of furniture bearing brass plaques, and the memorial books at the back. What does all of this tell us? –That people lived and were loved, that they contributed to the life and well-being of this church and this community, and that those they left behind did not want to lose their memories. We ought not to forget.

All Saints’ and All Souls, its "companion" day, are the foremost days of the church year for us to look back and remember those who have gone before us in the faith. Last Wednesday, we celebrated All Souls Day with a Eucharist in Commemoration of the Faithful Departed. That service was held at the Columbarium in remembrance of the people whose remains lie there, as well as those who were buried from St. Matthew’s in the past year and others whom we were asked to remember. Today we celebrate the Feast of All Saints, transferred as is customary to the Sunday after November 1.

All Souls is a day for looking back. All Saints is a day for looking around, at our forebears to be sure, but also at the church they left behind, celebrating it as a living memorial of their witness to Christ. I believe that the best memorial to the saints is the vitality of the church that continues their ministry.

We who gather here today are the living memorial of those who built this church, not just this building of brick, stone and wood, but this living body of faithful people. Just over three years ago, when I first walked into this building, I was immediately struck by its holiness. This holiness is not something you can point to, like a plaque or a line in a memorial book. It is found rather in the percieption that the building had been the locus of so much holy activity. Holy people make holy buildings—making those buildings holy by making their lives holy.

Without holy people, any building is just bricks and mortar. Its physical structure and contents are ultimately nothing, if they do not continue to reflect the living and active faith of the people who come there to pray and to worship, and to do God’s work.

But thanks be to God, the faith lives and moves in so many people, continuing to testify to the faith of our forebears. We are their living memorial. It is our faith, lived out in ministry in the church and beyond, that best testifies to theirs.

Behind the physical we always find the spiritual—the memorial that will never fade. We take the bread and wine and physically consume them, but the Body and Blood of Christ that we receive will never die as long as people of faith continue to come to this table.

We come today in thanksgiving for those who have gone before us in the faith, in celebration of those who support us in this life, and in the hope of life in God’s nearer presence, promised to us by our Lord Jesus Christ.

May we continue to be that living memorial to Christ and to that great multitude of saints who have followed him in this life and into the next. May we never forget them, and may our lives honour those memories.

Thanks be to God for all his faithful people, here and to the ends of the earth.

Amen.

Texts: Matthew 23:1-12; Joshua 3:7-17; 1 Thessalonians 2:9-13

The date October 31, 1517 may not mean very much to most Anglicans. It is one of the most important dates in history of our Lutheran brothers and sisters. On that day, Martin Luther nailed a document to the door of the church in Wittenberg, Germany, setting in process the events we now know as the Protestant Reformation.

Commemorating that event, many Protestant Churches, especially the Lutherans, observe the last Sunday in October as Reformation Sunday.

Although we understand ourselves to be neither "Protestant" nor "Reformed," in a strict understanding of those words, the Anglican Church is a church of the Reformation—the English Reformation, starting a decade and a half later, which drew on the events in Europe. The 39 Articles of Religion bear a strong resemblance in some important ways to the Augsburg Confession, the foundational document of Lutheranism.

Martin Luther never intended to found a separate church. Rather, his intent was the "re-formation" of the church catholic—the one and indivisible Body of Christ. The "95 theses" which he nailed to that church door were a sustained attack on what he understood as abuses in the life of the church, which had diverted it from the proclamation of the pure Gospel.

Luther was a prolific writer, and an outstanding theologian. His works continue to be studied today, naturally among the churches that bear his name, but also within churches that were historically opposed to him. One of his chief theological principles was that the church should be "semper reformanda," a Latin phrase which means "always in reformation." Only by constant re-examination of itself is the church able to remain true to its fundamental calling. For Luther that meant being that "congregation of saints, in which the Gospel is rightly taught and the Sacraments are rightly administered." (1.)

Constant reformation is an uncomfortable thought for many (most?) people, who want the church to remain essentially unchanged. Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever, (2.) so why can the church not be the same—yesterday, today, and forever? The short answer is SIN. Churches are human institutions, made up of fallible sinful human beings. Without care, the church will always find ways to avoid truly being the church.

Luther wanted nothing more than the church truly to be the church. Ought we to want anything else? I think not.

Another major reason why the church must embrace change is that we exist in culture—and cultures change. The English church of the sixteenth century that Henry VIII took over as supreme governor existed in a society hugely different from today in almost every way. Closer to home, the way of life in this city has seen dramatic changes during the lives of many of our members.

The Church must respond to the culture around it. Only in that way can the Gospel be heard and rightly taught. We must speak language that people understand—not just in the words we use, but in music, art, architecture, and social behaviour.

Change will happen, whether we like it or not. Our only choice is in how we respond to it.

One of the sad realities of church history is that reform and renewal movements within the people of God have often resulted in division—schism, if you will. Like Luther, most of the leaders of these movements had no intention of splitting the church, but human agendas intervened, and the body fractured.

The Gospel of Matthew was written at a time when the first great schism was happening. The early Church saw itself as a kind of renewal movement within Judaism. In the years after the destruction of the temple in AD 70, however, the church and the synagogue found co-existence increasingly difficult. Chapter 23 of Matthew, from which today’s reading is taken, is believed by many scholars to reflect the bitterness between church leaders and the rabbis, the descendants of the Pharisees. To our shame, it has been misused to justify hatred of all Jews. Let us not read it as such, but rather as a call to the leaders of God’s people constantly to engage in reformation, both personal and corporate.

What I hear Jesus saying is that the love for place and preference that infected some leaders of Judaism can also infect the church and its leaders.

The people of God have always needed leaders, from Moses and Joshua, his anointed successor, through the disciples whom Jesus gathered around him, to the church and its lay and ordained leadership today. What distinguished Moses and Joshua was the clear sense that both men did what they did at God’s behest, and that both understood that it was God at work, not them. Their work was to build up God’s people, to guide them and feed them, and finally to point the way into the Promised Land.

Paul did his missionary work not out of self-advancement but out of love for God and God’s people, like a father with his children. He sought only their good, and not his own.

St. Matthew’s Cathedral faces a number of issues:

• The congregation is aging: one-third of our members are over the age of 65.
• As the congregation ages, out lay leadership, drawn from a shrinking pool, is tiring.
• We have a large, inefficient building, costing more to operate and maintain every year.
• We are competing with other organizations for people’s interest and financial support.

We are alone in none of these issues. There are many other churches across Canada dealing with exactly the same issues. That may not solve the problems here, but perhaps it can mitigate the sense that it is all someone’s fault.

I believe what it tells us is that change has overtaken us in a way that is currently making life "interesting." (Ancient Chinese curse: May you live in interesting times.)

What it also tells us is that the leadership of this Cathedral parish has a very significant role to play in the months and years ahead, seeking the good of the people of God. That does not mean doing what everyone wants, but in prayerfully seeking God’s desires for our church. It means having the conviction and the courage to move forward in seeking the reformation of St. Matthew’s Cathedral so that we may for years to come be that congregation of saints, in which the Gospel is rightly taught and the Sacraments are rightly administered.

May God continue to bless this church, that it may continue to be a blessing.

Notes:

1. Augsburg Confession, Article VII
2. Hebrews 13:8

Text: Matthew 22:34-46

The Gospel reading for today combines two more controversies between Jesus and the Pharisees. The one concerning the greatest commandment is very familiar, sitting close to the top of the "hit parade" of Jesus’ sayings. One commentator says this:

The discussion about the identity of the Messiah is well down the hit list. We could easily lose sight of it, because the double love commandment is so well known and so important.

However, we ought not to lose sight of the notion that Matthew has constructed this Gospel deliberately, and that there is good reason why the stories are where they are, and told the way they are.

These two come at the very end of Jesus’ controversies with the Jewish authorities. The various groups have been "tag-teaming," coming at him with question after question, seeking to trap him into betraying himself in some way. The final question does not look like a trap or much of a test to us today, but note that it is the Pharisees questioning him. There were two schools of Pharisees at the time, one taking a strict view of the law, the other a more expansive one. The strict group held that it was sinful even to suggest that one law was greater than another. Perhaps they were hoping to cut his popular support in one way or another.

Jesus responds with the familiar pairing of two verses from the law, from Deuteronomy 6:5 and Leviticus 19:8. To this he appends the statement,

At the beginning of his ministry, Jesus said,

Now, near the end of his earthly ministry, he gives the overarching principle that completes that fulfillment—love. Everything Jesus has done and said was motivated by love. This is the same love that God has for humanity, and for all of creation, the love that will lead him to the cross.

Jesus’ question to the Pharisees is not a distracting "add-on" to this great statement, but a final response to the question about his authority, (3) which we did not hear read because the reading was supplanted by the readings for St. Matthew’s Day. (A reminder: when the chief priests asked him about his authority, he responded with a question about John’s baptism. When they refused to answer, so did he.)

He has now answered, telling us through a Scriptural argument that he speaks as God’s unique Son, the one whom even the great King David would call "Lord." This is the authority under which he has summed the entire Jewish tradition. This is our affirmation: "Jesus is Lord."

And where does all this Biblical argument lead us?

It leads us to acknowledge that Jesus is Lord. It leads us to acknowledge that in his person and his teaching, in his life, death, and resurrection, he brings to fulfillment the whole of salvation history.

He sums it up in one word: Love.

There may be no more misunderstood or misused word in modern language than this little assemblage of four letters.

I don’t think I need to tell you how "love" gets (mis)interpreted in popular culture today—very often as physical urges or emotional attachments. What does need to be said, over and over again, in our context, is that almost none of this really gets at what Jesus is talking about.

The love that Jesus commands, by restating Torah, is the same love that God has for us. Love God, we are told, with all that we are. Why?—because God loves us. God loves the human race with the love that can not and will not let us go. All God asks is that we return that love, not with warm fuzzy feelings, but by loving what God loves.

This love is not a feeling, but a decision. Its heart is not affection but commitment: "I am here for you, and I will be for you—come what may." It is what wedding couples vow, and it is what the church promises to the newly baptized. It is God’s way of life.

God’s way of life begins with loving God, which is shown in our desire to worship, offering ourselves in praise of the one who loved us first.

God’s way of life continues with loving God’s people, committing ourselves to working for the good of all—in our families, in our neighbourhoods and communities, in our churches, and in the world.

God’s way of life is a life of commitment, of digging in for the long haul, and not bailing out when the going gets tough.

We had a congregational meeting last Sunday. Some strong feelings were expressed, anger and frustration and (I believe) fear. But besides those difficult feelings, I also heard great love for Jesus and the church, love which was expressed in hope and the commitment to work for the good of our church.

That same commitment is what builds families, the most basic building block of our society. I can think of no better expression of this than a scene from Fiddler on the Roof. Tevye says to his wife
"… my father and my mother
Said we'd learn to love each other
And now I'm asking, Golde
Do you love me?"

She replies, "I'm your wife" and he says, "I know... But do you love me?"
"Do I love him?
For twenty-five years I've lived with him
Fought him, starved with him
Twenty-five years my bed is his
If that's not love, what is?" (4)

Golde has "hung in there" with Tevye, as God has "hung in" with his people.

May we all have the grace to love as God loves us.

This is God’s way of life. May it be ours.

1. Hare, Douglas R. A., Matthew (Interpretation, a Bible commentary for Teaching and Preaching), John Knox Press, 1993, p. 257
2. Matthew 5:17
3. Matthew 21:23-27
4. © Copyright 1948 - 2005 Muze Inc.

Today we celebrate the sacrament of Holy Baptism. Every baptism is a special and important event. It is a unique and unrepeatable event in the life of each candidate, and a special moment for the parents and sponsors who present the candidates.

I would never refuse to baptize any person who comes to the church honestly seeking the sacrament, whether for them or for their child. People ask. We baptize. However, that is hardly the whole story.

Let’s think for a moment about families. The very youngest family members—such as the ones we are baptizing today—experience their families as being there to serve their needs. Baby cries: Baby gets hugged, or fed, or changed, or put to bed. As far as Baby is concerned, everything revolves around Baby’s needs. However, as Baby grows up, he or she begins to understand that the universe does not in fact revolve around his or her needs.

As we mature, most people become less self-centred, and more mindful of the needs of others. In our families, we learn what it means to live in community. We come to know that the necessities of family or community life sometimes conflict with our own needs.

Baptism of an infant brings a child into a family—in this case, the church, the family of God. Each child has the potential to grow into a faithful disciple of Christ, a contributing member of the family. Just as children begin to understand their families’ needs as opposed to their own, , so we pray that these children will come to take their place in the family of God. Being a family member carries both rights and responsibilities. We have the right to expect that our basic needs will be met, both at home and in the church. But we also have the responsibility of contributing to communal needs—again, both at home and in the church.

That learning is hinted at in the commandment not to take the name of God in vain. In ancient thought, invoking the name of a god was a way to invoke the god’s power, to advance our own purposes—meeting our own needs. The commandment stands as a challenge to us to heed God’s needs, to put his purposes before our own, as Jesus prayed in Gethsemane:

Today we will pray for the three children who come to be baptized, that they may grow into the full stature of Christ—the one above all others who put the needs of the whole world before his own.

Let us remember, however, that this prayer is one that each and every one of us ought to pray for ourselves—no matter what our age, no matter how committed we may be to our church, no matter how holy a life we may lead. Our own needs and wants keep on coming to the surface, blocking out our ability to see and respond to the needs of those around us. It’s easy to revert to childhood, and spend our lives demanding that our needs be met.

Some people treat the church like a supermarket—there to meet their needs at certain times, and easily forgotten the rest of the time.

Thanks be to God, there are many others, people who know that the church is family, and as in any family, commitment is required to keep it functional.

The congregation will stand in a few minutes, and promise to support the newly baptized in their life in Christ. This is not a small promise, but a vow that we will be here for them, drawing on whatever resources we can to ensure that the church will continue to be a haven from the storm, and a light to the world. It is a promise that we will be here to respond to the needs of the world, and especially to the needs of the poor, the captive, the blind, and the oppressed.

The church is called to respond to people’s needs, to be there for them—to be God’s hands, feet and voice in this world. When people come to us, whether to worship on a Sunday morning, or to seek help on a weekday afternoon, or for any other reason, we are called to pray and to discern what God wishes us to do for them—and then to respond.

We can not meet every expressed need, nor should we hope to. Some things will be impossible, some will be inadvisable, and some will be incompatible with the church’s life and mission. Nonetheless, we must remind always ourselves, in words of William Temple:

Most people come at first to the church seeking to have their needs met. As faith deepens, our eyes turn outwards.

The church can not respond to particular needs without resources, so we must challenge ourselves—challenge each other—to help provide those resources of money and ministry which enable that response.

St. Matthew’s Cathedral is in a difficult situation at the moment. A letter to be handed out after the service should make this clear. We have issues in leadership and ongoing financial problems. But we also have huge resources—the people of this parish, who give of themselves in all sorts of ways, showing their love for God’s people, their love of the church, and above all their love for Jesus.

As we come to the waters of baptism today, let us recommit ourselves to being the church God wishes us to be, giving of ourselves to the glory of God, and the building up of his people.

By the grace of God, may we continue to grow in faith, seeking to serve not our own needs, but the needs of others, for the sake of him who gave his life for us, our Lord and Saviour, Jesus Christ.

Amen.

Text: Matthew 18:21-35; Romans 14:1-12; Date: Sept. 11, 2005

As we all have seen on our TV’s, New Orleans was drowned in several metres of polluted water when two levees broke in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina. This may well be the greatest natural disaster in American history—a tragedy of truly Biblical proportions.

I do not for one minute intend to compare the victims of New Orleans to the armies of Pharaoh. Nevertheless, today’s first lesson gives us the image of pent-up water breaking forth to cause death and destruction, as the waters of the sea return to drown the Egyptian army.

In a limited way, we humans are able to constrain and direct some of the forces of nature, to give protection and safety to our neighbours. In areas of the Gulf Coast that received Katrina’s full force, no such constraint was possible, and whole communities were leveled by the winds. New Orleans was partly protected by the levees, which were built over the years to keep the waters at bay—until the storm of the century hit.

For many years, the levees held back the waters, protecting the community they surrounded.

At least…the physical community, its buildings and infrastructure, remained intact. The true nature of the city, which many of us in this part of the world have mostly associated with Mardi Gras and jazz, has been revealed—and it is a community in significant trouble. It seems clear that New Orleans might have been better able to withstand or even prevent the flood, if it had been a healthier community.

I don’t intend to go any further in analyzing the news. You can buy The Globe and Mail for that. Rather, I want to suggest that this breakdown of community on a large scale stands as a lesson for all communities. The waters of chaos can easily overwhelm us if we do not pay attention to those things that restrain them. Whether we are talking about a large city, or a small town, or a church congregation, communities stumble for many reasons.

The Epistle and Gospel lessons for today are both concerned with the life of the Christian community. They point to two significant reasons why churches stumble, and give us some valuable tools with which to build and maintain community.

Building community is not something that we just do once, and then leave the community to run itself. Even a car needs periodic maintenance, to ensure that it continues to function as designed. Likewise, life in community—from family to nation—needs constant attention.

Paul’s concern is for a local church beset by divisions between people he calls the "strong" and the "weak." The division is essentially one of convictions about how the Christian faith is to be lived out. The behaviour and attitudes of some people offend others, and the two parties end up judging each other negatively.

Paul does not favour either group over the other, but condemns the judgments of both. He calls for mutual respect for each other’s faith stance, as long as all is done to the honour of the Lord.

Judgment does not belong to any person but to God. True Christian community is built when we welcome those who disagree with us, sometimes profoundly, respecting them and their positions out of love for the Saviour we all follow.

This is not to say that Christian community should be without boundaries or standards. Far from it! God does ask of us that "higher righteousness" of which Jesus spoke in the Sermon on the Mount. That’s just the point: God requires it of us. It is not we who are to require it of others, and not we who are to judge others who, by our standards, appear to fall short. If there is to be judgement (and there is!), it will be on God’s terms—not ours.

Let us welcome each other, then, as fellow disciples, and children of God. And let us live out that discipleship by striving to learn the hardest lesson of the Gospel—forgiveness.

The need for forgiveness is constant. Even with the best of intentions, people in community will do wrong to each other. That’s a basic part of being human. What should distinguish the Christian community from others is what we do with those wrongs.

In the first place, as we heard in last Sunday’s Gospel, we are called to deal with them in love, not avoiding them, or compounding them by gossip or complaint. But beyond that, we should not let the wrongs done in our midst destroy the community, but are instead called to show mercy, and to forgive.

Nothing destroys community faster than the holding of grudges and resentment. When someone sins against us, they place themselves in our debt, giving us power over them. To forgive is to give up that power, as we seek to restore the harmed relationship, to be reconciled one to another.

We can not change the past, but we can change how we view the past, and how the past governs our lives. The American psychologist Diane Cirincione has said:

Forgiveness is shedding our remembered hurts and bonds of resentment, and opening ourselves to the future God has prepared for us—on God’s terms, not ours.

Withholding judgment and forgiveness are two powerful and essential tools, given by God for the building up of the people of God, the community of Christ. Our liturgy gives us a powerful expression of community in the Exchange of the Peace. I would remind you of what the Peace is intended to be:

• Not just a time to greet friends, but a time to be reconciled with each other.
• Not a foretaste of coffee hour, but a foretaste of the Kingdom, where all are reconciled.
• Not just a "good morning," but a powerful prayer for the one we greet.

When we greet each other this morning, let us be mindful of the community we are continuing to build in the name of Christ, in the power of the Holy Spirit, to the Glory of God the Father. Let us therefore reach out to those we need to forgive, and be reconciled to each other.

And so we continue to pay the only debt we ought to owe to any person—the debt of love.