We can get clues to the answers of these questions in what happens immediately after the rushing wind and flames of fire in the Acts 2 chapter.

We read that all the gathered leaders began to speak a whole host of different languages, each according to their ethnic background: Parthians, Medes, Elamites, residents of Mesopotamia, Judea, Cappadocia, Pontus, Asia, Phrygia, Pamphylia, Egypt, Libya, Romans, Jews, Cretans, and Arabs.

Amazingly, we see this explosion of colour, and variety, and differences bubbling forth in the people gathered. And the Spirit brings this out.

And we see this in the scriptures – that God loves diversity. That God created a world of such stark and beautiful diversity, not only within the non-human animal and plant world, but also among the human family. And that’s the way God has always wanted it!

In the creation account in Genesis, we see God’s intentions playing out. In stark contrast to the other ancient creation myths, like the “Epic of Gilgamesh” which typically describe fierce rivalries and violent and hostile competition between many gods battling for domination and control over others, the Genesis account has God’s creation beginning peacefully, in the creative words: “Let there be.”

Let there be. Through these words of permission, space and time open up to make room for a variety of created beings, to exist peacefully, and cooperatively, and respectfully, together.

God essentially is saying: Let there be. Let there be variety in our midst.

The creative hospitality of God who is host to the multitudinous variety of created beings, leads us today to realize that it’s not only about “God loving me,” but also “God loves others too.”

No more rivalry, or sense of superiority, or having power over others. Instead: mutual respect, understanding, appreciation and care for “the other.” Diversity without division. Different but respectful. Distinct but united. Harmony without hostility.

You know, during this season of Pentecost, which stretches from now until the end of November, it would be good for each of us to read through the Book of Acts, which chronicles the courageous acts of those first followers of Jesus, empowered by the Holy Spirit, in mission to share the Gospel message of God’s love for ALL people—not just “us,” or “our own kind,” or own “Christian Club.”

It begins with this amazing story of the coming of the Spirit, where we learn that God speaks ALL languages, not just ours!

Then we move on to the early church which held “all things in common”, and where we learn how God reconciles rich and poor.

We move from there to the healing of the lame beggar. God welcomes the physically challenged.

Then, on to the resolution of the Jewish-Gentile controversy – we learn how God shows no favourites!

Then, to the baptism of the Ethiopian eunuch. God includes the racially and sexually “other.”

Then, to Peter’s conversion at Cornelius’ home. God calls nobody “unclean.”

The Book of Acts is full of these examples.

Empowered by the Spirit of God in Jesus, we, today, are the “body” of Christ, the “hands and feet” of Jesus in the world, called to a mission of not being afraid, but going out and embracing “the other” – to engage, dialogue with, welcome, be open to, learn from, and help in whatever way.

Diana Butler Bass, Christian author and teacher, writes in her latest book of a time two years ago when she went to her bank one morning to deposit some cheques.

Hardly anyone was in the bank that morning, except the three tellers behind the counter. All were women. One woman wore a pale ivory hijab as a head covering, a Muslim. The second woman’s forehead bore the dark red mark known as a bindi. She was Hindu. The third woman had a small crucifix hanging around her neck, a Christian.

And Diana was absolutely amazed and moved by what happened over the next several minutes. Because the bank wasn’t busy that morning, the four of them began to chat amongst themselves, to joke around, share vegetarian recipes, and share some of their own unique religious practices and experiences.

In their conversation, they said how important it was to love our own religious traditions, and be faithful to our God, and at the same time, to teach the beauty and goodness of other religions. They concluded how that’s the “only way to peace – to be ourselves and to create understanding between all people.”

Then Diana writes in her book: “When I reached my car, I realized that I was crying. I had only rarely felt the power of the resurrected Jesus so completely in my soul.”

A moment, in that brief gathering of such diverse people in that bank, the Spirit of God descended. And love, mutual respect, and care were so deeply felt among them all.

There is the Holy Spirit of God!

For all of you, your baptism marks that moment when we all realize how, in God’s eyes, you are amazing. You are so loved, even beyond what you’re ever able to comprehend… no matter your life or family situation, what’s happened to you in your past, or the interesting journey your life has taken, nothing can ever change how you are seen in the eyes of God. You can’t imagine.

In baptism, God looks upon you, and embraces you as God’s precious own, and you are made a member of the whole family of God, the worldwide Christian Church.

Water is the essential element always used in the sacrament of Holy Baptism.

And it makes sense why that is, as water connects symbolically with our spirituality and faith tradition.

First, water is everywhere. Scientists say that roughly 75% of the earth’s surface is covered by water.

Similar for the human body. Over 2/3 of our body is made up of water.

Just as water is everywhere, so the presence of God covers and embraces the whole world, with grace and mercy.

Secondly, water is so valuable, and precious to us. Scientists say that each of us needs about eight cups of water a day. They say that you can survive without food for about a month. But you can’t survive without water past three days.

How we need water. How valuable it is. And, how important it is for us to do whatever we can to protect our freshwater lakes and rivers, and make sure they continue to be that reliable source of water for us and all humankind.

So, just as water is precious, so are the ways of God as shown in Jesus Christ.

Imagine what the world would be like, if no one paid any attention to the message of God’s love in Jesus?

What would the world look like if brutal violence, wars, unfettered greed, grabs for power and self-serving interests were just running loose? If no one could trust anyone. It’s been said that even for the integrity of our banking system, there needs to be some level of trust between people.

What would our lives and the world be like if no one paid any attention to the example of Jesus, who poured out his life for the wellbeing of others, who showed us the way of a truly joy-filled, thoughtful and generous life in service to others, addressing their real and concrete needs?

What would the world be like without that treasure, that precious jewel of God’s love made real in Jesus?

The Good News of God’s love in Jesus, for all people, is so valuable, so precious, so basic to life, to the wellness of our lives, our economy, our politics, our society.

Water also changes things. Bringing life to wilting, dried out plants, for example. Water is life-giving and transforming.

So is the Spirit of God, who begins to transform us into more fulfilled, more joyful and generous human beings.

The true story of Millard Fuller is a great example.

For the longest time, for Millard Fuller, do you know what the greatest single most important goal in his life was? It was to make as much money as possible; to accumulate as much personal wealth as possible. That was it. That goal drove all his decisions, his imagination, his whole life.

But not all was well. Fuller later admitted how this goal of pursuing wealth affected his personal integrity, his health, and his marriage. When his wife, Linda, left him, and told him that his Lincoln, the large house, the cottage on the lake, the two speed boats, and the maid did not make up for his absence from his family, he realized what he had sacrificed for money.

It was at that low moment in his life, when he realized something was changing in his heart and mind. He began focussing less on himself, and more on others, more on living out God’s love for himself and others.

In 1976, Millard Fuller founded Habitat for Humanity, one of the most transforming forces in the world today, drawing on local volunteers to build houses for those who have need.

From someone who was once only focussed on himself, the Spirit of God transformed Fuller into someone focussed on others, living out the superabundant love of God for the whole world.

Water changes things, just like how the Spirit of God changes us from the inside out.

Finally, water always flows outward and downward. It’s always moving somewhere, and its direction is out and down. When rain or snow falls in higher elevations, up in the mountains, tiny rivulets of water gather strength as they trickle down to join other streamlets to cut channels through dirt and grass and even rock, joining with larger rivers, and then into lakes, and then finally flowing out into the ocean.

That’s the point of what the church’s mission and purpose is all about, isn’t it? To live out the love of God, in our families, in our workplaces, in public. To live out the peace, justice, compassion and truth of God in all aspects of our lives.

God calls us and sends us out, and scatters us out into the world, this way and that, to live out the love of God, in whatever job or vocation or occupation we may have – to live it out, sometimes where we would least expect.

One of the runners in the Boston Marathon last month was a medical doctor. She was running close to where the first bomb went off.

And in those terrifying, chaotic moments immediately following the explosion, when natural survival instincts prompted many to get as far away as possible from the mayhem, this runner, the doctor, she ran in the opposite direction, toward the direction of the explosion, concerned and ready to help those affected by the bomb.

And good that she did. She along with other first responders saved many lives by bringing immediate assistance that they desperately needed. She was one who lived out the self-giving love of God, risking her life, for the wellbeing of others.

Water flows out, and down to the lowest point. Often it’s in the lowest points of life, where the life-giving love of God can so make a real difference.

Today, we bless each of you, and pray that like water, each of you will be life-giving force in this world, living out in many and various ways, God’s presence and love which holds us, and surrounds, everywhere we go, for all time!

Neither of us had the need to talk, and yet we were very comfortable simply to be in each other’s presence, simply to be sharing together some extended period of time in unrushed, unhurried silence. It’s hard to put into words, but even though we weren’t talking, rarely had I felt closer to my daughter.

This is exactly what happens out of the holy habits of silent prayer and meditation.

Good things come out of silence. Community is fostered. Friendships are opened up. Social barriers and suspicions seem to dismantle very quickly when you’ve sat in silence with someone. The fruits of the Spirit – love, joy, peace, justice, truth – come to the fore.

Especially these days, in our fast-paced, noisy urban, competitive society, locked into the 24-hour news cycle, the internet and our mobile devices, so much more is the need to reconnect to God, to the Holy One, who resides in the silent depths of our hearts, and fills all of creation with loving presence.

And it is out of that quiet centre, that silent holy habit, that the active exterior life of justice, service and compassion naturally flows. One leads to another.

This is what happens in the Book of Acts, chapter 11 – our second reading today.

First, some background: In the first century, many of the first followers of Jesus were Jews, referred to as Jewish Christians.

But here was the question for that early Church: What to do with the increasing number of non-Jewish people – the Gentiles, Greeks, Romans – who were wanting to follow the way of Jesus? At first, many of the apostles and key leaders of the Christian movement, including Peter, strongly believed that any non-Jew (or Gentile) who wanted to follow the way of Jesus, had first to become a Jew, and adopt all the Torah-related laws and practices like eating kosher food and being circumcised.

But this “policy” created tension between the Jewish Christians, and the Gentile Christians. Gentile Christians didn’t want to become Jews first.

It’s in the midst of this brewing conflict, that we pick up the story in Acts chapter 11, where Peter has a dream in which God tells him that non-Jewish Gentiles are just as legitimate followers of Jesus, as the Jewish Christians, that they are not “unclean”, and do not have first to follow all the Kosher and Torah laws.

In God’s eyes, Gentile Christians are no different than Jewish Christians. No division. No distinction between “them and us.”

Well, Peter is transformed. His world view is broadened. Peter’s fear of the Gentiles crumbles. The chains of old patterns of thought, keeping a barrier between “them and us”, break. Peter is profoundly moved and emboldened to take decisive action in the name of Jesus, to convince the rest of his colleagues in Jerusalem, and to reach out, in wide, loving acceptance, of the Gentile Christians.

And the Christian movement is forever changed, from that point on; more inclusive, embracing “the other.”

God’s movement throughout the sweep of human history, and as evident in the scriptures, has always been one of pushing out the frontiers, widening the circle, embracing others who are “different” in some way with blessing and well-being.

To this day, the Spirit of God continues to challenge, and call the church to new frontiers, to breaking old barriers, and embracing “the other.”

It was Archbishop William Temple who coined this phrase: “The Church’s sole mission and reason for existence, is for the benefit of those who are not yet its members.”

God’s ever-widening circle, with the march of time.

But in the Acts story, here’s the clincher, for me. A seemingly small detail, easy to overlook, but one of significance: Peter had been praying.

This life-changing dream or vision that Peter had, which led to this monumental change for a more inclusive, wider-embracing Christianity in those early centuries – all this came about because a key leader, Peter, was first encountered by the living God in a dream that he had while he had been praying, while he had been spending intentional time in quiet prayer and meditation.

Frequently throughout the book of Acts it’s mentioned how Peter, and the other apostles and disciples pray, regularly. And out of this holy habit of connection with the divine, of living a life of prayer, both individually and together as a community, out of this practice sprang up all the good impulses toward widening the circle of God all-inclusive love, the amazing healing ministries of the apostles and disciples, the passion and joy of discipleship.

I like the real story from some seventy years ago – a powerful example of how the quiet, faithful habits of the people of God over time, eventually lead to bold, edgy and courageous actions of justice and compassion toward others.

A congregation in France had been for years gathering regularly and weekly in their village church to pray, to worship, to listen to God’s word in the scriptures. And over time, they had been regularly hearing the teaching and preaching of their parish priest, Fr. Andre Trocme, who in his sermons and bible studies had always been highlighting the forgiving and non-violent love of Jesus.

Then, war broke out. It was the early 1940s. The Nazis under Hitler were bent on the extermination of the Jewish people, and taking over all of Europe.

These Christians in that village church in occupied France decided to take in and hide hundreds of Jews, so the Nazis wouldn’t get to them, thereby sparing their lives. This was an incredibly bold and heroic act, since any act of resistance against the Nazis would’ve been punishable by death.

When asked later why these Christians did this, they simply said, “We never thought of not doing it.”

No second thought. No `analysis paralysis,’ or risk assessments. No hesitation. A lifetime of holy habits over time prepared them for this moment when the extreme need suddenly arose, and they knew exactly what to do – automatically, un-self-consciously, swiftly.

For the blessing of the world. The well-being of others. God’s ever-widening circle.

No doubt. Life comes at us fast. In our urban, fast-paced, hyper-technological world, that is certainly the case.

But life also feels as though it rushes at us, when there’s stress at work, demands at home, a grim medical diagnosis, a tragic accident taking the life of a loved one, and a relationship breaks down – and it all happens all at once! It can overwhelm the human spirit. Emotional overload.

Life can come at us very fast. You know the saying: “When it rains, it pours.” Or, you’ve heard this one: “Awful things happen in threes.”

And what about this one? It can be understood in either a negative way, or a positive way: “Life happens, when we’re busy making other plans.”

In other words, life often happens outside our expectations, or direct control, when we’re busy spinning wheels in other directions.

In the scriptures today, in the Gospel reading in particular, we catch the disciples at the point when they are completely overwhelmed by life, life which came at them very fast.

The tension-filled, emotional high of their entry into Jerusalem, followed by the upsetting event of Jesus overturning the tables in the Temple, and then an extraordinary Passover meal unlike any other, then, an intense experience in the Garden of Gethsemane, followed by an unexpected betrayal, an armed arrest, a series of denials, a mock trial, a jeering mob, and finally, a bloody execution.

By the end of it, the disciples were crushed and numb. The human spirit can take only so much.

But then, to top it all off – news of an empty tomb and resurrection appearances. Just way too much to handle. Emotional overload.

No wonder, in today’s Gospel reading, Peter and the others just need to take some time out. Peter says, “I’m goin’ fishing.” And so, they head back to doing what they knew best – fishing. They seek out some familiar comfort, some emotional space to process what they’ve gone through.

But then, as they’re fishing – as they’re busy doing something else – something amazing happens. An unexpected, unplanned moment. They suddenly become strangely aware of the presence of God, the living Jesus, right there with them. Like blinders falling off, scales falling from their eyes. They suddenly are able to see something they up to this point had not.

They were able to see: life, joy, hope for the future – all of this suddenly bursts on the scene in a way they couldn’t have planned or anticipated.

They had been mired in a grim landscape of emotional burden and stress. They emerge, transformed, into a bright space of hope, renewal, and a spirit of new beginning.

In better mental space, they go ashore, and there, on the sandy beach, at the crack of dawn as the sun rises over the lake, over a warm fire, they eat breakfast together, sharing memories, laughter, hopes and dreams, experiencing the life-giving, joyful presence of Jesus in their midst.

And this is amazing considering how, remember just several days ago, the disciples basically abandoned, basically disowned Jesus when he was arrested and taken away. Essentially there was a broken relationship there – Jesus feeling dumped and abandoned by his closest friends – and the disciples feeling scared and guilty for ditching Jesus in his `hour of need’. Imagine the feelings of hurt and betrayal between Jesus and his disciples.

And now, here they are, over breakfast, experiencing such relief, forgiveness, reconciliation with Jesus. They know Jesus has forgiven them for deserting him. Such refreshing love renews them, and sends them out in mission and ministry in the name of Jesus.

And it happened unexpectedly, unannounced, unplanned. I think how some of the most important events of our lives, rich with lasting meaning and joy happen outside our direct control or planning or strategizing.

God has a way of surprising us.

Christian author and speaker Brian McLaren shares a personal story of a chance encounter with a boy, which eventually created the basis of his greater appreciation, understanding, and care for people of the Muslim faith.

It happened years ago, shortly after he was newly married.

The story is actually kind of funny. It begins with a good practical joke.

While Brian and his new wife Grace were away on their honeymoon, Brian’s brother, who had keys to their apartment, filled the only bathroom in their small apartment with a million balloons. From floor to ceiling, this bathroom was stuffed, packed with balloons.

Returning from their honeymoon late at night, Brian and Grace, to their utter shock, discover this. In rising panic, and driven by their intensifying biological need to use the toilet, they quickly take out the balloons and spread them around on the floor of their small apartment. Tired, they decide to deal with the balloon problem in the morning.

So, early next morning, Brian goes out to sit on the front stoop to figure out what to do with a million or so balloons.

And as he’s sitting there, a young boy of about eight literally runs into him almost pushing him right over. Aatif is the boy’s name. He and his family recently came from Iran, and were living in the apartment directly above theirs.

After talking a bit, Aatif is really happy to take these balloons, along with some neighbourhood friends. They love balloons! Problem solved!

But more than that, since that day, a close friendship with Aatif and his family began, a friendship that would last years. This relationship blossomed, opening doors to greater associations with the Muslim community, for which Brian was eternally grateful so many years later.

And all because of an unexpected, unplanned surprising encounter, a `bumping into each other’. A moment of grace. A bolt out of the blue. Changing lives forever.

In our own times of emotional overload, where we feel confused and stressed and tired, wondering where God is…

Let’s not forget the God who unexpectedly came to Saul on the road to Damascus, like a bolt out of the blue, changing his life forever.

Let’s not forget the God who in Jesus came unexpectedly to those very sad, despondent and disheartened disciples, renewing their hope, bringing new joy and lightness of being…

…the God who comes to us, unexpectedly, while we’re busy making other plans.

It’s been over 30 years since Archbishop Oscar Romero was assassinated while presiding over the Eucharist during worship in El Salvador.  Originally picked for the position because he was a cautious, thoughtful man, some said because he was conservative. He took up the cause of human rights in his own country as he witnessed the death of his friend, Father Rutilio Grande, a Jesuit priest who had been helping to organize the poor of El Salvador with self-reliance groups.  Romero thought that he, too, would have to walk the same path that his friend had walked.  Romero began to speak out and advocate for the poor of his country.  He took up the cause of social injustices, assassinations, and torture that were prevalent in his country. He was a witness to the love of God for those on the outside of the halls and walls of power. He was a witness to the risen Christ.

We can tell from this short passage from the book of Acts that the apostles, Peter and his crew, are headed for trouble. The apostles, those disciples who witnessed the risen Christ and went to spread the news, were on fire. If we read a couple of chapters earlier, we know that the sound of rushing wind came to Peter and John and the rest of them and they were filled with God’s Holy Spirit – so much so that they had defend themselves that they were not drunk!

It was this same Spirit that led them out from their upper room in Jerusalem to tell the good news of Christ’s resurrection and to bring healing to those who needed it.

According to Acts, this stirred up the high priest and the religious council in Jerusalem. The Sadducees, who made up most of the council, did not believe in the resurrection. They thought that, having obeyed Rome, and having done away with Jesus, that his movement would die with him. Acts tells us that the council was “annoyed because they were teaching the people and proclaiming in Jesus the resurrection from the dead.” They were irritated that Christ’s disciples kept at it – kept witnessing to the good news of the resurrection, kept healing people in his name.

The Greek word for witness is martyr.  When we hear the word martyr we think of people like Oscar Romero who died for his faith.  We know that Peter and other apostles die as well for their faith.  But the word really means “to witness”,  not to be a passive observers to what you have seen, but to actively make known what you have seen.

At this point in Acts, the apostles have already been called before Annas, the high priest, and Caiaphas, to explain themselves as they had been ordered to stop teaching in Jesus’ name and stop healing in his name. They were arrested and put into prison but an angel of the Lord opened the prison door and they went to teach and tell their story in the temple again.  The people stand in the way once again for the chief priests and elders to do anything rash because the apostles, Peter and John and the rest, were so well loved.

Here is our passage for today – the chief priests and elders of the council are uneasy about the role they played in Jesus’ death – and they would rather have the whole thing just go away.  They want Peter and John and the rest to stop.  Peter claims a higher authority than the council, saying he and the others must obey God.

What our short passage from Acts doesn’t tell us today, is that when Peter finishes his story of Jesus’ death on a cross and God’s vindication of Jesus by raising him from the dead, the chief priests were so enraged they wanted to kill the disciples.  It is a Pharisee on the council, Gamaliel, who is the voice of wisdom.

Gamaliel cautions care to the council on how they deal with these men and women who follow Jesus.  He names a couple of popular leaders who came and went and nothing came of their movements, their followers scattered after the deaths of their leaders. Gamaliel says that if this Jesus movement, this plan, is human in origin, then it will likely go the same way as the others that came before it. But if their plan is from God, then the council might be found fighting against God, and they would not be able to stop them.  The council listens to Gamaliel’s advice and they let them go.

It is important to see in these early accounts of the Jesus’ movement, the early accounts of the church, that this is in fact a family feud. Sadducees, Pharisees, Jesus and his disciples were all Jews. Unfortunately, for too long, these texts in scripture were used to lay blame on the Jewish people for the death of Jesus. The consequences of that interpretation were made clear in Anti-Semitic hatred over the centuries in Christian Europe which culminated in Hitler’s final solution and Holocaust. But it was Rome that killed Jesus.

In these stories in the early chapters of the book of Acts we have a family feud going on and those who claim to know the truth are all vying for their positions.  There is the religious establishment, the Sanhedrin, made up mostly of Sadducees. There is a Pharisee named Gamaliel who urges caution.  And there are the apostles, witnesses to the risen Lord, filled with God’s Holy Spirit who continue the work of the one they call Leader and Saviour.

This kind of family feud isn’t uncommon ground to us, as Christians.  We have had an often bloody history fighting with each other. Think of reformation history in Germany, England, other parts of Europe. It wasn’t clean and easy change. Those political and religious reforms lie on piled up bodies and bones. In our recent memories, intermarriage meant between a Catholic and a Protestant and many families did not condone the marriages or support them.

This family feud isn’t uncommon ground within our own walls as we struggle with what the resurrection means for us today as Christians in secular North America. As Christians in the 21^st century, we are divided along theological lines, we lock ourselves up in our doctrine, or stand on either side of a liberal or conservative fence. Unfortunately, we haven’t always provided a very good witness to the world or to our own communities.

We have seen it in our own church, we have fought together long and hard over the issue of whether to be welcoming to gays and lesbians in our churches, whether pastors can and should be able to marry consenting adults of the same sex, whether pastors can be openly gay or lesbian and keep their positions as clergy. Sometimes, talking broke down and family members left.  Sometimes, there was an uneasy truce.  Sometimes, people decided to stay and figure out the conversation out together.

Even the early church, those first followers of Jesus, had their disagreements, their fears and their posturing for position. You just have to read through Paul’s letters to know that not all people saw or understood things the same way.

But there is a movement of the Spirit. We are not alone in this.

Bishop Pryse spoke about some of movements in his sermon when he was here with us in March. The Spirit has moved us to put away some of our long standing family feuds.  Ecumenism, the working together of Christian denominations, is more prevalent today than ever before. Seeing each other as members of the same family, in all its configurations, and on the value of our witness to the risen Lord.  We still disagree, to be sure, but we are less willing to only look at the differences and are more willing to search out common ground.

Being in human community is never easy. It takes practice to be together as Christians, as Lutherans even.  It takes grace, and it takes forgiveness.  All work of the Spirit in our midst.

To sit across table and take on the heavy issues facing us today as disciples of Christ, we come with our different experiences and vision, so we don`t always see eye to eye. So we need to practice. National Bishop Susan Johnson talks of that kind of practice in spiritual renewal for our communities – those practices of regular worship, daily prayer, the reading of scripture, studying, serving the church, and the wider world, giving thoughtfully and generously, and telling our story of faith. Hers is a call to a renewed commitment to community, and a renewed commitment to share the good news of Easter.

Perhaps some of you saw the news the other day. Pastor Nancy Kelly, who has served St. Mark’s Lutheran church on King Street in Kitchener for 17 years is retiring today after her last worship with the congregation as their pastor. She was featured on CTV’s news “Local Heroes” segment for helping to build community.  In her interview, Pastor Nancy spoke of being in El Salvador for a human rights delegation. There she saw a church with no walls, just poles and a roof.  That church made a huge impact on her, she said, “they walked out of their church space and into the community to do their healing work.” It was an image of church that stayed with her and informed her own ministry.  She never forgot it.

Whatever our differences, we are family and we are church, united by the Spirit to renewed discipleship, called to be witnesses to the One who has given us life and offered us love.

The world today still hungers for the same good news. The world today hungers for healing, for connection, for community, for God.

In our practice, people need to see the good news in us. They need to see Christ at the centre of our lives. Like the apostles we are called to be bold and proclaim Christ crucified and resurrected for the life of the world.  Like the disciples in John`s gospel we are called to leave the security of our walls, to leave the space, and go out to do our healing.  But the grace is that we don`t do this alone. We have each other and we have God`s Holy Spirit.

Amen.

I hope she didn’t mind that I watched her private moment, but she caught my attention as I waited for the bus to move forward. I looked at her closely, for those few moments.

She had the worn-down appearance of a life that had been hard. You could see it on her skin, her hair, her body; that hardened look people get from years of stress, from poverty and malnutrition, from neglect. And yet she stopped to breathe in the shapes, colours, and aroma of the roses on that bush; a bush resplendent in colour in the middle of a concrete city.

I don’t know why she did it. But I would like to imagine that there must have been a moment of truth for her. Perhaps she thought as she stood there, looking at that rose bush, that there was in fact beauty and grace at the heart of the universe, despite all evidence she might have had to the contrary.

Today, as the sun shines, the buds grow on the trees, the crocuses poke their pale green shoots through the soil, the grass once brown and dead, comes to life, we celebrate Easter. We celebrate the resurrection of Jesus and in his resurrection we also celebrate our own – the end of our long winter.

Today, John today tells us this beautiful story of Mary Magdalene going to Jesus’ tomb and seeing that the stone had been rolled away.  It was Mary who sought out Jesus again, if only to be close to where his body lay.  Quite confused, probably also a little frightened, she runs to tell Peter and the other disciple that Jesus loved, that Jesus’ body has been moved. They run to the tomb and see the linen cloths used to wrap his body are lying empty.

Mary stays and encounters the angels who bring her the news. They sit like bookends where Jesus’ body used to be and they ask why she is weeping.  Mary repeats her confusion over where the body of her friend and teacher might be. It is Mary, out of love, who keeps searching for Jesus.

Out of love, Jesus comes to Mary.  In her grief and confusion, she does not recognize him.  Jesus repeats the angels’ question, “why are you weeping?”  She thinks he might be the one who moved her friend’s body.  Only when he calls her name, “Mary!” does she recognize him.

Love searched for and found the object of its seeking. Mary and Jesus, we are told by John, have this intimate conversation together and Jesus tells Mary to “go to my brothers and tell them.”  And Mary, lowly Mary Magdalene, marginalized by her own society and later by the church, it is she who goes and tells the good news to her brothers and sisters in faith: “I have seen the Lord.”

Today as we celebrate those words, “I have seen the Lord,” with Mary and all the disciples, we move from dark to light, from sinner to forgiven, from lost to found, and from dead to alive.

We have come today, not out of a sense of obligation or duty, but because we recognize that there is meaning and truth for us in the resurrection. With Mary and Jesus in front of the empty tomb, we recognize there is beauty and grace.

I suspect we know the truth of the resurrection because we have lived it ourselves.  It is our hope for today and for tomorrow: for ourselves, for those we love, and for the world.

I would be so bold to say on this holiest day, on this day the Lord has acted, your lives are the best illustration.

When the tears finally stopped flowing after someone you loved died: friend, mother, sister, brother, father, child, and life went back to its own kind of normal.

When a child was born to you, or a grandchild, and you recognized the absolute blessing in that birth and in that little life.

When you had the strength to move from a broken relationship.

When you found forgiveness or gave it away.

When you helped heal a relationship.

When you gave something of yourself to another person, and in it you found something of yourself.

When you stood with the poor, the oppressed, the voiceless of this world and used your own shaky voice so their cause could be heard.

When you demanded change to unjust policies from government leaders.

When you gave your time and attention to the care of God’s earth.

When Love sought you out, found its way to you and you let it in.

That is risen life. And your lives are the best illustration, better than what I can come up with as a preacher.

That being said, I have one last story that I would like to share with you this morning.

Garfield Todd, the former Prime Minister of Rhodesia (what is now mostly comprised of Zambia, Zimbabwe, and Malawi), told of a harrowing experience of getting lost in the jungle.  It was one of the most frightening experiences of his life.

It was just after the Second World War and, among other things, fencing wire was hard to come by.  He had heard of used wire for sale at a distant ranch and went off to see if he could find some. He arrived at the ranch late in the afternoon, found the wire fence and started following it, to examine it before he put in a bid for it.  Only it was later than he thought and almost in an instant he was covered in darkness.  And because he had followed the meandering path of the wire fence, he had also lost his direction.

Although he walked and walked, trying to find his way, he had only moved deeper into the jungle. Todd realized in order to survive he had to keep following the fence and keep moving, keep walking, because as he tried to find his way again he could hear the sound of animals following him in the darkness. He also reasoned that if he followed the fence, at some point it would have to give way to a clearing and then hopefully he could get his bearings.  He also knew and held out hope that his wife would be out circling the jungle in her car looking for him.

After the most horrendous night imaginable, at about dawn he mercifully stumbled into a clearing, then to a road. Shortly afterward he saw the lights of a car and his wife, Grace, appeared.  Half frozen, exhausted, clothes torn and tattered, skin bloodied, Todd dropped at his wife’s feet. She fell to the ground and there they held each other and rejoiced.

You see, love had persisted all night. While love was trying to find its way out of darkness; love was also diligently searching for the one in darkness.

You see, of all powers, love is the most powerful: it moves mountains, it changes hearts and lives, it grows a seed, and it brings new life.

Today, as we celebrate the truth that Jesus lives, let us walk out into the clearing, knowing that love has found us. Today, let us walk out of the tomb and into the light of the One who invites us into risen life with him.

Amen.

His curiosity and enthusiasm leads him to embrace and participate in many of the key rituals and traditions of each of these religions – and all at the same time!

So while he’s praying 5 times a day according to Islamic practice, he’s also chanting Vedic mantras at a home-made Hindu shrine, while at the same time reading the Gospels, and preparing for Christian baptism.

His parents think this is all a bit too much, too odd, too funny, but Pi keeps on being committed to his quest for God.

One of the observations about Christianity that Pi picks up on, is the whole event of Jesus’ death on the cross. In fact, the whole question as to why Jesus had to die on the cross, why God would “require” the death of Jesus to save the world, keeps him stuck, and keeps him from fully embracing the Christian religion.

Why is that? Why does Pi get stuck here?

There are different ways which Christians and non-Christians, over the centuries, have come to understand the death of Jesus on the cross.

One such way that’s gained some popularity has been referred to as “the substitutionary atonement theory.” It’s the idea that Jesus had to serve as a sacrificial substitute for the rest of humanity; that God demanded the death of one man, Jesus, in order to erase the sins of all humanity.

The problem with this understanding is that it betrays a troubling image of God, one who is ultimately very cruel, punishing, vengeful and frightful.

And if you really think about it, as Pi did, you’d wonder: What kind of God would do this – demanding a substitute victim on which to exercise his wrath so that the rest of humanity doesn’t have to suffer? And what’s more: what sort of twisted Father would ask this of his Son?

Pi is right. Who’d ever want to follow this kind of God? This kind of death-dealing, frightful Being?

As we observe the liturgy of this Holy Day, Good Friday, we have a perfect opportunity to reflect carefully, thoughtfully, and biblically on the event of Jesus’ death.

It’s important to pause, and really go back to the scriptures to study them, and realize, that if truth be told, the kind of God that is truthfully revealed in the death of Jesus, is not a cruel God, but the exact opposite – a deeply loving God. A God who knows that nothing can ever be solved through cruelty, and violence; that the only way for Good to prevail is through forgiving love, non-violent action, and creative, peaceful alternatives to the kind of brute violence that Jesus himself was subjected to.

Remember, Jesus did not react, did not respond in kind with violence.

All along, throughout his ministry, Jesus knew that as fallen, broken human beings, we’re all caught up in a cycle of violence. Each selfish act inevitably affects those around us, and, in something of a domino effect, leads them to react in some selfish, and self-defensive way. One returns evil for evil, and so it goes, so it spreads, ultimately leading to violence.

Already in the Old Testament, the prophet Isaiah sees with prophetic clarity, that the only hope of ending this cycle of violence would be for someone to allow the full force of brute violence to be acted upon them, and then, not react with violence, without passing it on to others.

In doing so, the cycle is interrupted. The pattern of retributive violence, retaliation and “tit-for-tat” is stopped in its tracks, disarmed. And Good is finally able to make a foothold.

In allowing violence to be acted upon himself, without reacting, to the point of death on the cross, Jesus overcomes evil with good, defeating the powers that be, and showing us and the world that love is stronger than hate, that God’s life is stronger than death.

Today, when the evil powers of violence and hatred act upon us, God promises to be with us in the Spirit of Jesus, to give us the strength and courage to do what St. Francis prayed: to sow love where there is hatred, pardon where there is injury, faith where there is doubt, hope where there is despair, light where there is darkness, and joy where there is sadness.

And in so doing, we know that we are making a difference, making the world a better place for all, and giving witness to the life and love of God.

An amazing true story emerges from the years following Nelson Mandela’s presidency in South Africa, at the time when Archbishop Desmond Tutu headed the Truth & Reconciliation Commission, which dealt with the atrocities and violence of apartheid.

In one TRC hearing, the court heard the horrendous crime of a certain policeman, Van de Broek, who with other policeman shot and killed an eighteen year old boy, and burned his body outside his home.

Eight years later, Van de Broek returned to the same house, seized the boy’s father, and with the wife forced to watch, bound her husband on a woodpile, poured gasoline over his body, and ignited it.

The courtroom went silent as the now elderly woman who had lost her son and husband was given a chance to respond. “What do you want from Mr. Van de Broek?” the judge asked.

In a quiet voice, she said she wanted him to go to the place where they burned her husband’s body in order to gather up the dust there so she could give him a decent burial.

And then she added a further request, that twice a month, he come to the ghetto where she now lived, and spend a day with her, so she could be a mother to him. She said, “I would like Mr. Van de Broek to know that he is forgiven by God, and that I forgive him, too. I would like to embrace him as a mother, so he can know my forgiveness is real.”

A real interruption in the cycle of violent retribution happened here.

Some real healing began here.

Evil was overcome by Good.

The Spirit of God in Jesus was alive here.

The cross is not a brutal sign of a cruel and twisted God demanding the sacrificial death of his Son. No.

It is a sign of love, of life, triumphing over all.

Scuba-diving. Wood-working. Studying the medieval history of the papal conclave in the Roman Catholic Church.

Whatever, whatever that unique passion may be, we’re always encouraged to act upon it, to follow it.

Passion. It’s a loaded word, a `sunny’, bright, good word, full of promise, and optimism.

In church circles at this time year, especially during Holy Week, we hear the word “passion”, but this time, the word refers to something far more dark, heavy, and bleak.

This Sunday “Palm Sunday” is also known as “Passion Sunday,” referring to “the Passion of Jesus” – the suffering and death of Jesus.

The word “passion” actually comes from the word pascho, which means “to be done to”, “to be acted upon”, “to suffer” – a kind of passive state of being in which a person is helpless and powerless in face of events and circumstances over which that person has no control.

The “passion” of Jesus is really the story about Jesus in that final week before his death allowing all the forces conspiring against him to take their course – and not resisting, escaping from or fighting against the people and circumstances gathering against him.

It’s about Jesus allowing himself to be carried along with the tragic events as they unfold, as if his life was drawn inexorably and unavoidably forward to an eventual conclusion that he knows will not end well.
Like standing strapped to a conveyer belt heading toward a cliff, and there’s nothing you can do except let the inevitable happen.

Jesus knew he was a marked man, and that sooner than later, he’d be stopped and killed by the authorities.

Now, Jesus always had the choice to abandon his mission, to resist his perpetrators, and escape eventual arrest and death.

But he didn’t. Despite the hostility directed toward him, Jesus made the deliberate, conscious decision to stay true to his mission. He submitted himself to the unfolding of events. He intentionally handed himself over to the unfolding drama – to Judas, to the soldiers, to Pilate, to the hostile crowds, to torture and execution. Jesus endured his Passion.

We can draw strength and deep comfort from remembering this: that Jesus stayed in place; remaining true and committed to his mission, no matter how difficult it proved in the last days of his life.

He must’ve been able to keep trusting in God’s goodness, life and love as more powerful than anything else. That must’ve helped keep him going through those last days and hours.

And I suspect this to be true because, right at the end of the Gospel passage today, there’s a really interesting and obscure reference to stones, of all things.

I can imagine Jesus, as he enters Jerusalem riding his donkey, his eyes downcast on the stony pathway before him, pondering his impending doom, and even harassed by some Pharisees, he picks out and notices the stones on the pathway.

And for a moment, he sees even these hard, grey, life-less stones in a completely new light.

He imagines them shouting out praises to God!

Imagine that! Stones!

No matter the impending clouds of doom descending on him, Jesus believed in a beautiful, wonder-filled world God made, a world shimmering with the colour, joy and beauty of God’s presence and goodness, so much so that even simple, ordinary, easy-to-overlook stones could tell of the world’s beauty and goodness; a world made whole by the forgiving love of God, a love made visible by Jesus, who loved the world so much that he was willing to die for it all.

You’ve heard of the “Prayer Labyrinth.” A number of churches have this labyrinth painted onto a floor area. It’s based on the 13th century prayer labyrinth in the Chartres Cathedral in France.

Essentially, it’s a large circular labyrinth on the floor designed as an aid to prayer and meditation. In silence, a person enters the labyrinth on the outside circumference, with the intention of getting to the centre of the circle.

But if one follows the path, one finds the journey filled with twists and turns, a labyrinth of winding pathways that first take you closer to the centre where you want to go, but then, suddenly, take you farther away back toward the outside circumference. How frustrating!

But, through it all, one never leaves the circle. And eventually, if you just stick with it, you do finally arrive at the centre.

No matter its twists and turns, our journey through life never takes us outside the grace and presence of God. As St. Catherine of Sienna in the 14th century said, “All the way to heaven is heaven, because Jesus is [with us along] the Way.” We’re always “in God”; God in whom “we live and move and have our being.”

I was reading recently about a certain Roman Catholic religious order for nuns in the U.S. Back in the 1950s, it was brimming with activity and many novices. So many women were coming each year to train, learn, and discern their calling to join this particular religious order.

We all know what’s happened to many religious institutions over the last 60 years. Well, this religious institution was no different. This once buzzing monastic house, like many, significantly reduced in numbers.

But, and here’s the “but” – the few nuns that remained over the last couple of years, held on to the one thing that mattered: remaining faithful to their special and unique call to host, teach, and love others in Christ’s name.

So many things in the wider culture over the decades had been changing and happening to them, “acting upon them” outside their control. The economy. Technological advances. Cultural shifts in understandings of religion and spirituality.

Finding how to live their call and mission in the midst of great change had been a struggle. But the nuns kept at it, and stayed in place.

And today, the place is still a `happening’ place, still buzzing, but not with the sounds of countless novices, but with people of the surrounding city: men coming on retreats, caregivers prayerfully seeking renewal, ecumenical groups worshipping every Wednesday of Lent and Advent, clusters of people passionately addressing issues of the environment and social justice.

All welcomed, taught, and loved by that community of nuns.

We endure, and prove resilient, just like Jesus as he faced his final hours, because ultimately God fills all of creation with Holy, Loving Presence, God in whom we live and move and have our being.

Isn’t today officially the first day of spring, the spring equinox, March 20?

My thoughts naturally turn toward one of my favourite things to do in the spring and summer – biking.

We have a bike rack that attaches to the back of our car. So at the beginning of every summer season, I attach our “Thule” bike rack to the back hitch of our car – and we’re set for another great season of biking riding!

It’s interesting, that every time I carefully and slowly place our bikes on the rack bars, I get an up-close view of the bicycle wheels, and the very many spokes of the wheels; the many interlacing, overlapping spokes of the bicycle wheels.

Those long, thin, medal spokes run from the centre of the wheel – the hub – where they’re bunched closer to each other, and radiate outward toward the outside circumference of the wheel, the rim and tire. These long, thin, medal spokes keep the wheel intact, holding the hub, and the rim together, enabling the wheel to do its job.

It’s really quite something – the construction of a wheel.

I talk of an image of a wheel, because it’s a really good one when we want to think about Christian spirituality, prayer, and how all of that is lived out in community.

Over the last several weeks during our Lent midweek homilies, we’ve been making the point that the practice of the Christian faith, the essential component to Christian spirituality, is community; coming together into mutually supportive and caring communities. Ours is a communal faith. We cannot grow in love and trust in God, we cannot deepen our awareness of God and become more fully the people we are meant to be, all by ourselves. We need a faith community.

6th century monk and abbot Dorotheus of Gaza talks of the image of a circle, or wheel, and its centre, or hub, to explain the reason why community is so essential to a lived spirituality. He imagines people standing around on the circumference of a large circle facing each other toward the centre. Then, he asks us to imagine the centre of the circle as the place where God is.

As each individual on the circumference, like following the line of a spoke, begins to draw closer to God in the centre of the circle, what happens at the same time is that each individual person gradually draws closer to each other, illustrating the point that the closer one truly is to God, the closer one is to others in genuine community.

But we also know how hard it is to live in community with other people, to live in a family, or to relate to others who are different from us. It can be messy, complicated and hurtful. It’s not easy.

But that’s nothing new. Even those early churches as we read about in the Book of Acts and Paul’s letters to the Corinthians and others, those early churches were rife with conflict, disputes, and divisiveness. It’s just part of human nature. When we open ourselves up to other people, things inevitably can get messy. Marriages falter. Faith communities have power struggles. Neighbours fight with each other over fence lines and drainage problems.

We might legitimately wonder: How could God ever have intended for us individuals to live in community, and for communities to be a blessing for the world? How could that ever have been the cosmic, mystical plan in God’s great scheme of things?

Wouldn’t it just be so much easier to leave behind the stinky, mucky, messiness of groups, faith communities, churches, and other people, and just go be a hermit somewhere by oneself in a cave? Doesn’t that seem somehow more appealing and attractive?

Except for the fact that it’s God who takes away the anxiety and hostility between people. As we remain open to God, as we get closer to God, using that great wheel imagery of Dorotheus of Gaza, as we come to know Jesus – not just know about him, but come to know and experience him personally in our lives and hearts – we realize that God takes away hostility and anxiety between people.

As the letter to the Ephesians (2:14) says, “For Christ is our peace…Jesus, who has destroyed the barrier, the dividing wall of hostility.” Jesus takes down the dividing walls between people. God warms our stone-cold hearts frozen in fear, hostility and anger, and takes away all hostility… thereby making caring community possible.

Finally, the wheel is also a great image for prayer, meditation, connection to God who is at the centre of all life.

Imagine in your mind’s eye, as a wheel turns and goes round and round, sometimes even at very fast speeds, there’s a part of the wheel that always remains still.

You know what that part is? It’s the hub, the centre of the wheel. No matter how fast the wheel may be turning, the hub, the very centre stays still. There, you find stillness. Without stillness at the centre, there could be no movement at the circumference.

Prayer, or meditation, is the work of finding and becoming one with this stillness. “Be still, and know that I am God” proclaims the Psalmist (46:10).

And then, out of that quiet, still centre where God is, out of that experience of the Holy One in Jesus, our actions can radiate outward toward others, moving out toward others like spokes on a wheel. Our actions can be as loving and authentic and caring as possible.

Our busy daily activity, as represented by the turning circumference of the wheel as it goes round and round; the busy doing of our work every day, our busy acts of love and care toward our family, friends, and others – all of that is always connected to the quiet stillness at the hub, at the centre of our lives, our hearts, and our world.

How can the messiness of life together in faith community be the context in which we find healing, personal transformation, wholeness and the presence of God?

It’s possible. But not because it depends on us. But because it depends on God, God who calls us, draws us together, and makes us whole, God who is at the quiet centre of all that is.

At the same time, whether part of the church or not, we humans are broken, imperfect and wounded. And so, as many of us who’ve been part of the church would attest to, occasions for disappointment, hurt, and dismay inevitably and frequently arise. Acknowledging this reality, we need however to acknowledge a more important reality: the church has been gifted with a message, a mission, and word of healing, loving justice, and the promise of experiencing the presence of God in Jesus in its midst. As “joint heirs of God in Christ” we are called to life-long learning to trust joyfully in the Holy One, God “in whom we live, and move, and have our being.” (Acts 17:28) We are forever secure in God.

And so, even though the church as a human institution can at times feel like “a mess”, we have, and indeed experience, Jesus, who promised to be with his disciples forever. As someone once said, the church “is sort of like Noah’s ark. It’s a stinky mess inside, but if you get out, you’ll drown.”

Part of what it means to have a positive and joyful approach to “all things church”, is to be committed to its continual renewal, in every generation, time and place. As some church historians have pointed out, every few hundred years the church gets cluttered by the materialism of the world around it. We begin to forget who we are. One bishop said, “And so every five hundred years or so the church needs a rummage sale” to get rid of the clutter, and to remember the essential treasures of our faith.

Practically, what this means for us as we vision and set out goals for the next several years, is to focus on the ancient, yet incredibly relevant practices of the Christian faith – prayer, meditation, study, care and support groups, regular worship, intentional service to others in community, invitation. We already do many of these practices, but need to re-affirm, deepen, and celebrate these.

As even Willow Creek Community Church north of Chicago discovered, the road to deeper discipleship and spiritual renewal is to re-engage spiritual practices, not “programs.” For the longest time, Willow Creek, like many churches, have thought that renewal came about by developing the right “program” aimed at attracting people to church and deepening their faith. But over the years, through a process of self-study, they realized that “church programs” had little to do with spiritual depth, congregational vitality, or maturity. Senior Pastor Bill Hybels admitted: “We made a mistake by being overly dependent on programs at the expense of the age-old spiritual practices of prayer, Bible reading, and relationships.”

Let’s remember and re-affirm the essential treasures of our faith, the age-old yet enduring and proven practices which enliven us, renew us, and do the important thing of helping us joyfully trust in our risen Lord.

Pastor David Malina