This week we’re going a slightly different way to introduce the vintage theme – in a moment we’ll do so by listening to some Johnny Cash. Most of us know how much dramatically the music industry has changed over the past number of years. It used to be the case that you bought your music in a very concrete form – you bought a record or a cassette-tape or a compact disc – and you would play that very concrete thing in a stereo of some kind. But today music is purchased and listened to in such a different way. You never “see” the music. You download it to your computer or directly to your phone – often wirelessly. For the vast majority of people in North America today, to listen to music you simply pull out your phone or your Ipod, put in your earplugs, and listen. We could easily play some Johnny Cash this way.

Given these technological advances, it may be surprising to us that the interest in vintage things includes an interest in the vinyl records. Over the past 20 years most people threw out their old vinyl records, or tried to get rid of them at garage sales. But there is an increasing number of people who collect old vinyl records – people out there looking for records, and buying up old record players like this Eaton’s model – it actually belongs to Iain MacLeod.  Actually, even today some record companies continue to produce brand new vinyl records for some albums. You can get the latest Lady Gaga album on vinyl. In other words, we are back to that same interest in vintage things – that same interest in the sensibilities and aesthetics of past decades. This morning I thought we could try and get a very concrete feel for those sensibilities, as we play that old Johnny Cash gospel song (It was Jesus) on vinyl.

There’s a blast from the past. As we think about this whole resurgence of interest in vinyl, it’s pretty clear that at least part of the reason for it is nostalgia. There’s just something about holding the record case in your hands and looking at the art gracing its cover. There’s just something about pulling that beautiful black disk out of the case. Seeing its grooves and placing that very concrete thing on the old record player.” There’s just something about it. It connects you to an earlier time. Nostalgia. Today music flies through the air and lands on your device sight unseen. You can’t get hold of it in a concrete sense – there’s nothing really beautiful about the mode in which recorded music comes into our lives

But there’s more to this interest in vintage records and players than simply nostalgia. In an important sense, this interest is also about authenticity. The longing for authenticity is a widespread phenomenon in our culture and in the case of vinyl records, what some people are looking for is an authentic experience of the music. There are a couple of ways to think about this. In the first sense, some people simply want to listen to music in the format in which it was originally produced and played. When Johnny Cash recorded his music in the 50’s and 60’s and 70’s, it wasn’t distributed on CD’s or cassette tapes or in digital form. It was distributed in the form of LPs, of records. To listen to his music now in that format is a sense the most authentic way to listen to it – it sets you in the time and culture of the music itself. When you pull out the record you see an image of Johnny Cash from his time period – and you pull out a record that was actually produced at the time he recorded it. Some would say that your experience of the music is more authentic because of this.

There’s another sense in which it may be a more authentic experience to listen to a record. Many will argue today that with a good clean record, and with a good record player, you can actually get much better quality sound. Obviously you can’t listen to a 1960’s Johnny Cash performance live today – but many will argue that the closest you can get to live music is through vinyl. The idea is that a record – as opposed to a digital version, or cd – gets you closer to the live music, and is therefore a more authentic experience of the music. Hence the interest in collecting records – and in fact the new productions of vinyl today. this interest in things vintage.

I’ve mentioned there is a search for authenticity in our culture today. And the interest in an authentic experience of music is a part of that wider phenomenon. But of course the question arises as to what exactly that concept of authenticity means. It’s a vague term, certainly. And it’s a vastly more complicated term than we might imagine in today’s culture. In fact, because of that it is in some ways probably an unhelpful term. But it is nonetheless a powerful term in our culture.

The root of the word authenticity is, of course, the word authentic – and the word authentic means something that conforms to the facts – or something that conforms to the original. In a way it’s actually easier to define the word authentic negatively. Something is authentic if it isn’t false or an imitation. To us a simple example, an meal is an authentic Italian meal only if it’s made by an Italian person and using ingredients and methods that would have been used in Italy. Of course there are lots of imitation Italian restaurants out there. The pasta and sauce some of us make in our own homes from time to time is probably a prime example of imitation, or inauthentic Italian food. It certainly isn’t authentic Italian food.

In our culture there is a drive toward authenticity. People want the real thing. They want to live authentic lives – they want to live in ways that are true to themselves, true to their values, true to the world, true to their feelings, true to their heritage perhaps. We want the real thing. And perhaps the greatest challenge of our day is that for most of us that authenticity is almost perpetually out of grasp.

When you live in a culture in which almost nothing is settled – in which almost everything is up for grabs

in which almost every truth is contested,

in which our own tastes are continually shifting from this to that,

in which fashion trends come and go in a matter of months,

in which our own feelings are subject to multiple interpretations,

in which marketers and politicians spin absolutely everything,

- in such a culture authenticity will feel perpetually out of grasp. We want to live lives that are authentic – true to the human – true to ourselves. But the challenge is to know what is authentic. What is authentic to the human? What is true to me? In a culture where everything is up for grabs – where there are almost no certainties to hang onto, is it even possible to find or live an authentic life? What should our life be true to?

In his book The Authenticity Hoax, Andrew Potter argues that the search for authenticity in modern western culture has in fact taken a rather superficial turn.  He writes:

We are all trying to find one sliver of the world whether authenticity – something that is real – can be found.

The earliest Christian communities were small, and relatively diverse communities – small faith communities in a wide sea of Roman culture and religion. Within those early, small Christian communities there were slaves, former slaves, merchants and artisans, a few wealthy individuals or familyes, a few Jews and a lot of non-Jews. And what bound this cross-section of people together was a conviction that they had discovered the real thing – the conviction that they had discovered an authentic encounter with God and an authentic understanding of themselves. In the words of that Johnny Cash, with the Carter family singing backup It was Jesus. They believed they had found this authentic encounter with God and this authentic understanding of themselves through Jesus.

The four gospel narratives we have in our New Testament were written within these earliest Christian communities – and of course those gospel narratives tell the story of Jesus. But those four gospels don’t tell the story of Jesus simply as historical biography – the earliest Christians weren’t interested in sharing a merely factual account of his life and words. Rather, the gospels are the story of Jesus’ life on earth told from the perspective of encounter with risen Jesus. Through the writing of the gospel narratives the early Christians were sharing their convictions about the risen Jesus with one another and with others who would read their texts. The message they wanted to share can be boiled down to this, perhaps:  If you want an authentic life, a truly human life, then look no further than this first century Jew – crucified and risen. Thus Jesus offers these words in John’s gospel, chapter 10: “I have come that you might have life and have it abundantly.” Or, paraphrased for today: “I have come that you might live authentically – that you might live a truly human life.”

In our passage for today from Luke’s gospel, we read of a healing that takes place early in Jesus public ministry. Jesus has just been in the synagogue where he has proclaimed the presence of God’s kingdom – the presence of God’s kingdom in Jesus himself. While he is there, Jesus also releases a man from bondage to an unclean spirit. And from there Jesus proceeds to the house of Simon – where he and the disciples find Simon’s mother-in-law suffering from a high fever. We read in the narrative: “Then he stood over her and rebuked the fever, and it left her. Immediately she got up and began to serve them.”

This is vintage Jesus – this is typical Jesus – this is what we find Jesus doing time and again within the gospel narratives. Women and men are dehumanized through disease. Women and men are dehumanized through possession by spirits. Women and men and children are dehumanized through rejection and marginalization. And in every case Jesus brings restoration – in every case sets people back on their feet,

he sets them back in their families,

he sets them back with society,

he sets them back within the worshipping community of his people.

In the process of doing so Jesus also sets himself firmly against – he rebukes – the powers that dehumanize, whatever form they take. He rebukes every inauthentic form of human life.

The earliest Christians who tell these stories, they share these stories with whoever will listen because they believe they have encountered the risen Jesus – and they believe that through him there is an authentic encounter with God, and an authentic understanding of who they are. For these women and men Jesus is not a now-dead man who simply inspires noble feelings in them – he is not a now-dead teacher whose wisdom they find unparalleled. For these early Christians Jesus is a living one whose resurrection life comes as a gift to them – for them he is a living one to whom we are drawn into the life and kingdom of God.

In every age, humans have reached out, in their own particular way, toward authentic existence. It seems to be built into the fabric of who we are – built into the fabric of our cultures – this reaching out. It has come to expression in so many ways, but humans across time and space have invariably wanted lives that are meaningful and real.

And our particular culture, given the immense freedom we enjoy – given the immense privileges we enjoy – has more time than ever to dwell on and seek answers to this longing for authenticity – we have more resources than ever to seek answers to this longing for a truly human life. And yet the evidence seems to be that the more we reach, the more we realize it’s beyond reach. It’s always just beyond our grasp.

The gospel narratives tell what is in many ways a simple story – the story of a first century Jewish man, crucified and risen. It tells the story of someone who in all times and places brings the new and authentic life of the human to expression. He comes to set us on our feet; to bring healing to our lives; to draw us into living encounter with God; to lead us in the way of service to others; to lead us into lives of love and compassion with our neighbours. This is the life the earliest Christians found in Jesus – an authentic life into which we also are invited.

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This past week I visited a little shop over in the Plateau – a shop that has been at the corner of St. Laurent and Duluth for more than 15 years. It’s called Friperie St. Laurent and it’s actually well known in Montreal as a place where you can buy vintage clothing. They have ties and dresses and shoes and coats, and so much more – all from the 1940’s or 50’s or 60’s or 70’s.  Actually, over there at the corner of St. Laurent and Duluth there are three vintage shops in a row.

While I was there I looked at their collection of vintage ties – in fact I picked up the tie I’m wearing today. It is, if I may say, a lovely 1950’s silk tie. Here’s a closer-up picture… It certainly has the feel of the 1950’s. Alongside it here are two 1960’s era ties that I picked up for 2 bucks apiece at the Renaissance store just down on St. Jacques.

Now it might be going too far to say that vintage is all the rage these days, but there is a wide interest in things vintage – vintage clothing, vintage jewelry, vintage accessories, vintage furniture. Of course the word ‘vintage’ has a variety of meanings, but in the sense that we are using it today it refers simply to clothing or jewelry or furniture or other items that come from and express the style of an earlier time. Today when people talk about vintage items – they are mostly talking about things that come from the period of the 1920’s through the 1970’s.

Little did you know that the plaid coat you gave away in the 1970’s would be a desirable commodity in 2012. Little did you know that the tie your grandfather wore in the 1950’s would be a hot commodity in 2012. Little did you know that the broach you gave your daughter in the 1960’s would be so desirable in 2012.

It will come as no surprise that there are websites dedicated to vintage shopping – there are blogs dedicated to the discussion of vintage things. This week I did a search on ebay using the word ‘vintage’ and it brought back over 4,000,000 items for sale there and labeled ‘vintage’. To me this cultural interest in vintage items, toward past decades, is an interesting cultural phenomenon. It’s remarkable the way many look back for an aesthetic or style that resonates today.

And over the next few weeks, we are going to work through a short sermon series I’m calling Vintage Jesus. At least a part of what we’re going to do is reflect on this cultural movement. In a broader sense, what we’re trying to do is to locate ourselves as followers of Jesus – to find our particular place in a culture that is in many ways conflicted about it’s own identity.

So I have my vintage tie on this morning, and we are looking at this broad cultural interest in the past. But the question is how we begin to relate our observations about the culture on the one hand with life in the kingdom of God on the other hand. Well, we’ll try to begin doing so by first of all pointing out that this interest in vintage items is in measure bound up with nostalgia – with warm feelings about past eras. One blogger who writes about this phenomenon defines a vintage item broadly “as anything that is from the past that inspires feelings of nostalgia, familial connection, and/or creativity.” Of course there is more to this focus on vintage things than simply nostalgia and warm feelings for the past. But a sense of comfortable and meaningful connection with the past is a big part of the vintage movement.

In this sense we can get closer to typical sermon material by looking for a moment at the image of Jesus on the screen this morning. I suspect this painting will be familiar to you – it is simply entitled The Head of Christ, and was painted back in 1941 by an artist named Warner Sallman. More than 500 million copies of this image have been sold. This painting is, in fact, a piece of vintage art – it’s a vintage item in precisely the sense we are using that word. It was painted in 1941, smack dab in the middle of the period that is thought of as vintage. We might say that this painting is vintage Jesus. This painting represents the sentiments and sensibilities of the 1940’s. Some culture critics have pointed out its similarity to shampoo advertisements of the same period. To purchase a poster like this would be to engage in a little bit of nostalgia – buying, and putting yourself in touch with, a little piece of the past. This is a vintage Jesus.

In relating this interest in vintage things to our Christian faith, I suspect that there will be two quite different responses among us. In some ways we may be very happy to embrace this orientation toward the aesthetics and sensibilities of past decades.  We may be nostalgic for a time when Christian faith was at the centre of the culture. We may be nostalgic for a time when going to church was as obvious as using a rotary dial phone. We may be nostalgic for the simpler times we associate with this 1941 painting of a cozy, back-lit Jesus. And I’m not being merely negative in saying all of this. From the perspective of Christian faith, there may indeed be things we can learn from or appropriate in this looking back to the sensibilities and aesthetics of past decades.

But there’s another response we may have to this interest in things vintage. Some of us may also wonder to ourselves – Why is it that being a Christian, being a follower of Jesus, makes me feel like I’m living in a past era? Why is it that going to church or thinking about a bible study feels like going into a vintage shop? With these questions we express more than a little frustration and even confusion. Being a follower of Jesus is a less than obvious thing to be in today’s culture. We live in a society that doesn’t have much time for the beliefs or practices of those who would follow Jesus. Whether it is done intentionally or not, we are made to feel like we really belong in previous decades if we want to be serious about Christian faith.

So in terms of our faith we may well have a mixed response to this interest in vintage things – this orientation toward the sensibilities and aesthetics of past decades. Part of us may embrace this looking back and part of us may want to escape it into a vital and authentic faith for today. In many ways, this is simply our lot. Without being fatalistic about it, and without taking our particular culture too seriously, we have to realize that these simply are the conflicted times we live in. This is our culture. This is the moment in which we are called to live our faith – and by the grace of God we are invited to face it prayerfully, and therefore with some confidence.

As we began this morning I suggested there are different meanings for the word ‘vintage’. We have focused on the word ‘vintage’ as referring to clothing and posters and furniture that express the sensibilities and aesthetics of an earlier age. But there is another common use of the word. The word ‘vintage’ also can also refer to some behaviour or attitude or style that is typical of a certain person.

Let me give an example. Let’s say you are out for dinner with a group of people including someone named Bob. And Bob is someone who likes to tell jokes but always forgets the punch line. So you are sitting at the table and once again Bob tells a joke, and once again, of course, Bob forgets the punch line. At that moment you might say, ah that’s vintage Bob – that’s classic Bob – always forgetting the punch line. In this case, the word vintage refers to some behaviour or attitude or style that is typical of a person – distinctive of that person. Oh, that’s vintage Bob – forgetting the punch line to a joke.

As we think about our Christian faith, what we want to get hold of is vintage Jesus. Not vintage Jesus in the sense of a comfortable and cozy Jesus from the past – not the back-lit Jesus of 1941. To be merely nostalgic for past expressions of Christian faith or past experiences of Jesus isn’t an answer to living our faith in today’s complex and conflicted world.

The real answer is to get hold of vintage Jesus, in the sense that we want to be reminded of his particularity. We want to be reminded of the distinctive identity of Jesus – we want to be reminded of the specific way of life manifested in Jesus. Otherwise put, we want to know the real Jesus. If there is an answer to the challenge of living an authentic faith in our day and in our culture, it will only be as we come face to face with Jesus again. If we want to know what should be embraced form the past and what really ought to be left there, we can only know this as we come face to face with Jesus again. And that’s really what we want to do in this sermon series entitled Vintage Jesus.

It has taken us a while to get there, but our New Testament passage for today tells us something distinctive about Jesus. When you read our passage from Luke chapter 2 in the context of the whole of the gospel narrative you find yourself saying – ah, that’s Jesus alright – vintage Jesus.

In this portion of the gospel narrative, Jesus is only 12 years old – and in this passage Jesus parents are represented as faithful Jews – raising their son in the traditions of their faith – raising their son to honour and worship God. They have taken Jesus up to the temple for a festival. But when they leave Jerusalem on their way home, Mary and Joseph don’t realize that Jesus isn’t with their travelling group. It is only after a day’s travel away from Jerusalem that they realize what has happened and have to go back to look for Jesus – they are more than a little anxious to find him.

And where do they find Jesus? They find him in the temple, discussing and debating with the religious leaders. That’s already vintage Jesus, isn’t it – posing questions, offering opinions, listening and learning and teaching all at once. And people are amazed. Vintage Jesus.

But the story continues with the response of Mary and Joseph to this situation. They are clearly unimpressed. Mary says to her young son: “Why have you treated us like this? Your father and I have been searching for you in great anxiety.” Jesus replies to her, in part, with these words: “Did you not know that I must be in my Father’s house.” Now, these words of Jesus are actually a less than subtle rebuke of his mother.

Mary speaks of herself as Jesus’ mother – she speaks of Joseph as his father – she is asserting their authority in relation to Jesus. She is insisting on Jesus’ duty to honour them. Now the text goes on to say that Jesus goes home and is in fact obedient to them. But in that initial reply, Jesus nonetheless offers a rebuke: “Did you not know that I must be in my Father’s house.”

Jesus does this all the time – its vintage Jesus. Mary speaks of his earthly parents. Jesus peaks of his heavenly Father. Jesus does this all the time. He shifts significance away from biological and familial relationships – and transfers significance to the relationships that locate us within the kingdom of God. In an important sense, for Jesus family relationships are secondary.

Many years later, when he is some 30 years old, when Jesus has begun his public life, this idea is repeated. In the third chapter of Mark’s gospel, we read of a time when Jesus was in a house teaching – and it happened that his mother and his brothers came by and wanted to speak with him. But with so many people pressing in and around the house, Jesus’ mother and brothers couldn’t get in. So they send a message through the crowd: “Tell Jesus his mother and brothers are here.”

And what does Jesus say? Looking at the people around him he says: “Here are my mother and brothers. Whoever does the will of God is my brother and sister and mother.” That’s vintage Jesus – he did it when he was 12 years old, and he does it again in his public teaching as an adult. He shifts significance away from biological and family relationships – and places a priority on the relationships that locate us in the kingdom of God. That puts him at odds with his own culture, and it many ways it puts him at odds with hierarchy of values that defines our lives. Jesus invites us to make his way of humble service – his way of suffering love – his way of joyful obedience to God, the centre of our lives – even if it means shifting family life away from the centre.

We live in complicated times as followers of Jesus. In some ways we may embrace a vintage faith that looks back to past decades for inspiration and reassurance – we may be nostalgic for past eras of Christian faith. On the other hand we may get quite frustrated and confused by this sense that being a Christian means having a merely vintage faith. But we want to have is an authentic and meaningful faith for today. In these complicated times, the only answer is to seek out vintage Jesus. Not merely the cozy and comfortable Jesus of past generations but the living, distinctive Jesus.

He speaks with authority, insight, and grace. He challenges us to put the ways of his kingdom first in our lives. That’s the real Jesus – that’s vintage Jesus. We may not know exactly how to locate ourselves in today’s culture – but in his presence we are where we belong.

But when it comes to crossing a border, I think we’d have to say that there is something unique about crossing by land. There’s something unique about it because when you cross by land there is always a kind of in-between space. No-man’s land, as it is called. You have passed the border station of one country, and you are approaching the border station of another country, but for just a few meters or minutes you are nowhere exactly.  Not in one country. Not in the other. You are in an undefined middle.

A few years back a movie came out entitled The Terminal. It starred Tom Hanks. It was the fictional story of an Eastern European visitor to the United States who arrives a JKF airport in New York but without the necessary papers to get into the country. But right at the time this visitor arrives in New York, a civil war breaks out in his fictional home-country of Krakhozia and he can’t go back. So he can’t get through customs into the U.S, but he also can’t go home. So he lives for several months in the airport terminal – he lives off of the generosity of the vendors and employees within the terminal. The movie, in fact, is partly based on the story of an Iranian refugee who lived for more than 20 years in the departure lounge of Charles de Gaulle airport in Paris. Imagine, then, not only passing through this kind of no-man’s land, but being stuck there – unable to go back, unable to move forward. Stuck between countries – neither here nor there – for days or months or years.

The most interesting border crossing that I have made was with Becky when we were travelling in West Africa – it was a border crossing between Eastern Gambia and Senegal. Now the road between the last town in Gambia and the first town in Senegal was at least 20 kilometers long, with a border control point smack dab in the middle of nowhere. It was a twenty-kilometer, hot, dusty road running through the middle of a dry, scrub brush landscape. With that little border control point in the middle. And to make it across along that road and across the border by public transportation, you bought a ticket to ride in the back of a small dilapidated truck loaded up with people and luggage.

Now on the way back across that border Becky and I got lucky and got the primes seats right up in the cab of that little dilapidated truck. Prime seats, it turns out, to be able to see how much trouble the driver had getting the thing into gear. Prime seats to see them adding water to the constantly over-heating engine. Prime seats, it turns out, to hold the windshield in place, which kept falling out onto our laps. That rusted out little truck gave every indication that it was going to give up the ghost on that trip across the frontier. And it’s not necessarily a place you really want to get stuck – no man’s land between the Gambia and Senegal, at the hottest, most humid time of the year. Sitting in the dust with only a little water left, 10 kilometers from the nearest town in either direction.

No man’s land. The frontier. That in-between place. It is often a difficult place to be. No one wants to be stuck in no man’s land for any significant period of time. Whether we are talking about a very concrete passage between one country and another country – or perhaps talking about a more metaphorical in-between space, where we feel lost, where we lack a context to give our lives meaning, or where we feel out of touch with ourselves – most of us would prefer not to find ourselves living in no man’s land.

In an important sense, however, Advent finds us in just such a no man’s land. Advent finds us in just such an in-between place. There are 10 kilometers of emptiness and wilderness in both directions – with just a little Advent outpost to remind us where we are, to give us some sense of who we are. It is a place of tension. It is a place of uncertainty. Not a place we might choose to stay.

We can try to understand this in-between place of Advent this morning by looking for a moment at our passage from Isaiah chapter 61. You will have recognized the words of that passage because you have heard them read from Isaiah before. But perhaps you also recognized the words of that passage because Jesus uses them to describe himself in the earliest part of his ministry – when he goes to the synagogue and preaches.

We read: “The spirit of the Lord GOD is upon me, because the LORD has anointed me; he has sent me to bring good news to the oppressed, to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and release to the prisoners; to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor, and the day of vengeance of our God; to comfort all who mourn; to provide for those who mourn in Zion– to give them a garland instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, the mantle of praise instead of a faint spirit. They will be called oaks of righteousness, the planting of the LORD, to display his glory.

Hearing these words, is there any question why we light the candle of joy today? Is there any question why we announce our joy in this season of expectation. We expect God to do an amazing thing, and it fills us with joy. Things are going to be made right. Jesus is coming. His kingdom will make all the difference for our world. Joy defines us. “The oil of gladness instead of mourning, the mantle of praise instead of a faint spirit.” “Good news for the oppressed.” The candle of joy, indeed.

But our sermon title for today is Advent Blues. How can we have a sermon title of Advent Blues on a Sunday when we light the candle of joy? Well, we can have an sermon entitled Advent Blues today precisely because we are in a kind of no man’s land. We are in-between. There are 10 kilometers of emptiness and wilderness in both directions. Joy yes, but still we are in that difficult in-between, wilderness place.

You see, when Isaiah announces freedom for the oppressed, gladness for the sorrowful, release for the prisoners, and comfort for the mournful. And even when Jesus announces in dusty Galilee that all of this is accomplished in himself – it is against a backdrop of continuing oppression and sorrow and bondage. There is joy – amazing joy at what God has promised and given in Jesus. Yet we wait. We remain in a kind of no-man’s land – an in-between space with 10 kilometers of emptiness and wilderness in both directions. This is the space of Advent Blues.

The Blues, of course is a musical form that is uniquely American.  The blues originated in the Southern United states. The blues carries with it remembered rhythms of the African heritage, and the call and response form of the African vocalization and song. And it carries with it the painful experiences of American slaves and sharecroppers. A uniquely American form of music – in the form of vocalization only or played on slide guitar – its lyrics capture the pain of the human experience. Loss, pain, broken relationships, backbreaking work. And yet in certain streams of the blues there is also an expression of hope and joy – particularly in expressions of the blues linked up with the gospel tradition, with African American spirituals. So that on the one hand blues gives voice to all of the grief that human life can entail, but on the other hand the blues can give voice to this hope for something more. What we would call joy, this morning.

Thinking about our culture this morning, we might say that talking about Advent Blues is a way of getting beyond the superficial, consumeristic holiday that passes for Christmas today. In western culture today, Christmas does not put us in touch with what is most real in our lives – Christmas today doesn’t put us in touch with the truth of the human. Mostly, Christmas represent just another attempt to put a happy spin on life – a superficial gloss over the struggles of life – a bit of shiny wrapping to distract us from the injustices in our world – and a few new toys for adults and children alike to make us forget our wilderness experience.

But Advent draws us into the wilderness.

Yes, we announce the advent of hope,

We announce the advent of peace,

We announce the advent of joy,

We announce the advent of love.

But we do so with a profound acknowledgment of the present reality of our world – into which Christ comes – the reality of exile.

The blues helps us do that. Advent Blues.

This morning the choir will lead us in a simple, traditional African American Spiritual called Sister Mary had-a but one child. And it is a song that is unabashed in acknowledging the sutbtext of suffering. There is joy in the birth of the child – there is profound, even decisive hope in the announcement of Isaiah and of Jesus – but there remains a subtext of suffering. And the blues aren’t afraid to name it.

Sister Mary had but one child, born in Bethlehem. And every time that baby cried, she’d rock him in the weary land, she’d rock him in the weary land.

The weary land. A land of injustice. A land of exile. A land of alienation from one’s true home. A land where identity is lost. A land where nothing is as easy as it should be. Ours is a land with 10 kilometers of wilderness stretching out in either direction. In the midst of such a land we locate our little Advent outpost.

O three wise men to Jerusalem came.  They travelled from very far. They said where is He, born King of the Jews, for we have seen His star.  King Herod’s heart was troubled. He marveled, but his face was grim. He said tell me where you find the child that I may worship him.

A weary land. A land where the spirit of Herod is not as uncommon as we might like. A land with many hard hearts. A land where some manipulate and control. A land where many deploy financial or political or emotional power for their own purposes. A land where the spirit of Herod is not as uncommon as we might like. Ours is a land with 10 kilometers of wilderness stretching out in either direction. In the midst of such a land we locate our little Advent outpost.

An angel came to Joseph and gave him this command. Arise and take your wife and child and flee to Egypt land. For yonder comes old Harod, a wicked man and bold. He’s slaying all the children from six to eight days old.

A weary land. A land of refugees. A land where women and men are forced from their homes. A land where children are exploited as cheap labour. A land where children go hungry. A land where even children don’t always have the peace and comfort they need. Ours is a land with 10 kilometers of wilderness stretching out in either direction. In the midst of such a land we locate our little Advent outpost.

These are the Advent Blues.

For some of us the season of Christmas is something we simply endure. Because the heaviness that is in our hearts, and the weight that is on our minds, does not correspond with the happiness that is supposed to accompany this season.

For some of us the season of Christmas may not be something to merely endure, but we nevertheless wonder whether the shopping and the glitter and the happy tunes really amount to much at all.

In its every corner, ours is a world marked by suffering.

And many of our own lives are marked by suffering, whether others see it or not.

We have our loneliness.

We have our sadness.

We have our shame.

We have our insecurity.

We have our doubt.

But none of this means that there we cannot have joy. None of this means we do not have a deep and real joy. Even that traditional spiritual sounds a note of hope. Sister Mary had-a but one child. Sister Mary had-a but one child. There is a child to be celebrated. There is hope to be announced. We both take seriously the reality of our world and our lives – but against that backdrop we celebrate the child, and announce our hope.

Here, at the site of our Advent outpost – in the middle of this no man’s land – even as we sing the Advent blues – we remember and cling to the only hope we know. The hope embodied in the child himself – the only hope for our neighbours and friends – the only hope of our world. God with us.

There is nothing generic about this hope.

There is nothing wistful or dreamy about this hope.

There is nothing tentative about this hope.

There is nothing indefinite about this hope.

This hope is as real as a child cradled in the arms – not just any child. The child Jesus. The one about whom Gabriel declared: Of his kingdom there shall be no end.

This hope is as real as the Jesus who sat down in the synagogue, opened the scroll and read Isaiah’s words:

The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favour.’

This child. The one we wait for expectantly. He is our hope. And he is our joy. Even in a weary land.

It’s a scene that plays itself out around the world, day after day, week after week. Buskers on street corners or bus stations or subway stops pull out their violins, their guitars, their accordions, or their saxophones – they throw a few coins into a hat or into their instrument case. And they play. For half an hour, for an hour, for a couple of ours – they will play. The instrument or the case with a few coins in it is an invitation to passersby to give something for the pleasure of being serenaded on their way to work or shopping or on their way home.

That cold morning in January 2007, during the 45 minute period that the violinist played, 1097 people passed by him.

What happened in those 45 minutes?

Well, a few people stopped and listened. About 27 of the passers-by (about 2%) threw in some coins, a total of $32 and change in 45 minutes. No crowd gathered. The vast majority of those commuters on a busy morning just rushed past, on their way to work in their federal jobs in Washington D.C.

The violinist started out by playing Johann Sebastian Bach’s Partita No. 2 in D Minor – otherwise known as Bach’s ‘Chaconne’. It is one of the most difficult and most beautiful pieces for solo violin. This violinist didn’t play the popular pieces you would expect from a busker – he played classical pieces that are demanding and interesting.

Now, as you may have begun to expect, it turns out that this violinist wasn’t your average street performer. This was Joshua Bell. And just to give you a sense of who Joshua Bell is, the biographical insert for the concert halls he is playing in this year have this to say about him:

JOSHUA BELL has enchanted audiences worldwide with his breathtaking virtuosity and tone of rare beauty. His restless curiosity and multifaceted musical interests have taken him in exciting new directions, which has earned him the rare title of “classical music superstar.”

Already in 2007, on that cold winter morning, Joshuah Bell was an internationally acclaimed violinist. That morning in the Washington D.C. the violin he was playing happened to be his $3.5 million Stradivarius.

The story of Joshua Bell’s incognito violin performance was described in a Washington Post piece in April 2007 – it was written by Gene Weingarten. In fact, it was the Washington Post that had set up this event up as a kind of stunt and experiment.

Now Weingarten tells us that exactly one person recognized Joshua Bell, and it happened that she didn’t arrive until near the very end of his playing. Stacy Furukawa was a demographer who didn’t know much about classical music. But she happened to have been in the audience 3 weeks earlier when Bell gave a free concert at the Library of Congress.

On youtube there is a video of Joshua Bell’s metro performance – you can watch the performance as all the people rush past. But there toward the end, you see this woman position herself 10 feet away from Bell, front row, centre, as Weingarten puts it. She has a huge grin on her face. The grin, and Stacy Furukawa, remained planted in that spot until the end.

She had this to say: “It was the most astonishing thing I’ve ever seen in Washington. Joshua Bell was standing there playing at rush hour, and people were not stopping, and not even looking, and some people were flipping quarters at him! Quarters! I wouldn’t do that to anybody. I was thinking, Omigosh, what kind of a city do I live in that this could happen.”

Joshua Bell went incognito with his tremendous skill and his $3.5 million violin – only 1 person recognized him. A few stopped to listen and were touched by what they heard. Many rushed past and didn’t take a moment’s notice.

The whole idea of going incognito is something that we generally find intriguing as human being. The idea that you can hide your true identity, and go places you might not usually go, and do things you might not usually do. Think of that classic story of the Prince and the Pauper, by Mark Twain – a story that has been adapted and adjusted for so many contexts over the years. The prince and the pauper who look so much alike – and who end up inhabiting each other’s worlds for a time. A pauper going incognito as a prince. A prince going incognito as a pauper. We are fascinated by these kinds of stories – the story of Joshua Bell and his $3.5 million violin in the Washington D.C. metro is an intriguing one.

Here’s the question for us as we shift gears this morning. Would we recognize Jesus, if we saw him? Would we recognize Jesus? Today is Christ the King Sunday – it is the time in the church year when we celebrate the reign of Christ, the rule of the risen Jesus in heaven and on earth. And when we think about Jesus, or when we imagine him in our minds today, it is not surprising that he would appear in our minds precisely as a king. It’s not surprising we might think of him as one who belongs in a throne-room

not suprising we might think of him as one who belongs on the stage of a concert hall

not suprising we might think of him whose tastes run to Egyptian cotton sheets with a1200 thread count, or to the finest of wines from the Loire valley.

But putting all of that in the back of our minds, we have to ask whether we would recognize Jesus if we saw him in our everyday. If we come across Jesus in the week that is before us, where will it be? If come across Jesus in the week that is before us – if he is right there in front of our faces – will we miss him. Might we rush by him on our way someplace more important? Might we rush past him as we live our same old life?

Or will we be the 1 in a thousand. Will we be Stacy Furukawa – standing there amazed in the presence of Jesus – ten feet away, front and centre this week – amazed that it is indeed Jesus we are seeing, and where we least would have expected.

What lies in the background of all of these questions, of course, is the fact that Jesus went incognito in our world 2000 years ago. And even today Jesus goes incognito in our world. Even today Jesus goes undercover.

This morning we are, for a third week, in the twenty-fifth chapter of Matthew’s gospel – and we come to that dramatic story of the sheep and the goats – a kind of parable of the kingdom that Jesus tells. And at the heart of this passage is Jesus incognito.

What Jesus describes is the day of judgment, when he will return in glory as the Truly Human One, as judge of the world. And as he comes on the one side are the sheep – those destined for life in the presence of God. On the other side are the goats – those destined for judgment. But the sheep and the goats have the same question for Jesus when he comes in his glory.

Jesus. When did we see you? We don’t remember seeing you. If we did see you, we certainly didn’t recognize you.

Jesus goes incognito in our world. But there is something very distinct about his incognito. In an important sense, Joshua Bell didn’t belong in that metro entranceway – he belongs before an appreciative audience, in a room with great acoustics, raking in thousands of dollars for just one performance. In a profound sense, Joshua Bell doesn’t belong in that metro entrance way. It was a temporary thing. It was a momentary incognito – a stunt. In fact, immediately after that 45-minute stint in the metro, Bell left for a concert tour of the European capitals.

Jesus goes incognito. He is not where you would expect to find him. Otherwise put – he is not who you thought he would be. The sheep said to the Son of Man – when did we see you? The goats said to the Son of Man – when did we see you?

In the week ahead, where might you find Jesus, the Truly Human One – the one in whom there is new life for the world? Where might you see him?

Fritz Eichenberg was an artist in the middle and late twentieth century – he is best known for his woodcut prints. In the late 1940’s Eichenberg came into touch with Dorothy Day and the Catholic Worker movement – a Christian pacifist movement also committed to serving the poor and the homeless. And as he came into touch with Dorothy Day, and became somewhat attached to the Catholic Worker movement, Eichenberg did a number of woodcuts that represented the theological and biblical notions that he saw at work in that movement. This morning I’d like us to take one of those woodcuts as an opportunity to reflect on Jesus Christ, incognito. The woodcut is entitled, The Christ of the Breadlines. Those of you who participated in the Space for God study a couple of years ago might remember this image.

“Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry and gave you food or thirsty and gave you something to drink? And when was it that we saw you a stranger and welcomed you, or naked and gave you clothing? When Lord? When did we see you? If we saw you, we obviously didn’t recognize you.”

Jesus answers the question, asked by both the sheep and the goats, with these words: “Truly I tell you, just as you do it to the least of these who are members of my family, you do it to me.”

Where is Jesus? He is there among the marginalized and the poor. He was there in a breadline that would form regularly in 1953, outside the office of the Catholic Worker organization – as men and women lined up for a meal. In this woodcut he is in company with a woman whose head is bowed with the shame of her need. He is in company with a man who is bent and old, leaning on a walking stick of rough wood. He is in company with a man who shivers, and no matter how hard he tries he cannot block the cold of the night with his blanket.

Christ goes incognito – he takes his place in the line. These are the people among whom he is at home in our world. These are the circumstances that he makes his own. And it is not only for 45 minutes on a cold winter morning. This is no stunt designed by the Washington Post – no stunt created by the first-century gospel writers. This is where Jesus belongs. This is where you will find him. In a breadline.

What does it mean? Is this just some generic religious and moral message intended to remind us

that we are supposed to help the poor

that we are supposed to visit people in prison

that we are supposed to feed the hungry.

Is this just a generic religious message that can be repeated with our without reference to Jesus. It’s just that God wants us to help the poor and the prisoners and the outcasts. We just have to muster up the strength and will to do it?

As always of course, we can read this passage however we want to.

But what the gospel writer offers is not some generic religious message that can fit into any particular religious framework we might choose. What Matthew is saying, is that the Truly Human One, who will come to judge the world, who is this world’s life and hope – this Truly Human One, who is Jesus, identifies with the poor, and the hungry, and the homeless and the marginalized in an absolutely decisive way.

Perhaps we are tempted to think like this: “You know, I think I’ll just skip the performance in the metro entrance way – I think I’ll go straight to the concert at Carnegie Hall.” Perhaps we are tempted to think: “Never mind standing in a cold and breezy entranceway to the metro, with the smell of the street, with my feet sore from standing, and with strangers rushing by. I prefer Carnegie Hall with the great acoustics and the comfortable seats, and the posh crowd.”

In the face of that temptation, the message of Matthew’s gospel, and of Jesus, is this: It can’t be done.

The young woman Stacy Furukawa only recognized Joshua Bell because she had seen him in the place he really belonged – the Library of Congress, giving a wonderful concert.

With Jesus, it works the other way around. We will only recognize and dwell with Jesus in all of his glory and honour if we have recognized him and encountered him in the place of poverty and marginalization and pain. Which is to say that if all we are looking for is the Jesus of glory – if all we want is the risen Jesus is exalted in power – we will never find him.

Jesus is among the hungry – his heart is with them. He would feed them.

Jesus is among the powerless – his heart is with them. He would encourage them.

Jesus is among the depressed – his heart is with them. He would comfort them.

Jesus is among the broken – his heart is with then. He would  heal them.

If we want to find Jesus – if we want to see Jesus – it will only be as we reach out in his love to the least of these his sisters and brothers – those he loves – among whom he dwells.

And if we find him there – if we see him there. Then maybe, just maybe, our eyes will be opened to see him in his glory and kingship – a different kind of glory or kingship than we could ever have imagined. The Christ, the king, of the breadlines.

Indeed, on account of that concentration of electronics companies and employees in the area, it’s probably not surprising that Jobs took a very early interest in electronics – and it’s not surprising that as a boy in fact he found himself hanging out with a neighbour who was an electronics hobbyist. That early interest in electronics continued into his teen years when Steve Jobs took an introductory High School class in electronics by day and sat in on after-school lectures at the Hewlett Packard Company by night.

His first job as a young adult was, not surprisingly, also in the area of electronics – he began as a technician with the video game manufacturer, Atari. At the same time Steve Jobs also joined a computer club for hobbyists who would take apart and build computers. This was just the time when personal computing was starting to spread – and much of that early work on personal computers was being done in Silicon Valley.

From those early life activities and opportunities – from those early career moves – Steve Jobs went on with his business partner to create what would become one of the most successful computer companies in history – Apple computers. A huge part of the success of that company resulted from Steve Jobs’ very early perception both that personal computers were the future and that user-friendliness was the name of the game. The key to successful computers was making them accessible and easy to use. From being just a startup company in 1976, Apple Computers was a Fortune 500 company just 7 years later. No other company had climbed that quickly up the ladder of corporate success. Today Apple is worth some 340 billion dollars – and before his death Steve Jobs was worth around 8 billion dollars.

Over the past weeks we have heard a great deal about Steve Jobs. For many he was a compelling and significant figure. Indeed, about 20 million people have watched a youtube video of a commencement address that Steve Jobs gave at Stanford University in 2005. And as we begin to make the transition from the story of Steve Jobs to our scripture passage, I’d like to focus on the words with which this significant entrepreneur and culture figure concludes his address. He concluded with these words, a kind of motto of his own life: Stay Hungry. Stay Foolish.

Stay Hungry. Stay Foolish.

What’s interesting about those words is that we probably can’t really understand them unless understand Steve Job’s successes and his failures. There were a number of failures along the way of the Apple company. There was the Lisa, a personal or business computer that in the end would have cost some $20,000 dollars in today’s money – no surprise it sold very poorly. There was the Apple III computer that was so poorly designed that the company advised owners to pick it up and drop it a few inches whenever it stopped working. There was the Apple G4 Cube, that failed miserably when it went to market. Along the way to the great successes of ipod and iphone and ipad – there were also costly and significant failures.

Stay Hungry. Stay Foolish.

What exactly do those words mean? We could look at each part of that statement, from an entrepreneurial perspective.

In an entrepreneurial sense, stay hungry means be persistent. It means, be on the lookout for new ideas, be on the lookout for new possibilities, be on the lookout for new ways of doing things. Stay hungry – it means there’s always more to be learned or accomplished. Stay hungry for it. Watch for it. Live it.

On the other hand, in an entrepreneurial sense, stay foolish means this: to be willing to make mistakes. Stay foolish means that for every mistake you make (the Apple iii, the Lisa), there will be another idea that takes off (the ipod, the iphone). Stay foolish means; be willing to stick your neck out with a new idea or a new product, when everyone else thinks its crazy.

Stay hungry – strive to learn and accomplish new things.

Stay foolish – take risks and be ready to make mistakes.

In Matthew 25, Jesus tells us another parable about the kingdom of heaven. Jesus says: The kingdom of heaven is like a man who is going away on a journey – and as he goes he entrusts three servants each with a small fortune. Now two of those servants showed an entrepreneurial spirit – they took that small fortune and in the time that the master was gone, they were able to double its value. These two servants invested the money, they put the money to work, and made a profit for their master. But the third servant, he took his fortune and he stuffed it in a mattress – he didn’t lose any of it, but neither did he get a return for his master.

Now when the master comes back he is more than pleased with the first two servants:  “Well done good and trustworthy servants, you have been faithful with what I gave, and as a result I will put you in charge of even more.”

But what of the third servant, who buried the small fortune he was given. He comes to the master and he says: “My master, I knew you were a hard man. I knew that you expected a great deal. I knew that in your own life you are a real entrepreneur. And that all made me afraid, so I went and buried the money, so as not to lose any of it.”

What does the master make of this? Not much. He says to the third servant: “You lazy, wicked slave. You knew I was a hard man. You knew I was a successful entrepreneur. The least you could have done was put the money in the bank, to earn interest. But you didn’t even do that. So you know what. I’m going to take what I gave you, and I’m going to give it to the servant who was given the most and earned the most.”

Stay hungry. Stay foolish.

At the heart of this parable is the idea of risk-taking. The first two servants who were given a small fortune – they had to take risks with what was given in order to get such a good return. In today’s economic climate, especially, we understand that there is no obvious or easy way to double your investment over the medium term. To make that kind of a return requires, yes, wisdom in investing. But it also requires a degree of risk-taking.  The text says that when the first servant was given that small fortune, he went off immediately, straightaway, and began to trade. The first two servants stayed hungry, going after a good return. They stayed foolish – they took the necessary risks to get that return for their master.

I’d say that the life of Steve Jobs represents a modern parallel to those first two servants. Steve Jobs had a unique opportunities

he grew in Silicon Valley in the 60’s

he had a neighbour teach him about electronics as a kid

he could sit in on evening lectures at Hewlett Packard

he could join a hobby club at the moment personal computers were taking off

Being born in that place and time was a one-of-a-kind opportunity. But on top of that, Jobs had unique life experiences and natural abilities. Steve Jobs is like that first servant, who was given 5 talents – a small fortune, real opportunities – and who took it and risked it and built on it. Willing to make mistakes, he translated his natural opportunities and abilities into a massive return on investment.

But now we’ve got to stop for a moment – because so far this morning we have totally missed the point. This parable of Jesus isn’t about being a business entrepreneur, whether in the ancient or modern economy. The parable of Jesus isn’t about getting a good return on an investment. Indeed, there is much in the gospels that calls into question the economic framework that Jesus uses as a metaphor for the coming kingdom. With this parable Jesus is not endorsing any particular economic system or practice.

In the same way, we don’t have to remain unquestioning when it comes to Steve Job’s successes. It is fair to ask, for example, whether the creation of ever new and improved electronic devices has contributed to a throw-away culture that fills up our landfills with electronic equipment that is less than year or two old. And while these technological devices can certainly be helpful tools, we have to ask whether they are as significant as we sometimes think. We could ask whether the sale of 4 million of the new iPhone 4S over three days just last weekend  - whether that will do anything to deepen human relationships and build communities of love and service. We could ask whether the recent release of the iPad 2 has done anything to give deeper wisdom about what it is to be human.

Jesus’ point is not simply to endorse entrepreneurship or a specific economic framework. And the contemporary point is not that Steve Jobs’ entrepreneurial accomplishments represent the height of success for our culture.

What Jesus does with his parable, rather, is to translate the logic of the entrepreneurial spirit into the real world of the kingdom of God. Jesus’ message in today’s passage is really a continuation of the message from last week. From the parable of the bridesmaids we learned that we are to live now in ways that correspond with the coming reign of Jesus.

We are to live now in the justice of his coming kingdom.

We are to live now in the peace of his coming kingdom.

We are to live now in the holiness of his coming kingdom.

And with the parable of the talents Jesus extends his thinking on this – with this parable Jesus invites us to live in an entrepreneurial way, in relation to his coming kingdom. In essence what Jesus does with this parable is invite us to make Steve Jobs’ motto our own – but to adapt it for life in the real world of God’s kingdom.

Stay Hungry. Stay Foolish.

It is so easy for us to let ourselves become satisfied with a comfortable religious existence and to bury our treasure. Rather than using the gifts and abilities God has given each of us for the purposes of his kingdom, we just bury those gifts and abilities – opting instead for a little bit of religion some of the time and a generally comfortable Canadian existence the rest of the time.

But Jesus invites us to stay hungry for the kingdom of God. In our individual lives and in our shared life as a community of God’s people – we are to stay hungry for the kingdom of God. We each have particular gifts – our community of faith has particular gifts. We aren’t responsible for what we don’t have – but we are responsible for the gifts we have been given. And in using those gifts we are to exhibit a hunger for the kingdom of Jesus Christ:

Using what we have to pursue the justice of his kingdom.

Doing what we can to participate in the peace of his kingdom.

Striving in our own context to embody the forgiveness of his kingdom.

Living personally, day by day in the holiness of his kingdom.

In the power and grace of the Spirit, we are to stay hungry for those things that embody the kingdom of the risen Jesus. Using the gifts we have for his purposes.

And at the same time that Jesus invites us to Stay Hungry, Jesus invites us to Stay Foolish. Staying foolish means taking risks for the kingdom of heaven. It means being willing to look foolish in the pursuit of Jesus’ way. Remember, the third servant was unwilling to take risks. The third servant was unwilling to stay foolish for his master. He thought it was too hard – he wanted to keep it simple and easy. And for his failure he received those difficult words of judgment. What you have been given will be taken from you.

Stay foolish.

In our culture, we might look foolish if we waste our time with people who are ‘insignificant’ – but we know that it is through the insignificant the wisdom and love of God often comes to our world.

In our culture, we might look foolish if we resist acquisitiveness and consumerism – but we can invest our time and resources alternatively, in people and organizations that might bring a return of justice and hope.

In our culture we might look foolish if we speak the name of Jesus as if he’s someone who actually matters – but speaking the name of Jesus can bring a return of faith and hope in a world where few know what really matters.

With the parable of the talents, Jesus encourages us to be like that first servant – the one who went out immediately to seek a return for his master – the one who went out immediately and took risks on behalf of his master. The return we seek is not a financial or economic return. What we seek is a return of the love and justice and goodness and holiness of Jesus’ coming kingdom.

Now I should say this morning that I’ve only been to the ballet a few times in my life. I have some vague childhood memory of seeing the nutcracker. And then in our twelve years here in Montreal, Becky and I have been to see a couple of performances of Les Grand Ballet Canadiens. I should also say that this somewhat limited experience with ballet, isn’t because I’m not interested in ballet, or because I find it boring. I guess you have to chalk it up to a lack of time to do all the things I might enjoy. In any case, this morning we are all going to have something of an encounter with ballet, perhaps a peculiar encounter, as we begin with this short video.

That short video serves as a pretty good reminder, I think, that anyone who is serious about the development of some artistic ability must put in a great deal of time and effort to hone his or her skills. A person may be introduced to an art form from childhood – introduced to the particular skills and disciplines of that art early in life – but in order to become anything close to a professional artist means putting in days and months and years of preparation and training.

And not only that, but once the person has attained some degree of proficiency or success in dance, or in some instrument, or in acting – it’s not as if you can stop working – it’s not as if you can put it on cruise control. Professional dancers will spend hours in a week practicing, doing muscle strengthening. Professional musicians will spend hours in a week getting those difficult few bars of music down pat. Actors will spend hours a week memorizing lines and imagining their movements on stage. Once you achieved a certain level of success, it doesn’t mean you can stop working.

A few years ago, Malcolm Gladwell published a book entitled Outliers: The Secret of Success. In that book he argued that great success in business or sports or the arts has little to do with natural ability. Rather, to become very successful there are two key variables. The first variable is luck – finding yourself at the right place at the right time. The second variable is time – putting in the time. Gladwell argues that putting in 10,000 hours of training or practice gives you a pretty good chance of success. 10,000 hours. That’s 4 hours a day, every day, for seven years. In that pithy statement we all know pretty well – practice makes perfect.

But let’s go back for a moment to the image of those dancers doing their warm-up exercises – of those dancers practicing their art. And what I’d especially like us to think about is the continuity between what is done during warm-ups and rehearsals on the one hand, and what is done in the actual performance on the other hand.

There is a profound level of continuity between what is done in warm-ups  and in practicing, and what is done in the performance itself.

In the warm-up the dancer’s posture is important – as it is in the performance.

In warm-up the dancer pays attention to breathing – as she must in the performance.

In warm-up the bodies is strong yet relaxed – as it must be in performance.

In warm-up there certain movements (plies, eleves) – which will be repeated in the performance.

What is done in the warm-up and the rehearsal is in continuity with what happens in the dance itself. Indeed, all of the warming up and rehearsing is what makes the performance itself possible. Without all of that work done ahead of time, there would be no performance.

Well, we are a good way into this sermon and haven’t made any mention of our scripture passage for today – the parable we heard read from Matthew chapter 25. As we think about this parable, we first of all want to say that parables in general are not supposed to be complicated. A parable generally has one clear lesson we are to take from it. And in fact the meaning of the parable we heard from Matthew 25, the parable of the bridesmaids, is pretty obvious. Jesus’ meaning in the parable is pretty clear. It’s this: You should be prepared. The kingdom of heaven is coming and you have got to watch for it. The kingdom of Jesus is coming and you better make preparation for its coming.

More specifically, given the way that Matthew sets the parable within the wider narrative, the parable is a also reminder that our waiting cannot be passive. Our waiting for the kingdom of heaven does not involve sitting around doing nothing. No, for Jesus who first tells the parable, and for Matthew who transmits the parable to us, our waiting must be active.

But then we have to ask whether there is anything more we can say about this active waiting. Well, as we continue reading in Matthew’ s gospel, we get a pretty good idea of what Matthew has in mind. Our active waiting is to correspond with the coming kingdom of heaven. In our waiting we are to use the gifts and resources that God has given us. In our waiting we must pursue the ways of justice and goodness – we must clothe the naked, care for the sick, and visit those who are in prison.

From Matthew’s perspective, there is a great performance coming – the greatest show on earth is about to unfold – and no, it’s not the Ringling Brothers circus. The greatest show on earth, the grand performance that is about to unfold before our eyes, is arrival or establishment of the kingdom of heaven. And the point of this parable of Jesus, shared by Matthew, is that we should live our lives in a way that corresponds with that coming kingdom.

Let’s go back for a moment to the video with which we started. Between their live performances on various stages, ballet dancers warm-up and rehearse and practice – and what they do in their warm-ups and rehearsals and practices – all of that corresponds with what they will do in the live performances.

In the same way, we are waiting for the coming kingdom of heaven, and we must live in a way that are consistent with that kingdom – we must live in a way that anticipates the kingdom of heaven.

What does this faithful and active waiting look like?

our waiting involves joy – because Jesus’ kingdom is one of joy.

our waiting involves celebration – because Jesus’ kingdom will be a grand celebration.

our waiting involves reconciliation – because reconciliation will finally

be accomplished in the kingdom of heaven.

our waiting involves forgetfulness of self – because in the kingdom of heaven the first will be last and the last first.

our waiting involves working for the healing of broken lives and bodies – because in the coming kingdom of Jesus, broken bodies and lives will be healed.

This parable of Jesus, from Matthew 25, is a very simple reminder, that here and now we must live in a way that corresponds with what will one day be the reality of our lives and our world in Christ.

With this understanding of the parable in mind, we cannot neglect to look at a difficult element within it. We notice that the five unwise bridesmaids, the ones who were not well prepared for the coming of the bridegroom – in the parable they are left out in the darkness. They stand at the door and cry out: “Lord, lord, open to us.” But he replies to them: “Truly I tell you, I do not know you.” Matthew concludes: “Keep awake therefore, for you know neither the day nor the hour.”

Certainly we cannot ignore this or take this lightly, as much as we might like to. But how are we to understand it. In the first instance we might interpret it as follows: “If you don’t live a good life – if you don’t live in a way that anticipates the ways of Jesus’ kingdom – then you won’t get into heaven. If you don’t live well, you’re locked out of heaven.” The problem with this interpretation is that in terms of the broad message of the New Testament, it misses the mark. This way of understanding the parable makes it seem like being a good person is what gets you into heaven – which certainly isn’t the case. That way of reading the narrative also puts the idea of getting to heaven just a little too close to the centre of our imaginations. The New Testament isn’t about how you get to heaven.

But then how do we understand this difficult part of the parable. Perhaps we can understand it this way. If the dancer doesn’t make preparations – if the dancer doesn’t do her warm-ups, if the dancer doesn’t go to rehearsals – what will happen on the day of the performance as she steps out before an expectant audience? Well, we know what will happen – it will be a flop, or at least a big disappointment. If the dancer doesn’t live and work in anticipation of the performance – then the dancer is in a sense excluding herself from the full and beautiful performance that might have been possible. By her failure to anticipate the performance, to prepare for it, she in effect refuses all of its beautiful possibilities.

In a similar sense, if we do not live now in the way of Jesus – if we do not live in ways that anticipate his kingdom – if we do not live in the grace and strength of the Spirit he sends to us – then we are in a sense excluding ourselves from his coming kingdom – refusing it. The kingdom of heaven is a kingdom that comes to us every day – as the Spirit works among us. And the kingdom of heaven is a kingdom that will come in all its fullness when Christ appears. But if we do not live today in ways that anticipate that kingdom, then in an important and even fundamental sense, we are cutting ourselves from the kingdom. We are excluding ourselves from joy of the Jesus’ kingdom,

excluding ourselves from the justice of his kingdom

excluding ourselves from the love and service of his kingdom

excluding ourselves from the forgiveness of his kingdom.

excluding ourselves from the gracious reign of Christ over all things.

It’s not a question of whether we get into heaven (which isn’t a particularly interesting question or a particularly helpful question from the perspective of the gospels). It is, rather, a question of living today in joyful and faithful anticipation of the coming kingdom of God. What matters is being ready, in the best sense possible, ready for that joyful day that is almost upon us.

We began this morning with a video of the New York City Ballet in warm-up – and we end this morning with a video of the New York City Ballet in performance. For the New York City Ballet, being well prepared translates into a wonderful performance, a beautiful conclusion. It is the same for us.

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This morning we are thinking about the act of remembrance – about an intentional looking back into the past. More specifically this morning, we are thinking about an intentional looking into the past by which we are shaped as the children of God here and now. This morning we are reminded that while the past is over and done with, the past is not done with us. The past is and can become a source of renewal and transformation by which we are shaped as the children of God here and now.

So we begin this morning by looking at words that we read together in our responsive Psalm – Psalm 105. Psalm 105 is a Psalm of praise and thankfulness to God. It begins with these words: “O give thanks to the Lord, call on his name, make known his deeds among the peoples…” And then it continues in verse 5 with these important words: “…remember the wonderful works he has done, his miracles and the judgments he uttered.”

Psalm 105 is a Psalm in which the people of God remember, in which they bring to mind, in which they rehearse, what God has done for them in the past. Psalm 105 is rather a long Psalm – we only read a small part of it. It speaks of God’s history with his people.

Remember how God called Abraham to a new land.

Remember how God used Joseph to save our people from famine.

Remember how God sent plagues on the Egyptians.

Remember how God saved us from slavery.

Remember all of this.

Don’t forget it.  Remember – and sings praises to God, says Psalm 105.

The past is over and done with.  But in the most positive sense possible, the past is not done with us.  God has acted in the past, and what God has done in the past makes us who we are. Indeed, if the Hebrew people forgot what God had done in the past, if the Hebrew people failed to remember what God had done for them, then in a powerful sense they could not be God’s people. If the Hebrew people failed to remember how God had chosen them, how God had saved them, how God had blessed them, they would lose touch with who they were – the beloved children of God.

Here is another significant realization we take from Psalm 105 – if the people don’t remember, they lose their joy, their song. As women and men we are created for the worship of God. And a vital part of our song and our joy is the praise we offer for God’s past actions. As we remember what God has done for us, a song springs to our lips. Each of us could find very personal remembrances of what God has done for us. Each of us can speak of how

God has encouraged and helped us in the past,

how God has touched our lives with moments of grace,

how God has worked in our families and friendships,

how God has carried us through difficult times.

“O give thanks to the Lord, call on his name… remember the wonderful works he has done, his miracles and the judgments he uttered.”  The Psalm gives us words of praise we might speak as we join in the song of praise to God.

But now we want to pick up quite a different theme.

Not only are we by definition a people of remembrance.

And not only does this act of remembrance make us a people of joy.

But this act of remembrance also has an impact on how we live in the world. I would put it like this: our acts of remembrance have political and ethical implications. Here we turn to our other Old Testament reading from Deuteronomy 24, a chapter in which God’s law is related to different areas of human life. Chapter 24 of Deuteronomy deals with everything from marriage and divorce, to loans and interest, to the punishment of kidnappers. But then in verses16 – 22 (verses we read today), it also deals with how the Hebrew people were to treat those who were most vulnerable in their culture – orphans, widows, and aliens living in the land. And what we discover is that the laws dealing with treatment of the vulnerable, are tied very closely to the act of remembrance.

We read in verse seventeen: “You shall not deprive a resident alien or an orphan of justice.”  (repeat) Quite straightforward. This command reflects the fact that orphans and strangers in the land were vulnerable to mistreatment in the courts. Orphans and refugees lacked a family network to protect them. They could easily be exploited. And in view of this vulnerability, the law of God stands up for the orphan and the resident alien, announcing that they are not to be exploited in the courts – they are to receive fair treatment.

But what is particularly interesting for us this morning is the reason that is given for the law.  “You shall not deprive a resident alien or an orphan of justice.”  Why?  Well, we read on: “Remember that you were a slave in Egypt and the Lord your God redeemed you from there; therefore I give you this law.”  The Hebrew people were slaves to the Egyptians.  They were vulnerable and exploited. They knew what it is to be taken advantage of. They also knew what it means to be set free. And the remembrance of all of this is to shape how they treat the vulnerable in their midst. God says to them – don’t deprive the resident alien of justice, as you were deprived of justice.  Don’t exploit the orphans, as you were exploited.  God says, remember that in mercy I set you free from slavery and injustice, and you are called on now to extend the same mercy to others.

Some of us may be able to relate very closely to those who are immigrants or refugees to this country – for we may have walked through a similar experience.  Some of us can relate very personally to the experience of God’s people held in bondage in Egypt – longing for freedom and finding it by the mercy and grace of God.

But in a general sense, each us can relate to this experience, for it speaks to who we all are. The essence of our New Testament faith is that there has been a fundamental brokenness in our world and a fundamental brokenness in our relationship to God. And Christ comes, the truly human one, the Son of God, a to set things right – to draw us back into intimacy with God – to draw us back into relationships of forgiveness and healing and goodness with one another. The New Testament describes this transformation that has taken place in Christ in a variety of ways:

It is a movement from darkness to light.

It is a movement from slavery to freedom.

It is a movement from sin to forgiveness.

It is a movement from death to life.

            It is a movement from fear to joy.

Ours may not be an experience of moving from bondage and oppression of the kind experienced by the Hebrew people – but ours is nevertheless an experience of movement into the freedom and joy of Christ. Remember, what God has done for us.

But what does this act of remembrance have to do with us? I said at the outset that our acts of remembrance have an ethical and political dimension. Well, this morning consider a story from the Montreal Gazette this past Thursday. As I mentioned, this is our last sermon in our series The Gospel and the Gazette – in which we have drawn together different stories from the newspaper or the Gazette website with reflection on our faith in Christ. So, back to the story from Thursday’s Gazette.

The headline was as follows: “Abused woman faces deportation.” The article tells the story of a woman named Paola Ortiz, a woman originally from Mexico who fled to Montreal in 2006. What was she fleeing from? From an abusive husband – a husband who beat her and abused her emotionally – a husband who is also a police officer and who therefore has power and influence. When she arrived in Montreal in 2006, Paola immediately applied for refugee status. Since that time she has been treated by a psychiatrist for anxiety and depression. She has also remarried here in Montreal and has two young children.

Canada’s Immigration and Refugee Board refused her initial refugee application the year after she arrived in Canada – their conclusion was that Mexico has adequate services for victims of conjugal violence – a claim that is strongly contested by Paola and her lawyer. After her original application for refugee status was denied, Paola reapplied on humanitarian grounds – aside from her own challenges, her children have significant health needs. Last January, after four more years in Canada, her application was refused. This past Thursday, Paola was to have another immigration hearing – I checked this morning, and at that hearing she was ordered deported from the country this weekend. She may have an opportunity to appeal to the Federal court, but that is uncertain.

How do we respond to such a scenario – such a story in the Montreal Gazette. In the case of Paola and her family, it may be too late. But this isn’t the first or last time such situations will arise. So how do we respond?

Do we respond only as those with a soft spot for those who have suffered – with a general response of compassion? Or perhaps we respond as those who have little room for those bleeding heart liberals. We can’t take in everyone. If we let in everyone, we’ll become the destination of choice for every refugee – our society and social benefits will collapse.

As we think about such issues as immigration and refugee policy, do we perhaps accept the widespread assumption that religious convictions have nothing to do with political processes? Do we accept the common view that religious convictions should be kept out of the mix of politics and social policy? Church and state must be kept apart.

In response to all of these questions – and some of them are terribly complicated questions – we must take our beginning from our faith in Jesus Christ – a faith that is expressed and described and comes to life in the Hebrew Bible and in the New Testament.

O give thanks to the Lord, call on his name… remember the wonderful works he has done, his miracles and the judgments he uttered.”

Remember how God brought you out of slavery into freedom.

Remember how God brought you from darkness to light.

Remember how God brought you from alienation into community.

Remember how God brought you from sin to forgiveness.

Remember how God brought you from brokenness to wholeness.

These are not merely pious, private, religious sentiments. They are powerful ethical and political declarations of what is true and most real in Jesus Christ. And if we do not let these faith-inspired declarations come to expression ethically and politically, then we are not the people of remembrance that God has called us to be – we are not fully God’s children.

Listen to God’s law: “You shall not deprive a resident alien or an orphan of justice; you shall not take a widow’s garment in pledge. Remember that you were a salve in Egypt and the Lord your God redeemed you from there; therefore I command you to do this.”

Remember what I have done for you, and then act accordingly.

Paola Ortiz may or may not have been deported this weekend. But what are we to make of her situation – how are we to respond, more broadly, to the Canadian immigration system, that would lead to such a conclusion. Our starting point in all of this must not be mere sympathy for Paola. Our starting point must not be mere hard-headed social calculation. Our starting point must be the call to justice, rooted in remembrance. Remember what God has done for you – and let that faith-inspired remembrance shape how you live – let it shape your social policy – let it shape your immigration policy – let it shape your actions. Let it shape what you demand from your politicians.

In all of this reflection there is of course room for that instinctive compassion. There is room for some hard-headed political and policy thinking. But our starting point is neither of these. Our starting point is reflection on God’s love enacted for us in Jesus Christ. Our starting point is the law of God, rooted in the compassion of God.

Here’s what the reporter concludes the story of Paola Ortiz: “Ortiz’s predicament is just one among many cases that seem to be decided more on the basis of meeting government quotas on refugees than on humanitarian grounds,” said Daniel Vernon of Solidarity Across Borders. “She’s one of the lucky ones who has a support group and found a good lawyer and where the media picked it up because it is an interesting case,” Vernon said. “There are many, many more who are just returned in silence.

Oh give thanks to the Lord, call on his name….remember the wonderful works that he has done, his miracles and the judgments he has uttered. Sing praises to him.

“You shall not deprive a resident alien or an orphan of justice; you shall not take a widow’s garment in pledge. Remember that you were a slave in Egypt and the Lord your God redeemed you from there; therefore I command you to do this.”

PostSecret had its beginning in 2005 and was created by a man by the name of Frank Warren. Back in January of 2005, Frank Warren created this project by sending 3,000 self-addressed stamped postcards to people – and he asked those people to write a secret on the postcard, anonymously, and mail it back to him. Also, the idea was that the person would decorate the blank postcard in a self-expressive way or in a way that related to the theme of their secret. So Frank Warren sent out these hundreds of postcards, and then he starts getting them back – hundreds of anonymous secrets shared on personally crafted postcards.

Not too long after he started receiving the postcards from people, Warren also established a website on which he would put up the postcard images and their secrets. From there the whole thing snowballed. Every Sunday, for almost 6 years now, Frank Warren has put up 10 or 20 new postcards with their secrets. The rules he lays out are simple: You can share any secret as long as it is true, and as long as you have never shared it with anyone before. You’re supposed to keep it simple – only one confession per postcard.

Warren calls it a mail art project because – simply because the art is sent through the mail to him. Let me give you a little sample of the postcards, and of the secrets they contain.

The secrets range from kind of the humerous, like this one…

To the semi-inspirational, like this one…

To the very serious and sad, like this one…

And one that is more like a confession…

Now for many of us, this whole PostSecret phenomenon might be really new – we’ve never heard of it. But just to give you an idea of how popular it has become – since the PostSecret website was started, it has had almost 470,000,000 visits. Warren has also now published something like four books containing images of PostSecret postcards. He draws huge crowds when he visits college campuses in the U.S.

Based on all of this, it seems that there is something very powerful, especially for younger people, about this anonymous sharing of secrets. Something compelling about this world or context where people reveal things about themselves they might not otherwise reveal. Something intriguing about this place where people are demonstrating at least some kind of openness and honest about themselves. You people, though not only young people, are attracted to this world.

We’re talking about this today, because on the Montreal Gazette’s website this week they carried the news story that PostSecret is going mobile – which means that you can now use your phone to post secrets, or to read the anonymous secrets posted by people on your street or in your neighbourhood or in your city. Again, to show how significant PostSecret is for the younger generations, the PostSecret phone app was best-selling phone application in Canada and the U.S.  within 24 hours of going on sale. As the Montreal Gazette headline put it: “Skeletons in the closet see daylight with new PostSecret app.”

As we said from the beginning of this sermon series, The Gospel and the Gazette, we want to take our world seriously. As an expression of love, we take seriously what is happening in our world, our society, in the lives of young and old alike around us. To read the paper is to take the world seriously and is an expression of love. But again, we don’t take the world too seriously, in the sense that we want to look at our world in the light of Christ’s coming kingdom. We want to see and examine and understand our world with the eyes of faith. This might mean affirming something about the world around us – it might equally mean expressing hesitations – it might mean being critical to some extent.

As we think about the PostSecret phenomenon perhaps we could begin with a couple of general, positive comments about it. The first thing to say, perhaps, is that this anonymous sharing of secrets could actually be a healthy or positive thing for the individuals who share them. A Christian psychologist and theologian named Richard Beck has written about the PostSecret phenomenon, and he suggests that posting a secret, even anonymously, can be a part of personal healing. When we put down in writing the shame that has a grip on us – when we wrestle with a fear by secretly sharing it with the world – when we describe our situation by putting pen to paper – the effect can be helpful to us personally. According to the psychologist, doing this can help us gain insight into ourselves – it might help a person get control over emotions and thoughts that had gotten control of him or her. Sharing a secret in this way can be powerful if the person does it in an engaged, and meaningful way.

Now it’s an open question how many people approach PostSecret in this serious way. Some will use it to titillate; some will use it to be vindictive; some will share things that are banal or boring. But for those who use it in wrestling with their own wrongdoing, shame, or fear, some degree of healing result from it. Surely this can in some sense be received as a gift of God. It seems consistent with the gospel of Jesus Christ – in which God comes to our world with the forgiveness and freedom, the healing and wholeness in which God intended us to live from the beginning. The narratives of healing within the gospel are often narratives of personal healing – narratives in which very personal restoration and renewal are accomplished. Think of the demon-possessed man, restored to wholeness. Think of the lepers freed from the shame and dehumanization of their disease. We can affirm the personal healing that some might find through sharing anonymous secrets through PostSecret.

There’s another sense in which we can think positively about PostSecret. It’s not insignificant that Frank Warren does some work with suicide prevention organizations. In fact, this very weekend he is speaking at a conference in Washington D.C. put on by an organization called I’m alive. It’s an internet-based crisis hot-line where those who are really struggling in life – those who are often living alone with secrets about themselves and their own anxiety or depression. Frank Warren understands that our secrets can be powerful in negative and he’s teaming up with those who can help.

But again, as we think about PostSecret, we want to do so decisively through the lens of the gospel. Doing so, there are a couple of things at least that might give us pause. And one of those things is the whole notion of anonymity. With PostSecret, of course, remain anonymous. You are not face to face with anyone. You are not sharing your identity with anyone – not sharing yourself, in the fullest sense. It’s fair to say, in fact, that the internet age seems to be, increasingly, an age of anonymity. We comment on things anonymously. We browse anonymously. We share secrets anonymously. We often interact anonymously. Without sharing names… Without revealing faces…

When we think about this, in a parallel sense it’s interesting that we also live in an age in which the word ‘community’ is thrown around with abandon. You hear that word everywhere. And yet it’s in precisely this age, the age in which community is supposed to matter, that relationships of distance and anonymity are so prevalent In the internet age, we are very often removed from each other, we relate only at a distance – as if touch, and tone of voice, and body language, and eye contact, are secondary.

Here I’d like to pick up a little verse that sits beautifully at the end of the letter of James. The apostle says to the recipients of his letter: “Therefore confess your sins to one another and pray for one another, so that you may be healed.” The gospel of Jesus Christ, proclaimed in the New Testament, is a gospel that is inherently communal. It is expressed in so many different ways: you are the body of Christ; you are one in Christ; you are one in the Spirit; you are one building constructed in the love of Christ.

The theologian and martyr Dietrich Bonhoeffer, reflects on these words of James with these words: “It may be that Christians, notwithstanding their shared worship, their common prayer, and all their fellowship in service, may still be left to their loneliness. The final-break-through to fellowship does not occur, because, though they have fellowship with one another as believers and as devout people, they do not have fellowship as the undevout, as sinners. The pious fellowship permits no one to be a sinner.”   (repeat italicized passage)

Our life as followers of Jesus is a shared life. Our life is a shared life. But in order for that shared life to really be meaningful – in order for us really to experience community as the people of God – we have to become a fellowship of sinners. We might use different language – to really experience community as the people of God, means that we must share together in our pain, in our grief, in our shame. Without this kind of sharing, we are not true to our identity as the children of God.

Let’s put it this way: the cross of Jesus reminds us that Christian community is not a fellowship of the strong – Christian community is not a fellowship of the put-together – Christian community is not a fellowship of the competent. Christian community is not a fellowship of the powerful. Christian community is a fellowship of the broken. In this sense, the church should look and sound a little more like PostSecret. Yet, we only break through to Christian community when we share our brokenness face to face – when we pray for one another in our brokenness – and when we enter into healing together. To find such healing, we must ultimately get past anonymity and distance.

Yes, Postsecret might offer healing at an individual to some – but the gospel is never only about our personal healing. The gospel is not merely therapy for the individual. The gospel is about healed relationships – and relationships that heal. In the language of James, again: “Therefore confess your sins to one another and pray for one another, so that you may be healed.”

PostSecret gets something right, in the sense that it might bring healing to some. And in some ways the church needs to look more like PostSecret – since the Body of Christ is to be a place where our grief and pain and sin and brokenness meets the healing or forgiveness of Christ.

But the face to face encounter matters. In this sense also, it matters – that the gospel invites us to encounter with God. The Old and the New Testament don’t merely invite us to personal healing – and they don’t invite us only to healed relationships and relationships that heal – rather the narratives of the Old and the New Testament invite us to healing in our relationship with God. They invite a restored relationship – a restored face to face encounter – with God.

We read this morning that powerful passage from Leviticus – a passage that describes the elaborate system of sacrifice around the Day of Atonement – an elaborate system of sacrifice by which the brokenness relationship between Israel and God is symbolized – an elaborate system of sacrifice by which that relationship is also restored. That passage describes a moment in which the people’s alienation from God is undone. Where the love and mercy of God triumph.

It is that triumph – the triumph of love and mercy – that is accomplished finally in Jesus. In the letter to the Hebrews it is put like this: “Since we have confidence to enter the Most Holy Place by the blood of Jesus, by a new and living way opened for us through the curtain, that his, his body, and since we have a great high priest over the house of God, let us draw near to God with a sincere heart in full assurance of faith, having our hearts sprinkled to cleanse us from a guilty conscience, and having our bodies washed with pure water.”

Let us draw near to God with a sincere heart in full assurance of faith. The message of the New Testament is that any secret we would send anonymously to PostSecret can be brought honestly and openly to the God who has created us, the God who has embraced us, the God who brings us wholeness and healing in Christ. With this God, into whose presence we come freely, there is no need for anonymity – indeed anonymity is an impossibility. God knows our names. God knows who we are. God numbers the hairs of our heads. God heals. God forgives. Thanks be to God, through Christ our Lord. Amen.

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Have you ever built yourself a house out of cardboard boxes? I’m sure that many of us have – even if it was some years ago, now. If you have never built yourself a cardboard house, perhaps you have memories of your children or nieces or nephews doing it. In many ways this seems like such a fundamental part of childhood is North America – cutting out windows, colouring the walls, hanging out and maybe eating your snack in the little cardboard house.

I suspect that it was probably somewhere around the 1950’s that the cardboard playhouse became a staple of childhood. It was around the 40’s and 50’s that large home appliances became commonplace in North America. And by that time, cardboard boxes were also widely in use. What better than a great big fridge box or  a stove box to build a play fort with. Those boxes can be a source of hours and days worth of fun.

Now, it’s fair to say that cardboard has come a long way. Cardboard was first used in Great Britain back in the 1870’s – it was used in tall hats for Victorian gentlemen. Today, cardboard is everywhere –especially in cardboard boxes. The advantage of cardboard is that it is at the same time light and strong. And of course it is recyclable, which is also a huge plus.

This week a newspaper story in the Montreal Gazette made it apparent to me, at least, just how far cardboard has come. The story in the Gazette was just a few paragraphs long, and was on the back page. It was about the Anglican cathedral in Christ Church, New Zealand – Christ Church Cathedral. You’ll recall that Christ Church, New Zealand has been struck by a number of earthquakes in the recent years – and in February of this year, the city was struck by a devastating earthquake, an earthquake whose epicenter was almost directly below Christ Church. That earthquake killed 140 people and caused extensive damage.  That earthquake also did extensive damage to Christ Church cathedral – it’s spire was destroyed.

A part of the roof was also destroyed, and the pillars sustaining the building were severely damaged. And so the congregation of Christ Church Cathedral in New Zealand has been without a church building since February of this year. It is likely that the church is beyond repair.

Now I said cardboard has come a long way since it was first used in British Gentlemen’s hats in the 1870’s. I say that because the leadership of the Anglican Church in Christ Church, New Zealand has engaged a Japanese architect by the name of Shigeru Ban to design a temporary church building – in fact, Ban has been engaged to design a cardboard cathedral. If you read this story in the Gazette this week you will have been as surprised as I was. When we talk about a cardboard cathedral, we aren’t talking about a cardboard house that will hold 4 adults if they get down on hands and knees, crawl in, and scrunch down together. In fact, this is a cardboard cathedral that will seat 700 – as large as our traditional sanctuary over on the East side. Here is a model of what it would look like.

The design of this cardboard cathedral is based on 64 cardboard tubes that are almost three feet in diameter – the tubes range from 17 to 22 meters in length.  This cardboard cathedral would be waterproof – it would be covered with a polycarbonate (a plastic) cover for protection against the elements. It would also be fire proof. The cathedral will be almost completely recyclable. It will take only 3 months to build.

Now there has been some discussion and debate about the cost of this temporary cardboard cathedral. Let’s just say this isn’t your typical fridge box that will get a few days use and then be put out at the curbside. The expected cost of the cardboard cathedral is $4,000,000. Of course, all kinds of questions could be asked, and have been asked, about whether this is the best temporary solution for the congregation of Christ Church Cathedral – as they wait for the church and much of the city to be rebuilt.

The architect, Shiguru Ban is known for these cardboard constructions – he is often described of as an “emergency architect.” Following an earthquake in Kobe, Japan, in 1995, he designed a cardboard church for a Catholic congregation as a temporary home. In 2006 that church was taken apart and moved to Taiwan where it is now a tourist attraction. More recently Ban has done work in Haiti in the aftermath of the earthquake there. The advantage of working with cardboard is that construction can be done quickly – and the building is, again, almost completely recyclable.

As I thought about this story in the Gazette, there were so many questions that ran through my mind. I was thinking about whether $4,000,000 couldn’t perhaps be more wisely spent. I wondered what the building would look like in reality – not just in a small model. I wondered what it would feel like to worship in such a structure. I was amazed at the technology that could produce such a large building made out of cardboard.

At some level, of course, the situation faced by that congregation in Christ Church, New Zealand is not that unusual – it is not, in fact, so unusual for a congregation of God’s people to find itself facing such a dramatic turn of events. While their dilemma is unique, and the solution to their dilemma may be unique, the reality of such a profound challenge is not unusual. In the grand scheme of things, it is not unusual for a congregation to find so much of what they took for granted suddenly taken away.

Of course we ourselves, here at KCKF, have had to face up to our own building issues. This building, with its multiple parts, with its large sanctuary, with its many halls – this building is in many ways suited to another time, another era. We have recognized that this building is beyond what we need. We have recognized it is beyond what we can afford. Something that was taken for granted for almost two generations – for some 60 years – can’t be taken for granted any more. We know that.

Thinking back to a year or so ago, it took some imagination, for all of us, to think about relocating worship to this hall. It took some imagination and courage to think about moving out of a beautiful, traditional sanctuary. It took some imagination to think about sitting on chairs instead of cushioned pews – it took some imagination to think about having to hold hymnbooks, rather than having a rack in which to place them. It took some imagination to think about installing and using a new audio/visual system.

The situation faced by the congregation of Christ Church cathedral is no doubt more dramatic than our own – and apparently they have more substantial financial resources than we do, to put it mildly. How else could they think about putting up a temporary church building for $4,000,000.00. And even in terms of our own building we have to acknowledge we can’t complain. There are plenty of Christian communities around the world that would love to have a place for worship that is a beautiful and comfortable and secure as this hall is.

But the key variable in all of this that we are focusing on this morning is the variable of imagination. And that’s really what struck me first about that article in the Montreal Gazette – it’s what struck me when I read about the possibility of a cardboard cathedral. Imagination. An architect, who understands the science behind construction materials, and who understands aesthetics, has imagined a temporary cathedral made of cardboard. The church finds itself in a difficult situation, and it puts its imagination to work – how will we continue to worship; how can we maintain a presence in the city; how can we send a hopeful message that we will rebuild, that we will continue to serve. The imagination is put to work, and the result is this conception – a cardboard cathedral.

Now all of what we’ve talked about, so far, relates to buildings. And of course buildings matter to us, to some extent, as followers of the risen Jesus. We need places in which to gather – a place where we can eat together, a place to pray together, a place to worship together. We need spaces that are appropriate to our identity as a worshipping, serving community. There is, of course, a big question whether we need the kinds of buildings we have had over the past few hundred years – whether they have been appropriate to our identity as Christians. But we have buildings, and it is important that we use our imaginations to think carefully and creatively about how we relate to and can use our buildings. This is so important, as we ourselves have discovered and are discovering.

But thinking just a little more broadly this morning, what I’d like to say is that the use of our imaginations must define the church today.

In fact, I think we can and should define the church, understand the church, essentially in terms of its imagination. The church just is a community of those who use their imaginations in service to Christ and his kingdom. Perhaps this applies to buildings in the first place. But beyond that, and more importantly, it applies to our mission as a community of God’s people.

The gospel is defined by mission, and the church is defined by mission. It’s not that God decided to form the church, and then decided to give the church a mission. Mission isn’t secondary to the existence of the church. Rather, because God is on a mission of love and mercy to our world, he creates a people to join him in that mission. We only exist as the church because of mission – the mission of God. We exist for mission. Another way to put it is to say that when we are called, we are not called merely to go to heaven some day, to be saved, or to have a fulfilled life. When we are called by God in Christ, we are called to mission.

In a way, the opening words of John’s gospel that we read this morning are a description of the imaginative, creative, gracious act of God in coming among us. “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God and the Word was God… And the Word became flesh and pitched his tent among us.” The gospel is a glad description of what happens when God pitches his tent among us – when God comes to his people, broken bodies are healed, sins are forgiven, wrongdoing is judged, hope is restored, peace becomes possible. This is the mission of God.

And here’s where imagination comes back into the mix. You see, not only do we need to re-imagine our buildings – though that is certainly something that many congregations are doing in this new era. But we need to re-imagine our mission.

If the church really is a community of those who use their imaginations in service to Christ and his kingdom, then the first area in which we need to deploy or exercise our imaginations is in relation to our participation in the mission of God.

The truth is that most mainline congregations have become rather complacent in this regard. We have lived off of the legacy of earlier generations. We have followed patterns of worship and fellowship and outreach that sprung from the imaginations of those who lived two or three generations ago.

But if we can speak somewhat metaphorically, we can say that that earlier era was the time of large stone churches, of cathedrals that seemed to be permanent, eternal pointers to God. That was a time when the church was an established presence in society. That was a time when it was still eminently respectable and normal to be a member of the church; a time when the church could pronounce on various subjects and could expect at least a few people to listen. But, in more ways than one, we live in the time of cardboard cathedrals. We live in another world. In our time, not only can architects imagined new possibilities for the construction of churches (including cardboard, of all things) – but our new circumstances invites, from us, a new and imaginative response to the world around us – as we reach out in the love of God. Our world has changed dramatically, and we must imagine new ways of sharing in God’s mission.

What does this all mean for our mission as a congregation? Well, if I could stand up here and tell us what it means for our mission, then this whole sermon would have been a lie. Because if I could stand up here and tell you want it all means for our mission, then it wouldn’t really be a matter of imagination.

But it is a matter of imagination – of imagining whole new ways of being the church in the world. This is a joyful and imaginative venture in which we all have a part to play – in which the imaginations of every one of us must be engaged. The question is a simple one. What are the ways in which we can give expression to the love, the justice, the compassion, the truth, of the risen Jesus in our time and our community? It is a question of how we become full sharers in his kingdom? We are invited to think about it. – and to let our imaginations run wild.

Over the years, that wall first thrown up in 1961 took on a number of forms. It began as that barbed wire fence put up in the middle of the night. A few years later it became a concrete block wall – and still later, in the 1970’s and 80’s the wall was reconstructed out of reinforced concrete.

But why was the wall constructed to begin with? What was it that drove the East German government to cut off West Berlin from surrounding East Germany? The fundamental reason for the construction of the wall was to prevent East Germans from leaving or escaping East Germany.  Earlier, in 1952 already, the border dividing East Germany and West Germany had been closed – this prevented East Germans from simply crossing the border into the West – and it meant that in the period between 1952 and 1961, when the Berlin Wall was built, the only way East Germans could escape life under the communist regime was within the city of Berlin – by crossing into West Berlin.

Ever since World War II there had been a flood of hundreds of thousands of East Germans into the West. And the construction of the Berlin Wall in 1961 was a last and decisive step taken by East German authorities to stop the flight of East Germans out of their own land and country.

Of course the building of that Wall didn’t take away the desire of many to escape into the West. And so during the 28-year lifespan of the Berlin Wall, some 100,000 East Germans attempted to flee over the wall into the West, into West Berlin. An elaborate system of towers and searchlights and guard patrols and dog patrols was put into place to stop anyone from getting over the wall. The exact figure isn’t clear, but during those 28 years, several hundred were also killed in the attempt to get over the wall – and many were arrested.

Now with all of this in mind, we fast-forward to the events of November 9, 1989. Dramatic political and social developments led up to that day when the East German authorities opened the crossings between East and West Berlin. Crowds of East and West Berliners converged at the wall and on the wall in this grand joyful celebration. Today you can go on Youtube and again watch those scenes of jubilation as Berliners danced on top of the wall.

As the celebration continued, you’ll perhaps recall that something else began to happen. Over the first night, and in the days and weeks to follow, people began chipping away at the Berlin Wall. Some were souvenir hunters. Others were simply Berliners who wanted to help destroy the wall that had been such a blight on their lives and on their city. They wanted to participate in destroying that symbol of de-humanization and division. Small parts of the wall were removed in this way. Later, large parts of that 120-kilometer wall were removed with heavy equipment. The demolition work was completed in 1991.

At one level, who can blame Berliners, or the authorities of a re-unified Germany – who can blame them for wanting to destroy that wall? It was a symbol of division and hostility. It was a symbol of inhumanity and death. It was a reminder of the very real guilt of some in destroying lives and communities. Who can blame Berliners and Germans for the impulse to destroy that wall, not to leave a trace of it behind?

In the end, it was not completely destroyed. A few small sections of the wall can still be found standing within Berlin, today. The most important remaining stretch of the wall is actually part of a memorial – a stretch of wall about 200 meters long – a memorial to a divided Germany – a memorial to a dark and destructive period in the history of Berlin and Germany.

On August 13^th of this year, the German Chancellor, Angela Merkel, along with other dignitaries, marked the 50^th anniversary of the wall’s construction at that memorial section. As an article in last Saturday’s Montreal Gazette article pointed out, they gathered there “to remember all the victims, not only those killed or imprisoned trying to cross the wall, but also the Berlin families separated for a generation.”

Once again, we can understand that initial impulse to destroy the wall, can’t we? It’s not surprising that the part of the wall now serving as a memorial was almost destroyed, too. As the wall was being demolished in 1990 and 1991, a number of people protested and tried to prevent its complete destruction – they didn’t want it wiped off the map. And it’s really interesting that one of the key figures in the movement to preserve part of the wall was Pastor Manfred Fisher. Pastor Fisher was minister of a church called the Church of Reconciliation. The story of that church is an interesting one. It was a church that no one could attend for many years, because it sat right on the border between East and West Berlin. In fact, when the wall went up, that church building sat smack dab in the middle of no man’s land. The only people who could get near the Church of Reconciliation, a beautiful, imposing neo-gothic building, were East German border guards – in fact, they had to go around it during their patrols. In 1985, the East German authorities got tired of the church’s inconvenient location, and of its symbolism, and so they blew it up. Destroyed it.

Imagine being the member of a church where for years you can’t get near the building. In any case, the pastor of that congregation, Manfred Fisher, was among those who stood in the way of bulldozers in order to ensure that the whole wall wasn’t destroyed – to ensure that some section remained as a memorial to the inhumanity and destructiveness of that period of history.

We’re thinking this morning about the act of remembrance – more specifically, we’re thinking about remembering the history and reality of the Berlin Wall. As we do so, let me add another interesting variable. In 1990, when she was 17 years old, Becky spent 5 weeks was in the former East German city of Leipzig with a youth mission program. And during her stay in Germany, her group also visited Berlin – and what did Becky happen to bring home from Berlin but a piece of the Berlin Wall. This morning, for our reflection on the act of remembrance, we have a piece of the wall to assist our reflection.

The question that arises, of course, is why remember that wall? Why keep a section of the wall standing? And we’re asking this question, not simply in a generically human way. Rather, we’re looking at this from a theological perspective – from the perspective of faith in Jesus Christ.  The question is: why remember? Why establish such a memorial?

In a generic sense remembrance is vital to the identity of God’s people. That phrase recurs – remember the Lord your God who brought you up out of Egypt. Remember. Memorials are also central to the people’ identity – throughout the Old Testament, memorial stones are frequently set up to mark the places where God has acted on behalf of his people. And then also, from the perspective of New Testament faith – we are invited by Jesus to regularly break bread and drink wine in remembrance of him. Without remembrance of God’s involvement in our lives and history, we are not truly God’s people, not the church.

But why remember the Berlin Wall? Why should the people of Germany, and those in the wider world, for that matter, remember? Why set up a memorial to something that calls to mind such violence and injustice? Why remember a wall that had such de-humanizing purpose and effect? Why remember something that so many want to forget? In answering this question its helpful to go back to the name of that church in no-man’s land. The Church of Reconciliation.

It makes eminent sense that Pastor Fischer of the Church of Reconciliation Church was instrumental in preserving a portion of the Wall as a memorial. Why? Because reconciliation requires remembrance. Wherever relationships have been broken, reconciliation requires remembrance of the violence or injustices or failures that broke the relationships. Whether it is reconciliation between God and humans, or reconciliation between human beings, an acknowledgment of the wrongdoing is essential to the restoration of relationships. Put the other way around, if there is no naming or acknowledging of what was done to break or pry apart the relationship, there can be no reconciliation – there is no future for that relationship.

In order to really get at this, we could go back to an old-fashioned, Biblical word – repentance. When we think of this word we think of old-fashioned notions of guilt and shame – making people feel bad just for the sake of feeling bad. But the truth is, repentance is a word that has to do with restoring relationships. Repentance means a person to turn away from actions or patterns of behaviour that have betrayed trust, or have hurt another, or have caused them pain or suffering. Repentance means turning away from all of that. But there can only be repentance, a turning away from those actions or patterns of behaviour, their can only be a new way of life and a restored relationship, where those hurtful actions or patterns of behaviour are acknowledged.  Without remembering, without naming, without acknowledging what was done, there can be no moving forward in confidence and joy and renewed love or friendship.

Now, perhaps we should be honest and admit that some of us would like nothing more than to bring to light all of the wrongful things that have been done to us. That’s right – let’s rebuild the whole Berlin Wall just to remind them what they’ve done. Sometimes there’s just a little vindictiveness in us – we’d like to see someone shamed for what they’ve done – we’d like to see someone condemned for what they’ve done.

But within the context of the gospel, our remembrance of past actions is not about shaming or merely condemning those who’ve done wrong. Rather, we remember so that the healing and reconciliation of Christ might enter our lives and relationships. The gospel is the news that in Jesus, forgiveness has the final word in our lives and world. The gospel is the news that in Jesus, grace has the final word in our lives and world. Our relationships, whether we realize or not, are defined by that overarching reality of grace and forgiveness. In Christ, God forgives – and forgiveness defines our whole lives. So remembrance of past wrongs is not for the purpose of shaming ourselves or the other. Remembrance of past wrongs is not for the purpose of condemning the other.

Yes, there is an element of judgment in remembrance – but what kind of a world would it be without judgment of wrongdoing. Even so, however, this note of judgment is not final or for its own sake. We remember and name wrongdoings – there is judgment – for the purpose healing and reconciliation – for the restoration of relationships.

It is fitting that the pastor of the Church of Reconciliation was one who insisted on preserving a portion of the Berlin Wall – for without remembrance of what was done, without a calling to mind of the injustice and violence, there can be no reconciliation – no healing of the broken relationships – no genuine possibility of moving forward in restored relationship.

Remembering the Berlin Wall is something that we here today will do only in a general kind of way. Remembering the Berlin Wall is not a terribly personal act for most of us. Yet each one of us has our own Berlin Walls, those things in our own lives or the lives of those close to us that we must remember, and name, and call to mind – actions and attitudes that we must remember, and name, and call to mind not so that judgment will have the final word for us or for the other – but because we live under grace. We remember so that the healing of Christ can enter our lives and relationships – so that relationships might be restored. A hopeful possibility toward which God invites us in Christ Jesus. Thanks be to God. Amen.