Advent IV (A) – A Sermon


RCL Texts: Isaiah 7.10-16; Psalm 80.1-7, 16-18; Romans 1.1-7; Matthew 1.(1-17)18-25.

I speak to you in the name of God: Father, Son, & Holy Spirit. Amen.

“Mary will bear a son, and you are to name him Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins” (Matt. 1.21).

St. Matthew’s account of the Gospel does not begin with a narrative ‘bang’. In fact, there’s very little that would hook a modern reader. The Gospel begins with a genealogy, more specifically, Jesus’ genealogy through the line of his earthly father, Joseph. This long list of difficult to pronounce names is omitted from the Lectionary, and while any potential reader is breathing a sigh of relief, this list of names, regardless of length and tounge-twisitng names, remains important. So important in fact, that Matthew begins his account of the Gospel with it.

I always wondered why Matthew was the first Gospel in the New Testament. Why not Mark, which is the Gospel that was written first. Or what about John’s account, with its opening chapter that offers a profound poetic description of Jesus? Or what about Luke, the historian with an eye for detail and historical fact? So why Matthew?

The simplest answer is Matthew’s account of the gospel is the most Jewish, which is to say Matthew’s primary target audience were his fellow Jews and he therefore emphasized aspects of Jewish theology and liturgy in order to clearly identify Jesus as the long-awaited Messiah promised to God’s people. Therefore, the gospel according to St. Matthew offers a natural ‘bridge’ between the Old and New Testaments.

But why start with a genealogy?

Well, as previously stated, Matthew’s goal is to identify Jesus as the promised Messiah. What better way to confirm this than through Jesus’ family tree. Matthew wants to highlight two things: that Jesus is the son of Abraham and that Jesus is the son of David. In other words, like Abraham, Jesus is the “ideal Israelite” (Keener, 51) who will fulfill God’s promise made to Abraham that in him “all the nations of the earth shall be blessed” (Gen. 12.3). Like David, Jesus is the true heir to the throne of Israel, and therefore the rightful king.

Yes, Matthew traces Jesus’ lineage through the men. However, regardless of what our modern sensitivities might make of this, there is no controversy here; this was common practice in a patrilineal culture. What is counter-culture is Matthew’s inclusion of five women, four of whom were embroiled in sexual scandals, and two of whom were Gentiles. None of this is to suggest that the 42 men mentioned where above repute; there are some scoundrels in this crowd as well.

So, how does including ethnic outsiders and less than virtuous men and women bolster Matthew’s case that Jesus is the Messiah? Wouldn’t it be better to simply omit the family tree, especially since Joseph is not Jesus’ biological father, and get on with telling about Jesus’ life and ministry, following Mark’s straightforward approach? Perhaps. But Matthew’s point in including the genealogy is meant to underline the reality and scandal of the Incarnation – the fact that God the Son came to earth to be born of a woman – to be fully human – and to live among us. Moreover, the genealogy Matthew provides is meant to make it clear that “so much is Jesus the focal point of history that his ancestors depend on him for their meaning” (Keener, 53). Therefore, the gospel is itself proclaimed in this genealogy because it implicitly tells the story of how God is at work in the lives of ordinary men and women and through them does extraordinary things, most importantly providing a human family for Jesus, the Messiah.

And why a Messiah? Verse 21 of the Gospel reading is very interesting: “you are to name him Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins”. His name will be Jesus because he will save people from their sins. Jesus is an English transliteration of the Greek Iasous which is a transliteration of the Hebrew Yeshua (which is in turn transliterated into English as Joshua). Yeshua means ‘Yahweh saves’. Jesus is the Christ, the Messiah. Jesus is Yahweh-with-us. This is precisely why Mary and Joseph had no option in what to name their boy; their son is God the Son, the God who saves and delivers his people.

And what from what does Jesus save his people? From their sin.

Sin remains the biggest problem the world faces. Indeed, all problems on earth – wars, political turmoil, climate change, hunger and poverty – boil down to sin. The world’s greatest need remains wholeness and healing that can only come through reconciliation with God. In order to save the people from sin and to restore us to communion with God, our neighbour and creation itself, God the Son, had to come to earth as a human, to live and die as a human, to be resurrected from the dead as a human. This is the scandal of the incarnation. And this is why Christmas is really not about fluffy sheep, angelic choirs, sentimental traditions, or stockings lined in a row. Christmas is about sin. More specifically, Christmas is about how God saves his people from sin and suffering. Christmas is about God’s plan to put the worlds to rights, about God’s desire to bring healing and wholeness to the world.

God brings His healing and wholeness to the world through the most unexpected means: through an infant born to a virgin, through living and dying and rising again as a human. Jesus’ life on earth begins with a mom and a dad. But more than that, his life begins through Mary’s conception by the Holy Spirit. There are those who remain scandalized by the Virgin Birth, as though Mary herself was unware of how babies are made. Nevertheless, Matthew treats Mary’s pregnancy not as a far-flung conspiracy that needs intricate justification, but rather as simple fact. Matthew does not back up his outstanding claim with medical charts nor does he attempt to respond to cynics with careful arguments; Matthew simply backs up his claim by appealing to Scripture. Matthew is confident that the same Word who spoke through the prophet Isaiah is the same Word who created everything our of nothing who is the same Word that Mary carried in her Womb. Mary, like Matthew, accepts this Word in faith.

Not only is Mary is final name mentioned in Jesus’ genealogy, as Matthew makes it clear she is part of the fulfilment of Scripture. Indeed, the child she bears is the fulfilment of the entirety of Scripture and the culmination of human history.

For this reason, Mary is central in God’s story of salvation. Unfortunately, “Mary finds no place in many theologies”. Her faith is “reduced to an abstraction, an abstraction that doesn’t need a mother” (Ratzinger). And yet, Mary is important because Jesus is important. Mary is the Second Eve, the one through whom the Second Adam is born. St. Paul calls Jesus the ‘Second Adam’, the one in whom grace and eternal life are found. The Second Adam did not come from heaven like a lightning bolt or a divine apparition; he came as a child, born to a Virgin.

Because Mary is Jesus mother, she is our mother as well. Her faith in receiving God’s word – that she, a virgin, would have a child despite the seeming impossibility of this – is exemplary. Her “may it be so according to your word” is the essence of faith for all those whom Christ calls his brothers and sisters. In this way, Mary is the mother of our faith and therefore should have a central place in our theology. To be clear, giving a clear and central place to Mary in our theology is not the imposition of Roman Catholicism into the Anglican Church; rather, it is faithfulness to Scripture and the traditions with which we’ve been entrusted.

And what of Joseph, Jesus’ earthly step-father if you will? Joseph’s faith is also exemplary. He too receives the word of the Lord at face value and does as he is commanded. Therefore, Joseph should not be reduced to a secondary character either; his role in God’s story of salvation is central as well, and not only because of his family tree. The sheer fact that Jesus was born into a family of husband and wife is a clear indicator of the way in which God orders human relationships and does so toward human flourishing. The family unit of husband, wife, and children is central not only to the propagation of the species, but also the God’s story of salvation. Simply put, the story of Jesus’ birth makes it clear that families matter to God. It is through families that God works his plan of salvation.

Therefore, we rightly celebrate Christmas as a time for families to gather. However, for many Christmas is a time that exacerbates the sting of the loss of a beloved family member or amplifies the pain of family brokenness. For many, Christmas is not a time of joyous celebration brought on by the hustle-and-bustle of the season, but rather is a time of anguish and agony. If anything, Christmas is a season to be avoided, to stay away from others, lest the pain become overwhelming.

The sorrow experienced by so many at Christmas is evidence of the brokenness of our world, an indication that we need healing and wholeness. Indeed, we need only consider Jesus’ family tree to see that family brokenness is not a modern phenomenon. It is precisely for this reason that Jesus came into the world: to free us from our brokenness and to make the world whole once again.

Advent is a time of waiting and preparation. Today on this the fourth Sunday of Advent, our waiting and preparation is nearing an end; Christmas is almost here. And yet, amidst the brokenness of our world, our waiting and preparation remain ongoing beyond Advent. We wait and prepare for the Second Advent of Christ, the one born of a Virgin, who will come again to put the world back into its proper order.

As the sisters and brothers of Christ, those adopted into God’s household, may we as a church family embody the reconciling love of Christ by reaching out to the broken and inviting them into God’s family where they may receive forgiveness and healing.

So, come let us celebrate his coming among us as a child and come, let us longingly await his coming again that he might save us from our sins.



Advent I – A Sermon

A sermon preached at St. Paul’s Anglican Church, Chatsworth, ON.

RCL Texts: Isaiah 2.1-5; Psalm 122; Romans 13.11-14; Matthew 24.36-44

“Keep awake, therefore, for you do not know on what day your Lord is coming” (Matt. 24.42). These words of Jesus seem rather ominous and may strike us with a sense of fear and anxiety. Talking about the end of the world is certainly not a cheerful topic for polite conversation and thinking about the apocalypse does not typically put people in a positive frame of mind. So why begin this New Year, at least as it is on the Christian Calendar, this first Sunday of Advent on such a seemingly negative passage? After all, isn’t Advent a time to prepare for Christmas?

The context of today’s Gospel reading is similarly bleak: in the preceding and following verses, Jesus preaches parables about the coming of the Son of Man, prophesies about the destruction of the Temple, and talks about the signs of the end of the world and the judgment of the nations. Moreover, Jesus frames his words within a reference to the story of Noah, which is hardly a cute-and-cuddly tale of a floating zoo as often depicted in children’s’ picture books. These are not the kind of things we like to associate with Jesus; after all, isn’t the core of his preaching essentially ‘be nice to one another’, especially as we look forward to Christmas?

The truth of the matter is that Jesus is not trying to ratchet up the anxiety of his disciples or attempting to get them to live in fear. Indeed, Jesus is doing the exact opposite; he is telling the disciples to hold fast to God’s promises. Jesus is waking us up from our cultural slumber to face the reality of His coming again. Just as Jesus’ coming at Christmas some 2000 years ago was good news for the world, so too is Jesus’ second coming good news. However, this is precisely part of the problem: while we can pinpoint the date of Christmas, we cannot predict, despite the attempts of many self-proclaimed prophets throughout history, the date of Jesus’ second coming. And it is this unknowing that is the source of anxiety for some and complete apathy for others. Jesus is addressing both this anxiety and apathy in telling his disciples, both then and now, to be alert, to be watchful, to be ready.

Jesus is not giving his disciples good advice; he is commanding them to “keep awake”. This command is meant to open his disciples’ eyes to the reality of God’s promised future. Last week, I suggested that the beginning of the end of the world began on Good Friday and Easter Sunday. I want to expand this thought: the end of the end of the world begins with Jesus’ second coming and it is for this coming that we must be ready. The Christian calendar, which begins today, is an essential part of preparing ourselves for Christ’s return because the Christian calendar reminds us not only that human history revolves around Jesus Christ, but also that Christ holds human time – and therefore each and every one of us – in his loving hands. As we prepare for Christmas during the season of Advent, so too we are preparing for Christ’s second coming. As we prepare for Easter during the season of Lent, so too we prepare for Christ’s glorious appearance where he will restore all things. As we journey through the long period after Pentecost, we learn the virtue of patient waiting.

Patience is key to Jesus’ command to ‘keep alert’, otherwise our anxiety may lead us in facile attempts to predict the future. On the contrary, apocalyptic language and imagery is “not an invitation for [Jesus’] followers to try to predict the future, but to help his disciples to learn to live in the presence of the one who has come” (Hauerwas, Matthew, 204). Although Jesus ascended to heaven, he remains with his disciples through the Holy Spirit, a presence that is most intimately realized in the Eucharist. While we await Christ’s coming again in glory, he do not await in lonely isolation; Christ is here with us and remains with us through his earthly body, the Church. Indeed, Jesus’ disciples, “like Noah, are called to build an ark, even if it is not raining. The name given to that ark is the Church” (Hauerwas, 206).

In his time, Noah was surrounded by what one commentator calls “secular indifference to God and God’s ways” (Bruner, Matthew). This indifference was present in Jesus’ day and it remains alive and well in our time. Indifference and cultural complacency can easily work their way into the Church when that Church refuses to keep awake. Apathy abounds in a Church that does not have a clear sense of its mission. Like the ark, the Church is a protective space. However, this protection is not born of fear; the protective nature of the church is rooted in its conviction that “the words of Jesus will keep disciples alive” (Bruner, 521). The words of Jesus are the very words of Scripture; Scripture is one of the gifts given by God to the Church so that the Church will ‘keep awake’. Therefore, the Church is properly protective insofar as it is formative, which is a fancy way of saying that one of the primary purposes of the Church is the formation of disciples who are properly equipped to go into a world that is both at times hostile and indifferent in order to preach the gospel.

And what is this gospel? Christ has died for the forgiveness of sins. Christ rose again to conquer death. Christ will come again to establish his heavenly kingdom on earth. We gather as Church in order to hear this message over and over and over again so that as we are evangelized by the gospel, we may in turn share this gospel. The Church itself, in its worship and witness, is meant to give the world but a small taste of God’s promise future, a future lived in communion with God, a future where enemies become friends, where healing abounds, and where joyous praise resounds. However, both anxiety about the future and apathy about the gospel will stand in the way of our preparation and formation. Therefore, keep alert. Be ready. Be prepared.

The Church is comprised of people who “know what time it is”; we know that “now is the moment for us to wake from sleep” (Rom. 13.11). A life of discipleship is not for the “careless and clueless” (Bruner); it is not for sleepers; it is not for those content to follow the ways of the world. “Disciples are called to follow their Lord in a certain eschatological agnosticism, not knowing when the end will occur” (Bruner). Therefore, Christian discipleship requires a courage born of the assurance that whatever may transpire, whether good or ill, that ultimately God holds the future in His hands. As someone once remarked: “Christians are in sales, not management” (as quoted in Bruner, 522).

Not only are we called to be ready and waiting for Christ’s return, we are to do so in eager anticipation. Martin Luther once said “Christians should live as if Jesus has died this morning, risen this afternoon, and was coming this evening”. How we respond to this thought exercise will offer us a direct insight into the shape of our discipleship.

If our response is anxiety, the question is: why are we anxious? Are we assuming that we can and should bend history to our desires? Are we worried about a future that is out of our control?

If our response is apathy, the question is: why are we indifferent? What has captured our imaginations? What is the source of our distraction?

Noah knew what was about to happen; he heard the word of the Lord and prepared accordingly. Unlike those around him who were lulled into a sense of complacency and false assurance that everything is fine, there were no surprises for Noah.

The Church prepares for the Lords return by watching for the Lord to meet us in our neighbour, in our enemy, in the poor, and in the person who desperately needs to hear the gospel. As disciples, we prepare by living our lives not under the complacent assumption that everything is fine and dandy, but rather with the sure and certain hope that despite all appearances to the contrary, that Christ is Lord of past, present, and future and that he will come again.

Origen, a second century theologian, once said “In a sense, the end of the world has already come for the person to whom the world is crucified…And to the one who is dead to worldly things, the Day of the Lord has already arrived” (thanks to Fr. Jonathan Turtle for sharing these quotations). To be a disciple of Jesus Christ is to be baptized into His death and to live into the reality of resurrected life. To die to the things of the world is to live in the light of Christ’s heavenly glory. Dying to the selfish desires of self and to the lure of the world is exceedingly difficult, nay impossible; indeed this kind of dying is not something we can do through our own strength. However, through Christ, all things are possible, including the dying to self. This is exactly why Christ calls us to ‘keep alert’: it is only in fixing our eyes on Him, the author and finisher of our salvation, that we will have the strength to stay awake and prepare ourselves for his coming.

Christ may not return in during your or my lifetime or even that of my children or grandchildren. Nevertheless, even if he does not, you and I will still meet Him face to face upon our deaths. Therefore, as His disciples, we spend our lives preparing to meet Him, not with dread or uncertainty, but with joyful and hopeful anticipation. Joy and hope are contagious – they bubble out and impact everyone within reach. As a Church, joy and hope should be at the centre of our lives, both corporately and individually. When joy and hope are at the centre, neither anxiety nor apathy will gain a foothold. Joy and hope are gifts God gives to us to help us prepare for Christ’s coming precisely by sharing these gifts with the world.

This Advent, I invite you to reclaim the joy and hope of Christ and to put them at the centre of your life so that you may “put on the Lord Jesus Christ” and share his love with the world in anticipating of his coming again.


A Good Friday Sermon

A sermon preached at St. John’s Anglican Church, Port Elgin.

Audio of the sermon is available here.

Behold, the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world. Amen

The cross stands at the heart of the Christian faith; no cross, no Christianity. And yet, despite the centrality of the cross, I wonder, does the cross, the scandal of Christ crucified capture our hearts and imaginations or have we modern Christians become unwilling and unable to hear the good news of the cross?

Jesus’ crucifixion “is the touchstone of Christina authenticity, the unique feature by which everything else, including the resurrection, is give its true significance…it is in the crucifixion that the nature of God is truly revealed”. It for this reason that the crucifixion remains “the most important historical event that has ever happened”. Without the cross at the centre of Christian worship and witness, the story of Jesus the Christ can be dismissed as “just another story about a charismatic spiritual figure”.[1] If Jesus is not God, the cross is of absolutely no significance.

Attempts to rationalize Christ’s crucifixion through arguments that seek to cast doubt on the biblical accounts and historical claims that question whether the cross was truly central to the faith of the earliest Christians speak more about our modern context and its concerns and assumptions than they do about what happened some 2,000 years ago on a hill outside of Jerusalem. We attempt to pacify the cross, to reduce it to a religious symbol that reminds us to ‘love like Jesus’ as we strive to be good people. However, if Christianity is purely a form of spiritual therapy, it is not the way of the cross. You see, the cross is not about the “exaltation of the human spirit”; it is “about God’s humiliation, God’s entry into an ugly and irreligious bit of the world”.[2]

Therefore, simple truth is this: the cross of Christ cannot be rationalized because it is utterly scandalous and offensive. The cross is, a St. Paul described, utter foolishness to the wisdom of the world (cf. 1 Cor. 1.18). Indeed, as Martin Luther once remarked: crux probat omnia, that is, the cross tests everything. Our attempts to grasp or explain the cross will ultimately fail because the cross is that which grasps us and reveals the truth about humanity. This is precisely why the gospel of the cross is so difficult for us to hear and accept; we would much rather judge the cross than let the cross judge us.

The Passion reveals to us the lengths at which humans will go in their refusal and rejection of the God revealed to us in and through Jesus Christ. Therefore, the cross announces God’s judgement that we are at enmity with God, with our neighbors, and with ourselves. The judgment of the cross rightly makes us uncomfortable because it proclaims the stark truth about our situation. Our resistance or refusal to accept the judgment of the cross because we find it morally reprehensible or at odds with my preconceived notions about God underlines the truth of this judgment: we demand a God who acts on our terms and corresponds to our demands about who God is.

And yet, the cross tests everything; it tests our self-righteous attempts at religion, spirituality, piety, and morality. The cross stands as a reminder that it was precisely those who thought they had everything figured out about God are the ones who put Jesus on the cross. Let us not for one minute self-righteously assume that we enlightened moderns would have responded any differently than the crowds and religious leaders who demanded Jesus crucifixion 2,000 years ago. The cross stands as a reminder that we did not kill a spiritual teacher and a good man; we killed the Son of God, God Incarnate, and we killed him because he did not conform to our expectations about who God is and what God is like. The cross tests everything; it stands as God’s judgment against our insistence that we really are, deep-down, well-intentioned, good-hearted people. The truth the cross reveals is that we have alienated ourselves from God by rejecting Jesus Christ, the one who fully reveals God to his beloved creatures.

However, because the cross is God’s judgment, it is also simultaneously God’s mercy. God’s judgment and mercy are two-sides of the same coin, the coin that is God’s holy love.

To help us hear afresh the cross as the good news of God’s judgment and mercy and to reclaim the cross as the centre of Christian proclamation, I invite you to reflect upon the blood and water that flowed from Christ’s pierced body. The description of the blood and water seems like an odd detail to include. Indeed, of the four Gospels, only John includes this description. Furthermore, unlike the other Gospels, John’s does not make mention of the tearing of the veil or curtain in the temple. This might seem strange and there are certainly some who will cry ‘foul!’ at this seeming discrepancy in the Gospel narratives. However, there is a direct connection between the tearing of the temple veil and the blood and water that poured from Jesus’ side. Furthermore, this connection underlines the good news of the cross.

In the ancient poetry of Genesis 1 and 2, we read of how Adam and Eve, representative figures of humanity insisted on following their own desires and in so doing broke communion with God. As the Second Adam, Jesus Christ restores this broken fellowship by standing as the representative of the whole of humanity and bearing the full weight of God’s judgment against sin.

Sin is born of our refusal and rejection of God; we would rather live life on our own terms, seeking our own way through the world, turning our backs on the God who loves us. However, God refuses to leave us alienated from him ensnared in a web of sin with no way of returning back to God. Therefore, God’s judgment against sin – God’s ‘no!’ to that which breaks fellowship between him and his beloved creation is also a ‘yes!’ to restored and reconciled fellowship. Brennan Manning describes the Lion who will kill everything in us that separates us from his love, and of the Lamb who was murdered by us to mend that separation. Jesus is both Lion and Lamb; relentless against that which is parasitic on goodness and destroys life and tender and compassionate to those caught in the thrall of sin. Through Jesus’ crucifixion, “God has taken from us the power to live apart from Him” (Webster, 108). The cross is the undoing of sin’s power and the means of reconciliation with God.

The curtain in the temple separated the worshippers from the Holy of Holies; the curtain was a symbolic division between sinful humanity and a holy God. When the curtain tore on Good Friday, the division between humanity and God, between heaven and earth was removed. Through his death, Jesus opened the way of forgiveness of sin and reconciliation with God; Christ’s sacrifice of himself ensures that all people everywhere can receive God’s forgiveness. Through Jesus Christ, our great high priest who offers himself as an atoning sacrifice, all humanity can have restored fellowship with God (cf. Rom. 5). The good news of the cross is that some 2,000 years ago, the incarnate Son of God hung, “derelict, outcast, and godforsaken; he hung there as the representative of all humanity, and suffered condemnation [and judgment] in place of all humanity, to break the Power and Sin and Death over all humanity”.[3]

As Eve was created from Adam’s side, so the Church is created from Christ’s pierced side. As Christ, the second Adam, is born of the womb of Mary, so the Church is born of the wounds of Christ. We are born of water and blood; we have reconciled fellowship with God through baptism and the Eucharist. We participate in Christ’s death through baptism and the Eucharist; indeed, “the death of Jesus Christ is the one sacrament”.[4] Because we participate in Christ’s death, we also participate in his resurrection.

This is why the absence of the sacraments is so poignant on Good Friday; we are reminded that we so often and so easily cut ourselves off form the source of life in our stubborn refusal and rejection of God. And yet, the tearing of the curtain and the blood and water that flowed from Jesus’ body stand as ever-present reminders of God’s overwhelming and singular desire to be with us and for us through Christ’s sacrifice and an invitation to participate in God’s Triune life. Therefore, the sacraments are not mere memorials of past events; they are literally a re-member-ing whereby Christ resurrects us into new life as his body, the Church. The sacraments are gifts given to us by God through the cross of Christ.

Indeed, the cross, and by extension, baptism and communion, tells us that there never was and never will be a time when God is against us; even in his judgment God remains for us because God’s will is “to destroy all that is hostile to perfecting his world”.[5] Although the language of sacrifice and blood might ring problematic to our modern ears, the truth is that Christ’s blood “suggests that there is no sorrow God has not known, no grief he has not borne, no price he was unwilling to pay, in order to reconcile the world to himself in Christ”.[6] This is good news.

Therefore, let us not rush to Easter in an attempt to avoid the offensive scandal of the cross. Rather, let us see the cross as the good news that for us and for our salvation, Christ Jesus was crucified, died as was buried, and descended to the dead. Amen.

[1] All quotations in this paragraph are from Fleming Rutledge, The Crucifixion, 44.

[2] John Webster, The Grace of Truth, 69.

[3] Rutledge, 610.

[4] Karl Barth, CD, IV/1, 296.

[5] Rutledge, Crucifixion, 282.

[6] George Hunsinger as quoted by Rutledge, 283.

A Maundy Thursday Sermon

This sermon would be preached tonight. However, on account of the ice-storm, the service was cancelled.

Jesus got up from the table and took off his robes. Picking up a linen towel, he tied it around his waist…and began to wash the disciples’ feet (John 13.4,5). Amen.

The account of Jesus washing his disciples’ feet stands as a narrative ‘hinge’ in John’s Gospel; this story is a transition between Jesus’ earthly ministry and his Passion. Jesus’ washing of his disciples’ feet is, therefore, a summary of Jesus’ earthly ministry, a ministry of serving others, welcoming sinners, and teaching about life in God’s kingdom. Indeed, immediately preceding tonight’s Gospel reading, Jesus offers us a summary of his teaching, concluding by saying: “I don’t speak on my own, but the Father who sent me commanded me regarding what I should speak and say” (John 13:49). These words of the Father are, as Jesus describes, “eternal life” (13:50).

Everything Jesus said and did, everything Jesus says and does, reflects his Father and reveals life in his Father’s kingdom. Therefore, Jesus is the full and complete revelation of God to humanity; to see and hear the Son is to see and hear the Father. What we see and hear Jesus do in washing his disciples’ feet is a remarkable and beautiful portrait of God.

You will recall that John’s Gospel begins with a complex poetic description of the Word who created the cosmos becoming flesh and making his home among us (cf. 1.14). This Word is grace and truth; this word is Jesus Christ (cf. 1.17). In the washing of his disciples’ feet, we see God’s grace and truth in action.

Moreover, as a summary of Jesus’ earthly ministry and as ‘hinge’ joining that ministry and the Passion, the author of John’s Gospel contends that the washing of the disciples’ feet can only be fully understood in light of the crucifixion. While one person washing the feet of his friends is an intimate moment that we can easily embrace, to claim that God’s grace and truth are most clearly seen on the cross is scandalous. To claim that Jesus’ washing of his disciples’ feet can only make sense in the shadow of the cross is scandalous because it challenges our desire to reduce the foot-washing to an ethical example that somehow stands apart from Christ’s self-revelation as God’s Son.

Indeed, the Incarnation itself is scandalous. It is one thing to claim that God took on human flesh, becoming fully human while remaining fully God. The scandal becomes amplified when we see this God disrobe, tie on a servant’s towel, and kneel before the feet of his disciples. Jesus is not simply offering us an ethical example of how to treat people, telling us to love other people the best we can. Jesus is revealing to us the God who kneels. Jesus is revealing to us the Creator who serves his beloved creatures. Jesus is revealing to us the lengths God will go to in order to heal and restore his broken creation.

This is a mystery that is simply beyond human comprehension, which is why we tend to reduce Jesus’ foot-washing to a mere ethical example we are supposed to follow. Yes, Jesus does command his disciples to do likewise, but we do so as a form of worship and obedience to the God who kneels, the God who for us and our salvation came down from heaven, the God who “emptied himself by taking the form of a slave” (Phil. 2.7).

A vulnerable and humble God is distasteful to those who demand that only a god who wields absolute power is worthy of worship. Likewise, a kneeling servant God fundamentally challenges the claim that, when we boil things down to their essentials, all religious really worship the same god.

In Jesus Christ, we see a God who’s power is revealed both in the humility of becoming a servant and the apparent weakness of submitting to death on a cross. In Jesus Christ, we see the utterly uniqueness and singularly of the God whose power is simultaneously love. Jesus reveals a God who is neither a tyrant nor inconsequential, but rather a God who is love all the way down and, as such, is intimately involved with the world through the scandalous particularity of Jesus Christ.

Jesus washes the feet of his disciples, sandal-clad feet that are dusty to be sure, but also feet that inevitably walk through the various kinds of dirt and filth that one would find on a road in 1st-century Palestine, including the leavings of the multitude of animals crowding these roads. Our feet are a God symbols of the direction of our lives and so often we walk through dirt and filth when we insist on going our own way apart from God.

Jesus shows us a God who is unafraid to get his hands dirty in order to make us clean. Jesus alone, as Peter soon realized, is the only who can make us clean, the only one who can restore us to fellowship with God. It is only on this basis that Jesus then tells his disciples to do what he has done. The servant-king, the God who kneels, commands his disciples to go into the world to proclaim the love of God which cleans and restores.

The hard truth is that we all need to be washed by Jesus’ we all need to have the dirt and filth of sin washed from our lives. To self-righteously refuse on the grounds that I am a good and pious person is to foolishly insist that I am clean while sitting in a mud puddle. The truth that we all need to be washed by Jesus is good news; the Lord of All willingly undergoes the humiliation of becoming a slave and “becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross” (Phil. 2.8) in order to wash us, reconciling us to our heavenly Father. We can only receive this washing when we humbly receive Christ into our hearts, allowing him to wash us from the inside out.

On the night Jesus washed his disciples’ feet, Jesus also gave them a meal, the meal we know as Communion or the Eucharist. Jesus gave us this meal as a way of drawing his disciples into fellowship with him so that we “have a place” (John 13:8b) with Christ. This place is God’s kingdom, a kingdom that is enacted every time we celebrate Communion and anticipated as we go into the world to proclaim the good news of the God who kneels.

The gift of Communion and Jesus’ command to “go and do likewise” find meaning and fulfilment in the shadow of the cross. Jesus does not tell us to remember that he washed his disciples’ feet and to remember the celebration of that Last Supper; Jesus commands us to remember his death. In remembering his death in the Eucharist, we are also sent to tell the world how his death is good news and to show the world what life in God’s kingdom is like: a life of grace and truth, of life of self-giving love and mercy. Christ restores us to communion with God so that we may see and know as well as tell and show the God who is with us and for us, the God who kneels and gives us eternal life.


Ash Wednesday: A Sermon

A sermon preaching on Wednesday Feb. 10, 2016 at St. Paul’s (Chatsworth) and St.  John’s (Port Elgin).

Texts: Joel 2.1-2; 12-17; Psalm 51.1-17; 2 Corinthians 5.20b-6.10; Matthew 6.1-6, 16-18.

“Rend your hearts and not your clothing. Return to the Lord, your God, for he is gracious and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love” (Joel 2.13). Amen.

Lent is a season of paradox, which is probably why our sisters and brothers in the Eastern Orthodox tradition refer to it as the ‘Bright Sadness’. Lent is also highly countercultural. Unlike Christmas and Easter, Lent is immune from commercialization. This immunity is rooted in the solemnity and penitential focus of the season; these things simply don’t sell. Furthermore, ours is a culture in which we are expected to be perpetually up-beat and happy. Perpetual optimism is our culture’s default setting: things are going to get better! Look on the bright side! Keep your chin-up! However, these paper-thin sentiments are merely a cover for our profound inability to see the world as a broken place in desperate need of redemption. Of course, we all read and watch the news, so we know that things are not exactly perfect. Yet, our culture is unable to offer deep comfort and assurance beyond that expressed by a greeting card. However, Lent cuts through this sentimentality and names the deep brokenness of our world.

In order to see this brokenness, we also need to be willing to admit our role in creating the world as it currently is. The truth of the matter is that God did not create a broken world: we did. Nevertheless, the perpetual optimism of our culture tells us that we mostly good and can fix the world with enough will power and team-spirit. Indeed, to suggest otherwise is to diminish the power of the human spirit, to be a defeatist, a pessimist, someone who stands in the way of human progress, or so we are told. However, Lent reminds me that repentance is the first step in moving toward hope and healing.

Repentance is the work of acknowledging that not only is the world a broken place, but that I am directly responsible for playing a part in this brokenness. This is an admission that flies directly in the face of our culture’s obsession with self-help and the power of positive-thinking. To suggest that we all share responsibility for the world’s brokenness is the height of peddling guilt-inducing shame that erodes self-esteem, or so we are told. However, Lent reminds me that I cannot fix or save the world precisely because I am part of the problem as much as I refuse to admit or accept this.

You see, Lent names the brokenness of the world for what it is: sin. Talk about sin makes us uncomfortable; it brings to mind judgment, condemnation, and punishment. These are not topics for polite conversation in our culture; how dare we presume to judge anyone else, let alone ourselves! We must respect the various pursuits of happiness of all people! Live and let live, after all! Nevertheless, Lent confronts us with the bald reality of sin and death; we simply cannot ignore sin and death, as uncomfortable as they make us.

The very reason the Christian tradition takes discussion of sin and death seriously is because we take salvation and redemption seriously. In order to understand the immensity and beauty of God’s salvation extended to humanity through Jesus Christ, we need to be able to understand the enormity and destructive power of sin. The result of ignoring or tip-toeing around sin is that we diminish salvation. When salvation is diminished, Christianity is reduced to a system of ethical self-improvement by which we ‘tweak’ our goodness, give ourselves a spiritual ‘boost’, and attempt to fix the world through various well-intentioned projects.

However, Lent cuts through our attempts to water down the gospel in order to make it more culturally acceptable and presents us with the stark reality of the gospel: though the world is ensnared in sin resulting in our alienation from God, each other, and creation itself, God is reconciling himself to the cosmos through Jesus Christ, and calls us to return to his loving embrace that we might participate in his work of redemption. This is more than greeting-card sentimentality or sunny-optimism; it is the only true source of hope and healing for the world. Lent confronts us with the truth that all people, even those of us who belong to the Church, need to hear gospel truth whether we like it or not.

Lent invites us to face the reality of our broken humanity, but Lent also invites us into the way of humanity embodied by Jesus Christ. “Lent strips off layers of self-deception, self-defence, [and self-righteousness] that screen us from the Risen Christ”, and lays us bare and dying at his feet, upon which he picks us up, restores us to life, and commands us to take up our crosses and follow him.[1] “The sin and death represented by the ash cross will wash away like dust. [However], the chrism cross by which you were sealed with the Holy Spirit and marked as Christ’s own forever at baptism is indelible”.[2]

Lent reminds me that I am dirt and that one day I will die and become dirt again. However, Lent also reminds me that God is not done with the dirt on either side of the grave because God love dirt and God is in the business of bringing life. God creates life out of nothing and God brings the dead back to life. Death is not final; life is. We can observe Lent precisely because we know that God has the final word on the fate of humanity, and that word is Jesus Christ.

Reconciled through and with Christ, we, those who collectively bear the cross of Christ, become the righteousness of God; the “weapons of righteousness” which we bear are weapons used not to bring death but in service of resurrected life; they are the weapons of repentance, prayer, fasting, and almsgiving. These Lenten practices are profoundly at odds with our culture and seem rather weak as far as weapons go. However, they are weapons of righteousness because they do not rely on human strength or initiative; rather, they are the fruit of God’s work in our lives. Lent turns our eyes toward the cross and in so doing reminds us that the world is not ours to save because it is already saved through Christ’s atoning sacrifice. Ours is to show the world that another way of life is possible, a way of life that stands in defiance to the way of sin and death, a way of life made possible through Jesus Christ, who for us and our salvation took on human flesh, and died for us so that we might live with him. Thanks be to God! Amen.

[1] Peter Leithart, “40+ Reasons To Observe Lent”,, accessed Feb. 9, 2106.
[2] Bishop Matthew Gunter as quoted on facebook.