“See, I am doing a new thing,” declares the LORD through the prophet Isaiah. Throughout scripture we see evidence of God embracing and encouraging newness and change as well as noting the value of heritage. Being the creatures of habit that we humans are, we hold to tradition with far greater fervor than endeavouring to change.

Growing up, I attended St. David & St. Martin’s. It isn’t a particularly old congregation and meets in a mid-century building. To belong now to St. Andrew’s and see plaques marking the former pews where Governors General and Senators once sat, to have my daughters baptised in the same font as Princess Juliana is a very different experience. It’s wonderful and privileged…but it’s also a little concerning. Marking Heritage Sunday this week is an opportunity for long-established communities such as St. Andrew’s to celebrate and recall the history and wealth of experience we as a community possess. It can also, as Andrew expanded upon in today’s sermon, pose a stumbling block. With such history as we have, it is easy and tempting to spend our time looking back and fail to adequately look forward. Always, we must strive to achieve the correct balance.

As I sat in our celebrated sanctuary this morning where so many generations of souls have worshipped, I was also struck by the ways in which we talk about congregations. We like to note the age of a community of God, celebrating with greater delight as congregations get older and older and older. “Wow,” we say, “that’s a long time!” But how do we speak of new congregations? Do we note with joy a new plant, a new group of souls coming together to praise and worship and learn and grow as children of God? Do we, inadvertently, believe that age imbues a community with greater validity, that long-established congregations are better able to do the work of the Body of Christ, neglecting the initiative needed to build a new community?

I think there is a great challenge to valuing and honouring the old – the way things are, the way things have always been – while also ensuring we embrace the new, the different, looking ahead to what can and will and must be. As Andrew noted this morning, we must always learn from tradition without strictly, needlessly, heedlessly adhering to it. Do we at St. Andrew’s succeed in doing so? I truly feel that we believe that we do, but that we, in fact, fall somewhat short. We have come very far from the days of pew rents, tokens for admittance to communion and an exclusively male clergy and eldership, but we have further still to go. Always, emboldened and strengthened by our heritage, we must look to the future, embracing the change and challenges God has in store for us.

-Darlene

Today’s service featured Barbara Summers’ talk on the work and mission of Presbyterian World Service and Development.

What her talk gave me was a human face to the line item on the donation envelopes. Her stories of the gratitude of people in Kenya and Tanzania who have nothing were very moving. I am not alone, I trust, in seeing that line and wondering what my small donation can do, and her stories give perspective to that. It’s not just me and my donation, but over 900 church congregations’ donations – this is one of the ways that we as a community can have an impact on the lives of others half-way around the world.

The other aspect of her talk that I found enlightening was the alternative perspective that she presented. It is not *just* the suffering of the thousands of Somalis, for example, who flood into refugee camps. Equally as important is their drive for survival and their gratitude for strangers’ gifts. Barbara mentioned that one question that she is asked by recipients of aid, is “why do they help?” All of us likely have a slightly different answer to this question, but the one that came to mind this morning, is “because I can’t imagine their suffering.” I like to think that I have a good imagination, but as hard as I tried this morning to relate to the examples in her stories, I came up blank. My comfort prevents me from truly relating to someone who traveled for weeks by foot with only the possessions able to be carried just to seek out safety, shelter and food. My donation, though, added to the many others, is, in some small way, able to make a difference – a huge difference – in someone else’s life.

Today’s talk was indeed a useful reminder that gratitude is related to grace, and that the fortunate must share some fortune to be even more fortunate.

I have just returned from the St. Andrew’s Winter Women’s Retreat… and what a weekend it was!

Twenty-one from the St. Andrew’s community and beyond gathered at Gracefield Camp to grow in faith and fellowship together. We were very fortunate to have the Rev. Dr. Dorcas Gordon, principal of Knox College, lead us in study on Saturday. In the morning, we considered the importance of how we name Jesus – what it says about us and our church. We looked at the roots of “Logos” (or the Word) at the beginning of John, and how its roots are in the woman Wisdom. In the afternoon, we were encouraged to see familiar stories with new eyes as we looked at some of the women in John’s gospel. By asking questions and reading carefully, we learned of the leadership roles held by Jesus’ mother, the Samaritan woman and Mary Magdalene.

During our free time on Saturday, some brought out their skis, others their knitting needles. After dinner, Jessica led us through a candle-lit labyrinth on the frozen lake. The movie Vision, about the life of Hildegard of Bingen, finished off our day.

This morning, we rose and worshipped together, considering again the story of Mary Magdalene meeting Jesus after the resurrection. We returned to Ottawa after lunch, well-fed both physically and spiritually after a wonderful weekend.

It was evocative of strong emotion for me to sing “Amazing Grace” in today’s service. It’s a wonderful song, one I remember from childhood, and also remember from the Cincinnati Freedom Centre Museum, where exhibits dedicated to the slave trade in the Americas explain how its writer gave up a life as a slave trader when he found God. Like that slave trader, who had killed many and ruined countless other lives, as was noted in the sermon this morning, with reference to the Occupy movement, affluent first world suburbanites like myself and so many of us have too much to atone for to be saved through the operation of karma; we live in a situation of such irredeemable privilege as compared to 80% of the world’s people – even, in many cases, as compared to 99% of the world’s people – that we could never work our own redemption through karma. God’s grace is necessary and wonderful. So I thought that was a considered and eloquently stated view.

Having said that, there were places where my own views diverge somewhat from those articulated in today’s sermon. I don’t think, for example, that what LaGuardia did as mayor when he paid a destitute woman’s fine in a criminal courtroom was gracious: I don’t think the theft of a loaf of bread by a starving person is sin. Unjust laws exist: changing them or flouting them is sometimes necessary in the interests of justice. Further, I don’t think that what LaGuardia did was all that helpful or particularly analogous to the grace of God: it was the capricious act of a leisured moment: what the poor needed in the depression era was not the noblesse oblige of the ruling elite on their days off but real systemic, material change.

On the whole, I really welcomed the consideration offered of the relationship between karma and grace. It’s a very interesting relationship to consider. But I don’t think they are simply forces in opposition. Grace, through Christ, can interrupt karma, but I think that we still reap what we sow. If I eat too many cookies, I get fat; if I smoke, I am likely to get cancer; if we don’t recycle or reduce carbon emissions then creation will not be entirely forgiving.

On the whole, today’s sermon certainly offered great sustenance for thought.

Your god is whatever you pay attention to.

On reflection, what struck me the most about today’s reading was that the people of Nazareth were astonished by Jesus’ gifts, but rejected him nonetheless. They could not accept that Jesus, as he had become, could emerge from their place, from the familiar. As was pointed out in the sermon, God may be found as much in the most familiar as the unfamiliar, but we are often blind to God in those things that we encounter everyday. In turn, our blindness stems from our distraction by our everyday concerns; god is whatever you pay attention to. To be partners with Christ we must be open to God’s presence around and in us.

I was most appreciative of Rev Smith’s sermon this morning. It is a big job to try and educate the wider Presbyterian church on the many diverse international issues that arise and how we might corporately understand and respond. I am thankful that we have someone of his calibre on the team who is able to take from these complexities a simple articulation of what can be grasped and applied to almost any situation of want, need, conflict, inequity, violence,greed or injustice…in the question he shared with us to ask ourselves:

Does this look reflective of the Kingdom of God?

If we ask ourselves that, not only in these large world wide crises but in all the situations in which we find ourselves in our day to day lives, we have a solid framework from which to work out our answer and response. How is the Kingdom reflected in the scriptures? Our ways are not God’s ways.. Whose way does this moment in time reflect? and as a person of faith, knowing that the earth is the Lord’s and everything in it…that question alone can, for me, reorient my thinking and direction. It can help me to choose and explore a better path than the one presented. How do I know what is worth responding to, fighting for, investing in, caring for?… I can ask myself: Is it reflective of the Kingdom of God? Does it honour Him? Does it feed the hungry and clothe the naked, cure the lame and lead us in the paths of righteousness for HIS name sake? does it forgive our enemies? Does it reflect the life Jesus portrayed as being reflective of God’s Kingdom on earth. Not easy. But if as they say, our actions and reactions arise first from our thoughts, then what better thought to have in the fore than this question at every turn in our road… Does this reflect the Kingdom of God?and if not, how then, should I be responding?

Diana B

What struck me first this morning, was walking into the sanctuary and seeing the candles. The Christmas candles were lit around the pews, but also all 5 candles of the advent wreath were lit. Such a clear reminder that the time of waiting is over, and now we live in the light with “God in Christ made manifest”.

This morning Huda spoke about the eureka moment of Epiphany. She first discussed the Magi, and how they reacted to hearing the news that God had come to earth as a human baby boy. They brought prophetic gifts: gold for his kingship, frankincense for his priesthood and myrrh for his inevitable death. They worshiped him. They got it.

Herod, on the other hand, was threatened by his epiphany. He wanted to turn a blind eye, to make the situation go away. He was afraid.

Personally, I’d like to see myself as one of the Wise Men. A person of intellect who reads and thinks things through. Someone who is willing to work and take risks in order to find the truth. But realistically, I’m pretty sure it’s often Herod that I relate to. Scared of change, using whatever means I have to hold on to what I think I control.

But those Magi make good role models, and we know how Herod ended up. I’m hoping that as 2012 progresses, I remember the Sages: their wisdom to change their plans, to listen for God’s leading, and to worship what they know is true.

What about you? What does Epiphany mean to you today?

Maureen.

Now that the mad rush is over,
O centre of stillness and peace:
now that the needles are falling from the tree,
we thank you that you are still God-with-us.

As we face the year ahead,
help us to accept the difficult parts of our lives;
help us to make the changes we must make;
bring us to new places of openness and love
toward you and the people around us;
help us to overcome the fears which keep us from fullness of life.

As the frigid days of January and February draw near,
help us to keep warm places alive within us,
where in secret the bulbs of springtime tulips are nurtured.
As we face the year ahead, we thank you for one another
and for your grace in Jesus Christ.

Help us individually and as a congregation
to be signs of your compassion,
hope, joy, and unity in this world,
your love in Jesus our Christ.

Amen.

Ruth C. Duck (from The Westminster Collection of Christian Prayers)

The people who walked in darkness
have seen a great light;
those who lived in a land of deep darkness—
on them light has shined.
You have multiplied the nation,
you have increased its joy;
they rejoice before you
as with joy at the harvest,
as people exult when dividing plunder.
For the yoke of their burden,
and the bar across their shoulders,
the rod of their oppressor,
you have broken as on the day of Midian.
For all the boots of the tramping warriors
and all the garments rolled in blood
shall be burned as fuel for the fire.

For a child has been born for us,
a son given to us;
authority rests upon his shoulders;
and he is named
Wonderful Counsellor, Mighty God,
Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.
His authority shall grow continually,
and there shall be endless peace
for the throne of David and his kingdom.
He will establish and uphold it
with justice and with righteousness
from this time onwards and for evermore.
The zeal of the Lord of hosts will do this.

Isaiah 9.2-21

The time of waiting is over, the glory of God is revealed!  Feel free to leave a comment with your Christmas greetings or reflections.  Merry Christmas!

I especially enjoyed the hymn selections for today’s service. Apart from “Angels Heard on High”, these were Christmas hymns with which I had not been previously familiar.

The main message that I got out of Andrew’s sermon was that we should aim to be like the shepherds. That is, we should focus on being “moved by good news” instead of tending to assume that something appearing to be too good to be true will likely have a negative ending.

I would like to wish everyone at St. Andrews a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.

Stacey Huber

Last week’s blog post started with “Poor Joseph!….he gets short shrift at Christmas time”. This week’s post could start with “Poor Mary!…she gets short shrift in Protestant circles”. As Huda mentioned in her sermon today, Mary is dusted off at Christmas time for the quaint role of the meek and mild wife of Joseph and the mother of Christ. While not quite vilified by the founders of the Protestant Church, the early Reformers and their followers distanced themselves from Mary, in reaction to Mary-worship (as they saw it) that was popular at the time, and Protestants haven’t had much use for her since.

For those who have only known the Christian faith through a Protestant lens, devotion to Mary can be perplexing (as Huda said), and the notion of praying to Mary can be troubling. How can a Christian pray to Mary, when we believe in one God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit? I once heard this explanation: “We (Catholics) do not pray to Mary; rather we pray through her – we ask her to pray for us in the same way that you would ask a fellow Christian to pray for you. Does it matter that Mary is not physically present with us, while your pew mate you can see and touch?” While I may never embrace the concept of praying to Mary, this brought a whole new perspective to it. I like that way of seeing it, although the distinction between “to” and “through” is likely lost on most.

Mary is often portrayed as meek, mild, gentle and humble, but she was also a woman of great faith, as Huda explained in her sermon. I think Mary’s faith is what made her brave. “Courageous” is an apt description of Mary, considering the humiliation she faced in announcing to her family and community that she was pregnant out of wedlock. The 2006 movie “The Nativity Story” illustrated Mary’s dilemma and mental anguish well – how was she to explain to her family – and most importantly to Joseph – that she was pregnant, and oh, by the way, God made her pregnant? And the angel said her child was going to be Israel’s long-awaited Messiah. While society no longer frowns upon having children outside of marriage, it doesn’t take much to imagine how difficult it would be to tell your fiancé that you’re pregnant (not by him) – but really, it’s ok, you didn’t cheat. God made you pregnant. Even for those who believe in miracles that would be a hard story to swallow! I guess that’s why God also sent an angel to Joseph.

In some countries of strong Catholic traditions, Mary is a prominent figure, honoured in many forms. In Mexico, the Virgin of Guadalupe is a celebrated figure and is one of the most famous Catholic shrines world-wide. Tradition has it that Mary appeared to an indigenous peasant in the early days of the Spanish colonisation (1531) and asked that a church be built in her honour on that spot. The archbishop believing the peasant, the church was built and Mary later appeared again, leaving her imprint on a cloth that became a religious relic and icon to this day. These types of stories make most Protestants uncomfortable, and my experience has been that non-Catholic Christians in such contexts strenuously separate themselves from any word or sign that could be construed as worshipping, praying to, or otherwise honouring Mary. Nevertheless, if we are to follow the Scriptures, we do “believe in” Mary – just not in the same way that Catholic believers do (e.g. the notion of Mary being sinless or that she remained a virgin).

Those coming from a Catholic background no doubt have a more balanced view of Mary, and can celebrate her as one of the great women in the Bible, more than those who have only known the Christian faith through Protestant eyes. Is it time for you to rediscover Mary? As we contemplate how Scripture portrays Mary and what we can learn from her, let’s see her as more than the mild and humble woman of Christmas pageants, and discover her as also a great woman of faith and courage.

Jennifer

Poor Joseph. As Andrew said at the beginning of the sermon, Joseph often gets short shrift at Christmas time. And yet, as Andrew went on to point out, Joseph has a key part in the story. Although he had set out to leave Mary, he acts – with much faith – on the advice of the angel in his dream. He sticks with Mary, and with Jesus. Andrew said that Joseph “becomes part of God’s unfolding purposes of humanity”(or something along those lines…) .

Andrew went on to describe how we are like Joseph. We have received messages from God, through Jesus, that seem crazy and sometimes even impossible. But, like Joseph, we are called to have faith and to pursue good always…. To think of faith as a verb so that God can work for the good of others through us.

I found myself thinking about how pursuing good can be difficult, exhausting and overwhelming. In the Prayers of Thanksgiving and Intercession, right after the sermon, we prayed for the community of Attawapiskat, for world leaders discussing climate change in Durban this week, and for the election taking place in Egypt. It can be overwhelming, in these types of situations, to think of listening to God’s call to work for the good of others, to pursue good always. How do we answer God’s call to care for our sisters and brothers in Attawapiskat, for example?

I liked the connection that Andrew made with the Communion part of the service – we take the bread and wine to give us strength to continue pursuing good in the midst of darkness, in the midst of being overwhelmed or being shown an easier way. I tend to see worship in general this way. Throughout the week, we try to live as God instructed us through Jesus… even though it is can be difficult. On Sunday, we come together for encouragement so that we are renewed in our commitment to pursue good.

Huda’s Prayer of Approach this morning started the service with “Come, Lord Jesus,” praying that God would be present in our midst as we worshipped. The last verse of the final hymn, “Lo! Christ comes with clouds descending,” repeated over and over – “Come, Lord Jesus.” We want God to be with us not only in our worship, but as we go out from worship – out to live in the world, to pursue good, to play our parts in God’s unfolding purposes of humanity.

Laura

Wow! We’ve looped right back to advent again!

For me, the seasons never fail to amaze. I am, to some extent, locked in perpetual wonder. This year, advent is particularly meaningful because my church school class is exploring what knowledge and meaning can be gleaned from various elements within the Christmas story. Over the years, we’ve taken many different approaches to that story, but one that focuses on each element – lingering, asking, seeking – can be quite illuminating.

Over the course of the story, we get to ponder the various and, in some cases, multiple roles of Mary, the manger, the Magi, the star, Herod, the killing of innocents, a donkey, Egypt, the Christ-child, and so on. Of course, in a classroom, there are no fully canned approaches, no pre-determined responses. Where one student sees meaning, another seeks it, and through the sharing of perspectives, faith is deepened.

Advent is a season of hope, a season that invites us to look forward to the coming of His kingdom. As a Church, that hope is strengthened with every young mind that ponders meaning within the Christmas story, that seeks Christ within and beyond the season. Bring all those minds together, as additions to the Church, and surely as we loop back and back to this season of Emmanuel, our hope grows, advent grows, and in our time and space, His kingdom comes.

The focus of today’s worship on restorative justice resonated very clearly with the work I undertake in my life. I was very grateful in particular for a chance to reflect on the story of Jesus’ healing of Jarius’ daughter and of the other woman in the story. The story surprised me: it made me realize how little I know of Jesus’ work on earth and how much more often I should read the Bible. There is so much in the narrative but it spoke to me in particular as a wonderful affirmation of:

1. the equal value of women to men and of people notwithstanding their social position

2. the separation between God’s law and human laws and social hierarchies: Jesus did not prioritize one person over the other dependant upon their social position; he did not see the woman as unclean or unworthy

3. the fundamentally iconoclastic and un-patriarchal relation of Jesus to the woman: she is defined as “daughter”, and not, as patriarchal social structures would posit, by virtue of her relationships to powerful or powerless men. It is also un-patriarchal that she did not wait for rescue but worked her own redemption in faith and through Jesus.

4.the redemptive power of faith

5. The story speaks to the contingency of moments and the importance of self-help: Jesus did not scorn the woman for taking action. She needed to take action; faith did not involve passivity. I was also very grateful that Andrew shared the story of his maternal grandfather, which is a very sad story, but has strong and important resonances for our own times. We are always navigating, when social systems intersect with out lives, between complicity and resistance: it is not a zero sum question. Just as this man was both a member of Germany’s state church under a Nazi regime and a member of a resistance to it, so do we at all times have rolese where we resist and roles where we participate in oppressive structure simultaneously.

What a privilege it is to write a blog about worship this morning!
It was a service filled with new things – most particularly with new members joining today and with Huda’s first sermon being spoken from the pulpit. Especially salient for me was Huda’s remark about “leaving the mystery intact” with respect to the question of scientific explanations and their presence or absence to account for the story in which Jesus and then Peter both walk on water. This touched on a fundamental point for me, in fact, precisely the point that brought me back to faith after many years of professed athiesm or at least agnosticism. Huda quoted Descartes for the oft-cited fundamental defining proposition of rationality “I think therefore I am.” It was rationalism that led me away from my childhood’s faith. For a long time, I had a great deal of difficulty reconciling the rationalist outlook of my secular education, particularly in science and social science: archaeology, anthropology and law, with a faith that could be logically compatible with rationality.

As Huda said this morning, faith is compatible even with doubt. What brought me back from years away from the church was actually Ludwig Wittgenstein, who wrote in his Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus:

…Even if all possible scientific questions be answered, the problems of life have still not been touched at all.

Which is to say that, as far as I am concerned, were an archaeologist digging in the Middle East to find a mechanism proving beyond a doubt some sort of scientific explanation or even magical hoax behind Jesus walking on water, that would not explain away the mysteries of who he was, and what he said, what people heard when he was speaking, the power of God, and what that continues to mean for us in this far away land today.

The notions of mystery and journey resonated very strongly for me as our new members joined. They are each on their own journeys, as are we all, as am I. It is for the journey and the companionship on it that I am grateful.

Rebecca

Today was my first time back at service after a 3-week’s absence and how wonderful it
felt to be back worshipping and praying in our community!

As it is Remembrance Sunday, we spent some time reflecting on the sacrifice made by
so many so often to assure our freedom. This freedom from war and totalitarianism
that we enjoy in Canada was continued and expanded upon in Andrew’s sermon.

The text comes from our continuing study of the Gospel of Saint Mark – today was
chapter 5, 1-20 – the story of the Madman and Jesus’ healing. In our translation
the demon announces: “My name is Legion,” and in mine (The Message), it’s
rendered “My name is Mob. I’m a rioting mob.” This illustrates one of the reasons
that I really like The Message translation – it sounds much more immediate to my
ears.

As Andrew pointed out, this story is really all about Jesus and His power to heal, but
the other characters in the story are instructive as the reader (or at least this reader)
relates to them more easily.

I am not admitting here to multiple personality disorder, but there have been times
when I have felt like there is a rioting mob within – conflicting values, pressures,
priorities, etc. The resolution to these feelings is, of course, prayer and faith in
the healing power of Christ in our lives. Perhaps not as directly as the Madman
experienced, but the power of the everlasting means exactly this.

The other characters in the story are the farmers tending the pigs. When the demons
inhabit the pigs, freeing the Madman, they die, thus depriving the farmers of their
livelihood, or at least a part thereof. They react, to my mind, logically – they are angry
with Jesus and demand that He leave. They are afraid – of loss, of a terribly strange
occurrence, and perhaps most keenly, of having to adjust to the healed person “no
longer a walking madhouse of a man.”

The challenge that this story leaves with the reader is two-fold – how do we, after
having experienced the healing power of Christ, go forward; and how do others, in
the wake of changed circumstances, adjust. The answer in Mark is that the madman
preached and became “the talk of the town.” Mark does not provide an answer to
how the community reacted, but perhaps the answer is in Andrew’s exhortation to
generosity in all ways that we can.

It was a great day for me to return to service and I hope to work through the response
demanded by this story in the coming week.

Geoffrey

I attended the early service this morning and I was going down the church steps as some folks were arriving for the 11am service. I wanted to stop them and say, “Get ready, it’s a great service you’re in for!” This is surprising actually, since I started the morning not feeling very worshipful – and admittedly not very focused. But in his sermon, Andrew spoke on Mark 4, where Jesus talks about the mustard seed growing into a bush for the birds of the air to nest in, and Andrew compared it to the description of the noble cedar from Ezekiel 17.

A couple thoughts: This morning was a reminder to me that it’s not our job to make things grow, in fact all we can do is sow the seeds and let the Lord do the work. It’s not up to us to create results, but results will certainly happen. A necessary reminder.

But a new thought for me came this morning while considering the humble mustard bush in contrast to the noble cedar. The birds of the air were nesting in the mustard bush, just like they were in the cedar. We plan for and expect great things, but sometimes it’s the simple things that get the job done. I think that often I get caught up in the results, looking for a giant cedar, when really I need to focus on doing my job – living my life and sowing the seeds.

Andrew told us the “birds of the air” is used as an expression in the bible to mean all the nations of the earth. In Mark and also in Ezekiel, the birds of the air find sanctuary in the shade of the tree. What a lovely and inclusive invitation. I’m so thankful we have the opportunity to build our nests in the shade of His tree, and humbled by the seeds he’s given us to sow.

-Maureen.

On this commitment Sunday, I have been thinking about challenges, growth and about light.

It is a season of challenge. Fall is at its height, which means of course that winter is approaching. Under blustery skies, we know as all Canadians do that winter is coming. As happens so often, recent events have presented challenges to many of us. Andrew’s announcements this morning included references to several deaths and other illnesses. Health crises, legal and political inequities surround us and the world simply does not unfold as we think it should. Problems defy easy answers.

With its dramatic shadows, fall is a season of fascinating light. This morning, I loved how the colours of the fall, at their height in the trees, were echoed in the colours on the “flames” waved by our children as they all danced back into church. I loved the sunlight flooding through windows and doorframes, the sunshine a timeless reminder of the warm presence of light in our lives.

Somewhat paradoxically, fall is also a season of growth. Today’s bible readings referred to growth, about planting seeds in all the soil, about cultivating and nurturing seeds of knowledge. In the car on the way home, our backseat was occupied by an intense debate about whether the burning bush was actually burning or whether this was, as my seven year old said, ” a trick of the light from God’s voice being in the bush.” Four little voices chimed in their views on the subject and those elder of us in the front seat were amused by this, our children’s first theological debate. It is exciting and also a relief to see our children growing, in body and in faith, and also a wonderful thing to see the numbers of children in the congregation of St. Andrews growing too.

The growing dusk of a fall Sunday seems to me a very appropriate time for commitment. Because, when there are no challenges, commitment isn’t a challenging choice. But commitment to light is seems to be the only path to growth. And commitment is valuable precisely because it is a challenging choice to move forward on a path guided by meanings where, as Andrew noted, as Steve Jobs noticed, though he was so creatively blessed before his untimely end, things so often don’t seem to go right.

Rebecca

Today is World Food Day, a worldwide day to remember that many do not have enough on their tables. Coming so soon after Thanksgiving, I found it particularly important for me to remember that not everyone has all the blessings I’m able to enjoy. As I listened to Andrew read the readings from Proverbs, (19:17, 22:9, 29:7) I realised it wasn’t going to be a pleasant, relax-in-your-pew sort of morning. We were going to be called to action.

But listening to Andrew speak on Mark 3, it turns out that we don’t have to be pushed or guilted into change. The truth is that we have the freedom to change. We don’t have to be trapped by the old ways of doing things, the old institutions and the old traditions. We are free to follow the better way. Jesus has bound the “Strong Man” and he no longer controls us.

Right away, my mind was brought to the Occupy Wall Street movement. Now there are some people trying to change the old, unjust, unequal ways of doing things. These are exciting times when people are recognising that being the richest is not the best and only goal. And there’s even more we can do – we’ve been freed, remember? What about some personal things that we’ve been called to change in our own lives? What about the gifts we’ve been given that we can share with those around us? We don’t have to be afraid, we can choose to walk in the new way.

From the last hymn, Lord, you give the great commission:

Lord, you show us love’s true measure:
“Father, what they do, forgive.”
Yet we hoard as private treasure
all that you so freely give.
May your care and mercy lead us to a just society;
with the Spirit’s gifts empower us for the work of ministry.

Maureen.

Today was a beautiful day!
Bright sunlight and warm wind filled the church and, as it often seems to at this time of year, light cast rainbow-coloured shadows on the pillars in the sanctuary. Looking at their colours made me think, as Andrew talked about the many years during which St. Andrews has been a church in the same place as the city has grown around it, about how the shadows have, do and will fall the same way each fall, and that the rainbows will most likely to appear each anniversary Sunday. Regardless of the advance of time, the season will bring the same direction of light. Coming to church this morning, after opening our daughter’s birthday presents (because St. Andrew’s birthday is her birthday too!) and watching the police memorial parade, especially when listening to Andrew talk to the children about lost gifts, lead me to reflect upon all of the imperfect and heartfelt contributions of those who have acted for the common good.

Ottawa’s police, to whom I waved today, and to whom I feel a great deal of gratitude, are in a lot of trouble right now for a series of ostensibly unrelated assaults and misconduct allegations. These allegations speak to systemic problems. As a one time defence lawyer, I am both grateful to and wary of police. I am deeply ambivalent about the militaristic pomp of the police memorial. Thinking about my daughter’s birthday made me wonder what my parents gave me on my seventh birthday: I don’t remember. I have ambivalence about that too, thinking that everything I have done for my children, my parents worked hard to do for me. Hundreds of years of church history at St. Andrews are a legacy for which I feel deep gratitude, and with which I feel somewhat disconnected, being a relative newcomer to this city with no roots in Ottawa, with all of the family names celebrated on the church windows and walls that belong to another time also being unfamiliar to me.

It is a lot of things pulled together, like the wind rushing into the sanctuary when the doors opened after the service, like the rainbow patterns on the walls, a swirling of many things, and greatest among them for me today gratitude. I am grateful that others built this church: grateful that my family has been welcomed into St. Andrews’ church family and hopeful we can for many years become part of its history. I am grateful for the contributions of the police to my safety and that of others. I am grateful for my own family. In the paradoxical way that it is possible, I am grateful for lost and forgotten gifts. They may be gone but a legacy is left by the intentions of justice, love and peace in their giving.

Rebecca.

Today’s passage from the gospel according to Mark described the beginning of Jesus’ ministry in Galilee. Calling Simon, Andrew, James and John to follow Him, they obey immediately and follow Him. In his sermon, our Andrew talked about Bonhoeffer’s interpretation of this passage as an example of the absolute authority of Jesus Christ. Because it is Jesus who calls them, the first four disciples obey and follow without question, without reason. Andrew went on to talk about how our faith follows our obedience. We obey and follow not because we have faith, but have faith because we have obeyed Jesus’ call. He also noted that our call is not personal but corporate: Jesus Christ calls us all, all humankind, to put down our nets and follow Him.

This seemed the perfect passage for the beginning of the Sunday School season. The gathering of children to hear the good news and learn how we, as Christians, are called to live, but also because our children do not take themselves to church: they are brought. Before they are old enough to understand why, we teach them the truth of Jesus Christ. They learn of our collective devotion to God and His devotion to us long before they can begin to understand what such devotion means.

As I was contemplating the message in today’s sermon this morning, I wondered: where does love fit in? If we obey God’s call first and then understand what that means and develop our faith afterward, when do we apprehend the love of God? If we follow because we perceive the power and authority of Jesus Christ, when do we perceive His love and His faithfulness? As I sit writing this post, however, I’m struck by the thought that perhaps God’s might is made manifest, in part, in His love. Is it in His love that God’s authority declares itself? Admittedly, my personal bias and lens is that of a parent and mother, but I see a similarity in my relationship with my children – one founded on love but also authority – and the manner in which Andrew described our collective response to Christ’s call.

People often talk of wishing to have “the faith of a child”. Obedience without understanding. Following without questioning. Believing without reasoning. We are called to emulate this, to cast down our nets, our preconceptions, our goals and priorities and follow Jesus, not for some wise or clever reason, but simply because He is LORD.

- Darlene

This morning, I’d walked into the church emotionally charged. The anniversary of 9/11, little Kienan was returned to his family, stuff going on at home… I’d packed extra kleenex and prepared myself for more emotions.

But it was the musical approach that drew my mind to where it was supposed to be:

Day by day, Dear Lord, of thee three things I pray:
To see thee more clearly,
Love thee more dearly,
Follow thee more nearly,
Day by day.
(St. Richard of Chichester)

It reminded me that that’s what is important. Our macro-vision is not the whole story, and I may not understand why things happen, but I can “Follow thee more nearly” every day.

I’m looking forward to continuing on as Andrew teaches through the Gospel of Mark. The beautiful autumn morning, the celebration of baptism, (and enjoying the soft baby noises during the service), the whole worship service made me ready for a fresh, new beginning. Especially with news so important as this: Jesus the Christ has come to humankind.

What about you, what did you bring home from church this Sunday? What spoke to you?

>The Sunday Lunch blog will be on hiatus until the fall. We’ll be working on our spiffy new look over the summer, but in the meanwhile the links in the right-hand sidebar are still active and the St. Andrew’s Ottawa website is always updated.

Church services in July and August are at 10:00 a.m. on Sundays, and we’ll see you back here on the blog after Labour Day.

We are an Easter People!

Easter is my very favourite Sunday of the year. I look forward to the music and the celebration – this is what being a Christian is all about. This morning’s service was wonderful, it was certainly good to be in the house of the Lord. But what made this morning special for me was the emphasis on being a part of the global family of Christ followers. When our first hymn was Jesus Christ is risen today, I wondered how many people were singing that same hymn in churches across the country at that moment.

Then Andrew’s story for the children reminded me that Easter is celebrated not just in my country, but everywhere there are Christians. And to hear Christ is Risen in all those languages was very moving. Easter morning is not just about me and my personal celebration, it’s about all of us as a community, celebrating the resurrection together. In all the languages and in so many of this morning’s songs, Alleluia was the word that brought us all together.

Christ is risen, he is risen indeed! Alleluia!

>Jesus said, “I am the way, the truth and the life.”

These words are familiar to every Christian. They’re an encouragement. A call to action. An exhortation. With this short sentence, Jesus says much more: “Don’t be afraid. Trust me. Follow me and I’ll show you the way.”

Everyone knows what happened next. As Andrew reminded us this morning, Jesus turned words into decisive action. He chose to sacrifice himself to defeat darkness, violence and doubt. He chose to affirm the power of life and point to what is beautiful, enduring and right.

This is, of course, a wonderful story. But how do we learn from it? How is it relevant to us? How can we use it? What are the practical applications?

Thankfully, our minister has plenty of ideas. We were encouraged by the timely examples Andrew offered this morning:

• The Rev. Dr. Arthur Currie, who has given the gift of himself during the 50 years since his call to St. Andrew’s

• The federal election, a chance to choose engagement over apathy and trust in justice, peace and joy
• Earth Day, a chance to honour God by valuing, respecting and preserving the Earth and all that fills it
• The Multifaith Housing Initiative’s Tulipathon, a chance to walk with people of all faiths to provide affordable housing for low-income households in Ottawa

It’s always inspiring to learn about what the words and actions of Jesus can teach us. It’s even better to have great examples of how we can apply these lessons – and honour God – in our daily lives.

>I really liked the emphasis in the sermon this morning on abiding in Christ – on making Christ the thing around which we define ourselves. Putting Christ at the centre gives us strength and assurance. Christ is always with us, and because we are able to depend on him, we are able to live fully and to grow abundantly.

I also appreciated the connection Andrew made with the question put to those who joined the church today – will you make diligent use of the means of grace? It is up to God to speak, but, by defining ourselves around Christ and putting him at the centre, we give God opportunity through worship, reading and prayer.

On my run before church this morning, a song came on my iPod that has a wonderful line in it – “Every day, I wake up. I choose love. I choose light.” Very inspirational and invigorating! I thought of that line during the sermon – while it seems pretty individualistic, I think that it could be seen as an affirmation of the choice we have made to put Christ at the centre. If every day we can wake up and choose to define ourselves around God’s love and light, we will bear much fruit and our joy will be made full.

Laura

>In reflecting on today’s sermon, “The Good Shepherd”, on the 23rd Psalm and on the 100th birthday of Ann Crain, my mind turned to leadership. Shepherds, at least in Palestine, lead by example, as Andrew said. On this morning with the first breath of spring in the air, I was touched by the truly exceptional and quite beautiful ways members of our church community lead. Maureen shines with unselfish loyalty to a friend by donating a kidney – giving of her self quite literally in the service of life. Schoolgirls read bible verses in calm, clear voices. Ann Crain reads the 23rd Psalm with a strong, lovely voice that has resonated for 100 years, providing a shining example of a good life. Beautiful music flows through the sanctuary, with a soprano solo so compelling as to actually quiet my children, which is no small feat. Andrew speaks with patience and tact and conviction, leading us to read interesting books, see interesting movies and contemplate how best to follow the path of Christ. In this time of election when people in the political sphere posture, mock and shove for a chance to lead us, it is refreshing indeed to see the more subtle ways in which positive examples of leadership surround us.

Rebecca

>Today’s service certainly gave me much to think about.

The invitation to leave tradition and institutional comfort at bay was a difficult challenge, as these values are dear to me. Reconsidering them, though, is always a useful exercise. Perhaps the sermon’s title “I am the bread of life” can provide strength in this exercise.

As Rev. Johnston described the boomers, Gen X (that’s me), and the echo generation, I was thinking about how I could relate to values usually ascribed to each. But the challenge to rethink how we express our faith and to focus on the personal experience of faith is not at all easy. For me, coming to a life of faith indeed started with the monument and tradition of the church, and I must say that I find it difficult to express personal experiences of faith. It is far easier to read scripture, hear music, see art and architecture, rather than relate the powerful peace that can come in silent prayer.

As Rev. Johnston described Jesus as a bridge between us and God, perhaps traditions and institutions have been another kind of bridge for me, and that personal experience is just another lane on the same bridge.

Geoffrey

>Walls. When it comes to sheep, that is one part of all that is required for protection. The other, of course, is a gate. Or, as today’s scriptures make abundantly clear, a Shepherd’s presence in lieu of a gate – a solitary protector lying in the gap, ensuring all remains well through the darkness of the night.

I can’t help but focus on the walls. Walls can seem so nondescript when we pass them by from the outside, invoking little to no emotion as we go along our merry, busy ways. Yet, figuratively and literally, they can speak a great deal of both hope and joy. For the prisoner, they speak of the hope of redemption, and of liberty. For the flock, they speak of the joy of protection, of safely belonging and flourishing.

For the redeemed, for God’s flock, to reside within the walls of the church, and of faith, and of fellowship, having entered through Christ, is to experience a communal joy for which we must never neglect to express gratitude. Beyond that joy, we are called to heed the voice of our Shepherd, and head back into pasture, into the world, into a place with sweet grass as well as hidden dangers. Beyond that joy, we are called to trust in the voice of He who is the author of our faith, our reason for safety in a place without walls. Beyond that joy, we bear a responsibility to constantly listen, filtering out the clamouring, mundane noises, so that we may hear the voice of the One intent on leading us through pasture, right back to the joy within the walls, right back to the place where He keeps watch.

Through it all, what is clear is our Shepherd’s unflinching attentiveness. Our Shepherd is the king of love, imagine that!

“All glory to our Lord and God for love so deep, so high, so broad, the Trinity whom we adore forever and forevermore.”

>Lent is my favourite season of the liturgical calendar. It appeals to my reflective nature, I think. This morning, the first Sunday in Lent, Andrew reminded us that it’s a time we use to acknowledge our lostness, fears and futility, but it’s a time full of promise for the light in the darkness.

In reflecting on Jesus as the Light of the World, (John 8:12) we saw Jesus as an inviting candle, not a bright, glaring spotlight. The image that stays in my mind is that of a candle on a table in a dark room, and how a room lit by a candle looks so different. The candle brings out the nooks and crannies of a room, making it seem much more alive in the flickering light. In the same way, Jesus sees our lives differently: not seeing our achievements or status, instead seeing us a beloved child of God.

The Sunday service was full of images this morning, was there an image that stood out in your mind?

>Who Am I?

The Transfiguration

Two themes emerged for me during week’s message. The first was Jesus being the lens through which we interpret the bible. Andrew felt that God was telling those assembled to listen to Jesus – and Jesus above all. This is echoed by the Great Prayer of Thanksgiving:

“Through Christ, with Christ, in Christ,
in the unity of the Holy Spirit,
all glory and honour are yours, almighty God,
for ever and ever”

The other twist on the scripture reading for me was Peter’s reaction to the transfiguration. I thought Peter’s offer to build a house was odd – why make such a mundane suggestion at such a spiritual moment? I understand now that Peter wanted to capture the magic for himself and enshrine it in a human dwelling.

However, even Jesus put aside the illuminating Presence and descended the mountain as a man. We can’t dwell within those mountaintop experiences indefinitely, but they can inspire and sustain us in our daily lives of service.

Eileen Dent

>I found two messages conveyed by Andrew in today’s sermon to be especially meaningful for me. I have always found the concept of the devil to be unclear and confusing, but Andrew’s choice to include the story of the devil tempting the man in the form of the angel Gabriel helped illustrate to me that humility can be a way of dealing with evil influences. The other message conveyed by Andrew in his sermon that I found especially helpful was that God is always nearby and is there to persevere right along with us (book of Ephesians).

These two messages will prove inspiring for me in the week ahead.

By Stacey Huber

>A few weeks ago, our voice in the desert talked about gentle water gradually wearing down the rock. I found such comfort in that image and couldn’t get it out of my mind. Then this morning we read Ezekiel 37, about the dry bones coming to life, and 1 Corinthians 12, all the different gifts within the body of believers.

That image of the water droplets was so calm, so gradual, so passive. This morning there was sudden, dramatic action! There were responsibilities to fulfill; there was a tangle of bones and of people. It was so important for me to hear how it’s not just God working (slowly) on me as an individual. It’s also how together we are working to help each other, using our individual gifts in community, that allows us to grow in our relationship with God.

Maureen.

>“The task ahead of us is never as mighty as the power behind us.” This reminder came near the close of today’s sermon from Barb Summers on Presbyterian World Service and Development Sunday.
I should have paid closer attention to the title of her talk – “The Other Half of the Story” – as she started out with many statistics attesting to the brokenness of our world, I thought, “Oh dear, another depressing newspaper talk.” But no, the other half of the story is the positive news about PWS&D’s work in the world.
Barb spoke eloquently and inspirationally about her work and PWS&D’s successes. She personalised the line item on our donation envelopes with a couple of examples that she has witnessed: a Pakistani woman enabled to feed her children and to participate in the productivity of her village, women in India celebrating their collective potential and influence.
“The task ahead of us is never as mighty as the power behind us.” A thought for us all to reflect upon in our lives, and something that makes me more curious to learn more about PWS&D’s work in the world.

-Geoffrey

UPDATE: Barb Summers’ sermon can be heard here: The Other Half of the Story

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>Last Sunday our worship service was especially moving. Psalm 19, and of course Isaiah, are powerful poetry that I wait for, and one of the pleasures of the 9:30 AM service is to hear the readings in Andrew Johnston’s trained and intelligent voice. We can listen fearlessly, confident that he will make sense of Paul’s most convoluted reasonings, while never, never barking his vocal cards on a nasty bit of protruding syntax.

The sermon began, like many newspaper articles at this time of year, with reference to fitness–spiritual fitness, though, and the daily exercises required for it. One of these is listening, and I thought about the different feeling that I get from the words “listening” and “hearing.” “Listening” seems to be about focus and attention consciously directed outside the self. “Hearing” has a sense of allowing words to enter into body and mind, where over time they may be transformative. That, in fact, was the message.

A moderate among the 4th-Century desert fathers (mothers too, Andrew said, but did anyone save the fragments the women left behind?), Abba Poemen spoke about the way hard stone yields over time to yielding drops of water, which wear it away, as the tender Word of God, heard again and again, softens our stony hearts. Andrew reminded us that the Christian Bible is not itself the Word of God, as my Presbyterian grandfather would have it, but a witness to the Word who is Christ.

The desert Christians broke free from the comforts of an official and acknowledged religion. While they came together for worship, they found their own ways to God, hearing his voice in the silence. We need to find spaces in our noisy lives to listen for the whispers of God and courage to be led where perhaps the church has not yet been brave enough to go.

After the service I found a corner where I could drink my coffee in calmness and joy. Now to keep that feeling for the rest of the week!

>This morning we welcomed the Rev. Ann Salmon to the pulpit to celebrate the Week of Prayer for Christian Unity. Rev. Salmon is the minister of the Church of the Good Shepherd in Barrhaven, which is the first joint Anglican/Lutheran church in Canada. These denominations have been in prayerful discussion for a number of years about a new covenant relationship and this new congregation is the fruit of that effort.

Rev. Salmon’s ‘state of the union’ message is one that we need to hear often: the church, in its widest sense, needs to be the common ground on which we worship our Creator, learn of our Redeemer and listen for the Spirit. And yet the church today, as an institution, is a fragmented, imperfect vessel which tends to get bogged down in details and, on occasion, misses the point. Her call to be vigilant against this was not so much a criticism of the past but a call to the present and future to re-direct and re-commission ourselves to serve others. What are your thoughts on the state of the church? What would it take for the church to be more unified? What would be the result?

>This morning’s sermon is available. Click to download and listen.

Sunday, January 23

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>Andrew’s sermon today about incarnation was particularly interesting since, as he noted, this is an aspect of Biblical doctrine that is often substantively unexplored and, as he noted, addressed in a formalistic way.

A significant phrase for me in what Andrew said this morning was stated not in the sermon itself but in the prayer that preceded it. He talked about “continuous creation.” The idea that incarnation continues in our lives is closely related to possibilities of reading the Bible not just as historical narrative but simultaneously also as allegory: the Child is perennial reborn and God incarnate is always with us. Something else that really resonated with me was the notion that spiritual growth, growing more fully into perfect freedom by following God’s way is a gradual journey. When I was doing prison Ministry in Ohio’s jails, I had an opportunity one Sunday to speak with a quiet, sensitive and intelligent young African American man who had clearly been led by poverty into a life of economic dependence on the drug trade. He was perplexed and saddened because he wanted to have faith but had not had a dramatic spiritual experience or “prison conversion” as he would have hoped for or expected on the basis of the variant on Christianity he had been taught in his upbringing. We had been talking about St. Paul on the road to Damascus, and this man was hoping for the scales to fall from his eyes and to see clearly. We talked about how maybe that doesn’t happen all at once for most people, that revelations can be partial, as Andrew said: “surprises”, experiences of God in the personal and in mundane places, like a walk in the forest, a garden, or even a prison.

I also really appreciated the suggestion that perhaps those who claim not to believe in God have not had the nature of God explained appropriately. This idea sheds new light on the hyperbolic debates of folks like Christopher Hitchens and those who mirror him in Evangelical circles. Failure to define terms broadly or sensitively enough leads to foolish debate. Or criticism of Christianity by some as patriarchal when the key element of Christ’s incarnation rests itself on a moment that disrupts patriliny completely: Joseph embraces Jesus as his son despite the fact that he is not the biological father. Or the debates between creationist and evolutionist “scientists”, which rest on a failure of imagination to appreciate that continuous creation can include the processes of science.
… which makes me think of a country song:
“His fingerprints are everywhere
I’d just slow down to stop and stare
opened my eyes and man I swear
I saw God today.”
-George Strait

Rebecca B.

>This morning I found myself thinking about kings. Not surprising, since it’s Epiphany Sunday. We sang “We Three Kings,” and Andrew explained the galette des rois to the children. One of our readings was about King Herod trying to protect his throne by finding the young Messiah. But what especially struck me this morning was how undeserving the child-king Jesus was of those gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh. Perhaps because I’ve been feeling undeserving lately of all the gifts I’ve received, but it struck me that young Jesus hadn’t done anything to merit the gifts he was brought. They were truly just “gifts.”

Andrew’s sermon seemed so relevant this morning. The wonder and awe, the mystery of the miraculous, that is what’s it’s all about. There are so many things that we don’t understand with our mind, that we can only feel in our soul. I don’t know why I’ve been blessed with so many good things: a happy home, health, God’s great gift of condescension to mankind… But I do know I can accept them, and keep my eyes open to the wonder and awe of it all.

Maureen.

Recorded from the 11am service

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>Our own Peter Rombeek was in the pulpit this week, click below to listen to his sermon, “Knock, Knock.”

Sunday, January 2nd, 2011

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Peter Rombeek, studying at Vancouver School of Theology
Recorded from the 11am service

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>Joyous Christmas! Below you’ll read memories of Christmas Eve’s past. This morning, I invite you to share your Christmas memories in the comments: at St. Andrew’s church or at home with family; your first Christmas away from home; experiencing Christmas as a parent, excited children rising early; or spending the morning in quiet reflection…

Share a Christmas memory!

>

I love Christmas Eve. It has always been one of my favourite nights of the year.

Okay, I imagine I’m not the only one who feels that way; it’s a pretty common sentiment. Having grown up in St. Andrew’s, I have attended at least one of the Christmas Eve services in every year that I can remember, but one. I thought to kick off any bloggy celebrations of Christmas, I would share some of my memories of Christmas Eves past.

One year, my father made quite a mark on Christmas Eve. He was part of the performance of a play in the service, but not obviously so. In the days leading up to Christmas Eve, my father didn’t shave. Before heading to the church, he did not put on his best suit. He didn’t even sit in the pew with the rest of us.

The play began, and shortly after the first lines were recited, a scruffy man in the back row objected, causing a bit of a to-do and seemlingly interrupting the first scene of the play. Yes, it was my father. His role was that of a skeptical outsider who would come to the church and learn about Christmas. He relished this role, and he was quite pleased when one of his friends admitted that he (the friend) was about to get up in case this scruffy looking ne’er-do-well needed to be escorted out, not recognizing my Dad.

As a youngster, I, too, participated in a number of Christmas Eve services, beginning as a member of the junior choir, and later performing in plays and with the bell choir. I specifically remember one Christmas Eve play. It was not the typical pageant. It was not a pageant at all. It was set as a father talking to his children. It was a series of lessons explaining not just the Christmas story, but reason for Christmas and the need and joy of folloing Christ.

The play was directed by one of the choir members, Doug. Doug would pass away when I was 16, but throughout the years he spent at St. Andrew’s, Doug’s love and compassion was always evident. He was as devoted to the church and the children as he was the choir. Unfortunately for Doug, this particular performance hit a bit of a snag. Doug was directing, but not acting… or at least, he wasn’t planning to act. Shortly before Christmas, the man who was to play the role of the father had to drop out, and Doug did not have the time to find a replacement or learn the lines. He stepped right in, though, with the script taped inside a book used as a prop. From what I recall, it was a near seamless performance. Certainly, it went better than anyone would have guessed a few days earlier.

As I became a teenager, St. Andrew’s revived it’s senior bell choir, and Christmas Eve performances quickly became a staple. Each year, whether led by Sue or Kerry, we would be there, ringing out carols for the congregation. At first, we would perform at the Family Service, inhabiting the choir loft. It was rather magical to be up there, after years of watching the choir from below (it would also be a precursor to future Christmas Eves spent in the choir loft). Sitting up there offered a front row seat to one of the more memorable Christmas Eve performances I have witnessed, as one year my uncle, Ewen and Archie performed a trio of We Three Kings.

During the mid-1990s, I developed a different Christmas Eve ritual, one separate from my parents. As I approached the end of my teen years, my cousin and I began ushering on Christmas Eve. We were asked one year and, since there was no longer a senior bell choir, we decided to give it a go. It was, in many ways, a natural step. We had always been active in Christmas Eve services, whether performing in plays, singing in the junior choir or playing the bells; now, we were greeters, and as greeters we gained a whole new perspective on the Candlelight Service.

Ushering at the north door offered an interesting perpsective to the Christmas Eve service. We would not encounter as many “regular” attendees of St. Andrew’s. We would be blessed meeting visitors, both from within the city and elsewhere in the world, and seeing old friends who were no longer able to attend St. Andrew’s on a regular basis. Occasionally, we would even see friends we knew, but whom we never knew had a connection to the church. Upon ushering once, we made a point of ushering on Christmas Eve for many years to come.

Of course, ushering on Christmas Eve offered some unusual challenges, at times. There was one year where a bat found its way into the Narthex. With the aid of Maurice, then the church officer, we attempted to give the bat an escape, leaving all the doors open for the bulk of the service (making for a rather chilly sanctuary). The bat never did leave, but flew up into the bell tower instead.

Christmas Eve 2002 was quite strange for me. My mother was in the hospital. She would be in a coma for the majority of the holiday season, and we didn’t know if she’d emerge. As difficult as I knew it would be, I still felt the need and desire to go to the Candlelight Service. I was a little wary. I knew there would be questions about my mom, and I wasn’t sure how well I’d handle them. I also knew that there was no place I would feel more comfortable or comforted. I settled into the pew and never felt any regret for my decision. Despite all that was going on, it was like so many Christmas Eves of the past. In all honesty, I don’t particularly remember the service. I don’t remember the hymns or anthems. My memories are much different. I remember, again, spending a Christmas Eve with my cousin. As our repsective church attendance became more sporadic, we no longer saw each other on the weekly basis as we had while growing up. Having yet another evening with him was important.

After the service, my cousin ran in to a friend of his who was on the verge of joining our church. The three of us spent an hour chatting after the service; that’s no exaggeration. The church officer practically had to kick us out at 1:00 am.

A year later, Christmas Eve 2003, my mother was gone, having succumbed to leukemia the previous August. My cousin’s friend that I had met a year earlier had become my fiancee, and for the first time in ages I attended the Family Service, as she was singing. For the late service, I was giving one of the readings. My reading was paired with an anthem written by my mother when she was a student under Carmen Milligan. It was an experience as wonderful as it was painful.

There was another beauty to that evening, for once again there would soon be a Mrs. McLeod sitting in choir loft. And for the following four years, I would join her, spending Christmas Eves in the same loft that grandmothers, grandfather, uncle, aunt and mother had for years and years earlier.

2008 saw my exodus from the choir. Relatedly (and more importantly), that would be the first Christmas Eve I would spend with my daughter. Though I would miss the magic of the choir loft, the magic of fatherhood would more than suffice. For the first year or two of her life, my daughter developed a rather peculiar sleeping pattern, generally staying awake until 11:00 pm, or, regularly, much later. Tiring as such a schedule was, I thought it would work to my benefit on Christmas Eve, so the daughter and I decided to make our way to the Candlelight Service (my wife would be there anyway, still being in the choir). As you can imagine, a thoughtful plan and a baby do not always co-exist. My daughter decided that she did not want to be in the service after about the first verse of the first carol sung. Consequently, I spent the entire service in Narthex wearing a sleeping baby.

It was, however, rather fitting. After all those Christmas Eves that saw my cousin and I ushering, spending much time in that Narthex, it felt quite like coming home, but this time I had a wonderful baby girl with me.

This year, there will be no Candlelight Service for me. The entire family will be going to the early service. There had been some thoughts of having our daughter participate in the pageant, but, as with babies, a thoughtful plan and a toddler do not always co-exist.

But it matters not. There will still be carols; there will still be family; there will still be the Christmas story. And, most of all, there will still be joy. Through excitement, challenge, sorrow and comfort there has always been joy. It’s Christmas Eve; what more need there be?

So… what memories and feelings do you have about Christmas Eve?

>Two Sundays ago, we sang the hymn, What Child Is This? The timing was quite fortuitous as I was listening to it a week or two ago, and thought it might make a good post here at Sunday Lunch (and I would like to thank my dear wife for not covering this topic in her blog post from Sunday). The version to which I was listening, however, was not a traditional one; I was listening to a version arranged and recorded by Sufjan Stevens. It is, in my estimation, a wonderful re-interpretation of a classic carol.

This version demonstrates the timelessness of this piece, as it can find a home in both traditional and popular music. In that sense, it is an apt reflection of the joy we derive from Christ – joy that is eternal, everlasting. Granted, many other traditional carols have been given a modern glass (including others by Mr. Stevens), but the eternal nature of this piece is evident in more than just this new arrangement.

To me, the pay off of the piece comes in the second to last verse. It is not just about the musical tension, but the lyrical tension as well. It is rare the Christmas song that will offer such a harsh and brutal line as this:

Nails, spear shall pierce Him through,
The cross be borne for me, for you.

Christmas is not usually a time in which we deal with such violent and bloody imagery. Advent is a time of Peace, Joy, Love and Hope. Generally, we sing of the star, the peaceful night, the innocent babe, the shepherds and the three kings. It is not a time that we focus on the Passion. Especially in light of the popular adoption of Christmas – and, for good or ill, Christmas has become a cultural holiday, not just a religious one – the atmosphere is joyous. It’s lights and peace and goodwill towards men.

Then, to focus on the suffering can seem an uncomfortable juxtaposition. Certainly, in the song it is such, but it is useful – perhaps, even, necessary – if we are to fully explore our faith, the nature of Christmas and our relationship with God. Bringing in the brutality of the crucifixion is not necessarily a reactionary measure of a Christian trying to reclaim Christmas from the popular clutches of Santa and Frosty. No, it offers insight into the eternal nature of God, man and existence. Consequently, the modernization of the music by artists like Mr. Stevens is all the more appropriate because, on a more meta level, it is an apt reflection of the timelessness of Christ as demonstrated through the construction of the lyrics; it is this construction, both in terms of the subject matter and the juxtaposition, that provides the aforementioned insight.

A few years ago, our former Minister, Greg, led an Upper Room get-together in which we discussed St. Augustine’s Confessions. Specifically, we discussed Augustine’s thoughts on the nature of time, and the idea that the human experience of “time” came to our species with the bite of an apple. Though humans experience time as a linear progression of events, there is no reason to believe that this way of gathering, storing and assessing information is the actual way that existence unfolds; indeed, in its purest form (a form we would have experienced before the fall, and hope to experience after our temporal life), existence does not unfold, it merely is. This interpretation of the existence of time dovetails nicely with Presbyterian theology. (It also challenges popular notions of fate, providence, free will, pre-destination and creation.)

With our flaws comes an inability to fully and properly understand the intricacies of God and His creation. In this mortal world, to gain any understanding of existence requires experiencing existence linearly, but this linear progression of time is more a human construct than an elemental truth of God’s creation. As such, considering Christ’s birth an individual event, divorced from the context of his earthly life and beyond, is to err (however, considering Christ’s birth as an individual event is a valid coping mechanism in our broken world). In isolation, Christ’s birth is not the significant event that popular culture would have us believe. Even, in isolation, Christ’s death is not – if I may be so bold – of utmost importance. It was – is – His birth, His life, His pain, His death, His time in hell and His resurrection that is important.

Language is important here. I do not write that these events are important; I write that these events is important. Though we understand them in the plural, they compose a singular, and they compose a present-tense singular (for if we are to put a time constraint on the eternal, it must be the present). Conjugating our verbs to facilitate our imperfect interpretation of God’s existence and creation has a purpose, but too often we let our limitations in understanding some eternal truths unduly restrict our understanding of all eternal truths.

This, then, is what What Child Is This? has brought us. It is the reminder that Christmas is not merely a precursor to the ensuing life, death and resurrection of Christ, nor a stand-alone event in Christ’s life, but an inseparable part of Christ’s full existence.

It is, certainly, more straightforward for us to think of Christmas, then of Good Friday, then of Easter Sunday; the sequence helps us both in processing Christ’s existence as well as the 2010/2011 calendar year. We experience the joy of Christmas. Later, we experience the joy of Palm Sunday, which leads to the trepidation of Maundy Thursday, which leads to the sorrow of Good Friday and, finally, to the joy of Easter Sunday.

But these are not separate, or even sequential, events, even if our living would so lead us to believe. They are not linked by a process or a serial dependency, but are all a part of the experience of being a follower of Christ. The joy of Christmas is the sorrow of Good Friday. The sorrow of Good Friday is the joy of Easter. We cannot separate each event from one another, nor should we even try. We will distinguish between them, but such compartmentalizing is only necessary because of our broken nature. Again, it is just a construct that we require in order to approach God, after having fallen so far from Him. Artificial though it may be, it still holds value, but its value is as a guidepost on our journey to Christ. It is not the destination.

So it is good to be reminded, during this time, not just of the birth of Christ, but of the suffering and of the resurrection. Holding all these events together in our hearts will bring us greater meaning, and will bring us closer to Him.

Christmas is Good Friday. It is Easter.

>I was delighted by Andrew’s choice of sermon topic this morning.

The importance of choice must not be undervalued. Throughout scripture, both Old and New Testaments, we see example after example of the importance, the absolute necessity of choice for our humanity. As far back as the second chapter of Genesis, human choice affects and effects history. But despite the prevalence of examples, we often read these stories without appreciating the essential character of the choices made by the people immortalized in holy literature. Too often, we are comfortable discussing the “wrong” choices made by some – Adam and Eve, Cain, the citizens of Sodom, Pilate, Judas Iscariot – but dismiss the “right” choices as merely submission to the will of God or that person’s destiny, ordained by God.

But choice is important. It is essential to our humanity, and it is essential to our relationship with God. Through Jesus Christ we are given a most monumental choice: to accept His salvation and His yoke which comes with it, or not. He gives us the choice to accept the conditions of a relationship with the Divine. What is also remarkable is that even His conception came with a choice.

As Denise Levertov writes in her poem, Annunciation,

But we are told of meek obedience. No one mentions
courage.
The engendering Spirit
did not enter her without consent.
God waited.
She was free
to accept or to refuse, choice
integral to humanness.

Andrew’s reflection on the word used by Mary as related in Greek, “doula”, was particularly fitting and struck me very personally – and, truly, isn’t it always best we are personally touched and affected by scripture? The word originally meant simply “servant” but now, as Andrew noted, it is used to refer to women who attend other women before, during and following birthing. As one who has birthed a child while attended by a doula, who will do so again in just a few months, and as a woman who is also preparing to become a doula myself, I found this linguistic connection struck me very personally. The use of the word “doula” relates that Mary doesn’t merely agree to be a vessel, an incubator for the Messiah: she agrees to help the Almighty bring this Saviour into the world. She agrees to help God birth.

A phrase often used in the birthing and doula community in defining the role of the doula in a birth is that she “mothers the mother”. Truly, Mary consents not only to birthing the Christ-child, but to being His mother. She agrees to carry Him in her body, but also in her heart. To care for Him, but also about Him. To love Him.

- Darlene M

>This year, I am particularly enjoying the progression of the Sundays through Advent, the order of the celebratory candles we are lighting. We began with Hope, with looking forward to what can and will be, accepting the possibility of new and unexpected blessings. It allows us to experience Peace, both peace in our hearts and peace in our lives: we have no need for fear, for we already carry the Hope of Christ. And through that Hope and Peace, we arrive at Joy.

At first glance, it would seem a little unrelated to focus on the ministry and prophecy of John the Baptizer during the Sunday when we light the Candle of Joy. As Dr. Johnston noted in his sermon, the words of John were not particularly joyful or upbeat, but instead he preached repentance and our intense need to a change of heart, a radical altering to our way of life to save us from damnation. But that’s just a part of the journey. Our experience as Christians doesn’t culminate in our repentance, but in our redemption. As Andrew said this morning, it is only through acknowledging darkness that we can see and appreciate light. It is only through acknowledging our sinfulness and our desperate need for God that we can properly turn towards Him and experience most fully the joyfulness of His offer of salvation.

I truly appreciated the substance of the sermon today, as it is often so easy to become caught up in the “doom and gloom” so often professed in Christendom. Andrew’s relating of the failure of the Pharisees and the Sadducees to observe their faith properly was particularly telling: we, too, must not focus only the practice of acts as a marking of observant religion, but must use our practice as a means of turning to God, of reminding ourselves that we alone are insufficient. We need God Almighty and the favour and salvation He affords us.

The final hymn summed up this theme beautifully. Herald, sound the note of judgment: because it is only through judging ourselves to be in need of redemption that we can fully experience it. Herald, sound the note of gladness: we are not alone! Emmanuel! Herald, sound the note of pardon: our salvation is now at hand. Our Saviour has come! Herald, sound the note of triumph: Christ is victorious over the grave. Our ransom is paid and we can live in the light of God’s Grace!

Darlene M

UPDATE: The recorded sermon is available here.

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“God with us” – Emmanuel
 
This morning we celebrated the second week of Advent, in preparation of the coming of Christ to the world two thousand years ago, as well as the second coming, and took part in the Lord’s Supper.  I love the combination of these two.  It feels like we are celebrating and committing ourselves to the birth, death, and then the second coming of Jesus all at once.  These two events, I think, depict God’s complete commitment and steadfast love for us, now and forever.  (Even so, I caught myself busy thinking about things-to-do for the fast approaching Christmas season.  That would be some kind of advent activity on a personal level, wouldn’t it?)
 
When Andrew spoke of “our” song, Oh come, oh come, Emmanuel, I felt that it could easily be “our” song for everyone who believes in God, whose presence is in us for every moment of our life, hence, Emmanuel, “God with us.”  It was not us who came up with that name, or title, for Christ, but it was God himself who gave that name to His only son.  Perhaps, this was God’s way of saying that He wants to be with us, among us.  I just hope that my thoughts, words, or actions would not muck up His desire to be with us, or hinder anyone else wanting to get closer to God.
 
Jonathan K.

>I love the Advent Season – and perhaps the first Sunday is my favourite of all. The lighting of the candle of hope is always very moving for me. It is a time to focus forward, to feel and to know the promise of Advent. By looking toward the future, perhaps we are able to slough off the fetters of the past, and the anxieties of the present.

Reverend Johnston’s sermon was entitled “Preparation!” The exclamation point is his, not mine, and I believe to emphasize that the preparing to be ready is as important as the being ready. This is surely comforting – knowing that for all our faults and shortcomings, the work of preparation is our supreme task as Christians.

Following the text of Matthew 24, Reverend Johnston challenged us to change our perspective – to be future-centred, not past-focused. The future described in this passage in Matthew is the Rapture – the Second Coming of Lord Jesus Christ on Earth. It is this future event for which we light the candle of hope, and toward which we look.

The troubling part of this passage for me is the 50% of the people who are not taken. “Are they unworthy?”, I think. “Am I unworthy?”, I selfishly think. Of course, there is no certain answer to these questions, but there is hope. And there is the work of preparation which may make us more ready to be taken into the glory of the Rapture. This work, clearly, is more difficult than the promise in buying an “R4R” mousepad or t-shirt! But it is the work of preparing our hearts and lives to be acceptable and pleasing to God, and in living out the promise and the hope of the Advent Season that we come to be closer to Christ.

>As a confirmed goer to the 9:30 service, it’s always a pleasure to experience the fuller service of 11:00. the choir, the children, the fuller congregation – everything! This morning was particularly moving as it was a time for the whole congregation to come together to profess publicly to each other our commitment to Christian life together and to St. Andrew’s Ottawa in particular.

I enjoyed the choir being closer to the congregation and I especially enjoyed the Moses story as depicted by the children. I never imagined Moses saying “Holy Smoke”, but I’m sure but it was certainly fitting to describe the voice of God coming out of a burning yet not consumed burning bush.

Reverend Johnston pointed out that we identify with the bush, the bush who was going about its earthly business doing whatever a bush does, until one day God needed that bush and acted through it. Apparently, we too are going about our business always at hand to be the conduit for God. It made me wonder if this is really the case. Are we, or at least, am I open enough to be of use to God. Would I be be watching TV when God came? Would I be working? Would I be answering email, texting, playing a video game, even asleep? perhaps God used the bush because, as a bush, it didn’t have the luxury of distractions. perhaps i ouht to take some time to be more open, more attuned and more aware, less distracted, less busy, for God to work through me. And this, I think is one lesson of Covenant Sunday – being aware that we as a congregation need to make some time, devote some talent, divert some treasure for His work, through St. Andrews and the Presbyterian ministry.

On a practical note, I’ve been doing the PAR contributions for 2 years now, and it is so easy. It also makes the option of sleeping in on a Sunday morning less guilt-inducing knowing that the contribution goes to work, even if I don’t go to church!

Geoffrey