St Andrew's Presbyterian Church – Duncan, BC

One of the great moments in the story of the exodus of God’s people has to be the provision of manna from heaven. In that epic narrative of how God delivered Israel from their years of slavery in Egypt, I love the description (Exodus 16) of how the Lord fed his hungry people in the wilderness with the gift of manna each morning. The Hebrew word, manna, literally means “What is it?” For the gift of the heaven-sent bread, which came fresh like the morning dew, was greeted initially by the people with wonder and confusion. They had never before encountered the marvelous food which scripture describes as being white like coriander seed with a taste like wafers made from honey. For forty years, as the people wandered in the desert, God provided his people with manna, sufficient for health and strength and hope.

This past week, as the Proclamation event got underway, it seemed to me that God was once again providing heavenly manna each day. (Proclamation is a ten day event in which the whole of the Bible is read aloud from 7 in the morning till 9 at night. Readers from the various churches in our Valley are coming together to proclaim the wondrous Word of God which we find in scripture!) I’ve had the joy of spending most of the first two days of Proclamation simply sitting and listening as the Word is proclaimed, and truly, it is manna to the soul.

Not that I didn’t know and trust in the power of the Word before this. Yet, for most of us, we are accustomed to such comparably small nibbles of scripture at any one time, and rarely do we give ourselves the opportunity to be so immersed in the Word. More likely, in our personal devotions, we may read and then meditate upon just short excerpts of scripture. Even on Sunday mornings in our gathered fellowships, we likely do not read aloud more than a handful of verses altogether, lasting a few minutes. But in the Proclamation event, the Word is read aloud—great chunks of the Old Testament and then the New. It’s like eking by on crumbs (even though the crumbs are rich and powerful) and then suddenly coming to a huge and expansive banquet. I suspect most folk would confess that we spend too little time reading scripture; the Proclamation event has just underlined for me how we need to spend so much more time devouring big hunks of scripture, letting its power, wisdom and light have entry into our hearts.

The second thing I realized afresh is the power of the Word spoken aloud. Again, most of us simply read visually; yet scripture is an oral book. Scripture is meant to be read aloud to the community of faith, and the Word takes on so much more vibrancy and impact when we hear with our ears, not just read with our eyes. Perhaps part of the reason is that we tend often to skim when visually reading, and our minds can so much more easily wander. When we sit, however, and listen intently to the drama and glory of the story of God’s searching after his children, how much more do we find ourselves, as it were, “inside” the story. It is not just the story of the Israelites long ago, or the disciples in their time, but the Spirit begins to invite us in a powerful way into the midst of the action, so that we begin afresh to comprehend and appreciate the narrative as not only our story, but the story of our hope and salvation.

Centuries ago, the prophets would often call out to their audience to “hear the word of the Lord.” Sitting with so many others listening to the Bible being read aloud, we have indeed gloried and marveled as the Word of the Lord has sounded deeply into our hearts.

We’ve been fed. We’ve been nourished. We’ve been blessed and renewed, all because of the amazing manna of God’s Word. The banquet is ever available. Thanks be to God for his gift.

I am excited. Tomorrow morning (Wednesday) at 7 am, we begin reading the Bible out loud, and will continue to do so for fourteen hours a day over a ten day period. Our congregation is co-hosting along with two other churches in the Valley, while many congregations and Christian groups are participating in the readings from the Word. With the Proclamation event culminating on Palm Sunday evening in an interchurch worship service, I pray that not only will the whole of the Bible have been read aloud with passion and faith, but that, true to His Word, it shall go forth into this world and not return to the Lord empty (Isaiah 55:11).

I’ve been praying and thinking a lot about this Proclamation event over the past weeks. Far beyond dealing with the logistics of such an event, what has been mostly on my heart is awareness of how powerful and sufficient God’s Word truly is. I think of Paul’s complaint to the Lord concerning “his thorn in the flesh” and his plea to have it removed. The Lord’s gracious and wise refusal came with the promise that his grace would be sufficient for his servant.

God’s Word in scripture is truly sufficient for all our need concerning salvation and the hope and grace that is ours in Jesus Christ. In the words of scripture, we behold the face, presence, truth and character of Jesus, the Living Word of God to whom scripture witnesses so reliably and faithfully. All we ever need to know about the heart and purpose of God towards us, his children, is revealed in Jesus who is made known to us in scripture. All of God’s commands for our well-being and all that holy wisdom which is given for our joy is communicated through this amazing, wondrous book we call the Bible. All we would need to know of God’s truth, Kingdom and love shines through the pages of scripture. It truly is more than sufficient for us to be manna and drink and hope and blessing. This beautiful book and the words of grace and truth within is such a gift from the Lord, and it will be delight upon delight to read and proclaim, hear and feast upon that holy Word.

Yet here is the question: whether we be those reading the scriptures over the ten days of Proclamation or whether we be listeners in the pews, will we let the Spirit of God so work within us that we will not merely speak out some words or listen to a human person drone on? Will we, as the apostle James put it, not merely listen to the Word but actually do what it says? Will we, like the ancient Israelites listening to the prophets in their own day, find ourselves stricken to the core with God’s judging, saving Word? Will we, like the crowds who hung unto the words of the preacher from Galilee, marvel at the authority and promise being directed to our lives? Will we, like good soil in Jesus’ parable, allow the Word to take root in us and yield a harvest of blessing and good works?

The old prayer asked that we might “read, mark, learn and inwardly digest” God’s Word to our lives. May it be so in these days of Proclamation. May it be so in these hearts of ours!

“It’s not that I can’t forgive,” he said to me. “It’s that I don’t want to forgive. That blinkety-blank so-and-so (actually, the phrasing was both more crude and more angry) doesn’t deserve my forgiveness. At least, not until I get my pound of flesh.”

The term, “pound of flesh” derives from Shakespeare’s Merchant of Venice, 1596. The insistence by Shylock of the payment of Antonio’s flesh is the central plot device of the play. A pound of flesh is something which is owed that is ruthlessly required to be paid back. While the expression can relate to any lawful indebtedness, the figurative use of the phrase really speaks about what is an unreasonable requirement.

In his lovely little book, In the Grip of Grace, Max Lucado relates the story of the family who brought legal suit against the drunk driver responsible for their daughter’s death in a tragic hit and run accident. Part of the settlement included the requirement that the man deliver a cheque for one dollar to the victim’s family every single Friday for a period of eighteen years until the full amount of $936 be paid. Lucado asks at the end of his account, “How much is enough? Is 936 payments enough? When the family receive the final payment, will they be at peace?” Or to put it a different way, when the $936 is finally paid, will that be a sufficient pound of flesh to ease the family’s sorrow and loss?

Most of us find forgiveness difficult, and while we may know intellectually that forgiveness is the only real, workable way by which to find healing and peace of soul, our emotions work by a different logic. Like Shylock, we labour under the mistaken belief that if we can inflict sufficient suffering upon the other person for their mistakes, folly or sin, that our sense of hurt will be alleviated. We cling to the sad conviction that retribution equals justice or that passing back our hurt upon those we blame will somehow facilitate our healing. While Jesus would counsel us to turn a cheek, offer up a cloak and travel the extra mile, we stubbornly demand eyes and teeth and the proverbial pound of flesh, and then wonder why the ache has not left us and the angst and anger still own us.

It’s been said that forgiveness is the ultimate form of justice, because it is the gift we most need in our pain, yet we can only give it to ourselves when we are ready to yield it to those who have hurt us. One other writer called forgiveness the economy of the soul, because only forgiveness saves the expense of anger, the cost of hatred, the waste of spirits.

Not only have I watched people carry for years upon their backs and within their hearts such vast, crippling burdens of unforgiveness, I know I have carried my own fair share of lusting for the pound of flesh from folk who have hurt me. What a waste of time, tears and needless grief. As one of my favourite writers puts it, we may love to savour every toothsome morsel of our self-pity and pain, but ultimately, the skeleton at the feast is ourselves. It is our own soul we devour and our own healing we delay as we busy ourselves stoking the fires of our outrage and the reinforcing to our egos the righteousness of our spiteful demand for the come-uppance of those we would label as our enemies. How God must weep over our vain posturing and pouting all the while we refuse his remedy for our hurt. Wanting the pound of flesh is, I’ve discovered, a cost just not worth paying.

I wonder how many times some of us will read the story of Jesus’ crucifixion until we realize that the Master’s words of forgiveness for his butchers (Luke 23:34), the words of forgiveness by the truly innocent one for all of us who are guilty, remain still the pathway of our last, best and perfect healing.

Tapestries, I’ve been thinking, can point us to some significant aspects about setting vision for a church. Perhaps we need to ensure that in every visioning process within a congregation, we have a weaver working alongside us creating a tapestry on a loom as we try to articulate a vision on paper.

First, a tapestry is made up of hundreds and sometimes thousands of threads going back and forth as the warp and woof. For instance, in the side picture of a loom, basic vertical threads, called either the weft or woof, provide a framework whereupon the other threads, which are called the warp, are woven to create pattern and form. The warp threads carry the colour and form the picture or pattern. The warp threads may vary in type and thickness, content and style. Some may be fine and small; others broad, coarse or knotty. Occasionally, a weaver will include other elements in the tapestry, from pieces of cloth or metal to branches, feathers or all manners of unexpected materials.

A single thread a tapestry does not make, and neither does a single sentence or catchphrase ever serve adequately to convey all the rich variety and life of a congregation. People sometimes are prone to ask, “what’s the vision for the congregation?” when more appropriately we should ask, “what are the visions God is giving this people?” In the book of Joel, echoed on the day of Pentecost recorded in Acts 2, the promise of the outpoured Holy Spirit of God was that many dreams would be dreamt and countless visions would be grasped.

When I think of God’s calling upon a congregation, it is never a single-note calling. In truth, there are many common key threads foundational to the calling, not just of St. Andrew’s, but of every church. Scripture sounds out the most essential of them. We are called to praise the Lord. We are called to love the Lord with all our heart, mind, soul and strength, and to love others as ourselves. We are called to work out our salvation in fear and trembling, and to be a people constantly drawing our strength and vibrancy from Christ, the Vine, into whom we are grafted, and by whose power and grace, we then bear fruit for the Kingdom. We are called to trust in his Word and rely on his Spirit. We are called to announce, proclaim, celebrate and invite all into the Kingdom life found in Jesus. We are called to live out within our fellowship all of the “one another” commands found in the New Testament (e.g., encourage, pray for, counsel, guide, strengthen, comfort, forgive, rebuke, teach, bear burdens and love). We are called to do justice, love mercy and walk humbly with our God. We are called to pray without ceasing. We are called to be a people of Good News, a people of grace, and a people of blessing. Many more affirmations of scripture could be added as the foundation threads of the tapestry essential for the identity and witness of every fellowship that seeks to honor and glorify Jesus Christ.

When we look at the call and character of a congregation, though, and as important as those foundation threads—the woof—are, what makes each body of faith so remarkable and holy, is multi-faceted, unique colourings, hues and textures that the Spirit weaves as the warp of our story and life together as the people of God.

I invite you to ponder the amazing, beautiful, eccentric, holy tapestry God is weaving, a living tapestry called St. Andrew’s. God takes all the experiences of our past and all our dreams for the future; all of the personalities of the people who have been part of St. Andrew’s together with the extraordinary corporate character and story of this fellowship as a whole; all our Spirit-given giftings and all our human quirkiness; all our special strengths, passions and blessings we have from our heritage of faith and unique placement within this community together with all the Spirit-whispered summons to behold around us the fields white for harvest and souls longing for hope and grace. God takes all of these elements and more, and is lovingly weaving them together upon the universal command to his people to fashion St. Andrew’s as an absolutely precious, matchless masterpiece. What do you perceive as the picture being revealed in us?

Please note my phrasing. It is present tense. Our tapestry is not complete; rather God is still at work weaving his purpose and call in the midst of this present time. As we seek to discern vision (a multi-faceted vision!), we ought to remember that God hasn’t finished with us yet. Hallelujah! The Lord has great things he wants to do for us and through us, and our task is to humbly, expectantly and prayerfully invite God to have his way with us. Come, Holy Spirit, and weave your story and your glory in us! Come, Holy Spirit, and weave us into your glory and the story of your grace! Amen.

When I was growing up, one of my favourite “westerns” on television was the show Wagon Train. Perhaps part of the allure was the fact that the old wagon master was played by actor John McIntyre!  How could a show with a McIntyre in it not be great?

It was a typical western of the 1960s, filled with stereotypes and predictable scripts. The good guys wore white hats and the bad guys wore black hats and often had mustaches and sneered a lot. Of course, there were always lots of Indians ready to attack and prevent the wagon train from reaching its destination, and the Indians were always wrong in getting in the way of the white man’s vision.

While both the artistic merit and social conscience left a lot to be desired, over the years I have often thought a lot about the image of the wagon train, particularly as a metaphor for the church. That is not to suggest that Scripture does not have enough wonderful visions of the church of Jesus Christ. For instance, the portrait of the church as the Bride of Christ reminds me of the wonder that Jesus looks upon us, his people, with that kind of enraptured love as a groom might have for his beloved. In the eyes of love, we are seen as holy, spotless and perfect. (Which is also why we ought always be very careful about demeaning comments about other fellowships—the church of Christ is the precious bride of our Saviour, and when we demean her in any of her forms, be it denominational or congregational or small fellowship, we are sinfully demeaning the wisdom and grace of Him who loves us.)

The Body is another great scriptural image of the Church, which also challenges us in our arrogant readiness to set ourselves apart from the Body as if we, a mere eye, ear or finger, can exist on our own without the rest of the Body. We were made for community and have been engrafted into the Church by Christ; and how dangerous it is for us to think we can willfully ignore the Lord’s purpose by thinking we can maintain our Christian life without the life-blood of community.

There are, of course, other images of the Church, such as the army of Christ, the ark of Christ, the temple of God or the people of God. Each has wonderful things to tell us about our identity, call and purpose.

But a pastor, I often find myself coming back to the image of the church as the wagon train, particularly in terms of leading change. The wagon train was the convoy of settlers travelling from eastern communities to homestead in newly opened areas of the west. The various conveyances in the train would be a motley mix. Some might be high class covered wagons—the ancient version of the motorhome. Others would be only simple carts. Some were pulled by teams of horses that could move along at good pace; others were drawn by oxen and plodded along steadily but slowly. Then there would be the cattle and donkeys also being driven along and all manners of people simply walking. The wagon train could only move as far or as fast as the slowest cart or slowest walkers. And remember: the task of the wagon master was to get everyone to the new homestead area, not just the fastest travelers. There were times where some of the folk in the wagon train would choose simply to stop in their travels and not continue, or else detour to where they believed greener opportunities existed. Sometimes crises happened. Horses died and wagons had to be abandoned and the goods and owners loaded in with other travelers who carried them along. But always the goal was to get everyone to the new land.

I confess that when it comes to change and venturing into exciting new opportunities which the Lord may be opening, I can easily forget the reality that not everyone deals with change as quickly or excitedly as do I. And the bigger, the more emotionally complex or the more wounded the life of the church, the more likely that change can only happen effectively when we gear ourselves to the pace of those who are most struggling to keep up with the lead. There is no glory to Jesus Christ when leadership gets so intent on the destination that it thoughtlessly looses folk along the way who just need more time, more help, more explanation or prayer or encouragement in their journey. True, there is no glory to the Lord when the church allows itself to be hijacked in its journey by any one person or group that refuses altogether to trust or to change or to allow and bless others in changing and growing and moving. But my experience in leadership is that generally, people are far less resistant to change when they know that the leadership steadfastly refuses to leave them behind and will do all and everything to aid them in whatever scary parts of the journey may be encountered.

The other part of the metaphor of the church as the wagon train which I find helpful is that of the scout. I often think of my role as pastor in that way. Equally, I think part of the role of the eldership as a whole is highlighted by that image.  The scout would rise in the morning and ride well ahead of the wagon train, searching out the safest, most easily travelled route and looking out for any dangers that might exist. Then the scout would come back into view of the lead wagon and signal, “this way! Come this way!” Pastor and elders have a special task of praying deeply and listening hard for God’s directing voice. Pastor and elders are called to the front line of discernment of the challenges and call of God for his people. Sometimes the route that seems to be indicated may seem, from the ranks of the wagon train, to be scary or uncertain. But our prayer would always be that the scouting has been careful, prayerful and diligent, so that we can wisely signal, “This way. God would have us go here.”

I like the image of the church as wagon train for one other reason, and that is the focus and existence of the wagon train was all about the journey, not the destination. I often think that our congregations become too comfortable with the image of being settlers, not pioneers. We like church to be something staid and stable, settled and secure, non-moving and predictable. But I’m not sure that Jesus, who bid his followers to follow him, ever meant for our communities of faith to be quite so staid and stable, settled and secure, non-moving and non-adventurous as we often try to make them become. I believe the church, at her best, most Spirit-led, is always exploring, changing, growing and journeying into the new place where Jesus would draw us. A friend once said that if the church isn’t finding itself jostled about in its seeking after Christ, and if we aren’t facing a certain amount of discomforting challenge and uncertain future, then we are probably just dead.

Leadership in St. Andrew’s is striving faithfully to hear, discern and follow God’s call for days ahead. “Wagons, ho!” anyone?

Though it is often associated as being part of the Hippocratic Oath taken by physicians, the origin of the phrase, “First, do no harm,” is somewhat uncertain. It’s like the famous phrase, “Play it again, Sam,” which is assumed to be a quotation from the great movie Casablanca or the equally repeated phrase, “Beam me up, Scottie,” from Star Trek. In fact neither of those phrases are actually found in either the movie or TV show. Instead they have become popular misquotes. Similarly, with the presumed vow of the doctor, the closest actual origin is from one of the ancient Greek medical texts, Epidemics, which reads, “The physician must…have two special objects in view with regard to disease, namely, to do good or to do no harm.”

Still, origins and professional usages aside, I’ve often thought our world would be a less sad or violent place if, as ordinary folk, we tried to live out that challenging ethic to do good and to do no harm. Henry James once offered the opinion that there were only three things in human life that were important. He said, “The first is to be kind; the second is to be kind; and the third is to be kind.” Yet, the reality of our speech might tell another story.  Perhaps I am overly sensitive, but I often find myself cringing when I hear the put-downs, snide comments, harshly critical innuendos and bitter barbs barely disguised under the cloak of humor or piety, comfort or encouragement. Maybe that is why the author of the book of James was especially pointed in his likening the tongue to a raging fire whose sparks can set forests ablaze, or as a restless evil, fully of deadly poison. One can practically hear the apostle weeping as he wrote: With the tongue we praise our Lord and Father, and with it we curse men who have been made in God’s likeness. Out of the same mouth come praise and cursing. My brothers, this should not be!

Ask yourself: have my words today been kind? Not merely superficially kind, but kind in phrasing and purpose, as well as in tone and timing? Have my words been offered only in desire to build up and strengthen, heal and encourage, gently guide and humbly support? Or have they been spoken with a knife’s edge of brutal intent and prideful reckoning? Have they been voiced with a yearning to belittle though masked under a false smile or pretended earnestness?

Poet Vachel Lindsay wrote: “My life’s unkind, but I can vote for kindness. I, the unloving, say life should be lovely. I, that am blind, cry out against my blindness.” It’s been said that the first part of any recovery is recognizing how desperately recovery is needed. While taming the tongue may be one of the most difficult enterprises upon which any of us ever embark, wouldn’t it be fabulous if we all of us intentionally chose to vote for kindness not only in our actions, but especially in our speech. By doing so, we may well find that we begin to fulfill the ethic “to do good and to do no harm.”