I Cried over a Stupid Cat

She arrived at the manse in January 2005. She was the first one to jump out of a box that held several kittens born at a local construction company site. She was a tri-color domestic shorthair who bore a striking resemblance to my old cat, Rampage who had died in 2001. I named her Goodwin, after the 17th century Puritan writer Thomas Goodwin.

She became an important part of my life, and a constant source of amusement in illustrations for my children's stories every Sunday at church. She slept at the foot of my bed, and kept me company as I studied and prepared my weekly sermons. She was never a lap cat, but liked to be within viewing distance of wherever I was. When I got married, she didn't really like my wife at first. I would be trapped in bed between my wife and my cat, and really couldn't move that much at night. Goodwin grew to have some affection for my wife. (I really can't call it love!)

After 10 plus years, Goodwin had changed. She had lost a lot of weight, and was unsteady on her feet. I had come to the realization that she was suffering. So, after a lot of soul-searching, I made the decision to euthanize her. I cried that day. I cried after I made the appointment a few days later. I cried harder the night before, wondering about whether I made the right decision. I cried over a stupid cat.

I am acquainted with grief. I have sat with grieving families for 20 years, in all shapes and circumstances. But my own grief is always encased in a hard shell. So this past week, as I have grieved for my cat, Goodwin became a proxy for all of those people in my life I never got a chance to say goodbye to. For my brother-in-law who died after a sudden heart attack. My dad. My best friend. The mentor who stood with me at my ordination. As I looked into her cage and said goodbye for the last time, I cried. And felt at peace. For the first time in a long time.

So I thank Goodwin. For her years of dedication to me. For her constant companionship. For being such a good cat, right up to the end. RIP.

Summer in the Psalms

This week I begin what has become a summer tradition for me: preaching through the Psalms. I began this series of sermons with Psalm 1 in June 2008. Now in my eighth summer of this series I have reached Psalm 61, which I am preparing to preach this coming Sunday. And I approach these sermons with a great deal of excitement and some trepidation. But still I love to preach the Psalms. Here are a few reasons why.

1) They run the full gamut of emotion. From mountaintops to valleys, from lament to joy. Filled with moments of God's proximity and God's distance. Whatever you feel on a particular day, there is a Psalm for that.

2) They do not hold back in those emotions. The Psalms get to the very depths of our souls. They lash out in anger at enemies and false friends. They react with a violence that lies within us, and sometimes shocks us. (Psalm 137:9 comes to mind.)

3) They speak of things we have difficulty expressing in the church today. This is especially true in terms of lament. So often church has become about the experience, the high of worshiping God. But we do not always worship God from that joyous place. The Psalms let us know that that is OK.

4) The comfort of God in Jesus Christ is there on every page. The Psalms are frequently quoted and used in the New Testament, and because of that we can relate so much of their content to the life and work of Jesus Christ. The first apostles' relationship to Christ led them to the Psalms. When we think about our spiritual lives, and our kinship with Jesus Christ, can we do any better than turn to the Psalms. The songs speak of God our King. They speak of the God who comforts. They speak of the God who hears. The speak of the anointed one who would suffer. They speak to the Christian of Jesus Christ.

5) In all things praise God. The Psalms, in all their varied emotions, ultimately lead us back to God. In joy, praise God. In sorrow, praise God. In laughter and tears, praise God. In lament and frustration, praise God. In the presence of demons and angels, friends and enemies, praise God.

There Is a Fountain

When William Cowper was recovering from depression and nervous anxiety, he wrote the following song, in the knowledge that his sins and his feelings of unworthiness were taken up by Jesus Christ on is cross. The song was well known in evangelistic circles and played a part in creating the team of D.L. Moody and Ira Sankey.

I sang it this morning at the Anniversary service at Jacksonville United Church, as recorded in the video below.

Cruxifusion 2015: Revive

On the shelves of my upstairs library, there sits a seven volume set, "A History of the 1859 Ulster Revival." Within its pages are descriptions of the revival itself, the theology of revival and the effects of the revival in Ireland, England and throughout the world. These volumes bring out two real truths about revival. Revivals happen, and revivals cannot be contained.

I think of these books as I contemplate the third part of the Crux 2015 theme: revive. Each Wednesday morning when our Hartland area pastors gather to pray, one of the things we pray for is revival. True, Holy Ghost Revival. And when we pray, one thing we understand is that revival has to start with us, the pastors, the shepherds of the flock. Regaining that sense of passion for the lost and the hurting. Not getting caught up in denominational politics and the overwhelming dark cloud of demographic and statistical hopelessness. The 1859 revival started with 4 young men and a weekly prayer meeting. And God was mightier than their numbers. God was mightier than the doubters. God was mightier than the spiritual deadness and apathy that had set into the church culture of 1850s Ireland.

Each period of spiritual deadness must lead us back to the foundations of our faith, the Triune God, the cross of Christ and the words of Scripture. And there our own personal revival must start: Bible study, prayer, devotion to God and to his people. That is the only sort of spiritual first aid that is able to breath new life into the church of God. I cannot predict a revival of the sort future generations will write about. But after being in Burlington with so many brothers and sisters that have a heart for the Lord, I cannot count anything out. As we all sang in our worship, "Our God is mighty to save..."

Cruxifusion 2015: Reconcile

A continuing series of reflections on Cruxifusion's 2015 gathering in Burlington, Ontario.

RECONCILE

We all need to be reconciled. I need to be reconciled. It is part of our identity as Christian that we are a redeemed people, reconciled to God by the blood of Jesus Christ.

At this gathering I made a conscious effort at reconciliation. The overarching theme for me was being reconciled with this denomination I call my home. I have had a roller coaster relationship with the United Church of Canada. Someday I may write about why I stay within its ministry. Upholding traditional orthodoxy and traditional morality seems at times a fool's errand, a voice crying in the wilderness, or more likely a voice too timid to say anything at all.

I found reconciliation as I looked around the sanctuary and saw my brothers and sisters in Christ. I realized my denomination was not political statements, or bureaucracy, or mandated training sessions. This was the home I had searched for in the United Church of Canada for twenty years. And as I listened to Richard Bott, with whom I probably disagree more than agree theologically and ethically, I saw a fellow servant of the Risen Christ, even if we need to discuss who that Risen Christ is.

Reconciliation is a tricky business. It involves giving of self in ways that demand vulnerability. My persistent sins of cynicism and indifference needed to be named, lifted up and confessed. At the Tuesday Prayer Summit, that happened. I confessed, accepted God's forgiveness and tried to muster up my own forgiveness. It hit hard. But it opened up a way back to the fellowship of believers.

On the last day we sang "It is well with my soul." And as we sang I thought of all those behind me in that sanctuary...

• broken by their congregations
• broken by the denomination
• broken by grief
• broken by sin
• broken by illness
• broken by process
• broken by uncertainty
• broken by fear
• broken by exclusion
• broken by darkness
• broken by selfishness
• broken by doubt
• broken in ways beyond measure
• broken in ways they cannot yet see

and we sang "It is well with my soul." And these broken people, redeemed sinners, sang it as if they meant it. IT IS WELL WITH MY SOUL... And a lump came to my throat. And a tear came to my eye...and I could sing it too.

Reconciled....

Cruxifusion 2015: Rest

It has been about a week since I attended Cruxifusion's annual conference at Wellington Square United Church in Burlington, Ontario. It was a time to re-connect with friends and colleagues from across the country. I have been trying to process some of my thoughts about the conference, and will do so over the next few days using the conference theme: Rest, Reconcile, Revive.

REST

As our closing preacher said, "I needed this." This time together. This time of worship and rejuvenation. This time of safety and friendship. This time of rest.

Being a pastor is a lonely profession. I do not say that to garner pity. I knew this before answering God's call to ministry. And I have been blessed with the ministerial prayer group in Hartland that I meet with each week. But even with that, I still feel isolation. Partly it could be my introvert personality, partly it is the nature of the job to be "on" all the time.

At Cruxifusion 2015, the masks fell away. I did not have to play a role. I could worship and sing. I could be fed, as well as feed. I could laugh and cry without self-awareness. I could be the object of my friends' jokes.

The Bible gives us an example of rest. God places it right in the fabric of creation with his Sabbath day. Pastors so rarely find an opportunity for true rest. At the conference, outside forces can intrude, but the fellowship of our time together is very powerful. We lift each other up, pray for each other, know the struggles and victories of ministry.

I do not have very many friends. I count these blessed Cruxers, who I see but once a year, as some of my dearest friends in the faith.

I needed that!

The Greatest Sermon I Ever Heard

In April 2005, my friend John and I spent around a week in London for some musical theater. We saw several different musicals that week, and toured museums and churches. I got to stand in Wesley’s pulpit in the basement of Wesley’s Chapel.  Well I knelt in it, to avoid hitting my head on the ceiling. It was a great trip and I carry the memories with me.

Kneeling in Wesley's pulpit

Sunday was a day without theater, so John and I decided to attend church services that morning and evening. In the morning we attended St. Mary-le-Strand church within walking distance of our hotel. It was a high Anglican service, with incense and robes and a quartet of paid soloists to lead the music. It was sparsely attended, and mostly what I remember was the incense was really strong, and for some reason they censed the statute of the Virgin Mary at the entrance of the church. That left this Protestant a touch bewildered.

In the evening John and I took a cab to All Souls, Langham Place to hear John Stott. Stott was in his early 80s by this point, but I had great respect for all the work Stott had done, and had read many of his books. The atmosphere was so much different than the morning service. The church was full, of energetic young people and visible minorities. The music was led by an orchestra, the ministers were dressed in suits and the church pulsed with a life and spirit that I had never felt before. We were ushered to some of the few remaining chairs on the left side of the church, and waited for the service to begin.

Then Stott preached. On 1 Corinthians 15, one in a series of Eastertide sermons.  And I sat enraptured by this man. Part of it could have been the English accent, which gives a sense of gravitas to almost anything.  But mostly it was that God was using this saint, this pillar of 20^th century evangelicalism to speak his message to me and the hundreds who had gathered that night. 

But beyond the experience of hearing one of my heroes, that sermon taught me one very valuable lesson that I have struggled to incorporate into my own preaching. The gospel message speaks for itself. It does not need to be dressed up with personal anecdotes, memorable illustrations and trendy pop-culture references. The gospel message that Stott gave that night spoke of the glory of the resurrection, both in Jesus and in us, shone through loud and clear. 

That lesson still convicts me. I sometimes try too hard to be funny. I tell stories that are peripheral to the message. I leave the congregation remembering me, and not the message. And I try to be better. More of a preacher, less of a speaker.  Stott’s words that night told me that Christ’s message of redemption is greater than any man. It is a message worth telling, and a message worth repeating. So, I will try again, this week. And next week, and every week after that, to proclaim the message that saved me.

Thank you, John Stott!

Baseball begins again

This week has seen the opening of baseball season. And that always brings back fond memories. I never played baseball, but I loved to watch it, read about it, learn about it. Starting in 1982, I remember watching Montreal Expos games on CBC, blurry and snowy because of the antenna that brought the signal into the house. I remember Dad often having to move the antenna to get a better picture. There was only one game a week usually, so we treasured that time. I still have dozens of mid 1980s baseball cards, and I remember fondly the stars, and even the also-rans of those days.  My brother loved the Expos. My favourite team was the New York Yankees, which in the late 1980s was in its darkest period, firing managers every year. (Sports dysfunction seems to follow me, as I cheer for the NFL’s Washington Redskins!) We bought baseball books and guides to the upcoming year, read books on scouting reports and statistics. We learnt baseball history. It is still something my brother and I can share fond memories about.  Just bring up the name Doug Flynn or Tom Foley, and see that moment of recognition.

Later, in high school and university, I spent my summers umpiring different baseball leagues and levels. It was great to be out on the field, even in that challenging position. Umpiring was fun one moment, stressful the next, dreadful the one after that. I don’t think I was particularly great at it, but I wasn’t terrible either. And then there was the bizarre thrill of throwing someone out of a game. So many times I have wanted that skill to translate to life off the baseball field. For one summer I helped my brother-in-law coach a group of beginner kids in a mosquito house league, basically teaching some to hit and catch. It was rewarding to see the improvement in those kids. 

But my love for baseball waned in the mid-1990s. I don’t fully blame the work stoppage that cancelled the 1994 World Series. I remember watching excitedly as the Toronto Blue Jays won back to back Series victories in 1992-1993. (My Yankee fandom was over by then.) But as life grew busier, and I ventured off to seminary, my interests changed and baseball watching drifted to the bottom.

The last couple of years, however, have seen a steady growth in my interest in baseball. I don’t have a favourite team anymore, although my satellite provider means that I watch a lot of Toronto Blue Jay games. But baseball has changed in the 15-plus years since I watched it regularly. The broadcasts are too flashy, but then I find that true in other sports as well. Pitching changes happen a lot more frequently. The new advanced statistics are a lot of numbers and letters with no real meaning to me. And I am still learning who all the best players are. 

I am also remembering, though, what I loved about baseball growing up. The strategy. The slow pace that gives you time to think. The fact that success in hitting means failure 7 out of 10 times. And the rules are easy to explain, for the most part. Rookies still have trouble laying off good breaking balls, so if you want to hang around this league you better learn how. The deep sacrifice fly is still the most boring run-scoring play in sports. And best of all, you can never tell which game is going to be the slugfest or the pitchers’ duel.

I am glad I have re-discovered baseball. Now my summer nights may include a good book, a good scotch and any old ball game.

Lent is done, now what?

My Lenten blogging project is done. I have delivered a piece on 37 of the forty days of Lent. It has been a challenging and rewarding experience. I trust those who have read my posts have enjoyed what I have had to say. I have enjoyed writing each day, getting my mind to open up

Now that Lent is done, I am not going to post every day. But I will produce longer blog pieces one or two days a week about issues that are important to me. Some days I will review the theology and church history books I am reading. Some days I will revel in baroque music. Some days I will complain about the state of my favorite NFL team, the Washington Redskins. Some days will be about living a pious Christian life in a fast-paced 2015 world. And I might write about single-malt scotch. And if there is anything you want to hear, let me know.

Good Friday

On today's blog, two pieces of my morning Good Friday service.
Sarah and I sang a duet for Good Friday.

My sermon on Gethsemane and the Cross.

May the blessings of Good FRiday be yours.

Holy Week Devotion: Scourged

Then Pilate took Jesus and flogged him. (John 19:1 ESV)

The description of the cruelties which Jesus endured before going to his cross are quite brief. Jesus had predicted his flogging in in his predictions of his Passion and Resurrection (Mt 20:19; Mk 10:34; Lk 18:33). But in each gospel we are simply told the fact: Jesus is whipped, scourged, flogged. It has none of the details we read in Josephus, of flesh torn away, of organs exposed to sight. The gospel writers count on their audience's knowledge of Roman practice, punishment done in the public square for all to see.

This moment is another blow in the humiliation of Jesus as he goes to the cross. He has suffered greatly as this one long day has progressed. In Gethsemane, he was scourged in his spirit, agonizing before his Father about the cup that was to be his. God's cup of wrath against the sin of the world was Jesus' to drink, and he prayed, his face on the ground, for the cup to pass. His soul saw the moment on the cross when God would forsake him. And the anguish became real.

He was scourged by his disciples as they fled from his sight as he was arrested. They had promised to stand by...but failed. They lifted their swords...then dropped them and ran. The days of walking beside Jesus, the dream of ruling with him in his kingdom, the talk of joining him in his death, all drifted away as they scattered like rats from a sinking ship.

And now his body is racked with pain as the whips hit their mark The Romans are efficient. The Romans know what they are doing. Each strike has its purpose..."this troublemaker will not bother us any more and let this be a lesson to you out there."

Jesus has told each one of us, "Take up your cross and follow me." To follow him is to go where he goes, to go through these moments of anguish, of abandonment, of pain and suffering. This is not a glamorous happy-clappy faith. Faithful words will not always be heard with happiness. Faithful actions will not always be accepted. But we stand on the other side of the cross. We know the scourging did not work. We know the cross failed in its task. We know our Lord is not silenced, and he no longer cries out in pain, but in victory.

Holy Week Devotion: The Disciples

Reading: Mark 14:43-50
Reflection: “They deserted and fled”

The promises of earlier that night drifted far from them. As Jesus stood and watched one whom he had trusted, one whom he had chosen, come with a gang of seeming vigilantes, with clubs and with swords, coming to arrest this troublemaker. And they did it under cover of darkness, as Jesus said, “I was with you in the temple each day. You come here under cover of darkness. You come here to hide behind the veil of the night." As all of those who desire to remove Jesus from our lives, they do it under cover of something else.

And all of the disciples who were with him, they all deserted and fled and took off into the darkness, into the night that surrounded them, so that they would not be found. So that they could not be seen, so that they would not be recognized, so that they would remain hidden. Because they did not want to associate themselves with this man, with this one who had been arrested and taken away. They knew what they had said, they knew what Jesus had promised to them, but still when the crisis came, their words were simply words. Those who had said they would not desert him, those who said they would not deny him, took off and ventured into the darkness. Wondering if they would see one another, wondering what would become of Jesus, and wondering what would become of themselves. Asking so many questions, of themselves, of their souls, and of their hearts.

Holy Week Devotion: The Arrest

Darkness surrounds them. Their bodies are tired. The sound of people stirring, not one or two, but twenty, thirty. Unknown voices whisper in the darkness. A friendly face. A kiss of friendship. A kiss of betrayal. Swords clash. Blood is spilled. Confusion reigns. The Master cries out, "No more of this!", and is taken away.

This is the scene of the arrest of Jesus, as it is told in the Gospels (Matthew 26:47-56; Mark 14:43-52; Luke 22:47-53). The authorities have come to take control of a situation. Firebrands must be dealt with. The Roman Empire will have none of this. Jesus draws large crowds wherever he goes. Large crowds are always a ticking time bomb... Jesus' words talk about God's kingdom, God reign, what does that mean for those in charge now?

The authorities come to take control. But the story of the arrest is the story of Jesus who, even in this confusion, remains in control. It is Jesus who stops the violent reaction of his disciples. It is Jesus who acquiesces to the guard's demand. It is Jesus who shames the authorities by his word,“Have you come out as against a robber, with swords and clubs to capture me? Day after day I sat in the temple teaching, and you did not seize me” (Matthew 26:55 ESV).

And it is Jesus who gives in to the fulfillment of Scripture. The Gospels tell us that Jesus' life, from its beginning in Bethlehem, was a fulfillment of Scripture. And here Jesus moves to the next step, saying "Let the Scriptures be fulfilled." He knows the Scriptures talk of the reign of God, of the new covenant. He knows that reign, that covenant are not in this earth. He knows that even now, God the Father is in control. And so the Son, in his Father's spirit, guides the action, and let's the Scriptures be fulfilled.

Holy Week Devotion: Gethsemane

Then Jesus went with them to a place called Gethsemane, and he said to his disciples, “Sit here, while I go over there and pray.” (Matthew 26:36 ESV)

I have always been fascinated by the story of Jesus in Gethsemane. It is Jesus at his breaking point, realizing the immensity of the work ahead of him. It is Jesus at his most human, struggling as he asks for this cup of suffering to pass from him. It is Jesus at his most divine, as he places himself in the control of the father, saying "Not my will, but yours be done." It is the image of Jesus that strikes a chord: alone, agonized, praying for what cannot be.

But today I want to spend time with the disciples. The picture we have of the disciples in Holy Week is not a flattering one. They are filled with bravado. They plan to fulfill the mission Jesus has given them. They say the words they think Jesus wants to hear. But they will fall away. They will run and hide. They will deny any knowledge of this man, Jesus. They epitomize those words of our Lord, "The spirit indeed in willing but the flesh is weak." (Matt 26:41)

In Gethsemane so much of the walk of discipleship is shown. Peter, James and John are close. Close to Jesus. Drawn by him into the inner circle, "Remain here, and watch with me," Jesus says. It is a closeness we cannot imagine, a closeness that comes from years of walking with Jesus, seeing his miracles, hearing his teaching, laughing and crying together.

But as close as they are in that moment physically...as close as they have been walking the dusty byways of Galilee...they remain distant. As distant as we are. Unable to sit and wait. They were overcome by the night that surrounded them. They were not cognizant of the situation they were in. They had heard the words of Jesus, but had not listened to what they meant. And so they slept.

We are distant because there are so many distractions in our world. So much that takes our eyes off the prize of Christ's high calling. So many noisy gongs that divert our attention from the call to lift our cross and follow. So many moments that weary us to the point that we sleep through the instructions Jesus gave, "Remain here, and watch with me."

We can speak the disciples brave words. But in the moment will those words be enough. We can have the disciples willing spirits. But are those spirits enough? Ultimately we work in our weak flesh, weak flesh that wants to hide, weak flesh that doesn't want to cause waves, weak flesh that can crave any sort of attention. But the Lord, in his agony in Gethsemane, in his trial and cross, in his death and burial, shows what weak flesh, weak human flesh can do. We are cross people...weak human flesh made strong in the death of our Lord.

Holy Week Devotions

As Holy Week begins tomorrow I am going to embark on a series of devotions. Today I edit a piece of a sermon I wrote in 2003 for Palm Sunday entitled "Through Jerusalem to the cross." Palm Sunday is that moment when Jesus enters Jerusalem to the joyous cries of his disciples and those who followed him shouting Hosanna (Save us)!

"When we cry our hosannas here, when we cry out to God to save us in this place, we are calling on God to lift our hearts from the fog. To lift our minds from the sense that we only have ourselves to deal with, that we only have ourselves to care about, that we only have ourselves to depend on. And Jesus says to us to follow him on his path through Jerusalem to the cross. And we know from the life of Jesus that people will turn against us. The world will turn against us. The world does not want our message. They do not want to hear us. So they shuttle us off to this little hour on Sunday morning. We need to take this hour and make it more. To take this hour with us, as Jesus took his disciples with him on that march to the cross.

Because we also know there is another story beyond the cross. We know that the glory and triumph which we see on this one Sunday, this Palm Sunday, is but a small glimpse. It is a only a piece of the glory that comes next Sunday, Easter Sunday, when the tomb breaks open, and Jesus defeats the power of death. We know that this is but a glimpse of the great glory when Jesus Christ comes again. But like Jesus Christ we have to go through the cross to get there. We have to go through the taunts and jeers of the crowd; we have to go through the pain that Jesus Christ went through. We have to take up our crosses and follow him. And each one of cries our hosannas, for each one of us has something that holds us back. Each one of us has something that causes us to come to God and say lift this from me. Save me from this. As he rides on in majesty, we too ride on in the majesty God has given to us, the majesty of being chosen of God, the majesty of being children of the living God. Jesus Christ has lifted himself that we might know the power of unmistakable and irreplaceable love. Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord. Hosanna. Hosanna. Hosanna!"

Read the full sermon, plus others, at sermoncentral.com