The Ruined Cities In Our Hearts: A Homily for the 17th Sunday After Pentecost

 A Homily for the Seventeenth Sunday after Pentecost [Proper 27C], Preached at All Saints, Collingwood, Anglican Diocese of Toronto.  Readings for this Sunday: Lamentations 1:1-6;  Psalm 137; 2 Timothy 1:1-14; Luke 17:5-10

“How lonely sits the city that once was full of people! How like a widow she has become, she that was great among the nations” (Lamentations 1.1)

You may have noticed if you’ve been driving around this part of Collingwood that there’s been a lot of construction this summer.   It’s been annoying, espoecially if you want to drive down Ontario Street, so recently I  to scripture to see if there was any advice on how to manage my impatience during construction season, and I didn’t really find anything helpful.   

There was the Tower of Babel, but that was a construction zone that never got finished. Imagine having paid for a penthouse suite in that!  And then there were all the Israelites who got lured to Egypt with the promise of high paying construction jobs, and it turned out to be a pyramid scheme.  

Unfortunately, scenes of destruction and desolation are far more common in scripture than are scenes of construction.  Our first lesson begins with the spectacle of Jerusalem lying in ruins, silent and desolate. The armies of Babylon have torn down the walls, the sacred Temple has been looted and ruined , the kings descended from David and their people have been taken into slavery.   It’s a scene that we would today call post-apocalyptic.

In the theology of ancient Israel, bad things happening was seen as a punishment.    So the book of Lamentations explains that Jerusalem has been destroyed because “the Lord has made her suffer for the multitude of her transgressions”.   The larger story here is that Israel’s leaders have followed foreign gods, they have abused and exploited the most helpless of their people, and so because Israel has broken its contract or covenant with God, God has brought the Babylonians to punish Israel.

So this idea that bad things happen to bad people is fairly old fashioned theology, but I don’t think it’s terribly interesting or helpful.   It’s certainly rejected by Jesus (John 9).    But I think the idea of a book called Lamentations is worth thinking about because we do live in a world where much is, well, lamentable.  To lament is to express profound sorrow and grief for something terrible that has happened, without necessarily having any answers.   For example, in a month we will be observing Remembrance Day Sunday, and the bagpipes, playing an ancient tune like Flowers of the Forest, and the sad of skirl of the pipes can’t explain why all those innocents died, it can only express sorrow for all the waste and destruction.

Perhaps the place of the lament in Christian theology is simply in the act of bearing witness to sin, to remembering tragedy and calling on God for justice.   At one point later on in Lamentations 1, shortly after the passage form our first lesson, Jerusalem herself speaks:  “Is it nothing to you, all ye that pass by? behold, and see if there be any sorrow like unto my sorrow, which is done unto me” (Lam 1.12).   This is one of those passages that is read on Good Friday, as if to capture the suffering of Jesus on the cross, which is greeted with a shrug by the indifferent crowds.  But the verse also speaks to us.

“Is it nothing to you, all you that pass by?”  How is it that we have become so adept at ignoring the suffering of others, so insulated from things that should shock us?  Whether it’s the random bits of violence that get circulated on video, or the relentless bombing that pulverizes cities and sends millions fleeing, images of hungry children in Gaza, or just the sickening drumbeat of environmental catastrophe and extinction, how have we become so good at tuning it out?  Perhaps we look the other way simply to preserve our sanity, and most folks out there, I suspect, just can’t be bothered to care.

There’s a social media feed I follow from the Auschwitz Museum n Poland.  Several times a day it shows the photos and names of people who died there.  Sometimes you see them in their nice civilian clothes, blissfully unaware of what history has in store for them.   Sometimes you see them with shaved heads in their striped prisoners’ uniforms as the ones selected for labour are processed, and you can see the shock on their faces.   I don’t enjoy looking at these images, but somehow I feel that I have to.  Lamentations reminds us that some things are worth mourining, so that even if all we can do is bear witness and remember, then that is something worth doing.   In bearning witness and remembering, we stand alongside God and share God’s sorrow and compassion.  We see the things that most people look away from, but which God sees.

A theology of Lamentation I think has to also acknowledge human complicity in the things that we lament.    Citiies are bombed and innocents die because something goes fearfully wrong in the human heart.   If you want an example of what I mean, think about the last verse of the psalm we read this morning.  After expressing the sadness of the Israelite captives who are now slaves in Babylon, the psalm gives way to a shocking desire for revenge:

O Daughter of Babylon, doomed to destruction, happy the one who pays you back for what you have done to us!

Happy shall he be who takes your little ones, and dashes them against the rock!  (Ps 137:8-9).

It’s a terribly shocking verse, and it makes me cringe when I read it and hear it in church, but I think it’s necessary that we hear it.

If we’re honest, the psalm is speaking truth about our human condition.  It is not calling for the death of infants, but it is clear-eyed about how humans can fall into thinking and doing such things.   As an expression of revenge, the psalm allows us to understand what has happened between Israelis and Palestinians for the last two years and beyond, and it speaks to any conflict in human history where people have thirsted for revenge.  The psalm states that ruin and desolation don’t just happen to cities.  Ruin and desolation can happen within the human heart.

There’s a famous line from the late director David Lynch who said that we must fix our hearts or die.  Who can we turn to fix our hearts?   I would finish simply by pointing to our gospel reading, and the disciples’ very natural cry to Jesus to increase their faith.  Don’t we want the same?  Don’t we want to believe more strongly and to feel that our faith is robust enough to get us through the challenges that we face in a sometimes awful world?

Jesus’ answer, about having faith the size of a mustard seed, can be a little misleading.   I don’t think Jesus is talking about what we can do with our faith, but rather, who we put our faith in.   I say this because in the words that follow, Jesus seems to link faith with the idea of following and obeying Jesus.  

We may find the gospel’s imagery of being slaves difficult to take, but if we can set that distaste aside long enough, we can remind ourselves that our job as disciples is to hear what Jesus tells us to do and to do it as best we can.    That’s obedience, and we serve Jesu, not because he’s a slaveholder, but  because we choose to.  We know that he loves us enough to serve us and die for us.  As Jesus tells the disciples at the Last Supper,  “For who is greater, the one who is at the table or the one who serves? Is it not the one at the table? But I am among you as one who serves” (Lk 22:27).

So yes, we are called to lament.  If lament means that we see the evil around us, that we care and grieve and act as best we can, then we are being obedient disciples.   And as obedient disciples, even if our faith is as small as a tiny seed, we give it to the Prince of Peace and Lord of Lords, trusting that he can cure those things which are lamentable.  And we remember in the final book of the bible, in Revelation, we have a vision, not of a ruined city, but of a beautifully constructed city, the New Jerusalem.     And maybe, at the end of the day, faith is opening ourselves so that God can build God’s city on the ruin and devastation that lie within our hearts. 

What Cost, What Reward? A Homily for the Thirteenth Sunday After Pentecost

Preached at All Saints, Collingwood, Anglican Diocese of Toronto, 4 September, 2022, the Thirteenth Sunday After Pentecost.

Lectionary Readings (Yr C):   Jeremiah 18:1-11; Psalm 1; Philemon 1:1-21; Luke 14:25-33

26“Whoever comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, yes, and even life itself, cannot be my disciple. (Lk 14.26)

Does God have a sense of humour? 

I know today’s readings well, because, three years ago, they were the readings that marked my very first Sunday with you as priest and preacher.    I remember vividly how strange our gospel seemed to me that Sunday, because lots of my wife Joy’s family had turned out for my first Sunday here.  I felt like looking and saying, “Lorz, this ain’t funny!”    It was very awkward looking at them (and you!), and trying to explain what Jesus meant by hating one’s family.  

It’s especially awkward this Sunday, because one of those family members, our beloved Uncle Brian, was sitting in that very pew three years ago, and came back with his lovely wife Donita every Sunday until he got too ill to come, and as of last night he returned to the Lord, God rest his soul.   So, Jesus, tell us, why should we hate our families and loved ones?   Am I supposed to hate Uncle Brian?  If God is love and our faith is a way of love, what does hate mean?

I could go into a long bible study like I did three years ago (you can look it up here), but let’s note briefly that what Jesus is saying here does not square in any way with that he says elsewhere, like “love your neighbour as yourself”, or “a new commandment I give you, that you love one another or “no greater love than to lay down one’s love for a friend”.  So whatever Jesus is saying here, he’s using hyperbole or exaggeration as a technique, like when he says elsewhere, “if your hand offends you, cut it off”.   It’s what Jesus does when he wants our attention.

So what does Jesus want to tell us?  Perhaps Jesus was warning those crowds that if they really wanted to follow him, there would be a cost.  I noted three years ago how for those first followers of Jesus, who were of course Jews, to say that Jesus was Messiah and Son of God would have put them squarely at odds with family and relatives.   In the ancient world, where family was everything, to be shunned by your kin was a huge deal.  So following Jesus then had a price.

Jesus said, “Whoever does not carry the cross and follow me cannot be my disciple”.  Does following Jesus has a price for us today?  Have we made sacrifices?   Have we been persecuted or discriminated against?  Have we had to give up friendships or habits that stood in the way of pursuing our faith as followers of Jesus?  And if there is a price to pay, then what do we get in return?  What do we gain from following Jesus?

I’ve joked before that putting “take up your cross and join us” on our church website and marketing material would pretty much be the kiss of death.   People today don’t really associate church sacrifice.   The reasons I get from people about their church attendance are often things like “a nice service”,  “an inspiring message to get me through the week”, “music” “to see my friends”, and so forth.  These are all good reasons and I want All Saints to provide good liturgy, fellowship, and inspiration.   But unless we see all these good things as somehow stemming from our discipleship, then we are in danger of reducing church to a pleasant extra in our lives.   Honestly, we can get inspiration and fellowship and maybe even music from a service club.  If Jesus is telling us to put hi first in our lives, then there must be some greater reward than a nice feeling.

Our gospel lesson today begins with the phrase, “Now large crowds were traveling with him”.  Wherever he travelled, we know that Jesus attracted large crowds, and some believed in him and some rejected him and some were probably just curious.   By this point in the gospel, Jesus is travelling towards Jerusalem, where he will literally take up his cross.   The crowds will welcome him, turn on him, and then mostly desert him.   But some will stay true, some will keep a vigil at the cross, some will see Jesus resurrected, and some will take up his message.  The church will follow him across the centuries, as we follow him in our time.  We follow Jesus because we believe that this is the best way that we can shape our lives in this world and in the next.

We follow Jesus because following him is the reward that shapes our lives and brings them to a good end.

We follow Jesus because he’s the lord of truth and light.  We follow him because he is best possible way to make sense of the world.   If we want to follow Jesus, there are certain ways of living and being that we are called to reject.   To take up our cross today can mean that we don’t buy into ideologies of extreme wealth and unlimited state power.  

Taking our cross can mean that we hate the cruelties of our day and instead assert the dignity and rights of those who don’t look like us or who weren’t born here, of those who are irrationally hated and discriminated against; the hatred being whipped up around the world against the trans community is astonishing given the small size and harmlessness of the trans population, and how easy it us to throw the vulnerable under the bus of society.  Jesus will have none of that. 

Following Jesus means striving to live our lives in the kingdom of God on earth, where there are no divisions and there is no contempt.  That message has been sent out for as long as the church has been in business. In Paul’s time, following Jesus meant rethinking the hard divisions of ancient society between slaves and free.  Our second lesson, Philemon, is about how a very early Christian church is being encouraged by Paul to see a slave, Onesimus, as a kinsman in Christ and as part of the family of God.

 If we look at the rise of fascism in the world and to the south  (I don’t say fascism lightly), then we can see that we as Canadians and as Christians may have to make hard choices and carry crosses in the near future.  I think of decent people and Christians in 1930s Europe, just quietly trying to live their lives, and then a few years later were risking their lives to hide Jewish neighbours.   We never know when history and faith may call on us to take up our own cross, 

Finally, we follow Jesus because he is the lord of life, life in this world and the next.   I look around this church and I see the places where those we loved sat and are now gone:  Bruce and Jean, Marilyn, Adam, Paul and Dr Stan,  Brian, and so many more.   Knowing them as part of our Christian family was a reward for following Jesus.   Knowing that we will be united with them again on a distant shore of light is a reward worth waiting for.  So yes, Jesus does warn us that we will have to take up a cross, but Jesus also promises us that his burden is easy and his yoke is light, and that if we follow him, he will lead us to a good place

No A-Listers Needed: A Homily for the Twelfth Sunday After Pentecost (Yr C)

Preached at All Saints, Collingwood, and St Luke's, Creemore, Anglican Diocese of Toronto, on Sunday, August 31, 2025, the Twelfth Sunday After Pentecost.   Readings for this Sunday:  Jeremiah 2:4-13, Psalm 81:1,10-16; Hebrews 13:1-8, Luke 14:1,7-14.

When he noticed how the guests chose the places of honor, he told them a parable (Lk 14.7)

Among all the dire headlines, one of the big news stories of this summer has been the engagement of pop diva Taylor Swift to NFL player Travis Kelce.  

People are already obsessing about it.  The New Zealand tourism board has announced its “official petition for Pop’s next Royal Wedding to be hosted right here in Aotearoa New Zealand”.    There’s already speculation about the guest list.  US Vice President JD Vance is worried that Kelce’s team, the Kansas City Chiefs, will get invited because somehow the Super Bowl will be rigged so it can be the backdrop for the wedding.

Wherever the wedding happens, we can be sure that it will a lavish affair, with lots of celebrity A-listers as the guests of honour. It will certainly cost a lot of money, though I think many of us will give Swift a pass on account of her philanthropy, but still, the famous superrich person wedding (see the Bezos-Sanchez wedding this June) seems to be a sign of our times.

‘A Listers” are celebrities whose name is everywhere and who get big paycheques for acting.  Jesus wouldn’t have known the term “A Lister”, but he would certainly have understood the concept.  In today’s gospel reading  we find him at a social gathering, a fancy meal at the house of a Pharisee, where, as usual, he is a keen student of human nature.

We shouldn’t be surprised to find Jesus at a Pharisee’ dinner party.  We know from the gospels that Jesus liked a good time, and we know that the Pharisees shared Jesus’ concern with the law and with living a holy life, though they differed on interpretation.   Pharisees were highly religious but they weren’t immune to the human desire to be someone important!

So just as we have our own concepts of how to seat the head table and the guests of honour, so it was in Jesus’ day.   A dinner or banquet would be arranged in a U-shape, and those with the highest social status, the A-listers, would be closest to the top of the U.   In this case, we are told that the party is hosted by a leader of the Pharisees, so we can imagine that the guests are fairly important people in the religious community.  If you’ve ever been to a big Diocesan dinner like the Bishop’s Company, you can imagine the type of crowd.    We can also assume that there was some competition to get one of the better seats.

I think the parable that follows is one of the easier ones to interpret.   Clearly, I think, Jesus is not saying “sit in the humblest spot so you can get invited to sit with the A Listers”.   Jesus’ isn’t offering advice about how to get ahead in society.   Rather, Jesus is saying that there shouldn't be any A, B, or C listers.     There should just be guests.

After the parable, Jesus speaks directly to his host, and it’s a rather breathtaking piece of chutzpah because he is critiquing the motives of everyone present, about how they invite one another in order to get favours and prestige in return.  Jesus wants nothing to do with that system.  Instead, he says, “when you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind” and that way you will be blessed and gain God’s favour for your care to those who cannot repay you.

This teaching is totally consistent with Jesus’ message throughout the gospels, and it goes right back to his mother’s words before he was born, that 

“he has brought down the mighty from their thrones
    and exalted those of humble estate;

he has filled the hungry with good things,
    and the rich he has sent away empty.”

(Luke 1:52-53)

As our second reading suggests, the first Christians picked up on this message.    The letter to the Hebrews tells the first churches, “Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing that some have entertained angels without knowing it" (Heb 13.2).  That’s a reference to the story in Genesis of how Abraham and Sarah were visited by three strangers who promised the elderly couple that they would have a child, thus fulfilling God’s promise (Gen 18-19).

Again, this is not a message about giving to get ahead.   It’s not about being kind to strangers just in case they can reward you, rather, as Hebrews says, hospitality is rooted in the idea that we are bound together in “mutual affection”.   “Mutual affection” or “love” comes from the Greek word philadelphia, meaning love among siblings. 

As Christians, we believe that all people are created by God, all people are loved by God, and all people carry the image of God, If we accept that we are bound together in mutual affection, then we, we accept that all people are our siblings and all people are entitled to whatever hospitality, care, and attention we can offer.   

Jesus taught us that the Kingdom of God makes no distinction between A listers and losers, it does not prefer the native born to the immigrant.  The Kingdom of God welcomes the stranger and the refugee.   The Kingdom of God does not guard its borders, but rather throws its doors open, because Jesus loves a banquet and he loves a wedding (with good wine, of course), and Jesus doesn’t believe in guest lists.

I hope that Taylor Swift and Travis Kelce have a lovely wedding and years of happiness.  I wish the same for a young couple that come to our Friendship Dinners.  They’d like to be married, if they can ever find the money for a license.   I see them sometimes, with a few bags of Giant Tiger groceries, waiting for the bus on Ontario Street, and pray that they do get their wedding.   If it does happen, it will go unremarked in the press, and there will be no A listers there, but Jesus will be a wedding guest, because he wants the same flourishing and happiness for them as he wants for all of us, because, I the Kingdom of God, we are all A listers.