From the Bishop's Desk

“Bless the Lord, O my soul. O Lord my God you are very great. You are clothed with majesty, wrapped in light as with a garment. You stretch out the heavens like a tent, you set the beams of your chambers on the waters, you make the clouds your chariot, you ride on the wings of the wind, you make the winds your messengers, fire and flame your ministers!” Ps. 104:1-4.

I love the summer. I particularly welcome the gift of a renewed appreciation for the wonders of creation. The created world comes alive for me in a special way as I visit a summer cottage, paddle a kayak or simply spend some time reading in the back garden. I experience a renewed appreciation of creation, and hopefully, a renewed appreciation of my own creatureliness!

We do not stand separate from creation. We are a part of is. As such, creation is not some superior entity to be worshipped, but rather a sibling, an expression of life with which we share kinship.

Just as one child in a family can have father’s nose and another mother’s eyes, so also can the different elements of creation reveal different aspects of our common parent. Different components of the created world reveal different characteristics of our common creator.

What does the magic of an evening sunset – no two exactly alike – tell us about our God’s creative impulses? What does the fury of a summer rainstorm tell us of God’s unbridled power and unpredictability?  What do the various shapes, sizes, colours and textures of created things tell us of our God’s playful love of variety and diversity? What does a mother’s soothing caress tell us of God’s s inexhaustible capacity to love and to care?

As you enjoy the blessings of these special summer months, may you also experience a renewed appreciation for the wonders of the created world. May you experience a renewed delight in your own creatureliness and may you be blessed to catch a fleeting glimpse of the creator’s hands and face mirrored within the wonders of this beautiful season!

And may that blessing inspire and empower you to preserve, protect and safeguard the wellbeing of our common home.

Oh Lord, how manifold are your works. In wisdom you have made them all; the earth is full of your creatures! Ps. 104:24

Earlier this spring I had occasion to preach on the story of the prodigal son. And as I reflected on that day’s gospel lesson, I kept asking “who is the real prodigal in this story?”

Certainly, there is the prodigal after whom this parable has been traditionally named – the son – the prodigal son who asked for, received, and then wastefully squandered his share of the father’s inheritance.

But he is not the only, or even the primary prodigal in this story. Our English word prodigal comes from the Latin term prodiger which can properly mean to be either recklessly wasteful or recklessly lavish, recklessly generous.

We see both in this story; but the identity of the primary character, or protagonist, is clear. Jesus does not begin his tale by saying there was a man who had a father and a brother. He begins it by saying “there was a man who had two sons.”  The story is primarily about the prodigal father who offers a lavish, extravagant, seemingly wasteful love to both of his children. It’s primarily about this father who loves each of his children beyond what either of them expects or deserves.

Jesus said, “There was a man who had two sons.” And as the story unfolds, we find that both sons are lost; one in a fog of greed and lasciviousness and the other in a cloud of resentment and jealousy. Both are lost, but the father will let neither of them go. He is determined to love them both, not because of what they’ve done or haven’t done, but simply because of who he is! It is his nature and essence to love.

I’ve often wondered what might have happened if Jesus had decided to spin the story out further. Would the brothers be reconciled? That would tie it all up with a neat little bow, wouldn’t it? Or would there have been further acts of deception or conflict between the brothers? We just don’t know because Jesus didn’t continue the story and chose this point for the narrative to end.  We are left to only speculate.

I think Jesus stops the story here because there are no guarantees of happy endings in this life, no matter how much grace, love, forgiveness and acceptance we might receive. It is guaranteed that those blessings are and will be present for us, for such is the nature of the God who creates, redeems and sustains us.  But what we do with those blessings is another matter entirely.

At our best, we treasure those blessings and share them with a generous prodigal abandon. And when at our worst, we wastefully squander them with a prodigal abandon of quite a different kind. Both inclinations are amply evident in our history and in our lived life today as church.

Our God is a prodigal God who gifts us our church with an abundance of blessing. Blessings of word, sacrament, prayer, song and fellowship. We are privileged to receive those gifts in such prodigal abundance. We dare not take them for granted.  May we receive them with the deep, deep gratitude they warrant and share them with a similarly prodigal abandonment.

You will have received this issue of Canada Lutheran shortly after our celebration of Easter Sunday. This article, however, has been written in mid-February, one week prior to Ash Wednesday and the beginning of Lent.

Most of our congregations resumed in-person worship this past Sunday with a few to follow in the next few weeks. Government restrictions are being reduced in all four provinces where our synod is present and we are tentatively hoping that our Easter worship will, for the most part, be reminiscent of our pre-pandemic celebrations of the Lord’s resurrection. We shall see.

I find it instructive to remember that the post-resurrection Christ still bore the marks of his crucifixion. Indeed, when he first appears among his disciples, he specifically shows them his wounds, saying, “Touch me and see.”   A week later, he appears again, making a similar revelation to Thomas. Jesus in his post-resurrected form, still bore the marks of his suffering. I suspect that will similarly be true for the church when it physically gathers in its post-pandemic form. We will still bear wounds.

I wonder what impact this virus will have had on how we experience Holy Communion. Will it be safe to eat and drink from a single loaf and a common cup? Will it be safe to share the peace of Christ with actions that include physical touch and not merely a nod or bow? When will I next tuck into a good old congregational potluck with all its attendant tastes, fragrances, and spirited table conversations? How long will the songs of the saints be muffled by the squares of fabric we’ve dutifully worn for more than two years to help protect one another’s safety? I just don’t know.

But just as Jesus’ wounds, though still evident post resurrection, did not define the totality of Jesus’ resurrected being, neither will our pandemic wounds define the totality of the church’s post-pandemic experience. That’s important for us to remember! Indeed, new experiences of being church have come to life during the past two years and I pray we have the good sense to lean into them.

We’ve learned that on-line experiences of worship and gathering can make our assemblies much more accessible. We’ve learned that we can stray beyond the sharply delineated lines of congregational bounds to establish new connections and partnerships. We’ve learned how to better collaborate and share gifts with one another. Many of us have experienced a reset in how we understand the relationship between the people who comprise the church and the buildings in which those people gather.

Those learnings were largely unexpected and certainly came unbidden, as do all gifts of grace! I pray that we treasure them as the precious gifts they are, gifts that may bear possibilities for renewed life and resurrection.  

“But we have this treasure in clay jars, so that it may be made clear that this extraordinary power belongs to God and does not come from us. We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed; always carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be made visible in our bodies.”                      2 Corinthians 4:7-10

Although we know very little about Nicholas, the Bishop of Myra, there is no disputing the fact that he has become one of the most popular saints of the Christian calendar. Certainly, he is the most imitated! For countless centuries, in Christian countries around the world, people have dressed up with white beards and variations of red garb to play at being St. Nicholas or Santa Claus for a group of delighted children. Indeed, every parent or grandparent who puts a gift under a tree is, in part, imitating a man who is remembered for no other reason than the fact that he knew what it is to love!

Of the many legends concerning Nicholas, most detail his many acts of generosity and mercy.  This was a man committed to the Scriptural mandate to love our neighbour. It’s a task more easily spoken of than done. It’s easy to talk of loving but much more difficult to do it. Loving is more an act of the will than of the heart. It involves making hard choices, making commitment. It means choosing to function and act with no motivation other than the desire to benefit another.

The Scriptures call us to be imitators of Christ, to quite literally pretend that you are Jesus.  We are invited to participate in a faithful act of pretence! I like that idea!  For although there are dishonest kinds of pretending where we pretend to be something that we have no intention of truly becoming, there is also, I think, a good kind of pretence where the act of pretence can lead us to the real thing.

In the same way, as we pretend to be more Christ-like, as we put on the face of Christ, we grow into the fullness of his grace and love. What begins as pretence, becomes a reality. To use Scriptural terms, we are talking about putting on Christ, about Christ being formed in us. But regardless of the terminology, the reality of what occurs is the same. As we seek to be more Christ-like, the true Christ honours our faithful act of pretence by turning it into a reality.

So what does all that have to do with St. Nick? As the reigning symbol of the modern, secular holiday season, poor old Santa has become a symbol of all the elements in our modern, consumer driven Christmas that are offensive to us. As such, he gets more than his fair share of bad press from cranky church people at this time of the year.

But not all of it’s deserved. Yes, Christmas is overly hyped and overly commercialized. Yes, there are things we would rather do with a little less of and others we would want to see given a higher profile.  But at the same time, as flawed and imperfect as our annual imitations of old Nicholas might be, on one level they represent a striving for something good and something right. It’s not the real thing by a longshot, but it is informed by the real thing and can still point toward the real thing. And that, in my mind, is something to be thankful for.

So this year, as you dodge through the mall, quietly cursing the muzak Christmas carols and the too-early “holiday” decorations, see if you can’t squeeze out a smile and a prayer for St. Nick. He may be more of a friend than you think!