John 20: 19-31 - Sunday, April 27, 2025

A few words of preamble before launching into the sermon: the preaching focus for this second Sunday of Easter tends to be on Thomas (unfairly known through the ages as “doubting Thomas”) who was absent on Easter evening when Jesus appeared to the other disciples and then, one week later, demanded tangible proof that this is truly Jesus.  He’s a fascinating character who deserves his own sermon, but I’m going to politely ask Thomas to step aside for now as we consider other aspects of that first Easter evening.

Some moments in time are significant in ways we cannot comprehend as they are happening. It may be a positive moment, like when you met your significant other for the first time, or when you apply for a job which turns out to be your life’s work.  It may be a terrible moment, when a mistake in judgment has life-altering effects or when a bad choice of words permanently fractures a relationship.  Or it may be a big, shared moment of elation or worry, such as when Paul Henderson scored that goal in 1972, or when 9/11 was unfolding.

As they went around the countryside with Jesus, I wonder if the disciples had any real sense of the immensity of what they were doing.  For here we are, 2,000 years later and 10,000 km away and the words and deeds of Jesus are still alive in our midst.  Clearly, the disciples – the twelve named and many more that traveled with them - were convinced that the spiritual renewal, healing power and political activism of Jesus were important enough for them to set aside their life’s work to follow him, but how would they have known that their stories would live on as they have, that they were living in a special fullness of time?

I cannot know what was in their hearts in those heady days of village-to-village ministry by the Sea of Galilee, but in today’s reading from the 20^th chapter of John, the gospel writer describes a moment in time when the disciples touched eternity.

Before going any further, some terminology might be helpful. In the Greek language of the New Testament, there are two words for time: Chronos and Kairos. Chronos signifies the linear passage of time, while ‘Kairos’ signifies a moment of clarity, something happening “at the right time.” Chronos is the formal passage of measured time, related to the word, “chronological”, but Kairos implies a fullness of time – “God-time” if you will.   Chronos time we can measure by a stopwatch, clock or calendar, while Kairos time we determine by our heart, soul, instincts, feelings. And the writer of John’s gospel is a masterful author, playing with this distinction between Chronos and Kairos as he weaves his version of the Jesus story in his retelling of things in such a manner as to inspire faith.

In terms of Chronos time, today’s gospel reading begins at the end of Easter day.  The disciples, excited, awestruck, dubious and terrified all at once by the news from Mary Magdalene that Jesus Christ had risen, found a safe place to come together, and locked the doors.  Imagine their head space and their heart space: traumatized by the crucifixion of their beloved leader, Jesus, who had been betrayed by their trusted friend Judas. This no doubt left them wondering if Judas had sold out all of them, furnishing personal details to the authorities so they could be tracked down one by one, an experience far too common in our day as well as theirs. In that Chronos time, with these worries about their survival, the room was vibrating with Kairos significance. 

For three years, the disciples were with Jesus virtually 24/7, but in the 20^th chapter of John, when they are joined in their locked room by the risen Christ, they have a new experience.  They were used to sharing every day with Jesus, but this was the Christ, arisen.  By contrast, none of us believers 2,000 years later experienced even one of those in-the-flesh walkabouts with Jesus around the Sea of Gailee, but we are well familiar with the risen Christ walking alongside us.  In moments of sorrow when you recognize a sacred presence with you, the risen Christ is there; in moments of courage or insight beyond your own, the risen Christ is there; in perfect moments when we are overwhelmed with contentment, the risen Christ is there.   Gathered in a room, the disciples were so worried about what would happen to them, and then suddenly Christ, arisen, is with them, recognizing their fear, assuring them of his peace, and bestowing upon them the breath of the Spirit which would fill their lives - and ours - from that moment forward.

And when Jesus does these two things – greeting them with peace and breathing the Spirit on them – it is as if time stands still, as we hear familiar words found earlier in scripture spoken again.

In today’s reading from John, when Christ appears in their midst, the disciples are filled with fear and the Holy One speaks a word of peace.  Where have we heard this before?  To me, it takes me back to the birth legend of Jesus, in which Matthew and Luke speak of angels appearing – to Mary, to Joseph, to the shepherds – and each time, the angels speak a word of peace to their fears, culminating in the choir of the heavenly hosts proclaiming to the shepherds (Luke 2: 16) “Glory to God in the highest heaven,  and on earth peace, goodwill among all people.” 

In that birth narrative, fear is overcome, and peace is spoken from the heavens, repeatedly.  There here, in the 20^th chapter of John, Jesus speaks peace to a room full of fear.  And each Sunday, at the end of our worship time we hear and share that same reassurance: the Peace of Christ is given, one to another.  

And then: in today’s reading from John, the risen Christ breathes the Spirit on the disciples.  What might that remind you of in the Bible?  This time, we go allllll the way back, to the origins of all that is. In the second story of creation in the book of Genesis (Gen. 2:7), God formed the earth-creature A’dam out the dust of the ground and breathed into its nostrils the breath of life, and A’dam became a living being.  That breath of life, referred to in Hebrew as ru’ah, is God’s own breath, the breath of Divine Spirit that makes us well, alive.

In Genesis, God breathes life into the human story… and then, in this morning’s reading from the 20^th chapter of John, Jesus breathes new life into the disciples.  In the ultimate Kairos moment, God formed and enlivened the earth, and aeons later Christ Jesus, the Word made Flesh, finds another Kairos moment when his promise of new life is breathed on all the disciples. Well, almost all the disciples – Thomas, like us, had to receive the gift of the spirit from other believers who had it before him.

In that room of disciples – our ancestors in the faith – Kairos, God’s time, was fully present.  The peace that announced the birth of Jesus now announced re-birth, the new life of Christ carried by all who live his path of love arisen. The creative breath of the spirit in Genesis that filled the lungs of the first human now inspired the disciples to carry the life-force of the Divine into every situation they encountered, even the drab, everyday ones.   Time stood still as the disciples gathered with the risen Christ, with echoes of those first stories of the birth experienced in their rebirth to new life.

By now, I expect that some of you may be thinking, “cool, Greg. Neat connections with those earlier stories. Chronos and Kairos, got it. But what does this have to do with me?”

Well… it struck me in preparing for this Sunday, that we and I have been overwhelmed these past few weeks with the consequences of the horrid behaviour of one world leader in particular.  That being the case, it seemed that the time – the Kairos - was right, to be reminded that every aspect of our lives unfold within God’s big, wondrous story of life.   To be fully alive is so much more than just reacting to one attention-grabbing thing at a time; to be alive is to luxuriate in the ebb and flow of this amazing, timeless, worldwide gift called life, and we recall God’s commitment to have all our siblings experience the fullness of that gift.  That’s one of the things that makes it particularly heartbreaking to hear of a car rammed into a group in Vancouver who had gathered for a celebration of their culture – they were celebrating the gift of life, only to be targeted.

As we sense the unfolding of God’s story, from the origins of this precious planet to the birth of Jesus to his resurrection and appearance to the disciples, we also know that the story didn’t stop there.  The unfolding story of God’s love for the world is still being written: In your life, in my life, in the life of these congregations, in the life of the Church.  As we see our Roman Catholic siblings in the faith seek God’s guidance to choose a new Pope, we are reminded of this ebb and flow of our interaction with the Divine across the ages, as one generation of believers gives way to another.  As we come up to the 100^th anniversary of The United Church of Canada, and bring to mind everyone who instilled Christian faith in us, we are again reminded that the story of Jesus Christ, crucified and risen, is a story that was passed on to us and still lives in us.  My Mom, who died eleven years ago, was born the same month as The United Church of Canada – June of 1925 – so she’s been on my mind a lot lately, and I’m sure there are folks in your faith history, family members or Church mentors or recent spiritual influences, who you can easily bring to mind as well.

My hope, then, in taking time this morning to ponder the holy gift of time – especially the gift of Kairos - is that in these days when the moment is often so harsh and so weird and so divisive, we need to be reminded that the big story of God’s love, ancient and eternal and constantly renewed,  is something we can lean into: when we are afraid, unsettled, or tempted to lock ourselves away behind closed doors.  What we do here on Sundays, the choices we make each day of the week, are part of God’s Kairos time, which connects us with what has been, what will be, and the lives of others throughout the world at this very moment.  Our lives, our Chronos is lived are part of God’s great big Kairos expression of life, and as we celebrate the gift of a life founded on love, we touch eternity.  

Thanks be to God, Amen!

 

References cited:

Reuters, https://www.reuters.com/world/what-happens-now-after-death-pope-francis-2025-04-21/

Reuters, https://www.reuters.com/world/americas/multiple-dead-after-vehicle-drives-into-crowd-vancouver-street-festival-police-2025-04-27/

The United Church of Canada. https://united-church.ca/100years

Wikipedia. “Kairos” https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kairos#:~:text=Kairos%20(used%2086%20times%20in,18%20and%2027%3A9).

© 2025 Rev Greg Wooley, Osoyoos-Oliver United Church Pastoral Charge

Acts 10: 34-43 and John 20: 1-18 - Easter Sunday, April 20, 2025

 Six years ago I had a particularly blessed Easter.  As part of my sabbatical, I spent Holy Week in the UK at Norwich Cathedral, enjoying daily presentations by the Poet, Academic and Anglican Priest, Malcolm Guite.  As you will hear shortly, Malcolm writes sonnets based on gospel readings – 14 line poems, ending with a rhyming couplet - and I was so impressed by his work that the opportunity to hear him present his poems and reflections day after day was not to be missed.  It also gave me the opportunity to worship and worship and worship, as the Cathedral had at least 3 services each day.

The week began with a group of us walking alongside a donkey through the city streets on Palm Sunday, continued with a rededication of ordination vows for all the Priests in the Diocese on Maundy Thursday, a pensive, sorrowful concert on Good Friday, and an extraordinary vigil complete with dramatic use of fire and water on Holy Saturday.

We arrived at Easter Sunday, amidst Malcolm’s sonnets and the ethereal majesty of this 12^th century cathedral.  And then, on Easter Sunday morning, we were greeted with this: a sonnet to Easter Dawn, by Malcolm Guite:

He blesses every love which weeps and grieves

And now he blesses hers who stood and wept and would not be consoled,

or leave her love’s last touching place,

but watched as low light crept up from the east.

A sound behind her stirs a scatter of bright birdsong through the air.

She turns, but cannot focus through her tears,

Or recognise the Gardener standing there.

She hardly hears his gentle question ‘Why, why are you weeping?’,

or sees the play of light that brightens as she chokes out her reply

‘They took my love away; my day is night’

And then she hears her name,

she hears Love say The Word that turns her night, and ours, to Day.

I bring you this lovely, evocative poem this Easter morning as a necessary and welcome gift, because the season of Lent this year has, to me, felt very, very long.  No, it hasn’t actually been longer than usual; Lent, is always forty days of soul-searching, plus six Sundays when the light comes through a little bit more, but the emotional weight of Lent in the year 2025 has been enormous.  Each day we wonder, who has been targeted today?  Whose sovereignty will be trampled today (hello, Greenland)?  Who will be blamed for a fight they did not start?  Which nations and industries are on today’s tariff list?  And on a terrifying person by person level, what rights will be removed from US citizens, which in turn could embolden other nations to do likewise? Which thoughts are no longer allowable?  Whose tax return will be used for the purposes of seek and deport?  The swirl of global uncertainty, created by a truly awful regime hell-bent on disruption, is exhausting. And if I’m feeling that, I can scarcely imagine what it’s like to live on the other side of the 49^th parallel if you’re Hispanic, or queer, or simply committed to factfulness. The season of Lent is a time when our emotional journey mirrors the frightening, exhausting time spent by Jesus in the wilderness, and the world has lived it out far too accurately this year.

The good news of Easter, friends in Christ, is that God does not intend for us to stay in that awful, challenging place.  As a friend in ministry once commented, “God is with us in the valley of the shadow of death, but never suggested that we set up camp there.”  In the story of Jesus Christ, crucified and risen, we have God’s complete engagement with the human story.  In his words, Jesus consistently identified with those who were being judged and excluded, and he spoke with clarity of God’s particular connection with the poorest of the poor.  He spoke of a world made new and he brought healing of the body and of self-image and of relationships.  His words and deeds, and the way he motivated people to brave acts of love, brought hope to many who lived without hope. Not surprisingly, those same words and deeds were perceived as a threat by the powerful and the privileged.  And throughout it all, all the way to the cross, the fidelity of Jesus, God’s Word made flesh, to his message of reconciling love expressed God’s all-in commitment to breaking the world free from oppression, to life eternal and abundant!

As we see the orchards come into bloom after a cool, grey winter, we see more evidence of God’s commitment to new life, and as the blossoms burst forth it lifts us and inspires a sense of awe.  Awe, gratitude, and relief; while Shannon and I did not arrive in the south Okanagan until last August, we have heard how grim it was at this time last year, when the stone fruit trees did not even flower, let alone produce fruit.  This time of flourishing orchards speaks to me of resurrection, new life, and a God of creative energy and commitment to life renewed.  That, for those of us fortunate enough to live in such a place, is an expression of Easter glory.

The glory of Easter also found a home in the words of the apostle Peter, speaking in our reading from the 10^th chapter of Acts. In a gathering of Jews and Gentiles together, Peter begins recounting the life and meaning of Jesus with the memorable words, “God shows no partiality” or in other translations, “God shows no favoritism.” Yes, God has a special concern for the impoverished and marginalized, but none of the divisions we humans use to attack others are mirrored by God.   Nationality, ethnicity, sexual orientation, life circumstances, even the shaping of our religious understandings, none of these things can keep us from God’s love.  

Through the life, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ we see God’s commitment to a life of undefeatable and boundless love.  That is the Good News that draws us together each Sunday, it’s the Good News that helps us find hope amidst the daily headlines, it’s the Good News that spurs us to be in solidarity with all God’s children living under the threat of attack.   And we note that it was Peter, the one who denied Jesus three times, who was restored by Christ to give this testimony. Not even our own guilt or shame can get in the way of having our lives uplifted and restored by God’s extraordinary grace and this, too, expresses the glory of Easter.

And we recall the reading that opened this morning’s service: Mary Magdalene, at the tomb, came to the gravesite to mourn the shocking death of her beloved friend Jesus, who had been put to death the previous Friday.  She had witnessed what had happened to him and now she knew where she needed to be, as we might revisit a burial site to honour a lost beloved one.  Into that space of traumatic shock and sadness, the impossible happened: an empty tomb, rolled up graveclothes, angelic messengers, and then… a conversation with the gardener.  Or at least that’s who Mary supposed he was, but as they spoke she realized that this was her beloved Jesus. 

However we embrace the story of the resurrection, literal or metaphorical or a bit of both, this moment with Mary and the risen Christ, speaks of God’s love which will not be stopped, even by death itself.   I need that reminder these days, when things beyond my control have such a grip on my attention: I need my depressive funk re-set, by the impossibility of those tender words from Jesus to Mary, words of loving reassurance, words of resurrection life!   In a world determined to make things worse for all but the insiders, I need to trust once more that God does impossible things.  There are things we can do to push back against the oppressor, and we also know that we are not limited to our capacity alone. When we come to our limit we need the gift of faith, to believe once more in the God of Easter rising, the gracious God in whom we rise again.

Easter, this celebration of life renewed, life uplifted, life reborn, is such a welcome gift, especially in the spring of 2025… and is a gift that does not just come one day out of 365.  We give thanks for the ways in which each day, each moment, each memory, and even each fear, each heartbreak and each worry, are met by God’s commitment for things to be better than they are now.  Each morning is a moment of Easter, as we are reborn to the possibilities of a new day, as we pray for a better day for the world. May this day, and the days, months and seasons to come, be for us and the world we live in, an invitation to live lives held, motivated and uplifted by God’s unlimited and unstoppable love.  Amen.

Reference cited:

Guite, Malcolm. “Sonnet XV : Easter Dawn »  https://malcolmguite.wordpress.com/2022/04/17/a-sonnet-for-easter-dawn-6/

 

© 2025 Rev Greg Wooley, Osoyoos-Oliver United Church Pastoral Charge

Luke 19: 28-40 - Palm Sunday, April 13, 2025

We start today’s message by bringing to our mind’s eye the holy city of Jerusalem, just before Passover.  Estimates vary, but the population of Jerusalem in those days was likely in the range of 40,000. Penticton size, if you will.  But three times per year, at the major Jewish festivals, between 125,000 and 150,000 pilgrims would descend upon the city, more than quadrupling the population.  Some folks would have the resources to do this on a fairly regular basis, whereas for others, especially for those from far away of modest means, it was a once in a lifetime event.  So we imagine the old city of Jerusalem – the cramped streets, the ramparts, and the hilly areas around the city that visitors would have encountered on their way in.

As described in Luke’s gospel, on the day we remember as Palm Sunday, Jesus entered the city on the back of a colt, and his followers hailed him as Messiah.  Though Luke’s version of the story does not specifically include palm branches or shouts of “hosanna”, today we borrow those from the other gospel stories, Matthew, Mark and John. Down from the hilltop village of Bethany – the place where Mary anointed Jesus’ feet– this modest little parade went down the Mount of Olives, past the garden of Gethsemane, and back up to the east/”golden” gate of the city.  And again, we imagine the sights and smells and emotions: the temperature in April would be about the same as the temperature here (Osoyoos/Oliver) in May, there’d be the scents of the local foliage, and palm branches – and the perspiration, and the colt - and the sounds of chaotic jubilation.

Numerically, we don’t know how widespread a following Jesus had, and there were other things going on in Jerusalem, as we shall soon hear.  With all that, it’s hard to tell how much attention this parade would have garnered.  What we do know, is shared through an extended quote from the late professor Marcus Borg, whose work with John Dominic Crossan has been such an influence for so many of us in the mainline Churches of north America. Marcus wrote:

“Two processions entered Jerusalem that Passover.  The other procession was an imperial one.  On or about the same day [as Jesus’ modest entry], the Roman governor Pontius Pilate rode into the city from the opposite side, the west, at the head of a very different kind of procession: imperial cavalry and foot soldiers arriving to reinforce the garrison on the Temple Mount.  They did so each year at Passover.

“Imagine the scene as Pilate’s procession entered the city, a panoply of imperial power.  Weapons, helmets, golden eagles mounted on poles, sun glinting on metal and gold.  The pounding of horse hooves, the clinking of bridles, the marching of feet, the creaking of leather, the beating of drums, the swirling of dust.  The eyes of the silent onlookers, some curious, some awed, some resentful.

“Jesus (as well as the authors of the gospels) would have known about Rome’s policy of sending reinforcements to the city at Passover.  His decision to enter the city as he did was what we would call a planned political demonstration, a counterdemonstration.  The juxtaposition of these two processions embodies the central conflict of Jesus’s last week: [the choice between] the kingdom of God or the kingdom of imperial domination.  What Christians have often spoken of as Jesus’s triumphal entry was really an anti-imperial entry.  What we call Palm Sunday, featured a choice of two kingdoms, two visions of life on earth.”  (Borg, p 232)

What an important contrast for us to consider in 2025. 

Arriving from the west, the Imperial Guard in all its splendour, power and pageantry, a none-too-subtle reminder that the Jewish people were not fully masters of their own destiny, not unlike like the blunt message being delivered to Gazans today.  Herod was their King, yes, but in name only; Rome was in charge, and were happy to spill some blood to remind the Judeans of this.

Arriving from the east, a much less impressive display, centred around a young man from Galilee who had something to say: Jesus of Nazareth.  He had been healing, preaching and, importantly, listening as people described the limitations of their lives.  As knowledgeable as a Rabbi in his command of scripture, speaking with the authority of God’s own voice, he excited his listeners by outlining a new realm in which the order of things would be inverted: the first would be last and the last, first, God’s own vision of harmony and abundance restored for all.

In April of 2025, these two competing visions are once again before us: the gilt-edged ostentatious power of wealth and privilege, cockiness and weaponry; and the life-affirming power that insists on all persons being uplifted with peace, love and dignity, not just those with the right connections.  And here, we speak of peace not just as an absence of war, but the kind of peace that emerges when there is a true concern for those who are visibly reviled, oppressed, and kept away from the things they need in order to thrive.  Each of these visions stakes its claim, now as in Jerusalem 2000 years ago, and ordinary people, you and me, choose what we will regard as the foundation and purpose of our lives. 

The type of power asserted by Rome, we are well-familiar with.  With each targeting of the 2SLGBTQIA+ community, with each attack on science and learning, with each removal of rights from women, with each disrespect of sovereignty, with each announcement of the addition or subtraction of helter-skelter tariffs, Rome insists that we pay attention.  Rome tries to scare us into complicity, or else.

What may be harder for us to really grasp, is the alternative: what exactly is it that Jesus, and all voices of equanimity and reason are putting before us?  Once more, I turn to Marcus Borg, who describes the choice made over the ages by those who embrace the transformative path of Jesus:

“The way of Jesus was about personal transformation.  And it was political, God’s passion for a different kind of world – one in which people have enough, not as the result of charity but as the fruit of justice, and within which nations do not war against one another anymore.  [The path of Jesus is] a path of resistance to the domination system, and advocacy of an alternative vision of life together under God.  His counter-advocacy, his passion for God’s passion, led to his execution.  The way of the cross is both personal and political.”

Every year, Palm Sunday presents to us this contrast: between Caesar and God, between the coercive might of Rome, Herod and Pontius Pilate, and the transformative infusion of love, which was shown to us by Jesus and passed on to us as his legacy to us and in us.  And in previous years, when Palm Sunday would come around, I would hear the choice between these two paths almost as a formality.  Of course I choose the way of Jesus, I decided that when I was confirmed over fifty years ago and have, I hope, found ways to assert that in tens of thousands of little choices since then.  The choices I make, good and bad, are informed by my understanding of Jesus, and his way of boundary-breaking love, and at my best I might even get it right 51% of the time. Thank goodness that the grace of God is more reliable than my personal fidelity to the task.

But this year, Palm Sunday is different for me, for in this moment in time – amidst a world whose precarious balance is getting yanked to and fro by the off-balanced decisions of one person and his supporting regime, and as we think and pray about our own Federal election – we realize that a Rome vs. Jesus scenario is before us. To use a term we first heard a couple of months ago, a key aspect of our calling right now, as households and as Church and perhaps even as a nation, is to create “islands of sanity,” places of safety for those who are being targeted by the mean-spiritedness of the day, places where knowledge and wisdom are valued, places where the lovingkindness of God for all her children finds explicit expression.  

Something that has come increasingly clear to me in recent days, even as I remain committed to changing my buying habits and my personal entertainment choices as a small way of asserting the sovereignty of this Canadian homeland that I love, is the importance of separating out my indignant response to the mean-spirited decisions made by the President, from my aspirations – and, I believe, God’s – relative to my neighbours.

My desire to support my nation at a time of threat and official disrespect must not cross over to being judgmental or inhospitable toward our neighbours just over the border, whose suffering is different from ours but just as real.  I admit to some trepidation as to the possible reaction south of the 49^th to a car with BC plates, not to mention the possible search of phone/laptop at the border, but I can choose how I respond to our cross-border guests, I can choose the spiritual gift of hospitality and God’s heart of grace.  I also realize, at this key point in our nation’s history, how easy it is for these local and national needs to distract us from the urgent needs of this planet.  As each nation views itself as less and less interconnected to the whole, there is a global temptation to ramp up all industries everywhere, nation by nation, the same industries that put such pressure on this precious, precarious planet.  In so many ways, personal and political, local and national, it’s time to be vigilant, but not time to push the panic button and start doing things we will regret later on.

On Palm Sunday, we are wary of the power of Herod, Pilate and Caesar, and we note the irony, as Jesus is heralded as Messiah or King, for his Kingship is completely different. The goal of life as we follow Jesus into the kin-dom of God, is completely unlike the ways of wealth and privilege and the mocking tone of aggressive superiority.   And we are called to choose between those shapings of power.  

In spite of the cost, Jesus stayed true to his mission.  In spite of the cost, the saints and martyrs of the early church, and people of deep faith and high principle since then, have likewise remained true.  And in spite of the stress of the weird, flabbergasting, almost dreamlike days in which we live, we are called to embody the transformative love of Jesus: as we muddle through our days, as we determine our calling as Church, and, on April 28^th, as we cast our votes.   May our words and actions speak a loud Hosanna, to the Christ who comes in God’s name.  Amen.

Reference cited:

Borg, Marcus. Jesus: Uncovering the Life, Teachings, and Relevance of a Religious Revolutionary.  NYC: HarperCollins, 2006. Pages 225-232.

See also:

Borg, Marcus and Crossan, John Dominic. The Last Week: What the Gospels Really Teach About Jesus's Final Days in Jerusalem. NYC: HarperOne, 2007.

Jackson, Wayne. https://christiancourier.com/articles/how-many-people-were-in-jerusalem-when-jesus-was-crucified

Wheatley, Margaret. Restoring Sanity: Practices to Awaken Generosity, Creativity, and Kindness in Ourselves and Our Organizations. Oakland, CA: Berrett-Koehler, 2024.

© 2025 Rev Greg Wooley, Osoyoos-Oliver United Church Pastoral Charge.

 

John 12: 1-8 - April 6, 2025 - Lent V

It borders on blasphemy to say so, but I get the thought process of Judas Iscariot.  Part of it, to be sure, may stem from Norman Jewison’s film version of Jesus Christ Superstar, in which Carl Anderson, playing Judas, is dynamic and passionate and has a point to make, while Ted Neeley’s portrayal of Jesus was, um, underwhelming.

But more than that, like Judas I, too, am practically minded.  I will often shut down my wilder dreams because they do not align with the practicalities of things.   Like Judas in the 12^th chapter of John, I am offended by opulence and wastefulness, especially if the resources could have been used to alleviate someone else’s difficulties.  And like Judas, who managed the disciples’ finances, I’m pretty good with numbers, so when I was asked to sit on the board at our strata, yup, I’m now the treasurer.

So what does practically minded Judas have to say for himself? The hymn verses before this sermon (“Said Judas to Mary”, verses 1-3) gives a solid summary of the scene at hand.  Mary of Bethany has just poured expensive perfume on Jesus’ feet, and wiped his feet with her hair, an act of extravagance, devotion and love, but Judas objects: “Oh Mary, oh Mary, oh think of the poor – this ointment, it could have been sold; and think of the blankets and think of the bread you could buy with the silver and gold.”  On the surface, this objection comes across as perfectly reasonable, especially for those of us working in the non-profit sector, where we need to be so cost-conscious…but there is more to the objection than meets the eye. Jesus sees through it – or perhaps he sees the true malevolence of Judas, the one doing the asking.  Though he speaks respectfully to Judas, Jesus lifts up what Mary has done – comforting and sad and sensual - as a gift of love, and urges Judas and the rest of the disciples to receive this gift in the spirit in which it was given. 

We live in a world where these Judas-shaped objections to kindness and empathy are presented on a daily basis: on social media, talk radio, TV news panels, even in common conversation.  Someone calls for an injustice to be addressed, and within moments objections are raised to make the concern look small, irrelevant, even self-serving.  We know what this looks like: in the midst of the deaths of Ahmaud Arbery, Breonna Taylor, and George Floyd in 2020, Black Lives Matter needed to name the devaluing, targeting, and lack of safety of people of colour… and before long, middle class white voices were saying, “well, ALL lives matter, not just black lives.”   As Greta Thunberg raised the alarm about the climate crisis, urging world leaders to recognize that slow-moving strategies would not help a house already on fire, social media keyboard jockeys wrote, “oh yeah, and did she walk to Davos/Glasgow/New York to say that, or did she take a plane?”  As ground-penetrating radar finally awakened the Canadian populace to the horrors of the Indian Residential Schools, cue the letters to the editor, doubting the science and minimizing the realities because, well, most of us Canadians of a certain age got bullied at school and were threatened with the strap if we misbehaved.  And even now, within Made in Canada online groups, there’s a tiring string of posts that make excuse upon excuse in order to avoid any changes to their buying behaviours and falsely insinuate that the ”buy Canadian” movement started this mess. In each case, part of me is tricked into thinking, “that sounds like a reasonable point” but if I pause, and take a step back to see the bigger picture, I will often see that the naysayer has a vested interest and would lose their current advantage if the issue at hand actually got dealt with.  The objection, even if bearing a grain of truth, is more often than not, not being spoken in good faith.

A term for these types of objections is “whataboutism” – you know, when someone immediately says, “well, what about this other situation that is even worse” in order to deflect attention away from the issue at hand.  The author Shahida Arabi, an expert on how to deal with narcissism, has some tips on how to deal with “whataboutism” and related tactics (and I’ll put a link to her salty, excellent article at the end of the online version of this sermon).   One of her tips, when someone attempts to change topics to deflect attention away from something you care about, is “Don’t be derailed – if someone pulls a switcheroo on you, you can… continue stating the facts without giving in to their distractions. Redirect their redirection by saying, ‘That’s not what I am talking about. Let’s stay focused on [this] issue.’ If they’re not interested, disengage and spend your energy on something more constructive….This doesn’t mean that the issues that are being brought up don’t matter, it just means that this specific time and place may not be the best context to discuss them”. I share this info this morning, because I think we were already seeing an early version of “whataboutism” in the objections raised by Judas, beneath his discomfort at Mary’s anointing of Jesus with such intimacy and devotion.  It’s not that the issue Judas raises about the proper use of their limited resources is a non-issue – the proper stewardship of resources is a legitimate concern for all Churches and charities - but Jesus makes clear that this was Mary’s special moment, and needed to remain so; the attempt by Judas to insert himself into the middle of it with his whatabout diversion was not welcome.  At this, I gotta say, “yay, Jesus!”

To me, it’s not coincidental that this deep religious response of Mary is something Judas feels compelled to shut down.  Throughout history we see this all the time.  A male with authority, like Judas, simply cannot abide by a female’s powerful faith expression, and feels compelled to jump in and mansplain a “better” way for her to respond.  Not because he had anything actually figured out, but because she was a woman he had the power and authority to shut her down.  And again, something truly noteworthy here is that when Judas attempts to speak over top of Mary, Jesus won’t take the bait, for Mary needed to continue as she was.   The moment, again, belongs to Mary: not to Judas and really, not even to Jesus.

When I was studying for ministry throughout the 80s – as an undergrad Religious Studies student in Regina, as a seminarian in Vancouver - I had such high hopes for gender equality and social justice, in the Church and in society.  One of my teachers, I must say, was Shannon, with her deep involvement with the Student Christian Movement, World Council of Churches, and her up to date reading of theological and sociological trends.  In those days, more and more women were entering ministry, sexual orientations and gender diversity were starting to be talked about openly, and we even had a couple of Roman Catholic women studying with us at VST, “just in case” ordination might someday be possible for them. The Very Rev Dr Lois Wilson was the United Church Moderator, and then she became a President of the World Council of Churches.  The 80s were such promising days.  But in the subsequent years, any time real progress is being made, any time the glass ceiling was actually threatened, Judas and his ilk would change the rules and things got worse.  (Since 2016, a whole lot worse).  In a time when the world is subject to so many whims of evil intent, it is crucial for us as Church to be clear on our absolute belief in the right to self-determination of people of all genders, all gender expressions, all sexual orientations, all nationalities and citizenship categories, everyone.  Though the institutional Church sold out to the powers of patriarchy and empire way back in the 4^th century, the original Jesus people, the people of the way – were much more egalitarian.  Our gospel reading today, in which Jesus embraces, encourages, celebrates the ministry of spiritual devotion and care, expressed by Mary, is such a wonderful snapshot of God’s desire for all of God’s children to have true agency, a full range of opportunity and authority over their own lives.  And when Judas tries to make it about him, even when he may well have had something worth dealing with later, Jesus makes it clear: not now, Judas.  This is not about you.  

Over the ages, the season of Lent has been a time of year that is willing to enter some of these places of discomfort and lament. Lent makes space for us to name sinful actions or exclusions that need to be fixed.   Lent is also a time in which we recall that the final chapter of the story of Jesus Christ, is not his execution but his resurrection, and we celebrate Christ’s everlasting presence by the way we live our lives.  In our willingness to be led by Mary rather than Judas, in all that we say and do as Church, we are living witnesses to that resurrection power, which lifts up and liberates all who are singled out, mocked and endangered.   We are called to advocacy and clarity and as we embrace this calling, Christ’s unfolding promise of life, light and love shines its light on this day and our shared path. 

May this be so. Amen.

References cited:

Carter, Sydney. “Said Judas to Mary” (hymn, composed 1964). Voices United #129.

Jewison, Norman. “Jesus Christ, Superstar” (film, Universal Pictures, 1973).

Recommended reading:

Arabi, Shahida – quoted by Effenus Henderson, https://www.linkedin.com/pulse/20-diversion-tactics-highly-manipulative-people-use-you-henderson

Gear, Janet. Undivided Love.  Altona, MB: Friesen, 2022.

Schussler Fiorenza, Elisabeth. In Memory of Her. Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox, 1983.

 

© 2025, Rev Greg Wooley, Osoyoos-Oliver United Church Pastoral Charge.