Sermon: The landowner (Matthew 20:1-16), Sept 20th, 2020

Reflection: The landowner 

(Matthew 20:1-16)

In April, 2020, Hassan Mahamat Idriss, writing under the pen name Moustapha Dahleb, had an article published in a French internet daily news magazine, africk.com. The article was titled, “Humanity Shaken and Society Collapsed by a Small Machine”. Idriss, originally from Chad, has been a resident of France for 20 years. As soon as his prose poem was published, it became wildly popular – it was translated into English, Korean and other languages and circulated world-wide through social media. All of the posts about this poem begin this way: 

Moustapha Dahleb the most beautiful Chadian pen, wrote: (Note: while Idriss is an amateur writer, his career is in Economics)

A small microscopic thing called coronavirus is upsetting the planet. Something invisible has come to make its law. He questions everything and upsets the established order. Everything is put back in place, otherwise, differently. 

What the great Western powers could not get in Syria, Libya, Yemen, … this little thing got it (a cease-fire, truce …).

What this Algerian army could not obtain, this small thing obtained (the Hirak protests ended). 

What this political opponent could not obtain, this little thing obtained (postponement of electoral deadlines …). 

What companies could not obtain, this little thing obtained (tax rebates, exemptions, zero-interest loans, investment funds, fall in the prices of strategic raw materials. …). 

What this yellow vest and the unions could not obtain, this little thing obtained (a price drop at the pump, reinforced social protection …). 

Suddenly, we observe in the Western world fuel has dropped, the pollution has dropped, people have started having time, so much time that they don’t even know what to do with it. Parents get to know their children, children learn to stay with their families, work is no longer a priority, travel and leisure are no longer the norm for a successful life. 

Suddenly in silence, we are all on the same boat, rich and poor. We realize that we had robbed the store shelves together and together find that the hospitals are full and that money doesn’t matter. That we all have the same human identity in the face of the coronavirus. 

We realize that in garages, high-end cars are stopped just because no one can get out. 

Only a few days were enough for the universe to establish a social equality which was impossible to imagine. 

Fear has invaded everyone. She changed sides. She left the poor to go and live in the rich and powerful. She reminded them of their humanity and revealed their humanism to them. 

May this serve to realize the vulnerability of human beings who seek to live on the planet Mars and who believe they are strong to clone human beings in order to hope to live forever. 

May this serve to realize the limit of human intelligence in the face of the force of heaven. 

It only took a few days for certainty to become uncertainty, for strength to become weakness, for power to become solidarity and concerted action. 

It only took a few days for Africa to become a secure continent. Let the dream become a lie. 

It only took a few days for humanity to realize that it is nothing but breath and dust. 

Who are we? What are we worth? What can we do about this coronavirus?  (…) 

We love each other alive! 

I encountered this poem on the Facebook post of the Korean writer Hyun Kyung Chung, whom I have been following both on social media and in my life, since I read her book Struggle To Be the Sun Again. She taught me by quoting Raicho Hiratsuka: “Originally, woman was the sun. She was an authentic person. But now woman is the moon. She lives by depending on another and she shines by reflecting another’s light. Her face has a sickly pallor. We must regain our hidden sun.” Hyun Kyung Chung is a Korean eco-feminist and a tenured theologian at Union Theological Seminary in NY. When she accepted her teaching position, she was literally outcast from theological institutions in Korea, received death threats, and was condemned as a heretic for her personal, theological and spiritual search of female images of God, goddess traditions in mythologies and religions in the world, the feminine aspect of Christ and the Holy Spirit who enliven the existence of the oppressed, the earth and women by the touch of her hands. 

In a recent post in which she introduced Moustapha Dahleb’s poem, Hyun Kyung invited her friends to start a pilgrimage through 108 poems for 108 days. The number 108 symbolizes the 108 agonies through which eventually we hope to find the ways towards liberation in the Buddhist tradition. Moustapha Dahleb’s poem was the fifth in the series. She continued in her post: 

“In the pre-Corona time, I was a pilgrim on the earth planet (or, “earth star” in Korean.)

I met, worked with and learned from the scholars, social activists, artists and healers who dreamed to change the world through beauty, travelling more than 80 countries. I felt that I was doing what needed to be done. I learned that the smallness of planet Earth is just like the planet of the Little Prince. 

In those days when the University taught in post-modernist classrooms how different we are, I learned how similar (close) we are, travelling and meeting people. We all want love and recognition, pray for our family’s safety and well-being, and want to walk this life doing meaningful work and with compassion. 

It was a warm experience, feeling I was connected to all human beings on the earth. 

Then, corona came. 

Then …

Everything has changed. 

I entered a 100-day winter retreat in a mountain temple for purification and meditation before I went abroad to meet wise female teachers in the world; I had planned to write a book about them. I bought flight tickets and found a feminist photographer. When I emerged after the winter retreat, it was into a world which was entering the new era of coronavirus. I started painting, rediscovering my old dream to be a painter, which “disappeared” when my dad was jailed for bankruptcy in my youth. This is the first picture I painted, the blue painting here. Coincidentally it was when I found Moustapha Dahleb’s poem. The picture is titled: Corona Goddess. I began to see corona as a “goddess”. Why? Gradually and slowly I would like to share with my friends the reason.”

Now, this is back to myself, Ha Na. I was stunned by Hyun Kyung’s fearless reflection: Corona as a goddess, but I think I can understand her reasoning. In many mythologies and religious traditions, a goddess destroys and at the same time builds; she journeys into the dark and goes underground. She comes back in the metaphor and image of the first new shoot of green grass in the early spring. She resurges and starts to heal others. (To listen to Hyun Kyung's fuller view on Coronavirus as a goddess, please click here. It is recorded in Korean. No English caption available.)

It was late March when Moustapha Dahleb wrote the poem: as the “small machine”, the “small microscopic thing called coronavirus”, made its law. He questioned everything, witnessing the upset of the established order: the high-end cars stopped in garages; airplanes parked on the runway as if it were a parking lot. This invisible law-maker was a great Equalizer, forcing cease-fires which the great Western powers could not obtain in war-torn lands. “She changed sides. She left the poor to go and live in the rich and powerful. She reminded them of their humanity and revealed their humanism to them.” She empowered the voices for “Universal Guaranteed Income” and fostered compassion in the Capitalist West. While fear invaded everyone, corona as a goddess taught us that we are all subject to the human condition, regardless of wealth or poverty - - we are breath and dust. 

And now, it is already September. 

5 months since the poem was written, as we realize and painfully witness that even this small invisible tyrant, law-maker, this great Equalizer will not automatically change the world by itself.

An epidemiologist says in the Huffington Post, “Covid-19 is settling into the cracks of Inequality.” As soon as a disease goes from being a biological problem to a human problem, that’s when we start to see the disparities. For example, in the United States, “If you put a map of the HIV epidemic over a map of the worst coronavirus hotspots, they look almost identical.” 

I am thinking about racial minorities, children in poor housing, seniors who lack the access to better care… The children, families and communities whose lives and livelihood lie in the grey areas and blind spots of society and health care suffer the most. 

Coronavirus has still more to teach us, to make us see: It calls for greater enlightenment, so that we may use this time, our time, to become more aware of the deep human condition - not just breath and dust, but the root causes and disparities that perpetuate inequality. Also, to be aware that across differences and distinctions of individuality, how close we are: We all want love and recognition, pray for our family’s safety and well-being, and want to walk this life doing meaningful work and with compassion. 

In today’s reading, we hear about the landowner who pays the full daily wage to all who arrived to work in her vineyard, regardless what time they came, 10 am, 1 pm, 3 pm, 5 pm. The landowner is a great Equalizer. While Corona is the equalizer that discloses, plainly and painfully, the universal human condition of breath and dust, the Creator is the equalizer of giving life to all creation, erasing conditions: the four-legged, the two-legged, the winged and the swimmers. This is why I support Universal Guaranteed Income or other equality projects. We can always do more in our faith and hope to participate in and co-create with God — the dream and promise to change the world through beauty, justice, compassion and equity, which is God’s covenant with us all. 

God will exercise the ultimate and unconditional generosity and inclusivity in love to all, every day. Our part is to act in faith regardless, whatever we regard our capacities to be, because “We cannot, without God; God will not, without us.” 

I started this reflection with a poem. Let me close it with one more poem too, which is from the Tao-Te Ching, a scripture which the hearts of many, including the country where I came from, revere and meditate. I believe that there is a mulitcoloured bridge that connects today’s reading on the landowner and the archer in this poem. 

The way of Heaven, 

is it not like stretching a bow? 

What is high up is pressed down, 

What is low down is lifted up;

What has surplus is reduced, 

What is deficient is supplemented.

The way of Heaven, 

it reduces those who have surpluses, 

to supplement those who are deficient. 

The way of humans is just not so; 

It reduces those who are deficient, 

to offer to those who have surpluses. 

Who can offer their surpluses to the world?

Only a person of the Way. 

Reflective Music:   Ribbon In the Sky - Cover by Dawn Pemberton 

The Video:

Hymn:  MV 174    Soil of God 

The Video: 

Sermon: Turning Right to Turn Left (Genesis 15:1-6), Sept 6th, 2020

 Message:  Turning Right to Turn Left

“Turn right to turn left.”

This might be the last quote I take from the book, Outside the Lines, which I have been sharing with you over the last three sermons. The author, Mihee Kim-Kort is a lot like me – and of course, a lot different from me too. The book cover introduces her like this: “Mihee Kim-Kort is a wife, a mom, and a Presbyterian minister.” And it adds immediately (in an interesting and cathartic punch) “And she’s a queer.” Sometimes I wonder if it is okay or even safe to write in the sermon, which will be copied and shared around, about me, such a sentence as, “And she’s a queer.” But ponder with me: Why would you be a preacher if you have some things you can say and other things you cannot say? Sermon writing is like creating your own project -something you’ve longed to share for many years. Those strong urges, those strong gut desires to write and share must surge – if not, why would you, why would I, want to become a preacher in the first place? “Ich bin du, wenn ich ich bin; I am you, when I am I.” “내가 나일 때, 나는 너이다.” Paul Celan (Paul Celan was a Romanian-born German-language poet - one of the major poets of the post-World War Two era.) A sermon is, and always should be, the work of a reflector who can be themselves (“I am I”) and seek a place for themselves in the heart of the holy other.

Kim-Kort writes, “The first woman I saw preach in a pulpit was Nancy Lammers-Gross, a homiletics professor. It was during the opening convocation of my first semester in seminary. I was in awe of how comfortable she was in her robe up there in that massive pulpit, as if that pulpit were made just for her, as if she had spent all her life there. She had the entire chapel like putty in the palm of her hand. Everyone laughed riotously at the familiar angst in encountering New Jersey roads for the first time when she exclaimed indignantly, “You have to turn right to turn left!” (The way to make a standard left turn off route 1 is to turn right onto something called a jug handle, which is a ramp on the right-hand side of the road.) Hardly a dry eye was found at the end as she spoke effortlessly of God’s grace in this baffling journey we were beginning in seminary. I thought, looking at her through grateful tears, God willing, I am going to do that and be that some day.” The quote ends here.

“Turn right to turn left.”

This statement, as soon as I read it, stuck with me for a long time. To turn right to turn left. I began to ponder it in the reflection of my life and also in the stories in the Bible.

How many stories, or which stories, can you think of that teach us that God’s grace is queer, (rather than straight) leading us to the promise through a jug-handle maneuver in which to turn left you have to turn right first? I’m going to repeat the question - how many stories, or which stories, can you think of that teach us that God’s grace is queer, (rather than straight) leading us to the promise through a jug-handle maneuver in which to turn left you have to turn right first?

For me, I have a few stories in my life. One major jug-handle turn for me was that I chose marriage first, rather than career, which was the complete opposite of what most of my peers would choose in their twenties.  In the patriarchal society and church, especially as it exists in Korea, having a baby without the security of a job is a big leap of faith. It would be comparable to choosing to wander in the desert like the Hebrews, socially and psychologically. This was turning right to me which eventually led me to turning left -- coming to Canada and starting in the path of ordination --. Since then, of course, there were many more right turns to reach many other surprising left turns.

I chose today’s Bible story because it shares with us an example of how God’s grace sometimes works in a jug-handle fashion: mysteriously. And yet there’s God’s promise. Perhaps faith is the journey through which we slowly and reverently begin to learn that the very queer jug-handle course (turning right is to turn left) is the way that God’s promise and providence often works.

As you listen to the story, I would like to add some framework: please note that I am not saying that being barren is a sign of God’s lack of grace and blessings for our lives. I acknowledge that having or not having a child is each individual’s choice and it should be respected. I also acknowledge that infertility can create a painful journey for couples even though many of them are still able to create a beautiful journey of loving companionship with each other.

Now, in today’s story, Abraham and Sarah were childless. In ancient Israel, human predicaments were often illustrated and represented by the situation of being barren. In the story, in the middle of the night, Abraham and Sarah were called out in a vision in which God assured them, “Fear not. Do not be afraid, I am your shield; your reward shall be very great.” However, this is a situation where the promise God already made to them – Sarah and Abraham will come out of their barrenness – was delayed, which only instilled doubt in the agonizing hearts of the aging couple. Many years ago, the couple’s pilgrimage of hope had begun on no other basis than the promise of God - but they haven’t seen anything that is suggestive of the promise being fulfilled.

Does having faith mean that those who believe the promise, and hope against barrenness, must live with the barrenness, no matter what? Does having faith mean that one continues to trust solely in the promise even if the evidence against the promise is building every day? In today’s story, Abraham protests. This time, he stands face to face with God and seeks to refute the promise and resist the assurance. Who would be naively content with any false hope when the words of God have borne no fruit? Abraham says, “You have given me no offspring, and so a slave born in my house is to be my heir.” Abraham will not be a passive recipient of the long held, long-delayed promise. Never. Abraham draws the line. Interestingly, the God who planted the tree of life and sternly warned Adam and Eve that no one should pick any fruit from this tree is the same God in today’s story who invites and permits and will not coerce or turn away.

Abraham and God stand face to face, emitting an intense and obstinate tension that fills the air between the dark earth and the quiet, still night sky. Then, … God brings Abraham outside and says to him, “Look towards heaven and count the stars, if you are able to count them.” How could it be that the multitude of stars is a promise of a child? However, turning his eyes to the night sky and turning them again, then, to himself, then again to the night sky, then to himself, Abraham finally discerns God’s jug-handle vision. The night sky, filled with light, becomes the revelation: God calls him and Sarah not just to live against barrenness but to live as creatures of hope in a situation of hopelessness. Trust alone will not cause fulfillment right away, but those who hope, those who trust and take risks according to what is promised, will be given the gift – the understanding of God’s grace -how it works, how we experience it. Turning his eyes from the ground to look up towards the sky, in this moment of darkness, which is also mysteriously and passionately bright as well, a certitude is given to Abraham.

Abraham sees the whole world – both in the light and in the lack of it – and realizes that the entire universe is the work of God’s watchful care. As the Psalm sings, “WHEN I LOOK AT THE HEAVENS, THE MOON AND THE STARS” (Psalm 8), it becomes a frank, strange disclosure of God’s song to humanity… all those who believe they are in hopeless situations. If the stars and the heavens are awe-filled, how much more concern does God have for the future of this family? The same God who makes stars beyond number can also make … generally, and entirely… anything, in astounding wonder, coming from the goodness, the gladness of God. Then, the result is that (in verse 6) Abraham BELIEVED. He believes in a genuine genesis because God is God… Turning right may mean different things: an absurd decision, a mistake, risk, reckless adventure, random kindness, falling, failure, and fear. Turning right, we may feel we are rerouting, rejected, delayed, wandering, getting lost, getting stuck at an impassable crossroad. Imagine with me travelling inside the handle of a real jug – the dark, small, narrow and looping course -- . The gift given to we pilgrims of hope is to know that we are still journeying in God’s promise. Turning right is the way to turn left, if we are able to turn our eyes and look towards the night sky when called to count the stars. In those moments, even in the high point where you are not actually turning right nor turning left, the top of the jug handle as the very anxious plateau – if you have faith, you can be you, God can be God. You will never die. You live. And you will turn left. You will own your story. You are You, and God is God. And you find yourself in God’s rich care. “Ich bin du, wenn ich ich bin; I am you, when I am I.” Alpha and Omega, to turn right is to turn left – then, all pilgrims of hope will share the first of God’s greeting to Abraham in Genesis, “Fear not,” and will look towards heaven and count the stars. Turn right to turn left. Trust in the faithful course of God’s grace.

Marcus Mosely - Don't Let Nobody Drag Your Spirit Down

Sermon: God's Love is Coming and Coming and Coming (Matthew 25:1-13), August, 30th, 2020

Message: God’s love is Coming and Coming and Coming

Do you have any recurring bad dreams? I have them, and it seems that they usually have a consistent theme. For me, they usually happen in two places I’ve been to frequently in my life: the airport and the church. Given the locations, it’s easy to guess what my bad dreams are. I miss my flight at the very last minute, because I’ve mistaken the flight time, or there was heavy traffic, or I could not find or get to the gate, or sometimes, even though I am right in front of the airplane, I can’t get on the plane. One time I dreamed that it took so much time for me to pick an outfit out of my closet, you guessed it – I missed my plane. Very traumatic. Another bad dream is the church dream - it is really bad. It’s about time. Everyone is present, and the wedding or the funeral is about to start. And I cannot print my sermon. I cannot find my sermon on the internet either (even though I mailed it to myself or posted it on my blog, so in case I cannot print it, at least I can open my phone and read it… But in my dream, I can’t find my sermon anywhere on the internet.) Then, I look at the congregation, trying my best to look confident, and start to preach a message, in English, from my heart. Maybe, that’s the point of that dream, the real lesson. Do not be dependent on your prepared sermon. When you think about things a lot, and put a lot of preparation into one thing, one great event, one great moment, your anxiety may invade your dreams with scenarios where you will never get to do what you have planned all along.

So, the saga of these bridesmaids can tighten our chest a little. Getting ‘ready’ for the return of the bridegroom. We like to think that we would do whatever it takes to get ready, get there, get things done, have everything in place, and to never be excluded from the party. However, the reality is that most likely, in our lives, we have not always been ready, gotten things done, got to the party, and enjoyed the fountain of joy and blessings that belongs to on-time, prepared people. No. Even if some of us may be superhuman and have everything done at the right time and right place, all the time, those people may have dreams where they are always late, unprepared, shut out from the festivities - the dreams that continue to show us and teach us, on a subconscious level, what to do when we falter, what to do when we fail.

We are not foolish, or unlucky, just because we do not dream of a beautiful rose-coloured sunrise or sunset sky in our near future. We become anxious when we feel the press of the clock or calendar; if we do not achieve one thing, the next thing to come will crumble in front our eyes like a line of dominos, a chain of demoralizing events. Imagine the panic in the heart of the five bridesmaids in today’s reading: When they came to the night in question and they discovered they had no oil in their lamps. They made a last-minute run to the corner shop to replenish their supply. We can also imagine their disappointment when they return to discover that they’ve missed the big event altogether. There’s an interesting connection between two points this Gospel story makes - - that the “foolish” bridesmaids discover that they have run out of oil and that their unpreparedness, their lack of prudency will lead to a separation from the bridegroom, from the great party to which they have been invited. The story juxtaposes the tension between the now-or-never urgency of faith and the once-and-always finality of judgement.

This traditional reading of the story – “Get ready, be prudent to earn inclusion/salvation” – teaches us the importance of being awake, being constant in our work to bring God’s new reign of peace and justice into reality. But it still makes me wonder about God’s love. How does God’s love work and how would God’s love play a role in this story? Wedding stories seem like they should be ultimately about love, forgiveness and love, rather than about the finality of judgement and consequent exclusion of unprepared bridesmaids. One time I asked my friend, “When do people say that someone has grace?” I asked her this question because I wondered why I was sometimes told I handled a situation with grace or that I carried the grace. My friend answered, “Good question. I think mostly when a person is able to combine gentleness with kindness and generosity, we call it ‘grace’.” But this grace as a human trait – gentleness with kindness and generosity – can be limited, because it’s based on certain expectations of those who are on the receiving end of that grace. God’s grace, I ponder, is more about love or loving that sets no conditions, knows no boundary, and is bottomless in giving away blessings. It is the grace that reverses our human expectation of who should be accepted, who should be judged, who should be part of us, or who should be beyond our care - just like the bridesmaids who were called “foolish.”

Last Wednesday, some of us got together in our church backyard – the first meeting since the last week of June. I was thrilled to meet our people again in person. As I drove to the church, I turned on the radio. Usually I just listen to music, my favourite channel being 106.1 or classical music Winnipeg. But this time, as I knew a lot of discussions were happening regarding school re-opening and Ottawa’s recent pledge to financially assist provinces – about which many people were frustrated, as each province had already made plans based on their limited budget – I turned on CBC radio, and it started the World at 6 news show. I was immediately bombarded by the all the disheartening news from our society and from the world. During the 30-minute drive to the church, I was blown away by the unceasing, relentless flood of “bad dreams” the radio station was sharing with me. I was reminded again that there are so many things that pull us, pull my people away from peace. I was relieved to know that once I got out of my car and saw the green backyard and my church people, I would be embraced by everyone’s warmth and love-filled, kind eyes.

Our world is an upsetting place now, and it will be for a long while, especially with the Covid pandemic, but also with the historic and ongoing pandemic of racism, climate change, world economic greed and political selfishness. We live in a very traumatic time, a time of grief, a time of loss, a time of deep agitation. We seek stability, like the bridesmaids who ran to look for more oil for their lamps, and we fear being left behind, like the same bridesmaids, locked out of the wedding feast. And yet, we trust that God still speaks to us, through the minds among us who can still read, who can still continue to speak God’s stories through the lens of God’s grace, which never fails us. I would like to conclude this sermon with an excerpt I found in Outside the Lines, which retells today’s Gospel story. I understand it and want to share it with you as God’s saying to us, Do not give up. Do not give up. There’s no lost chances. No lost time. No lost love. You are not lost. I’m coming back. I am coming back. I am coming back to you.

“For me, ultimately, it’s all about love. A dear friend, Jodi Houge, pastor of Humblewalk Church, a feisty congregation in the Evangelical Lutheran Church of America, shared some thoughts with me from her sermon on the parable of the ten bridesmaids. In the parable, Jesus offers a picture of the kingdom of heaven by telling a story about ten bridesmaids who went to meet their bridegroom in the evening. Half of them forgot oil for their lamps, while the other half wisely took extra, so the second group entered the wedding banquet while the others were locked out when they went to buy more oil. It’s a story that would dishearten, except that Jodi said, “These bridesmaids were foolish only in forgetting who the Bridegroom is. Love appears, with enough light for everyone. And if they miss Love this time around, there is another wedding next week, because this Bridegroom just keeps coming and coming and coming with light and love for you.”

For all of us. I really want to share this message with you. God's love is not a one-time event, lost when we don't trust ourselves and our world. God's love is a dream where you catch your plane, you find your sermon, where everything you think is lost is still there, held out for you, for as long as you need. God's love keeps coming and coming and coming with light and love for all of us. 

Marcus Mosely - At My Table