Rev. David Boyd

Some of you are aware that Janet, Alanna and I went to the Grand Canyon last fall. We had a wonderful trip during which we hiked and visited a bunch of the national parks of the US, including Bryce Canyon, Zion, Yellowstone, and one of our favourites, Arches. It was quite incredible to me to see the desert of southern Utah in all its glory; I find that there is something very compelling about the stark nature of desert life and terrain, complete with its unforgiving heat and weather. While we participated in a couple of the ranger-led events, we heard the name Edward Abbey on a number of occasions. He was described as an irascible, strong-minded character who had a way with words and who deeply loved the desert places of southern Utah; he was also known as a strong proponent of people experiencing the deserts of the national parks up front and in person rather than from the comfort of the automobile.

Abbey served as a park ranger in Arches National Park while it was still a National Monument. This was back in the late 50's and early 60's. He is a writer and has published a number of books, but his book, Desert Solitaire: A Season in the Wilderness, was the book about his experiences at Arches National Monument and the beginning of the development of the parks system in Utah. Abbey is an expressive and honest writer, an anti-institution and anti-bureaucracy person, and as I read his book I kept drawing parallels between what he was saying about parks and nature in the US with the church in today's world. God knows that we need expressive and honest writers in our churches lamenting the loss of something essential and lamenting much of what passes for theology these days, which, I am sure, Abbey would agree, is sheer fluff.

In one chapter, Abbey condemned what he called "industrial tourism." This is the term that Abbey used to describe the impetus to develop the national parks of the US that came from industry; this is what Abbey wrote back in 1968: "Industrial tourism is big business. It means money. It includes the motel and restaurant owners, the gasoline retailers, the oil corporations, the road-building contractors, the heavy equipment manufacturers, the state and federal engineering agencies and the sovereign, all-powerful automotive industry." (Page 61) Today, we might call this the military-industrial complex. And of industrial tourism, it is the folk that Abbey calls the motorized tourists, the ones who never get out of their cars and who never hold the sand in their hands, never experience a bit of thirst in the harsh desert sun, never walk under the wondrous natural arches made in sandstone, never worry about getting lost in the many diverse and sometimes dead-end canyons, and ultimately never move more than 100 metres from their carsÉ these are the most destructive. It is a provocative book and really is more about philosophy and life than just about the desert!

I kept thinking, as I was reading this book and knowing that Holy Week was approaching, that this week, this day, tomorrow and Easter Sunday more than Christmas and Pentecost and any other festival of the church, separates the motorized tourists from those disciples who want to get up front and personal with the desert or with life in general. We can watch life from the safety and comfort of our automobiles, or we can get out and hike in the desert or wilderness or canoe the lakes or get our hands dirty in the gardens or get our hands dirty in the Commonwealth of God that Jesus heralded. As we face economic hardship, the military-industrial tourism complex, pestilence, disease, continued war, and many other world threats, the Church can't afford to be motorized tourists. We have to get out, get dirty and get down on the ground.

In many ways, this day that we remember, Maundy Thursday, was the day that separated the motorized tourists from the committed ones who were the followers and friends of Jesus. This was the day that Jesus did the unthinkable. He took a towel and some water and said that he was going to wash his friends' feet. It was a decision moment for those present; like Peter, we might have wanted to say that we need to be washed all over. Or maybe we wanted to say, "No, it is we who should wash your feet." Or maybe we would have wanted to say, "No, this is not who you are. You are the One who's come to liberate us." Or maybe we would have wanted to say, "I am not worthy; you are the Messiah." But Jesus insisted and said that his followers had no part in him if they weren't willing to be served in this loving manner by the one who embodied love. Jesus called his followers, to use my metaphor, out of their cars and into the world of transformation and liberation. He called them to no longer be tourists; Jesus' hour had come and they were to become his body, carrying on his gospel, his love, his non-violent, justice-making model for the world. It was the moment of decision in which Jesus' followers had to choose to get their hands dirty in the every-day muck of the world or walk away clean and untouched.

Every year, as we re-enact Jesus' washing of the feet, as we celebrate the Upper Room communion, as we remember the horror of Jesus' death on the cross, and as we look ahead to Easter, we are reminded that we are called to be no mere motorized tourists. We are called to be followers—to hear and affirm those wonderful words of Moses: "I call heaven and earth to witness against you today that I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses. Choose life so that you and your descendants may live." (Deut. 30:19) We are called to choose to touch the desert, to touch the pain and wounds of the world as Jesus did, for ultimately in this touching place, in this interconnection, life is celebrated and known. Jesus gave this new commandment, that we love one another as he loved us, and later, still in the Upper Room, he told us to call each other friends and no longer servants; calling each other friends isn't some superficial thing. It requires that we enter into each other's pain and living, that we be about open hearts. This is tough stuff. This isn't touristy, superficial fluff. We can't just breeze through this world, looking at everything through rose-coloured sun glasses, and not be touched or touch the wounded, the vulnerable, the hurting.

One of my ways of keeping in touch with what is happening around the world and what has happened over the years in different countries is through my agenda book. I purchased the New Internationalist agenda book and it is full of information about days of protest around the world. Today was listed as the National Day of Silence, although I later discovered that the day is actually April 17 (next Friday) and not today. The first day of silence was held in 1996 and was organized by Maria Pulzetti at the University of Virginia. The purpose of the National Day of Silence is to observe silence as a way of supporting Gay, Lesbian, Bi-sexual and Transgender people. Students in middle school, high school, colleges and universities in the US engage in this silence and have a card that they give to people. Last year's card read, "Silent for Lawrence King: Please understand my reasons for not speaking today. I am participating in the Day of Silence (DOS), a national youth movement bringing attention to the silence faced by lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender people and their allies. My deliberate silence echoes that silence, which is caused by anti-LGBT name-calling, bullying and harassment. This year's Day of Silence is held in memory of Lawrence King, a 15 year-old student who was killed in school because of his sexual orientation and gender expression. I believe that ending the silence is the first step toward building awareness and making a commitment to address these injustices. Think about the voices you are not hearing today. What are you going to do to end the silence?" In Vancouver, Ritch Dowrey is just now begin the slow recovery after being sucker-punched March 13^th for the simple fact that he was gay; he is no longer in a coma, but he has a long recovery ahead of him. Jesus said, "A new commandment I leave you, that you love one another as I have loved you... No longer do I call you servants, but friends."

As followers of the One who embodied God's love and life, it is our privilege to embody the gospel love in our lives. It is our privilege to enter the broken places of the world with a touch of love. It is our privilege to be the nurturing rains in the desert places of the world. It is our calling to wash other people's feet even when their feet might smell bad, be full of corns and callouses, for it is the task of love. And we are about dreaming God's dream of love for the world. Amen.