Rev. David Boyd

Two years ago at Epiphany Explorations in Victoria, the continuing education event that a number of us from this congregation have been attending over the last several years, the great preacher, Fred Craddock, now retired, was a featured speaker. He spoke twice and then preached for the Sunday worship service. He was absolutely inspiring; he isn't a fiery speaker. He isn't particularly demonstrative nor does he change the inflection of his voice overly much. What he is entirely honest, speaking with integrity and telling stories that connect with where we are.

Well, in one of his addresses, which was really an extended sermon, he talked about the gospel story from today as it is recorded in Luke rather than Mark— the story of Jesus' baptism by John in the River Jordan. I remember listening to Craddock talk about Jesus getting in line. That was the phrase he used over and over, "getting in line." Craddock talked about many of the line-ups he'd experienced in his life and how Jesus is just part of each and every line-up. It was the idea that Jesus, the incarnation of God among us, was just that; Jesus was among us as one of us. And so he lined up for John's baptism in the River Jordan. But in that solidarity of Jesus among us, we discover the transformative love and power to live.

In the course of his talk, Craddock told a story about how he'd been invited to preach at the prestigious Riverside Church in New York City. The lead minister was away and so Craddock was invited to stay in his apartment in New York. The minister wasn't married and so the furnishings were rather sparse, and there wasn't much food. The minister had left a message on his fridge saying, "You can look inside, but you want find any food for breakfast. Just go on down to the church for 9 a.m. and have breakfast there." Sure enough, when Craddock opened the fridge, there wasn't much food inside. He showed up at the church at 9 a.m. and there was a line-up to get into the church hall. People were lined up to have breakfast. So, Craddock got in line. It turned out to be a breakfast for the homeless people in the neighbourhood. Craddock got his food and sat at a table of mostly men; the breakfast was mostly men. There were a few women and children, but not many. There was small talk at the table and after breakfast, over coffee, one of the men asked Craddock who he was. Craddock said that he was a preacher; the other man just nodded knowingly. "What happened," he asked. "Was it the drink? What put you on the street?" Craddock said that what he wanted to do was get up on the table and tell everyone there that he was a minister who was about to preach upstairs in the church; he wasn't one of them. But he didn't do that; he simply talked to the people that were having breakfast. He simply got in line, like Jesus would have done. I found it a moving story. Too often we have grandiose ideas of God's presence in our lives and our encounter with Jesus or the Christ. We think that God would never deign to come to MY life. Why would God want to bother with me? My life is ordinary and God is extraordinary; God's not interested in little, old, hum-drum me. I think I was in that state two years ago, thinking a bit about my life and who I was; I was wondering where God was. And the reminder from Craddock was, "just turn around and look in the line, in the cue; there's where God is found. There's where you'll find Jesus."

As I said through this past Christmas, the theme we ended up unconsciously picking, or really the theme that ended up picking us, was the idea that our lives need re-enchantment. Christmas is one opportunity to experience a re-enchantment of our lives, a reacquiring a sense of reverence and awe. For me, it is that idea that Jesus is in line with us, God is all around us and we need to open our eyes or reacquaint our senses with a deeper mystery.

In a reflection on the Genesis passage, the first few verses of that wonderful, poetic creation story, we hear about God creating out of nothing. God created light and spoke over the deep. And God saw that the light was good. Whitewater Ski Resort has paraphrased this passage in their advertisements for skiing at Whitewater. It is quite clever because it seems apropos; there can be moment of wonder and awe in the beauty of the area around Whitewater, or Nancy Green, or Kokanee Glacier... or. In a brief reflection about the Genesis passage, Donna Schaper (Feasting on the Word, page 222) talked about awe; she said that we've lost the understanding of awe. Think about the words "awful" and "awesome" and how they are used today. We think something is terrible when it is "awful." And something that is "awesome" is great. But that's reversed, isn't it? The literal meanings of these two words: awful means full of awe; awesome, means a little, some, awe. But we've reversed these. I thought about what Donna Schaper was saying and I believe she is right. We've kind of selected against seeing something that is awful as a wonderful, reverential thing. And today, something that has little awe, or only some awe, is absolutely wonderful. It seems to me that we've settled for something less, something that diminishes us.

Or we've allowed ourselves to become numb in the overly rational world in which we have to live. We've allowed ourselves to become numb to the atrocities we experience in the world almost on a daily basis. I heard part of an interview on Thursday morning on CBC radio; Anna Maria Tremonti was interviewing someone (who's name I didn't catch) who has done research on the genocide in Rwanda; he said that one of the reasons that no nation responded adequately was because people had become numbed to the news reports from Rwanda and didn't pressure their governments to do much about the situation, despite Romeo Delaire's pleas. So much of life is like that; we get numbed to the way the world is. And so much of what we do requires our rational minds: paying bills, going for health appointments, working, organizing our homes, planning a vacation. We forget that Jesus is in line. We forget to stop and observe and look and see. We forget to nurture a sense of wonder at life. We forget to care and get involved. We forget awe. We forget that God is about awe and wonder, which translates into presence, powerful, loving presence and life. God didn't remain a distant God—God never was a distant God to begin with. But God, to make the point even clearer, became incarnate in this world, to remind us of the goodness of creation... to remind us of the beauty of every human being... to remind us to stop and pause every now and then to appreciate life... to help us reinvigorate a sense of awe in how we live.

The events of Christmas and Epiphany, and the baptism of Jesus point to the awful presence of God in our midst in the everyday ordinary things of life. We can experience God in the mystery of water, in the power of light, in the joy of laughter, in the sadness of tears and losses, in the intimate exchange between lovers or friends; the list is endless. Part of the reason why I love winter is that I love to ski; and almost every time I go out, I like to stop and appreciate the silence for one thing; the clean, white blanket for another; the way that light and shadow create a never ending artistic display.

I know that in some ways we in the western world have the luxury to feel a sense of awe at life. But it isn't a luxury, really. It is a necessity that we've lost. When I read about my Celtic roots, life was hard and sometimes brutal. But perhaps because of that, people felt a need to see the awe in things. First Nations people in North America and around the world speak of the same thing. In the harshest of conditions, part of what it means to survive and even prosper is that people have cultivated a sense of awe and reverence. That's why there were prayers in Scotland and Ireland for a simple thing like lighting the fire every morning. I believe that a sense of awe leads us to see our connection more fully with our brothers and sisters all around the world, from Palestinians to Israelis, from Hutus to Tutsis, from Maoris to the Nishga. And more than this, to see also our connection to the land and the world that God has made.

For me, I've come to learn this is how I live hope: by cultivating a sense of awe and wonder at life. I can't live hope just by willing myself to hope more; I can't find hope in a book. I know hope by stopping and paying attention to the awe-full wondrous world in which we live. After all, God is part of this awe-full, wondrous world. Maybe standing in line behind you in the grocery check-out.

Amen.