Sunday Sermon - 2 November
As most of you know, I was recently away at the St. Clements College of Preaching. It was a real honour to be able to attend this “master class” for preachers. Our leader was a homiletics professor from Chicago who had been mentored by Jeremiah Wright, who you may recognize as President Obama’s former pastor. She was great and I learned a lot. I look forward to using some of the tips I picked up to better our collective worship together. At the College we had to write a sermon. For my assignment, I took this week’s readings and wrote the following:
When I first arrived at the College of Preaching I registered at the front desk of the Queen of Apostles’ Renewal Centre and because I was a bit early, I went for a walk around the complex and neighbourhood. The Renewal Centre is situated in this incredibly affluent area of Mississauga backing on to the Credit River. As I walked around I was amazed at the size of the massive homes, mansions really. Think Forest Hill in Toronto, but with bigger homes and larger properties.
As I walked, I thought to myself: ‘It is fascinating that we are doing this — learning how to be our best selves as preachers and pastors — in this context of immense wealth and affluence.’
Afterwards I returned to the centre, which was also beautiful though the rooms were a bit spartan (like a monastic cell: small room, single bed, small desk). We did have our own bathroom, though we had to share the showers. We had dinner, our first session, and then a brief reception before bed.
The next day we had lectures for most of the morning and then had a few hours to write a sermon. It was hard. I usually take a week to write a sermon, not three hours! I actually ended up choosing today’s reading and writing this sermon for today exactly because of where I was — in that incredibly wealthy neighbourhood on the beautiful Credit River in Mississauga.
In Jesus’ time Jericho was an oasis in the desert, known as the “city of Palm Trees” (Deut. 34:3). It had a rich history, a warm climate, and beautiful springs. It was one of Herod’s favourite places to vacation after he rebuilt and expanded the city during his reign. It was a city of wealth and prosperity and was a gateway to Jerusalem, which is why Jesus was passing through. It was also considered a city of sin. Both historically, when it was destroyed by the Israelites and God’s wrath, and in Jesus’ day as a city that had sold out for wealth and prosperity. Just like Zacchaeus.
Zacchaeus, a chief tax collector and social outcast, climbs a sycamore tree to see Jesus. Not only is he clearly described as being short, he is both curious and distant. He is in the back of the crowd, perhaps marginalized by his own life choices. Zacchaeus had much at the expense of others. As the chief tax collector, he had made his living by cooperating with the empire. Though it brought him comfort, it cost him a place of respect in the community.
When Jesus sees him, he calls him by name. He makes it personal: “Zacchaeus, hurry and come down, for I must stay at your house today.” The story shifts from Zacchaeus’ climbing and seeking to Jesus’ seeing and acting. From human need to divine initiative. Salvation comes not as an authoritative judgment but in relationship. It’s important to note that Jesus, mysteriously, miraculously, knew him by name. Zacchaeus is divinely known and divinely chosen.
As a result, his repentance is not merely emotional, not just expressed in words of gratitude, but is made real and tangible: “Half of my possessions, Lord, I will give to the poor; and if I have defrauded anyone, I will pay back four times as much.”
It isn’t only Zacchaeus who is repentant, forgiven, transformed and saved, but his whole family. Jesus says, “Today salvation has come to this house.” Zacchaeus’ act of seeking Jesus by climbing that tree was an act of faith that saved his entire family from the despair of being frowned upon as outcasts.
As I reflected on that, I harkened to our first reading. There's Habakkuk, standing on the watchtower crying out, “O Lord, how long shall I cry for help, and you will not listen?” I get that. I walked around that ritzy neighbourhood thinking I was going to be steeped in the Holy Spirit and instead I’m looking at these massive mansions, grumbling to myself. Just like all who saw Jesus choose Zacchaeus over them.
Habakkuk struggled to understand how God could allow injustice to thrive, how the proud could prosper while the faithful waited. But God’s answer to him was this: “The righteous live by their faith.”
That’s exactly what Zacchaeus does. He doesn’t have all the answers. He simply acted in faith. He climbed higher to see Jesus, not knowing what would happen next. Habakkuk’s patient watch is not unlike Zacchaeus’ bold climb. Both are acts of trust, acts of faith, that God will show up. Maybe that’s the same kind of faith we’re called to have when we look around in frustration at the state of our world, the state of our church, maybe even at ourselves, the state of our own being, and wonder what God is up to.
In preparation for this sermon, trying to cram a week into three hours, I needed some quiet time, so I went to the chapel at the renewal centre and prayed. That was my “climbing the sycamore tree” moment. I went to seek out God for connection and understanding.
Sometimes it’s comfort. Sometimes it’s conviction. Sometimes it’s a vicarious hug, and sometimes it’s a boot in the butt and a reminder to give our head a shake. John, you’re in Jericho! How much more can I give you to make this easy on you!
You see, the more I delved into this sermon, the more I realized, not only that I was in Jericho, but I was one of the “grumbling crowd” — judging Jesus’ decisions, deciding who deserves grace and who doesn’t — when all along Jesus is saying: we are all one family. Stop your grumbling. Just love.
“Because he too is a son of Abraham.”
Why should he not be saved?
God’s love and transformative mercy is for all and especially for those who are lost.
That’s where Paul’s words to the Thessalonians also resonate for us. He praises them for their steadfastness in faith and their endurance in hardship. He says that, in all they face, God’s grace is being revealed in them.
Paul reminds us that faith isn’t about perfection, it’s about persistence and perseverance. Holding fast to the truth that God is faithful, even when we can’t see the full picture. If you have to, climb higher to get a better look.
The Thessalonians were enduring persecution; Habakkuk was enduring confusion; Zacchaeus was enduring social isolation. Yet all three discover that faith, active, persistent faith, opens the door to salvation.
Paul’s prayer, “that the name of our Lord Jesus may be glorified in you”, is really a prayer that we might embody the same faith, the same humility, the same willingness to let grace interrupt us.
And today, as we remember All Saints and All Souls, we are reminded that this faith binds us not only to one another here, but to all who have gone before us. Those who, like Habakkuk, waited on the watchtower; like Zacchaeus, climbed to catch a glimpse of grace; like Paul, endured and persevered. The communion of saints is not an abstract idea. It’s the living, breathing reminder that we are never alone in our striving, never isolated in our seeking. Those who have walked before us, who have loved and struggled and believed, surround us even now. A great cloud of witnesses urging us onward.
For all souls — for those we have loved and lost, those whose faith carried them home — we give thanks. Their lives, their prayers, their quiet acts of climbing and trusting, are part of the same story of redemption we share. Their faith lives on in ours.
So perhaps that’s what God was saying to me on that walk around Mississauga. That faith isn’t about the size of our homes or the strength of our opinions. It’s about the courage to climb our own sycamore tree, to look for Jesus, and when we can’t quite see him, not to give up, but to climb a little higher. To lift ourselves upward, to show ourselves to God.
When He sees us — as God does — He’ll know us, call us by name, and lovingly walk us home to be with the communion of saints and souls who have found their rest in His love.
Amen.