Sunday Sermon - 5 July
It has been one of those weeks that reminds us just how unpredictable life can be.
Only a few days ago we celebrated (a very hot) Canada Day. Across the country there were fireworks, family gatherings, picnics, parades, and expressions of gratitude for the blessings of living in this beautiful nation. The Blue Jays even won! And the Leafs signed one of the best goalies in the league. It was good to celebrate. We should celebrate. Gratitude is one of the marks of a faithful people.
Then there has been another source of excitement. Canadians have been cheering on our men's national soccer team as they continued their remarkable run in the World Cup. Sadly, they lost yesterday but wow, what a run they had! Whether you're a devoted soccer fan or not, it has been difficult not to get caught up in the excitement. A generation ago, few of us would have imagined Canada’s men’s team (the women have always far been superior) competing so confidently on the world's biggest stage. There has been a genuine sense of joy, hope, and national pride for our country this week.
Yet while we have been celebrating, another part of the world has been grieving.
The devastating earthquakes in Venezuela have left thousands dead and injured. Entire communities have been reduced to rubble. Families who went to bed expecting another ordinary day woke to find that everything had changed.
One nation celebrates. Another mourns. One family gathers around a barbecue. Another searches through the ruins of what was once their home. That is the strange, confusing, reality of life.
The older we become, as years pass, the more we discover that joy and sorrow are rarely separated by much. Sometimes they even exist in the same moment - side by side. The phone rings with wonderful news for one person and heartbreaking news for another. A wedding and a funeral can happen in the same week. A birth and a terminal diagnosis can arrive within the same family - perhaps even on the same day.
The greatest illusion we carry is the illusion that life is far more predictable than it really is. That we expect tomorrow to look like today.
Scripture never makes that assumption. In fact, this morning's readings are written for people living in a world as uncertain as ours.
The story from Genesis is often described as a beautiful love story between Isaac and Rebekah. And in some ways it is. But before it is a love story, it is a story about uncertainty.
Abraham's servant has travelled hundreds of kilometres looking for a wife for Isaac. The underlying implicit fact is that Abraham is dying and is likely not to be alive upon his servant’s return with his son’s future bride. Through a remarkable series of events he arrives at Rebekah's home and tells his story. Her family listens. They recognize God's hand in what has happened. Then comes a short and courageous conversation and one that carries an immense power through all generations - even to today.
They turn to Rebekah and ask a simple question: "Will you go with this man?"
And she replies, "I will."
Let’s think about that for a moment. She is leaving everything she has ever known. Her home. Her family. Her friends. Her country. She has never met Isaac. She has no guarantee about what awaits her. No map. No certainty. No five-year plan. Only an invitation to trust.
That, perhaps, is one of the best definitions of faith. Faith is not certainty. Faith is trusting the God who calls us even when we cannot see the whole road ahead. We often imagine that if only we had enough faith, God would show us the entire journey before asking us to take the first step. God almost never works that way. God calls Abraham before revealing the destination. God calls Moses before revealing how Pharaoh will respond. God calls the disciples before explaining where the cross will lead. God calls Rebekah before she knows what her future will look like. God calls us into our own unknowns.
Faith begins with a single step. The uncertainty doesn't disappear. Trust simply becomes greater than fear.
Then we come to Paul's Letter to the Romans. If Genesis speaks about uncertainty around us, Paul speaks about uncertainty within us.
"I do not do the good I want," he writes, "but the evil I do not want is what I do." Every one of us knows exactly what he means. There are moments when we are our own greatest mystery. We know the person we want to become. We know the life Christ calls us to live. We know we should forgive. We know we should be patient. We know we should trust.
Yet fear creeps in. Anger gets the better of us. Old habits return. Self-interest wins the day.
The greatest earthquake we experience is often not beneath our feet. It is within our own hearts. Paul reminds us that the human condition itself is unstable. We are divided. We long for goodness, yet we struggle to live it consistently. Then comes Jesus. Jesus does not explain suffering. He does not explain why earthquakes happen. He does not explain why one family celebrates while another grieves. He does not promise that faithful people will somehow avoid tragedy. Instead, He offers a simple invitation.
"Come to me, all you who are weary and carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest."
Not, "Come to me and I will answer every question."
Not, "Come to me and I will remove every hardship."
Simply, "Come to me. Find rest in me.”
The world longs for explanations. Christ offers His presence. And perhaps that is enough. Actually, perhaps that is more than enough.
One of the images Jesus uses I find especially beautiful. He says, "Take my yoke upon you." We usually hear the word "yoke" as something burdensome. In this case it’s not. In fact, the opposite is true. Jesus here is using the word yoke to lighten a burden and make it easier to carry. In Jesus' day a yoke was made for two animals to share a burden - working together.
When Jesus says, "Take my yoke upon you," He is not giving us another burden. He is saying, "You were never meant to carry life's burdens alone."
The burden may still be there. Grief may still be there. Questions may still remain unanswered. But now Christ bears the weight beside us, with us. When life feels uncertain one of the great temptations is to think that God has somehow abandoned us. Yet the opposite is true. The Christian faith has never promised certainty. It has always promised presence.
The world itself can be breathtakingly beautiful one moment and heartbreakingly cruel the next. Nature is indifferent. Earthquakes do not choose between good people and bad people. Disease does not ask whether someone deserves to suffer. History, the story of the fragility of human existence, shows us the indifference of life. But God is not indifferent.
That is the heart of the Gospel. God does not stand at a distance explaining suffering. God enters it. In Jesus Christ, God enters our uncertainty. God enters our grief. God enters our weakness. God even enters death itself. Not to explain it—but to redeem it from within. Perhaps that is why Christians can hold joy and sorrow together.
We celebrate Canada Day with grateful hearts. We cheer for our soccer team with genuine excitement. At the same time, we pray for those mourning in Venezuela. We do not have to choose between rejoicing with those who rejoice and weeping with those who weep. Love makes room for both because that is exactly what God does - and what God asks us to do.
He rejoices over His children. He weeps with His children. He walks with His children through every season of life. So perhaps today's Gospel leaves us with one simple question. In all of life’s uncertainty, where do we place our confidence?
If our confidence is in stable governments, healthy bodies, successful careers, growing investments, or peaceful nations, then eventually life will disappoint us. Not because those things are bad—they are wonderful gifts—but because none of them are certain and can hold the weight of our hope. Only Christ can do that.
Rebekah trusted God enough to leave home. Paul discovered Him even in the midst of his inner struggle. Jesus invites us to trust Him when the ground beneath us begins to shake.
The promise of the Gospel has never been that life will become predictable. The promise is that whatever tomorrow brings, Christ will already be there and because He is there, we can take that next faithful step into the unknown tomorrow.
Amen.