WALKING BACKWARD INTO THE FUTURE

All Saints Sunday, 2006

2 THESSALONIANS 2:13-17 

Several years ago I had occasion to visit the Hockey hall of Fame in Toronto.  Just that year it had moved from its old dwelling place down along the lakeshore into swanky new digs on King Street I had a couple of hours to kill so I thought what the heck. I was not prepared for what I was about to experience.  Like most Canadian men my first love was hockey. Like most Canadian men my first love was hockey. During my childhood I was a huge Canadians fan. Since then, of course, I have seen the light and come over from the dark side to the light of the Leafs.  But some of my fondest memories of growing up are the swishing red jerseys of the Montreal Canadians as they bore down on the hapless bruins.  And then the red light flashed, and Lord Stanley's cup would once again take its place with the Habs.  But the love affair dwindled, expansion, poor play, too many fights, the invention of the defensive trap spoiled the game.  I had no passion for hockey.  And yet as I walked through the big glass doors into the Hall of Fame in an instant it all came back.  I was a kid again rooting for Lafleur and Shutt.  The history of my childhood was spread out before me.  The television monitors, the photographs, the old jerseys, the displays; I relived the greatest moments in the sport's history.  It was all there.  The tradition, the glory, the heartbreak. Paul Henderson scoring the goal that beat the Russians.  There was Ken Dryden's trademark mask, blue and red stripes encircling it, the same as I had painted on my own street hockey mask.  For the second time I watched the greatest hockey game ever played-the New Years Eve match between Montreal and the Soviet Red Army.  I spent most of the day there poring over the exhibits like one who had just found old letters from a lost love.  At the end of a full day I came to the Great Hall; a huge circular room with of all things a beautiful stained glass skylight.  Here in the centre was the Stanley Cup itself, glittering in all its glory.  On the walls were gleaming brass plaques honoring each member of the Hall of Fame. Richard. Mahavolich.  Orr.  Richard. Belliveau.  It was a strangely spiritual experience.  I could not help but be moved as I stood before the greatness shown in all this tradition and history.

     Well, I realize that Hockey and religion are not quiet the same thing.  But that moment of reverence, that sense of standing in the presence of greatness, of looking back into the finest moments of the past, is the feeling we should all have every time we walk into this sanctuary.  The church has no hall of fame, no shrine to the great saints of the past.  Yet in a way it does. This congregation, this church, stands as a testament to something that came out of the past. As Hugh reminded us last week, it is not by accident that we are here. For over two thousand years the Christian faith has been preached.  Jesus himself, teaching and preaching in dusty first century Palestine;  gathering people to himself by the power of personality and conviction. The first disciples, cowards in the moment of the their Lord's need, suddenly finding courage and new life to continue the very same teaching and preaching. Paul, arrogant and huffy at times, a former persecutor of Christians, traveling to the far reaches of the known world to bring the good news to all who would hear. Martyrs facing death and yet joyfully and boldly proclaiming their faith. Origen, Thomas Aquinas, Augustine, the early bishops and theologians, struggling to give substance to this new faith. The creators of the great creeds, gathering together to hammer out a set of acceptable beliefs. Martin Luther, John Calvin and others, so deeply devoted that they risked everything to reform and make new. Anglican priest John Wesley, his heart strangely warmed, preaching to the poor and London and then sending out scores of Methodists to the new world. The many missionaries who braved life and limb to bring the gospel to Africa, Asia and even PEI. The Presbyterians, Methodists and Congregationalists who gathered in the Mutual st. Arena in 1925 to put their hands to the Basis of Union and given birth to the United Church of Canada. George Pidgion, James Endicott, Clarence Nicholson, Bob Mclure, Lois Wilson, Peter Short and now David Guliano, all moderators of our denomination. The string of ministers who nurtured us in our formative years. The clergy who have served this congregation so well for so many years. Our Mothers and Fathers. The person sitting next to you in the pew. The Saints of Coates Mills have long passed into history, but their gift to us lives on.  Mothers and Fathers and Grandparents set examples of faithful living for their families, many of whom have moved from here and passed on that same example to their families.  Who knows how the Saints of this church have inspired others?  Who knows how the faith lives in others because of those long gone from us? 

Think for a moment of all the faithful people who over the years have graced these pews.  Can you hear their prayers? Can you hear their voices lustily singing the old hymns? These are the saints of Trinity church.  Perhaps they are not as well known as Saint Paul, Saint Joan, or even Saint to be Mother Theresa.  Their names do not roll easily off our lips. The Saints of Coates Mills have long passed into history, but their gift to us lives on.  Mothers and Fathers and Grandparents set examples of faithful living for their families, many of whom have moved from here and passed on that same example to their families.  Who knows how the Saints of this church have inspired others?  Who knows how the faith lives in others because of those long gone from us?  I thank God for the church in this place.  For the faithful who lived out the gospel message here.  For the gift of faith that they have given to countless others.  We are part of a two thousand-year-old chain of Christians, like one of those strings of paper dolls from childhood.  One of those dolls is the faithful of this congregation, who for so many years, by faith, devotion and sheer hard work kept this church open.  This is our Hall of Fame.

  Yet we are strangely unmoved by all this history, by our connection to the past. We suffer from a sort of Amnesia.  How many of us came name more than two or three moderators? Can locate the basis of Union? Can quote from Wesley's 39 articles of faith. Can recite the Apostle's Creed from heart? Have read Augustine's struggle with his faith in his Confessions? Can name the beatitudes? Why is our own history such a mystery to us? Or more to the point what difference does it make anyway?

    Friends it makes all the difference in the world if we understand that our faith was not invented, that it just didn't fall from the sky.  It is passed on to us, a heritage; a gift to every successive generation. If this is the case then we must ask ourselves what it is we are going to pass on to our children? What legacy will we leave them? What knowledge about God, about Jesus will we share with them? Or will we be the last generation of Christians in this place. Will the ancient historic chain be broken with us?

   This morning we are joined by our veterans. These men and women can teach us a lesson about the necessity of tradition. Who is remembrance day for? If it is just a time for comrades in arms to reminisce, to swap a few war stories, to relive past glory, then its days as a holiday are surely numbered. When the last veteran passes away will we still gather at the Cenotaph each cold and dreary November 11^th?  The slogan “lest we forget” is really a warning. If we forget our past, if we forget the sacrifices of brave men and women, then we deny our own heritage. We surely enjoy freedom, because these people put their lives on the line. We forget this at our peril. In forgetting we become complacent, even apathetic, forgetting the high cost of our privilege.

   We also remember the horror which is war. I never fought in a war. My Father never fought in a war. Yet I know something of its horror because these men and women continue to tell their stories. The stories I have heard veterans share tell me more about the horror of war than watching Saving Private Ryan a hundred times. I have never seen a man die, never watched a buddy take a bullet, never killed another person, but I have seen what these things do to the living. I have seen the pain on an aged veteran's face. And I will always remember that. And because I remember I can do everything in my power to ensure that my children will never know war first hand. That is the power of remembering. The importance of tradition. John McCrae's poem puts it so well, “to you from falling hands we throw/The torch; be yours to hold it high.”

    There has never been a time when tradition has been more important.  We live in an age where the market place of differing religious and moral ideas is much more diverse that it used to be.  The number of North Americans who profess to belong to a religion other than Christianity is on the rise.  Also on the rise are the number of people who adhere to a customized faith, religion a la carte.  These are religions that people make up for themselves, choosing and blending together elements of say Christianity, Native Spirituality, Hinduism and New Age mysticism.

     Cables, wires, satellite dishes and modems can now bring the world and its many options right into our homes.  The information superhighway now runs through our front doors exposing us and our children, our young people, to the welter of religious images, ideas and practices currently in vogue.  Whether they are actively clicking into an online chat room or passively soaking up music videos on Much Music, our young people can now see, read and hear more differing versions of reality than we could have dreamed of a generation ago.

Given this booming, buzzing new world of religious options how will committed Christians keep the faith?  Do we even understand it?  Can we explain it to others?  Do we sufficiently know the genuine articles of our faith so that we can spot a counterfeit idea when we see it?  Or are we content to go out into the religious confusion of our culture with only vague notions about what we believe to be true?

We have reason to worry on these fronts. A while ago, Christianity Today reported on a ministerial association that decided to allow a practicing witch into its group.  When asked why and how they could do this, one clergyman claimed that the group could think of no compelling reason not to welcome the witch, especially since “we don't discriminate based on creed.”  If you don't know your own creed, you will not worry much about someone else's.  Without knowing what Christians have long confessed in common, we cannot journey confidently and safely through the religious mine field of contemporary North America.  If the present Christian amnesia continues, the church will be like a hockey game with no rules, no referee, and no connection to historic hockey.  Yet we will insist on calling it hockey because a game by that name is what most people still want to see played.

In our Epistle reading Paul is writing to a church he loved.  It is early in the life of the church, only some fifty years after the death of Jesus, and yet even in its infancy the church is reminded of the value of tradition; “So then brothers and sisters, stand firm and hold fast to the traditions that were taught.”  How much more important it is for us now over two thousand years distant? 

I like the image of walking backward into the future.  Tradition must never bind us or keep us from moving forward.  We have inherited a radical gospel after all. But we can never be connected to the past, never know who we really are if our gaze is fixed only in front of us.  Before we take another step forward we ought to look back, discover the richness of our heritage, learn what makes our faith unique, and then we can turn and begin the journey into the years ahead, strengthened and faithful.

Out of the past come the voices; “To you from failing hands we throw/The torch be yours to hold it high.”

Amen.