Sunday, August 29 th , 2021 – 14 th Sunday After Pentecost
Philip’s Reflection: “Pure and undefiled religion” (James 1:27)
I’ve attended worship in churches where the Prelude is treated a bit like elevator music, almost
drowned out by cheery meeting and greeting taking place in the Narthex and as 10 a.m.
approaches, there’s a bit of a scramble, “see you at coffee afterwards”, take a seat in the pew and
the end of the prelude signals the start of the service! Not at St. David’s, mind you, particularly
when you have an orchestral cellist as your interim music director – for here, the prelude is
integral to our time of worship – it sets the tone for what follows, quietens the mind after a busy
week, and provides a sacred space for personal devotion. And as I heard last week, “I’d gladly
pay money to hear music like that” – well, folks, these are challenging times and financial
contributions are very much welcomed!
Today’s Prelude, played by Ashton, is no exception and one of the benefits of online worship is
that you can go back and listen to it again, and again! Ashton selected Debussy’s “Beau Soir” for
today’s prelude, composed in 1880, when Debussy was just 17, to convey a dreamlike quality as
the setting for the reading that comes immediately following – a passage from the Song of
Solomon, also known as the Song of Songs. The Song is a series of poems largely consisting of a
dialogue between two lovers; and in today’s reading we hear of the lover waking as if from a
dream and she hears the voice of her beloved and sees him peering through her window – “Look,
he comes, leaping upon the mountains, bounding over the hills. My beloved is like a gazelle or a
young stag….and my beloved speaks to me ‘Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away’.”
Some view the Song of Songs as an extended metaphor – a celebration of the love between God
(understood as the male lover) and Israel (as the divine praise of Israel). Others, see it as a
collection of beautiful poems woven into a rare celebration of intimate human love, between a
lover and her beloved, and its words and images are often used in Jewish marriage art, music and
liturgy. This morning I’ll ask you to consider a different meaning – with ourselves as the loved
one, and as if waking from sleep, we hear the voice of the Beloved, the voice of Jesus, the Word
of God, calling us gently – “Arise, my love, my beautiful one, and come away.” For the winter of
a global pandemic is nearly over, and so is the heat of this summer, the earth is flowering, the
leaves are beginning to turn and the time of singing has come. And we might respond, “we hear
you calling, beloved, but where do you call us?”
The passage from the Letter of James, which we’ve just heard, might give us an answer. The
letter is viewed as a bit of an enigma by New Testament scholars. Some think it may have been
written by James, the brother of Jesus - it contains what seems like a collection of proverbs,
wisdom literature, ethical teaching perhaps for the early community of Jewish Christians. Some
argue that James’ emphasis on “doing” good works was intended to challenge the Apostle Paul’s
teaching on salvation by grace through faith alone and it was for this reason that Martin Luther
called the Letter of James an “epistle of straw”. He didn’t like James’ emphasis on “works” –
because for Paul and Luther, salvation is achieved only through faith, and reliance on God’s
grace, not through good deeds.
I think Luther’s a bit unfair on James because he doesn’t say that faith is unimportant – what he
2
says in this passage is “Be doers of the word and not simply hearers who deceive themselves.”
It’s like this he says – you see yourself in the mirror one morning and you look dreadful - you’re
tired, hair all over the place, bags under your eyes – and you walk away from the mirror and
forget to do anything about it – like get some more sleep! So it might be with the Gospel, says
James, – you hear it read in Church but as soon as you walk out the door it’s gone and you’re
back to your old ways, of complaining and bad mouthing other people – if you don’t “bridle your
tongue”, says James, (if you don’t restrain or control what you say) – then your religious efforts
are “worthless”, next to useless. In other words, true faith means both believing and doing. Not
just talking the talk but walking the walk.
What does James ask us to do as “doers of the word”? First, he wants us to understand that
“every generous act of giving” is from God – the “Father of Lights” – from God the creator who
made the celestial lights of the sun and the moon and the stars. And it is God, the beloved, who
has given us “the word of truth, so that we would become a kind of first fruits of his creatures” –
we belong to God and we are claimed and wanted by God. And James instructs us “to be quick
to listen, slow to speak, slow to anger” and we could easily devote this whole reflection to the
importance of good listening skills, and of putting our brain into gear before talking or speaking,
and not responding hastily to an email that’s made us angry or annoyed.
But important though these instructions are, the real value in this Reading, it seems to me, is in
the final sentence – “Pure and undefiled religion” says James “is this: [it is] to care for orphans
and widows in their distress, and to keep oneself unstained by the world.” It’s to care for those
who, in ancient times, were viewed as the most vulnerable members of society – who today
might include women and children abandoned or made homeless through war or poverty,
disaster, neglect or abuse or even death. In fact all who are marginalized or oppressed,
particularly those who have been historically wronged. We measure our faith, says James, not by
how much we hear or read of the Gospel, nor by the strength of our piety but by how much we
care. He might have said – “People don’t care about how much you know, until they know how
much you care” – James tells us “the doers who act – they will be blessed in their doing.”
And I believe the same is true for us as a community of faith and we read James’ letter at an
important time for all communities that seek to live out the teaching of the Gospel as disciples of
Christ. In recent weeks, I’ve reflected on the value of worship and music, particularly as we
emerge from nearly a year and a half of a global pandemic. We experience the presence of God
as we gather in worship; and music raises our spirits and binds us together in the Body of Christ.
But there’s an understandable tendency, when faced with any crisis, to look inwards rather than
outwards and for many faith communities this has been the inevitable result of trying to survive
lockdown and the restrictions on gathering in person. We focus on the pastoral needs and
concerns of the community – and we do this by staying connected as best we can, keeping in
touch and increasing the frequency of communication.
But we’ve had to curtail or suspend many programs and services that we offered in “beforetimes” – community dinners, ESL classes, bible study, Sunday School, and community outreach initiatives. Writing from prison in Nazi Germany, shortly before he was executed in 1945, Dietrich Bonhoeffer writes “The Church is the Church only when it exists for others...not dominating, but helping and serving. It must tell people of every calling what it means to live for Christ, to exist for others.” You might say that we exist at St. David’s or West Van Presbyterian, not for ourselves, but for others – and James tells us that the others are the “widows and orphans” of the present time – whether they be the vulnerable in our own community, or those using the shelter at First United in the DTES, or the refugees who will surely soon be arriving in their hundreds from Afghanistan and other war-torn countries like Syria. We have been a beacon of hope in the sponsorship of refugees in the past and we can surely be so again, and in many other acts of outreach, as we emerge from the pandemic.
We heard in our first reading the voice of the beloved calling us “to arise and come away” and
this morning we have understood this voice as God calling us into a new way of being and doing.
James tells us that this new way is beyond faith; it is one that invites us, both individually and as
a community of believers, to live out our faith, to become “doers of the word” – a caring
community that reaches outwards, to the “orphans and widows in their distress”, to all who need
our help. So, in the weeks and months ahead, as we return to work after a summer break, let’s
renew our commitment to becoming an outward-looking community, one that has historically
made an important difference in the lives of those less fortunate than ourselves. I am looking
forward to having this conversation with you – who are the “orphans and widows” of the North
Shore community that we must reach out to, either on our own or in partnership with other
people of goodwill; how do we best express our support for the work of First United in
Vancouver’s DTES; how do we renew our commitment to help settle refugees and other
displaced persons? What are some of your social concerns and what are the gifts that you can
share with others, beyond the walls of St. David’s? For, as you read on our sign this week, “To
whom much is given, much is expected” (Luke 12:48) – we are blessed as a community with so
many gifts of experience, leadership, facilities and resources, to share generously with those in
need.
Our Beloved speaks and calls us by name – “Arise my love, my beautiful one, and come away.”
And as we emerge from the pandemic wilderness, we are summoned to become hearers and
doers of the word, of the good news of the Gospel, and today’s reading tells us that we will be
blessed in our doing – why? Because we will be doing God’s work in the world. So, “arise my
love and come away.” How could we possibly refuse?