Made Perfect in Weakness

As many of you may know, I love to go for long walks. Now, with apologies to the beautiful city of Victoria – my beloved new home - I want to talk about a couple of my walks in Toronto. On the Labour Day weekend of 2024 – actually, my last weekend in Toronto – it was a gorgeous weekend – the weather was perfect, and on Saturday I took my walk by the shores of Lake Ontario with Toronto’s International Air Show going on all around me.

I’ve always loved the air show. Those fighter jets screaming through the skies - performances by the Snowbirds. Then there are the F-15’s and F-18’s flying only a few hundred feet over your head at 600 miles an hour. It’s such an amazing show of modern military aircraft. The raw power on display just entrances the crowd. And that’s the other part of the show for me – all the people. They say over the course of the Labour Day weekend, almost one and a half million people gathered to watch the show. And as I walked along the lakeshore, I watched the people too.

Everybody comes out to watch the air show! There are white people and black people and brown people. They’re from Africa, Asia, the Caribbean – from all parts of the world. And they speak languages from every corner of the earth. There are women in tank tops and shorts. There are women in burkas that cover every part of their bodies – you can’t even see their eyes. There are men in muscle shirts and men in gray flannel pants and white shirts. There are little children and old people. There are Hindu’s, Christians, Jews and Arabs. It’s an amazing gathering of people, and they come together, from far and wide, to watch the Toronto International Air Show. They gather in the blazing sun for hours to watch this incredible show of military power and might. It’s incredible!

So that’s one of my walks, but I need to tell you about another one of my walks. It’s in Toronto too. It’s in the west end of the city. On the corner of Annette and Medland there’s a magnificent old church – over a hundred and thirty years old. It used to have large stained glass windows – 9 of them, each one twenty-five feet high and fifteen feet wide. They were made in France and installed in the 1890’s. This is certainly one of Toronto’s most beautiful churches. It used to be the home of Victoria-Royce Presbyterian Church, but now, it's the home of 35 luxury condos and lofts.

I know the minister who was there for the last fifteen years of the church’s life – George French, and I can’t help wondering what he must have felt as he locked the church door behind him for the last time. I wonder if he was remembering all the Christmas Eve services, all the Easter Sunday mornings, baptisms and funerals. What was it like to have the place close down on your watch? And what was it? The aging congregation, or the changing demographics of the neighbourhood? Do you say to yourself, “There just aren’t enough Presbyterians anymore ” or do you blame yourself?

When I walk by the corpse of Victoria Royce Presbyterian Church, named in honour of the reigning Queen Victoria. When I think of the end of the dream – the end of the vision held by a small group of Presbyterians in the late 19th century - I feel, as a Presbyterian myself, part of a weak and dying breed.

Over a million people, from every corner of the earth, gathered by the lakefront to view a show of military power, and not even a handful of Presbyterians left in that corner of West Toronto to keep open the doors of a church that witnessed the presence of God for over a hundred years. I don’t like the way that makes me feel.

That’s why I love Palm Sunday, because it’s a show of power and strength. I’ve been to Israel. I’ve followed the path Jesus took down the Mount of Olives and into the eastern gate of the walled city of Jerusalem. I can imagine what it must have been like.

The celebration of the Jewish festival of Passover is only a few days away. The city is swelled with the visiting presence of hundreds of thousands of extra residents. The streets and markets are filled with happy chatter – reunions with old friends and distant relatives. Everyone is excited – anticipating the feast days to come. But it’s even more than that this year. The rumours concerning Jesus of Nazareth are everywhere – “Is he coming, isn’t he coming …”

And then like wildfire, the word spreads through the crowd. He’s just outside the city gates! He’s riding a donkey down the side of the hill! They know the prophecy from the Book of Zechariah – the prophecy of a great king who will come riding into the city – a son of King David – a leader who will overthrow the Roman Empire. And these people are so sick of it all. The many were dominated and exploited by the few. There were the wealthy elites. They had all the power – the Roman military authorities, and their own people who grew rich by collaborating with the Romans. Even the religious leaders were padding their wallets on the back of the poor. They were resentful, angry and afraid. But it was time for a change. And Jesus would be the catalyst for that long-awaited revolution!

And so Jesus rides that donkey down the Mount of Olives in the shadow of the magnificent Jewish Temple. And the crowds gather along the route of the parade. They lay down their cloaks and palm branches, and they cry out, “Hosanna! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord! Blessed is the coming kingdom of our ancestor David!”

They can taste the air of freedom and hope. The tables are turned. It’s payback time. Time for revenge - the injustice, the children who died of starvation, the friends and family beaten and killed by the Romans - time to end the exploitation and abuse they suffered for so long! This Passover would see the dawning of a new day – the overthrow and destruction of the Romans – taking back the Temple for the common person - the day of Israel’s redemption is at hand! With a popular and fearless leader like Jesus, nothing can stop them now!

It’s a story we all love. The victim finally turns on the bully and takes charge of his own life once more. The little guy who goes up against the corporate giant and brings them down. Mild mannered Clark Kent becomes an avenging superhero bringing justice for the weak and oppressed. I love the story of Palm Sunday. It’s a story of triumph and power, promising hope and redemption to those who have always felt weak and lost and impotent.

You see, I remember the glory days of Christianity. I remember when I was young. The churches were full. You had to arrive early at Christmas and Easter to get a seat. New churches were being built throughout the suburbs. The Sunday Schools were packed with hundreds of children. We had money and influence and power. When religious leaders spoke, the rest of the world listened.

I remember how good that felt. We were the majority. We were in control of our own destiny. The name of God was honoured and we knew the future belonged to us – to our way of life, to our way of thinking, to our way of belief. We were the ones in the driver’s seat - and it felt good! Now this - I walk past the abandoned Victoria Royce Presbyterian Church – the remnant of a powerful past, and I feel weak and lonely and lost …

But let me dip back into that first Palm Sunday parade when Jesus rides into Jerusalem as the conquering hero. What’s in the mind and heart of Jesus as the crowds cry out, “Hosanna! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord! Blessed is the coming kingdom of our ancestor David!” Because Jesus knows he has not come to overthrow the Romans. He knows his entry is no call to arms. He will not pick up a sword and lead the nation of Israel into battle.

The Gospel of Mark, we read today, does not record Jesus speaking a single word as he rides into the city. He is silent. As he looks up, he can see the Jewish Temple gleaming in the sunlight, but it brings him no joy. He will soon go into it and, in frustration, overturn the tables of the money changers. He will call it “a den of thieves,” because it’s the clubhouse of his own religious people who collaborate with the Romans, manipulating the people and stealing away the very food from their mouths. And Jesus also knows who enters the city from the other side.

Entering from the west is an imperial procession with Pontius Pilate at the head – the Roman governor. He is flanked by a royal cavalry – armed guards, foot soldiers, helmets, weapons, and golden eagles mounted on poles. Jesus proclaims the kingdom of God. And Pilate proclaims the power of the Roman Empire. The mission of Jesus is in opposition to the power, the glory and the violence of the Empire, and these two processions will meet at a stand-off in Jerusalem. In the coming week, Jesus will take his final stand for justice, for equality –for peace – standing against rule by entitlement and by the sword. But he will not fight with soldiers and the spilling of the enemy’s blood. His will be a confrontation of ideas and beliefs. The only blood that will be spilt is his own.

As the Apostle Paul will write a few years later, “my power is made perfect in weakness.”

Perhaps what Jesus remembers from the prophecy of Zechariah, are not the stories of battle and conquest, but these simple words, “Lo, your king comes to you, humble and riding on a donkey.”

The kingdom Jesus proclaims is bigger than King David’s. It’s greater than the Kingdom of Rome. It’s bigger and more potent than any earthly kingdom that has ever reigned. For earthly kingdoms come and go. Fighter jets grow old and rusty. Their pilots are slow and feeble. The good news is not to kick sand into the face of the bully - but to love the bully – conquering not with a sword, but with love and justice and peace.

And so once again, we enter into Holy Week. We begin this service remembering a grand parade, and we end this service anticipating the passion of Christ, which is to come. Jesus will enter Jerusalem in silence. He will be faithful to his mission. He will trust in God. He will speak the truth, and for that, he will be crucified …

May we always do the same – truth and trust in God, faith and love - God’s power made perfect in weakness …