An audio sermon by Rev’d Dr Vicki Balabanski
for Planet Earth Sunday,  6 September 2015.

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What is the Season of Creation?

Thinking about God as Creator is not the same thing as creationism.

John 1:1 In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.
2 He was in the beginning with God.
3 All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being.

Everyone has places
where they experience
God’s transcendence.

Psalm 8:3
When I look at the heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars that you have established, what are human beings that you are mindful of them, mortals that you care for them?

Immanence
How does the Bible speak of God’s presence, God’s immanence?
•In Jerusalem/in Zion
Sing praises to the LORD, who dwells in Zion! Ps 9:11
•In the Temple/place of worship
When Solomon had ended his prayer, fire came down from heaven and consumed the burnt offering and the sacrifices, and the glory of the LORD filled the temple. 2Ch 7:1
•The whole earth/ creation ‘the God of the whole earth he is called’. Isa 54:5
•Where believers gather ‘For where two or three are gathered in my name, there am I in the midst of them.“ Mt 18:20
•In Jesus: “Emmanuel,” which means, “God is with us.” Mt 1:23

Psalm 33:5-9
…the earth is full of the steadfast love of the LORD.
6 By the word of the LORD the heavens were made, and all their host by the breath of his mouth.
7 He gathered the waters of the sea as in a bottle; he put the deeps in storehouses.
8 Let all the earth fear the LORD; let all the inhabitants of the world stand in awe of him.
9 For he spoke, and it came to be; he commanded, and it stood firm

A Paradox
We need the natural world to glimpse the One who transcends the natural world.
•Wisdom 13:5 For from the greatness and the beauty of created things their original author, by analogy, is seen.

Paul’s view too
•Romans 1:20 Ever since the creation of the world God’s eternal power and divine nature, invisible though they are, have been understood and seen through the things he has made.
•For Paul, this is an indictment on humanity – we default into worshipping the creation rather than the Creator.

We need creation (=nature) to grasp something of God’s transcendence and God’s immanence

Mt Sinai

N.T. Wright ‘The Outer Story: God and Creation.’
•‘The story of creator and cosmos is in fact everywhere presupposed… There is one God from whom all things come, to whom we owe our allegiance, our very selves. ‘From him and through him and to him are all things.’
•A two-fold story: the creator God made a world with a purpose, and entrusted that purpose to humans. The humans to whom the task was entrusted abused that trust and rebelled.
•The cosmos is caught up in the story of human rebellion and sin, and also in the story of salvation.
Genesis 1:1-25
•The biblical story of the Earth being given form and order by God: from chaos to abundance.
•God creates the infrastructure for life – light, sky, land — and declares them good (vv.3-10)
•With the initial structures in place, the Earth is given a prominent role in the production of life (vv. 11-13). The most fundamental form of life has been formed with its own reproductive power (v.12).
•Verses 14-19 describe the formation of the heavenly bodies, the sun, moon and stars. They ‘rule’ or ‘govern’, but not as ‘gods’.
•In verses 20-21, the waters of the Earth bring forth swarms of living creatures. Even the ones not ‘useful’ to us – the great sea monsters – are declared good and blessed (v.22).
•This picture expands to every living creature – both wild creatures and those that will become domestic animals. Not a utilitarian view!
•In this reading, the Earth and all its creatures partner with God in the great project of life.
•The Earth is shown to be an integrated and interconnected whole.
Pantheism versus Panentheism?
Glimpsing God in all things, but not worshipping all things as God.
Acts 17:28: ‘In God we live and move and have our being.’
Ephesians 4:6 …one God and Father of all, who is above all and through all and in all.

Thinking analogically (by analogy!)
•Slavery.
•The biblical case against it was not clear-cut.
•It required a kind of conversion to be able to see ending the slave trade as a Gospel imperative.
•Are there parallels between oppressed & silenced peoples and other creatures?

Where has this theology been all this time?
St. Francis of Assisi (1181-1226)
took seriously the virtue of humility, not only for the individual, but for human kind as a species. For Francis, the ant is no longer simply a lesson for the lazy but ‘brother ant’, praising the creator in its own way just as humans do.

The Mystics
Fyodor Dostoyevsky, in The Brothers Karamazov, Book VI ch.2, part G:
‘Love all of God’s creation, the whole and every grain of sand in it.
Love every leaf, every ray of God’s light.
Love the animals, love the plants, love everything.
If you love everything, you will perceive the divine mystery in things.’

Towards a God’s-eye view of the natural world
John 1:3-4
•3 All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being. What has come into being 4 in him was life, and the life was the light of all people.

What should we do?
In 2010 there was a World Mission conference – arguably the most ecumenical Christian gathering ever – held in Edinburgh to mark the centenary of the World Missionary Conference in 1910. A shared mission statement — ‘Common call’ – came out of the 2010 conference. It has nine paragraphs, and the third paragraph prioritises creation:
•Knowing the Holy Spirit who blows over the world at will, reconnecting creation and bringing authentic life, we are called to become communities of compassion and healing, where young people are actively participating in mission [= God’s mission of restoring life], and women and men share power and responsibilities fairly, where there is a new zeal for justice, peace and the protection of the environment, and renewed liturgy reflecting the beauties of the Creator and creation.

Today we’re in a boat on lake Galilee.
We’ve set sail for the other side, and all looks fine. We’ve done this so often, it’s just routine; just like starting any new day at school or work. We set our course; we know what to expect; we’ll be fine.

But suddenly we’re not; suddenly everything’s different; everything is terrifying. A fearful storm has suddenly blown up, and we feel frightened and cut off. No-one can hear our cries for help; we’re far from safety. How can God let this happen to us? Is God asleep somewhere; does God care?

For each of us, the storm is different. Our storm may come as a sudden, frightening pain in the night; or the day our doctor tells us our life can’t be the way we planned it any more.

For lots of us, our storm comes suddenly when the job we thought we had is no more.

For some children and adults, the storm strikes us when someone we thought cared for us—someone we thought would stick by us—suddenly doesn’t any more, they hurt us or go away. Or maybe someone we imagined was going to live all our life with us suddenly dies.

But why call these things storms? What’s this storm in the Gospel got to do with our lives?

Over the past weeks, we’ve used analogies to help us understand complex ideas more easily. We said the harmony we find in music is like the Trinity; we said that the Holy Spirit is the breath of God.

So this storm can be an analogy for the sorts of things can threaten my life or yours, just like this storm threatened Jesus and his friends. … When our storms strike us, we feel alone and vulnerable. We feel like God’s gone away, or gone to sleep. And we ask the question that Jesus’ disciples asked him as they woke him up. Don’t you care? We’re all going to die!

Of course, we’ve heard the story. He does wake up, and he tells the wind and the sea to calm down. Then he asks them why they were afraid; do they have any faith at all? But they don’t seem to hear this. They’re wondering about something else. “Who is this, that even the wind and the sea obey him?!” I think anybody would ask that question; and there’s really only one answer. Only God can tell the wind and the sea what to do. Jesus is God.

But he’s also human—completely human. Let’s just go back into the story a bit. Jesus, asleep in the back of the boat, was so tired that even this great storm didn’t wake him. People had been crowding around him for days. One day he didn’t even have time to eat. And while he was teaching all those people, there were others standing around telling anybody who’d listen that he was evil. And his family was nagging him to come back home and get real. He’s been fighting an up-hill battle. No wonder he’s so tired.

So we have in our boat the one who can command the wind and the sea; and we know only God can do that. But that same person in our boat is so exhausted, he escapes crowds and then sleeps through a storm that terrifies experienced sailors. And that’s a human being.

In our boat with us is the God who can command the weather; in our boat with us is our teacher Jesus, who gets tired, just like anybody else. And they’re one and the same person!

For me that’s the other miracle in this story; God and you and I are all in the same boat. (clear idiom? If you’re in trouble, God’s there too.). God is in the boat, because that exhausted teacher is asleep in the boat with us; because Jesus chooses to be with us; to be one of us. We tend to think of this as the story of Jesus calming the storm. But maybe we could think of it as the miraculous story of how God shares our storms with us; how God chooses to be in the same boat as we are. If we can see this, our life’s storms become very different.

There’s a wonderful painting of this story by Rembrandt. I think he’s painted the exact moment of Jesus’ command to the wind and waves. Jesus is sitting in the back of the boat with a few of his disciples looking at him. It’s a still point in a wild scene. The water around the back of the boat seems calmer than it is everywhere else. The sail nearest to Jesus has relaxed a bit. But at the front of the boat, the storm is still blowing with full force; one sail is drum tight, the other is torn—standing straight out in the wind with a broken rope whipping around above it. And the sailors there are hanging on for grim death; they look terrified.

What this painting says—what this story says—is this. Jesus came to be with us in the storms of our lives. Know that, and look for him. Jesus knows these storms personally. Tell him how your storms affect you; he will hear and understand. Sometimes God calms the storm,

Sometimes God lets the storm rage, and calms the child. Amen

Last week we saw how Samuel was hurt by the elders of Israel. They wanted him to give them a king ‘so we can be like other nations.’ His hurt was that of any pastor. Had the faith he’d tried so hard to nurture in these people somehow never taken root? They’d humoured Samuel in the good times, but as soon as things looked a bit uncertain – with those ratbag sons of his, he certainly didn’t look like a safe bet for Israel’s future security; what would happen when Samuel died? – as soon as things looked a bit uncertain their lack of faith made them throw everything away for a quick fix – just do what everyone else does. Did Samuel waste his life on these people?

We know he didn’t . We know Samuel’s faith was justified. In spite of Israel’s disloyalty, we know God stayed with them all along. We see that today.

This week, we’re a long way deeper into his story. Samuel eventually did give Israel a king; Saul – the biggest, strongest warrior among them. And Saul did have all the problems Samuel predicted: pride, greed, self-reliance. God quite understandably told Samuel to give up on Saul; to go and find a successor. And today that’s what we see happening. God tells Samuel to fill his horn with oil and go to Bethlehem. There, Samuel must anoint one of the sons of Jesse; the one whom God has foreseen will be the next king of Israel.

This time, it’s Samuel’s turn to be surprised. God doesn’t let him anoint any of Jesse’s older sons, no matter how big and capable they look. Instead, he’s to anoint the youngest – David – a mere child who may have been no more than seven or eight years old. But the Lord said, ^16.12 ‘Rise and anoint him; for this is the one.’ ¹³ Then Samuel took the horn of oil, and anointed him in the presence of his brothers; and the spirit of the Lord came mightily upon David from that day forward.

This is a story I remember every time we anoint someone with the oil of chrism; someone we’ve just baptised. Anointing is a sign to us that the Holy Spirit has come upon that new Christian from this moment on.

In the language of today’s parables, we believe the Holy Spirit, who comes into us at our baptism is planted in us like the seeds were planted. We look forward to the sprouting, the growing and the eventual harvest that God will enable through this new Christian. We onlookers might lose track of things – sleep and rise night and day, while the seed sprouts and grows, we know not how. But thanks be to God, we believe that the [Spirit] produces of itself…

Theologian, Wendy Farley describes it this way. ‘Intimacy with Christ grows in us as certainly and as effortlessly as seeds grow. We have so little to do with Christ’s nearness to us that we can just go to sleep. In fact it might be better if we did sleep through the whole thing, snug and safe, resting like babies in our mothers’ arms. This trust so deep that we can sleep without anxiety is much more useful to us than fussing over the little seed: dousing it with pesticide, repotting it, clucking anxiously over the amount of sun it has.’ ^{Farley, W. (2009). Theological Perspective on Mark 4:26‒34. In D. L. Bartlett & B. B. Taylor (Eds.), Feasting on the Word: Preaching the Revised Common Lectionary: Year B (Vol. 3, pp. 140–142). Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press.}

I struggle with Wendy Farley’s approach here. Instinctively, I feel as if God must be busy with far more important things than me; that if I just manage things at my end, my poor, overworked God will be freed up to do more important things elsewhere. But then I remember the Samuel story: the people didn’t trust God – they didn’t trust Samuel. They came up with their own solution: be self-reliant. Don’t wait on God.

They were, of course wrong. But even so, God stayed with them—guided them in the direction of a better king. So I must trust God; rest in God.

But I was talking about seeds, wasn’t I. I planted some lawn seed a few months ago and it seemed to me that it took ages to germinate. I’d keep on coming into whinge to Vicky after yet another fruitless inspection with grim forebodings of a failed crop. But it did grow, of course. And now, after a few mowings, this fine lawn smiles up reproachfully at me as if to say, ‘From a seed, I’ve always been there. And you, Peter, were very foolish to doubt me.’

The parables we heard today – the parable of the seed sown on the ground and the parable of the mustard seed ‘… are hope-filled parables. God will not fail to fulfill the promise of salvation. It is already coming to be in this world – like the seed sown in the earth, or the remarkable growth of the bush from the mustard seed, silently but powerfully coming to be.’ ^{Saliers, D. E. (2009). Pastoral Perspective on Mark 4:26‒34. In D. L. Bartlett & B. B. Taylor (Eds.), Feasting on the Word: Preaching the Revised Common Lectionary: Year B (Vol. 3, p. 142). Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press.}

And that’s just it: God is to be trusted. We’ve been baptised – entrusted to God – and we should be content with that. In a sense, that’s a powerful witness. An agnostic friend of mine once commented that he respected infant baptism in the Church, even though he isn’t a believer. For him, if people believed, it was only logical that they would show their belief by entrusting their precious children to God’s care and guidance.

So this is one of the myriad ways these mysterious seed parables can be read. By God’s grace, ‘Intimacy with Christ grows in us as certainly and as effortlessly as seeds grow.’ Our programmes and strategies and plans don’t ensure that people come to trust in God; the Holy Spirit does. Carrying on as if it all depends on our efforts does God a terrible disservice. We mustn’t forget that God is active, alive and, in fact, pretty experienced in the way of giving love and care; giving them in ways that can even break through human folly and nurture to growth the seeds that have been strewn in us. Amen

The subject of today’s Bible readings is servant leadership.

Three of today’s readings are about how we receive God’s leadership—we who proclaim God as our guide. They’re about the way we receive God’s leadership, and also about the type of people who should, in God’s view, be leaders among us.

The Psalmist knows God’s in charge. ²I will bow down toward your holy temple and give thanks to your name because of your faithfulness and your loving-kindness, for you have made your name and your word supreme over all things. Kings praise God. But there’s a verse we might miss if we’re not awake, ⁶though the Lord is exalted, he looks upon the lowly and he comprehends the proud from afar. God’s interested in the little people. God won’t mix with the proud.

So leadership among God’s people is not to be given to those who would seize it. Such people are not close to God. True leaders in God’s community are more likely to be called from among the lowly—the meek—and leadership in God’s community is to be focussed more on the needs of the lowly than on the rich and influential.

The reading from Samuel underlines this. Leadership in God’s community is not like leadership in the secular world. Israel already had a wonderful leader in Samuel. Samuel had been close to God all his life. So as Israel’s judge and prophet, he gave wise and faithful leadership. In Samuel’s time, God was tangibly there with the people of Israel, as provider and protector.

But the elders knew Samuel’s sons were nothing like him. They panicked. They couldn’t see an obvious succession plan.

So they ganged up on Samuel; tried to bully him into giving them a King; the sort of leader everyone else had. Samuel was naturally upset, but his first response was to seek God’s wisdom; he prayed.

And obeying God, he warned the elders about the sort of leadership they could expect from a king. He was right, of course. What he said remains true to this day—except that the 10% taxation he predicted has trebled.

But the question for us remains: the leadership of God’s people, what’s it about? True leaders I’ve known are always thankful people. They see the best in everyone, and they have a strong sense of their servanthood. They want to offer something; to make a contribution to people who struggle—to raise them up. And we know from the footwashing story in John’s gospel that this was the spirit of leadership that Jesus has called all of us to exercise.

Normally I won’t use a sermon to talk about bad examples of leadership. That judgement is God’s alone. But today’s Gospel specifically warns us about bad leaders. Jesus’ family and the crowds, knowing the leaders they have, begin to be afraid for Jesus’ safety. His mission’s become too high-profile. He must be mad to let this happen. Vested interests both in the temple and in the political world are very dangerous. Question the authority of these people and they bite. We know the story of Jesus’ arrest and execution; they bite very hard.

But the family gets to him too late. The authorities are already down from Jerusalem and they’re taking matters in hand. Their tactic is slander: they publicly declare Jesus to be in league with the devil. Slander is utterly forbidden among God’s people: the ninth commandment says—You shall not bear false witness against your neighbour. The religious leaders from Jerusalem misrepresent Jesus’ care for the needy with their malicious, lying slander—he has a demon. That’s bad leadership.

We know that slander still remains a tactic that leaders use against the people who threaten their power. The tragedy is, it poisons the spirit of any group or society which accepts leadership from them. We find out why after the next few verses.

Jesus begins to respond to their slander with the parables of the house divided and robbers binding the strong man. His parables expose the falseness of their slander. But his next words are terrifying. ²⁸ ‘Truly I tell you, people will be forgiven for their sins and whatever blasphemies they utter; ²⁹but whoever blasphemes against the Holy Spirit can never have forgiveness, but is guilty of an eternal sin’— ³⁰for [the scribes] had said, ‘He has an unclean spirit.’

The scribes saw Jesus heal people and exorcise demons from them by the power of the Holy Spirit, but they called this Holy Spirit power satanic. Jesus says what they have done is an eternal sin—the unforgiveable sin. I remember being terrified of this as a teenager. I thought I might have done it. 

Actually, committing the unforgiveable sin is pretty hard. It means seeing a wonderful act of the Holy Spirit, and fully in your right mind, calling it evil—calling it a work of the devil. Few people will sink so far.

But when a leader is known to resort to malicious, lying slander—to call good works evil—and when the people they lead know this, yet still accept their leadership, it can poison the spirit of that group or society. They are being led astray in a most Godless manner, and they are knowingly following this lead. Someone must warn them: name the evil and warn them.

And that’s where we come in. We—Jesus’ family—brothers and sisters and mothers of Jesus.

Jesus identifies his true family as those who do the will of God, like him. That makes us leaders like him—servant leaders. And the calling of servant leaders—from what we’ve read in the Scriptures this morning—the calling of servant leaders is to heal the sick, and to deliver the weakest and most vulnerable from whatever oppresses them, and to do this work without fear or favour.

Deliver the weakest and most vulnerable from whatever oppresses them We know who they are—they are people slandered by false leaders:

• disproportionately imprisoned Aboriginal people whom our justice systems fail;
• victims of abuse and attack who cry out for justice, yet are slandered by those who say they were asking for it;
• refugees;
• the unemployed;
• the homeless;
• the mentally ill;
• victims of disaster;

all of them so often falsely accused, and so just like Jesus. As he said, … “Truly I tell you, just as you [cared for / stood up for] one of the least of these … you did it to me.” ^{Mt 25.40}

So how do we serve Jesus? By doing as he did; by serving those he served—and in our service, we offer the world the type of leadership which alone heals and makes it whole. This is our calling as the royal priesthood of all the baptised.

Amen

R 8¹⁵ … you did not receive a spirit of slavery to fall back into fear, but you have received a spirit of adoption. ¹⁶… that very Spirit [bears] witness with our spirit that we are children of God. Paul’s saying we’re adopted into God’s family as God’s children!

We’re more complete as human beings when we belong in community—when we belong in a family or a group of friends. I know that when I’m home alone, and trying to summon up interest in cooking something. I like cooking, but there seems no point if it’s not for sharing. I’m comfortable with my own company, but it doesn’t hold a candle to belonging.

Of course I know that, compared with someone who’s lost their partner or close family member or friend, these moments when I’m at a loose end are nothing. But these times are enough to tell me that belonging in community is at the heart of my being fully a person. Why might that be so? I think it might be something to do with the way we’re made: we’re meant to be like God.

Back in Genesis 1.26, we read: ^26a …God said: Let us make human beings in our image, after our likeness. Well, what’s God’s image and likeness like? What are we really meant to be like? Today, on Trinity Sunday, we think about this very question. Our focus is on God the Most Holy Trinity—three persons, yet one God—God in community.

It’s a baffling and complex mystery, this three-in-one and one-in-three character of God. But at its most straightforward level, we can say that God whom we worship—God, in whose image and likeness we are made—God is a community.

The community that is our God is a one of beautiful harmony. The Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit have been revealed to us as completely one in their love—loving each other and loving all creatures.

That love is why Theology teachers won’t let us replace the Name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit with alternatives like Creator, Redeemer & Sanctifier or Creator, Liberator & Sustainer because that’s not a loving community—there’s no relationship. Calling God Creator, Redeemer & Sanctifier or Creator, Liberator & Sustainer is like saying God the Trinity is three engines, each for different jobs, that just happen to co-operate.

The Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit; a community of love who co-operate so closely that we can’t say who does what. Their love is so close that we can only comprehend what comes from God as coming from loving community. cf the key of C being hidden in each note, C E G, and while present in each note, yet only revealed in the chord.

But what does all this have to do with us? God said: Let us make human beings in our image, after our likeness. And Paul wrote that we have received a spirit of adoption. … that very Spirit [bears] witness with our spirit that we are children of God. And here we are; a community of people who are mostly not related to each other, who probably wouldn’t know each other if it weren’t that God has adopted us all into this family. And somehow we are the image and likeness of God. Our pilgrimage—our journey of faith—is to discover what that means, both who we are, and why we’ve been called.

So let’s start from the basics. We are different from a social club or a special interest club. The reason for this community is God’s love; God has called us together. And the purpose of this community is the same love we see at work in the community of love we call God whose Name is Father, Son and Holy Spirit.

The clearest picture we have of the community of love that is God is given to us by Jesus—who is himself God reaching out to people. Jesus gathers people around him. He creates community. And he doesn’t let this community stay indoors and keep all the love to itself. … The community of love that Jesus establishes is shown how to be outgoing—active—to notice where they’re needed, and to jump in and help supply the need.

Jesus’ community of love is shown how to see broken hearts, see broken relationships, see broken people and to respond with loving respect and compassion. A community of God’s love is creative—Spirit-filled. A community of God’s love offers new ways, new connections, new freedoms. A community of love is a wonderful networker; always going for connections; always going for hope.

Of course there are good and bad ways to be community. We can belong in a family or a group like a church or a class at school and be perfectly comfortable and fulfilled ourselves. But at the same time, we can also be completely oblivious to other people who might feel on the outer. Our needs are being met; we’re fine. But theirs aren’t. And while that’s the case, our community won’t be in the image and likeness of God. Whole church communities can be like that too; whole denominations have been hostile to each other for generations. We can’t receive communion at each other’s churches. That’s not God’s image and likeness either.

We are in many ways a broken community; but that’s not the end of the story. Because we’re on the way—we are a pilgrim community following our Lord; we’re being created anew, each day, more nearly into the image and likeness of the lovely community that is our God. We’re sent help—prophetic voices like that of Grant Hay; gifts of the Spirit like our healing ministry; compassionate hearts; hospitality. We’re being created as a community every day, and we can risk being bold and join in that community-building venture. We should feel free to join with people of all Church traditions and make the community stronger.

Our Triune God is a loving community: we are told that God has made us to be in that image and likeness. Jesus has shown us how, and the Spirit gives us the gifts to do it. A final word from Jesus: a prayer he offered for his disciples, including us. ^{John 17.20-21} ‘I ask not only on behalf of these, but also on behalf of those who will believe in me through their word, ²¹that they may all be one. As you, Father, are in me and I am in you, may they also be in us,  so that the world may believe that you have sent me. Amen

Ascension May 17^th 2015:

Extinguishing the Paschal Candle today might feel like a goodbye; goodbye to the flame that’s been front and centre at all our gatherings since the Easter Dawn service. It symbolises goodbye from the risen Jesus who’s now leaving us disciples after staying for a mere forty days.

But we’ve extinguished this sign of his resurrection life after hearing the promise of this morning’s readings. And the promise is amazing. As Jesus leaves his earthly life behind, returning to be with the Father, he leaves with a promise of the Holy Spirit coming to us who remain on earth.

That’s the promise we heard him give in the Book of Acts 1.⁸… you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you.

When the Holy Spirit comes upon us, Jesus, though not physically present, is with us closer than ever; stronger than ever.

The promise of today’s Gospel passage is that the Good News is for all creation, and that signs of healing, protection and power will confirm the message of the bearers of this Good News. … Power?

The letter to the Ephesians says this power is … far above all rule and authority and power and dominion (1.²¹) and that this power is for the Church is. Later in this letter, the connection is made more explicit. You might remember it as the aria from Handel’s Messiah—‘Thou art gone up on high’. When he ascended on high he made captivity itself a captive; he gave gifts to his people. (4.⁸) It then goes on to list those gifts of the Spirit—gifts to be apostles, prophets, evangelists, pastors and teachers.

The one flame is extinguished and the many are lit.

Yesterday at out quiet day, we explored one of the gifts the Spirit has left with the Church—the healing ministry. Through story and teaching, Fr John Beiers reminded us how the power of Christ is present in us—the Church—to confront the sorrows and evils of this world. The Church has always been doing this. Some of Fr John’s stories were of lovely surprises for healer and healed. I didn’t share a story which I remembered yesterday—but it illustrates one thing that I think is important—it doesn’t depend on us or how much faith we have. Rod’s story.

The message of power at the feast of the Ascension is big. It is for all creation. We can, if we choose, take authority to confront wrongs and injustices: to name them and oppose them, and to do so without fear or favour. The Pope this morning is reported as deepening the Church’s connection with Palestinians—much to the irritation of the present world order.

In our part of the world, I wonder if we might hope to see the Church commit to becoming a neon sign of healing and protection for those poor Rohingya refugees set adrift by their crews and now for months being pushed out to sea by a succession of countries that won’t save them—and our own singularly silent on the matter.

The message of power at the feast of the Ascension is big. It is for all creation. Will the Church become the voice by which the Good News actually is proclaimed for all creation as Jesus commanded? Should this be left to green political parties when it’s actually us who received the orders in the first place—in today’s Gospel?

We here need to pray together about what Jesus calls us to do. We may feel utterly inadequate to confront the evils of our time, but our faith isn’t based on our feelings. (Remember Rod’s healing story)

We are witnesses to Christ’s love for those who hunger and thirst, for the homeless, the dispossessed, the sick, the poor. We are witnesses to God’s love for creation through our own love for it.

We don’t confront their sufferings in our own power. We do nothing unless we do it in the power of the Spirit. And the Spirit is promised to us today. Will we receive it? What’s to lose?

Look at Jesus’ earliest disciples—their transformation from fearful hiding to world-changing courage.

These poor, battered disciples—their hopes had been dashed by the crucifixion, then restored by the resurrection. Now, with the Ascension, Jesus is again taken from their sight. But in a very short time, we will see them changed. A frightened huddle of outlaws one minute; the next, they burst out of hiding. Filled with that promised gift of spiritual power, they will go out, reckless and passionate, with a transforming message about Jesus. And just as he said they would, they’ll press on, healing and preaching to the ends of the earth.

Paradoxically, it’s with Jesus’ Ascension—his departure—that his blessing of reconciliation can really begin to spread. No longer confined to where he happened to be, now, in the Spirit’s power, his disciples will carry this blessing to the ends of the earth.

Commitment prayer: Ascended Jesus, we are now the bearers of your blessing. You want everyone and all creation to receive the blessing of your reconciling love? We know this blessing, and we’re ready to share it. We pray that you may make us bold as we do. Amen

“You did not choose me but I chose you.” Jn 15

Arash and Vahid, you’ve asked to be baptised; to become Christians. We honour you for that.Most of us born in Australia don’t understand what a huge decision that is for a person from Iran.

We don’t understand how it can make life very difficult and dangerous. Because becoming a Christian in Australia doesn’t mean our family throws us out. It doesn’t mean police come and take us to gaol, whip us or even hang us. Becoming a Christian here doesn’t cut the rest of our family out of normal job opportunities. It doesn’t stop our children being allowed to go to school or university.

Becoming a Christian here doesn’t have to cost us anything really. Not unless we take it really seriously. But we should, because being a Christian means we follow Jesus—who gave up everything for us.

Becoming a Christian seems like a simple choice to us Australians; but it’s much more than that. Today’s Gospel remind us of something very important. Jesus said that we didn’t choose him; he chose us. ^{Jn 15.16} He chose you and me before we even knew about him. The Gospel also says that God loves us, and we can live in that love together as God’s friends.

This means our Christian faith is about saying yes to God—answering God’s invitation; taking hold of God’s hand which is already stretched out to us. It also means that even if we walk out on the Church for a time—as I once did—it doesn’t mean Jesus will give up on you or me—remember, he chose us!

And the good things we do for Jesus won’t push him to suddenly love us more; he loves us absolutely anyway. Whatever we do, for good or evil, his love for us is never taken back. It never grows smaller. It’s just there; the strength to grow you and me into people who are his blessing to the world.

The other thing today’s readings tell us is that we are a family—right across the world, even if we come from different countries, different cultures, different languages. Today’s story from the book of Acts shows Peter and others in the earliest Church discovering that Jesus chooses people they never expected. They’re amazed as people who weren’t Jewish were given the Holy Spirit; chosen by God.

Jesus said, ‘You didn’t choose me; I chose you.’

Jesus gave his disciples a message of joyful love and friendship. When he talks of commandments, the command is to love. And when he talks about his master-servant relationship with his disciples, it’s laid aside; instead he says we are his friends.

He’s telling us about building a community of love, where the only law is love. Keeping that law will create a community where it’s safe for us, and safe for anyone we invite into it.

We believe only Jesus can create something so wonderful, yet today we hear him asking us to live like that—to become like him. So when Jesus talks about us asking something in his name (v.16 c), he believes we will ask what he would ask—that we will be loving the way he is loving.

Earlier in this chapter, Jesus said he is the vine and we are the branches. It’s a great image—particularly for people who come from Shiraz! As his branches, it’s natural that we will genuinely express his care—particularly for the frail, the frightened and the needy.

He has chosen these ones. And we are to be his representatives, expressing his care for these.

How?

Like branches, we are to reach out and provide hope and shelter and sweet refreshment in their season. Just as he reached out to us and grafted us onto him, we are to offer this belonging to others too—to offer without condition a connection, through Christ the vine, with the true source of their being, and with a true purpose in life. But like any branch, we can only draw the strength to do all of that from the true vine, Jesus.

Jesus’s “I am” statements in John’s Gospel often make a connection between him and the Temple.

In Jn 8, Jesus was in the Temple at the harvest-feast of Tabernacles.^{(cf 7.2)} The final ceremony of this feast happened at dawn on the last (8^th) day. It was simple, but powerful. Two priests solemnly processed down the Temple steps to the Eastern Gate, then turned around again to face the Temple; the Holy of Holies, deliberately turning their backs on the rising sun. This showed they weren’t like the pagan sun-worshippers reviled in Ezekiel 8.16f; Jews worshiped the true God! ^{(m Sukkah 5.4)}

What does this have to do with Jesus? At this festival, said ^(8.12) “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness but will have the light of life.” He’s claiming to be himself what this temple was for the Jewish people; the dwelling place of God. Jesus demands that his followers shift their gaze away from the Temple, and instead, turn to face him. Today’s I am statement—I am the true vine—also seems to be a temple reference, and also fits this startling category of supplanting the temple with his own body.

The archæological architect, Leen Ritmeyer is a world authority on the Temple of Jesus’ time. He and an Englishman Alec Garrard have designed and built a scale model of the Temple on the basis of Ritmeyer’s research. Inside the facade of its porch are four columns, and wreathed up and over them is a huge vine wrought from gold; the Golden Vine of the Temple. Pilgrims would bring golden leaves and clusters of golden grapes for it to add to the Temple’s splendour. In the Mishnah it says that: “whosoever gave a leaf, or a berry, or a cluster as a freewill-offering … brought it and [the priests] hung it there”. ^{(Middot 3.8)} . This vine, represented Israel. It graced the doorway into the Holy of Holies itself. ^{(See p.4 below)}

When Jesus said I am the true vine, he was declaring that he superseded all this in his own person. By me—by this doorway—you enter the presence of God. I am the way.

Vines have a mind of their own, don’t they. If you watch them grow, you see creation at work before your very eyes. Almost overnight, you see those little tendrils stretch out looking for the next thing to grab onto. What they grab onto sets the direction of growth for the rest of the vine. Plants relate to their environments like that, don’t they. They adapt and belong. So it’s a really interesting picture Jesus gives us of ourselves as the church, a plant image. It allows for almost unlimited variety.

Often when we think of an image of Christian community, we think in terms of Paul’s image of us as a human body; the body of Christ. In that image, Christ is the head and we are the various members.

Today’s gospel image of Christ as the vine and us as the branches is different. I like it. It gives the sense that each of us can both contribute to the well-being of the vine itself and also look after those who need its fruit. I also see the vine growing in the soil as a picture of Jesus connecting us with the source of our being. It’s an organic, reciprocal image of a church community which can grow and spread in order to give pleasure and refreshment and shade and beauty.

I think that in terms of where this parish might flourish, this image of us as a plant is really helpful. The image of the body is also wonderful; don’t get me wrong. But that’s more an image of the proper internal functioning of a local church. It doesn’t imply the connection with the church’s environment like the plant image does. Human bodies are essentially the same the world over, but plants can be utterly different from each other—each specially adapted to its particular environment. And the body image for a church doesn’t relate to our reason for being in the same way that the plant image does, either.

So sticking with plants, I’d like to move to considering another one that may have a bit more to do with our church’s Anglo-Saxon heritage; one called the Major Oak. I’ll explain why in a minute. … ^{(See p.4 below)}

Peter Pillinger is a Methodist from the UK, who is involved in the fresh expressions team in London. That’s a group exploring what they call fresh—or new expressions of being church. The jargon goes that we need a mixed economy church. Different age groups, different cultural groups, different interest groups each like to have their own specialised style of being church. Some like to meet in their homes; some in cafes; some out in nature. The mixed economy church tries to cater to these varieties in taste. So this parish of Stirling is very much a mixed economy parish.

**But in a talk that Peter Pillinger gave in Canberra, he talked not about the mixed economy church but about the mixed ecology church. He said mixed economy says it’s good to have what we have already. But mixed ecology, says that “in every niche of our society, there needs to be a Christian presence which is the right plant to be growing there. It has to shape itself to bring life to the ecological niche that it’s growing in.” And just as every ecological niche on the planet is interlinked, so this expression mixed ecology speaks about the inter-connectedness of the church.

That might sound a bit baffling. But Pillinger explains what he means by telling the story of the Major Oak; an ancient oak tree growing in Sherwood Forest which is over 800 years old. (John was King of England from 6/4/1199 until his death in 1216.)

The Major Oak is held up by beams which support its branches, steel hawsers suspending other branches, and a metal band around the trunk so that it doesn’t fall apart. It’s magnificent, and people reverence this ancient beast.

It’s still producing acorns, and every year, those acorns are gathered up and they’re planted in different countries around the world. And in every place where they are planted, they carry the DNA of the original tree. But the shape of each tree will be different depending on local environmental conditions.”

We need to imagine what Jesus wants us to do when he says we are branches of the vine which must bear fruit. What will our fruit enable? Amen.

“Ours are the eyes through which Christ’s compassion is to look out to the earth” St Theresa of Avila

It’s lovely to hear of the generous donations to Vanuatu’s cyclone appeals.

Archbishop Tutu describes this sort of generosity as compassionate love. ^{New Scientist 29 April 2006 p.48}

Archbishop Tutu says this ‘is about feeling with someone rather than just for them. …Compassion that comes from your intestines. But it’s more than just empathy. It is not just a static thing. You are moved by it. It must impel you to do something to try to change the situation that provoked it.’

I noted the ABC Radio National comment that war memorials are not enough; action is necessary or the memorials are a sham. ‘Our memorials don’t rise up against injustice. We rise up against injustice. We shirk that responsibility when we go to a memorial instead of doing something,’ ^{http://www.abc.net.au/radionational/programs/earshot/the-trouble-with-dark-tourism/6412726}

Active compassion!

Archbishop Tutu describes the way compassion works on us.
He says, ‘You try to put yourself in their shoes, to enter into their situation. … you may not be able to change their situation, but your compassion still goes out to the victim, and you try to stand side by side with them.

This sounds pretty basic. But then Tutu says we feel this compassion because of something in us that reflects the character of God. ‘So it’s in everyone, not just church-goers; because all people are created in the image and likeness of God who is compassionate.’ That’s a big statement: we’re compassionate not because of what we believe, but because of who created us—all of us. But does God really have this active sort of compassion?

In Holy Week and Easter we’ve explored the story of God acting in exactly this way; God looking at the plight of the suffering, oppressed, afflicted humanity, and feeling compassion that wants to change the situation; compassion that leads to action.

But there’s more. God’s change didn’t happen with a mighty arm smashing down oppressors and then raising up victims. Instead, God chose to enter into the situation of the oppressed; to become one of them. And we see a picture of the God who does that in today’s gospel. ‘I am the good shepherd,’ says Jesus, ‘The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep.’

What’s the point?

What’s the use of a dead shepherd?

Aren’t the sheep more vulnerable than ever if the shepherd dies? It’s not pointless. We experience suffering as a part of being mortal—it’s a part of who we are. We don’t like suffering, but without it, we aren’t whole people. Suffering is the great leveller—it’s immune to fear or favour. Whether someone hits me on the head or I forget to drink enough on a hot summer’s day, the end result is the same; I go to bed with a headache.

If God sent Jesus as a bodyguard who took away my attacker’s club, it may save me from a headache. But that doesn’t change anything really. The world stays the same and God is still remote. The bodyguard Jesus is immune, and while I’m spared, many other people aren’t. The God of that Jesus is choosey. That God has favourites. That God isn’t the real one.

So, no big Jesus the bouncer. Instead, God came in Jesus as someone who was just as vulnerable to a beating as we are; someone who probably also got dehydration headaches on those long journeys, and when he was out ministering to the crowds. The real Jesus is one of us in our vulnerability; and I’m so grateful that he is. Because then, even the tiniest child has a God who knows what it feels like to be them in their hard times; helpless and blameless when someone or something hurts them. By being the shepherd who is willing to lay down his life for us, Jesus is saying that he has compassion for us—that he is in our situation, feeling what we are feeling—wanting to change it.

He doesn’t want us to face our pain alone.

Our pain is not a weakness; it’s an integral part of who we mortals are. When Jesus says he’s the good shepherd who lays down his life for the sheep, he’s telling us that in our pain, in our fear, in our danger, in our brokenness and incompleteness, he is with us. He is an integral part of who we are too.

So he’s not asking us to break bits off ourselves and throw them away. He’s taking us as we are, and asking to enter our lives and show us how to love ourselves as he loves us. It is in receiving that love, from Jesus, from ourselves, and from each other that we move towards seeing that we are whole and wholly loveable. Then we can change and grow together with the one who knows us most deeply—the one who can transform our weakness into a wellspring of compassion and love just like his. The one who can help us discover that it is in our weakness that we discover compassion, and in our compassion that we discover ourselves as made in the image of the lovely God who is the real one.

Today’s scriptures tell us that Australia’s compassionate response to recent tragedies has something to do with who we really are. We are willing the restoration of a broken people’s wholeness. We are with them in their suffering. We are being Christ for them, and they are being Christ for us. We are diminished by their suffering, but find resurrection with them in their healing.

Christ has no body now on earth but yours, no hands but yours, no feet but yours, yours are the eyes through which Christ’s compassion is to look out to the earth, yours are the feet by which he is to go about doing good and yours are the hands by which he is to bless us now. Amen

St Theresa’s prayer again. And it might interest you to know that she’s the patron saint of those who suffer from headaches. Amen

What we just heard in the Gospel happened on the day Jesus rose from the dead.

It’s the same day the women went to the tomb at dawn and found it empty.

It’s the same day two of Jesus followers, walking to Emmaus, were joined by a stranger they didn’t recognise; a stranger who walked with them, talked deeply with them, but whom they didn’t recognise until he broke bread with them. … Then he vanished.

You’ll remember how they get up immediately and rush back to Jerusalem to find ‘the eleven’ and all the others, who are astounded, because they’ve just heard that the risen Jesus appeared to Peter! “The Lord has risen indeed,” they’re saying.

The two Emmaus travellers then tell everybody about their experience on the road. And it’s while they’re telling their story that Jesus suddenly stands among them and said, “Peace be with you.” … That’s where we just came into the story today.

It’s odd. Everyone’s just been saying how the Lord has risen, but when he does appear, they take him for a ghost—they’re terrified! I wonder if this is what severe shock and grief make you do. Didn’t CS Lewis say that grief felt just like fear. ^{A Grief Observed} But Jesus shows them he’s physically resurrected. Just like at Emmaus where he broke bread, he eats with them.

Another Gospel, John, tells us that the disciples huddle together behind locked doors, afraid that the authorities will come after them. I think Luke’s account also shows us how they struggle with fear—and struggle to take in these strange reports of “Jesus sightings”; wonder what it all means. Then suddenly, Jesus is there in their midst, “opening their minds,” (v.45) and he sets them free from their fear.

We need such transformation today. Today, this text challenges our own fears. What locked doors do we hide behind. Our fear may be very personal; fear of hearing the dreaded word “cancer;” fear of unemployment, the threat of financial insecurity, the fear of loneliness, and loss. But often our fears get played out at a national level. Australians fear being flooded with asylum seekers, terrorist attacks, identity theft, our way of life being destroyed. We need to be set free from these fears.

Underlying our fears is the fear of death, our own or that of someone we love. Our fears hold us captive. It makes it difficult to give witness to the great joy that is ours—that the bonds of death could not hold Jesus. Jesus is alive. Jesus suddenly stands among us and says, “Peace be with you.”

The power of the resurrection is the power to transform us—to take away the power that fear exercises in our lives, and in its place, to plant the seeds of life in all its fulness. ^{A life lived in fear is a life half lived—Strictly Ballroom}

The hope of the resurrection is grounded in the experience of those first followers. Jesus suddenly stands among them and says, “Peace be with you.” Nancy Blakely, a hospice chaplain, sees hope in this passage that closed minds can be opened—set free—a whole new way of life opened up. She says the potential is for a release in a prophetic way. “The word of God calls us to peace rather than security”.

Blakely sees that such a theme becomes problematic in a day and age when we get so driven by personal and national security issues. She asks if the attempts to keep us secure might actually be working against the peace that the world needs? ^{Blakely, N. R. (2008). Pastoral Perspective on Luke 24:36b–48. In D. L. Bartlett & B. B. Taylor (Eds.), Feasting on the Word: Preaching the Revised Common Lectionary: Year B (Vol. 2, p. 426). Louisville, KY; London: Westminster John Knox Press.}

Yes, hiding behind “locked doors” may help us feel more secure. But we are still left with our fears and mistrust. The passage from Luke asks the question of us today, “How are we to be released from those fears in order to be a proper witness?” How can we allow ourselves to be transformed so that we can hand on the peace that Christ’s resurrection offers us?

Jesus didn’t conquer death so people could continue living lives corralled by fear. Jesus rose from the dead and came back to us to give us Peace—peace of the active, creative kind—peace that sets us free to be our most creative, our most generous, our most enabling. Jesus rose from the dead and came back to us to give us Peace; a freedom that sets aside any constraint that might prevent us from passing it on—like we just saw him do today with his paralysed, grief-stricken, confused followers.

They’d given their lives to him, and when he died, they thought they’d lost everything. Jesus rose from the dead and came back to them to give them everything they thought they’d lost and much more: Abundant Life: peace, purpose, passion, hope, love, joy—all the qualities that let you live life to the full and make you want to enable others to do the same. Jesus came back from the dead to give us that kind of peace

Let me finish with a charge from St Teresa of Avila …

Christ has no body now on earth but ours,

no hands but ours, no feet but ours,

ours are the eyes through which Christ’s compassion is to look out to the earth,

ours are the feet by which Christ is to go about doing good

and ours are the hands by which Christ is to bless others now.

Amen