Lent 5A 2-4-2017 ^{Ez 37 1-14, Ps 130, Rm 8 6-11, Jn 11 1-45}

Lazarus Sunday has been very precious to me for a long time now. But it has become more so in the last few days. Every three years, we read this story on the Sunday before Palm Sunday. In the Holy Land, the traditional Palm Sunday procession into Jerusalem begins at Al ‘Azaria – Lazarus’s place – the Biblical village of Bethany, over the other side of the Mount of Olives. The march begins at Lazarus’s tomb – the place where, once upon a time, the people of that district were given a sign by Jesus that God’s love for us – God’s commitment to us – is a far greater force than death. The people of that place have never let the memory of this sign pass from knowledge.

On Palm Sunday twenty-one years ago, my family walked that road amongst an enormous throng of Christians from all the various Palestinian churches – and with a great many others who, like us, came from churches of all nations. Tragically, that way is now blocked by the separation wall, so most Palestinian Christians can’t get there any more to join in the march. But that’s a story for another time.

The story of Jesus raising Lazarus from death to life has been very much on my mind and in my heart over the past few days as we joined in the funeral in Papunya of one who died far too young. Just like in the story of Lazarus, the whole community joined with the family – supporting them in wave after wave of heart-broken wailing. I felt myself longing for the voice of Jesus to cry out again – to call our beloved friend back from death to life.

The people who gathered with Mary and Martha, Lazarus’s sisters, wept with them. The shared love and sadness of a whole community is moving and beautiful. This story tells us that Jesus joined with them in their weeping; that Jesus shares in our sadness as we mourn; Jesus also loves the one we mourn.

This story also tells us that Jesus risks more than just sharing in our sadness: when he decides to respond to the call of Mary and Martha, his disciples remind him of the danger that confronts him there. ⁷ Then after this he said to the disciples, ‘Let us go to Judea again.’ ⁸The disciples said to him, ‘Rabbi, the Jews were just now trying to stone you, and are you going there again?’

The American Lutheran scholar, Karoline Lewis reminds us of the extent of that danger. She writes that for John’s Gospel “… it is the raising of Lazarus to life that incites the plot for Jesus’ arrest and death ^{11:53, 57}. In the verses which follow today’s reading about the raising of Lazarus, ^11:46-57, the chief priests and the Pharisees are told what Jesus has done, and from that day on they planned to put him to death. More than that, the chief priests want to get rid of the evidence as well, and plan to put Lazarus to death since it was on account of him that many of the Jews were deserting and were believing in Jesus (^12:9-11). It is Jesus’ very claim, I am the resurrection and the life ^11:25 that provokes his death in the Fourth Gospel.”

I attend many funeral services – few like the one on Friday – but they all share a tension with this story from John’s Gospel. And unless the person who died was a person rich in years, the grief always has an element in it which says to Jesus what Martha and then Mary said to him. ²¹…‘Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died … if Jesus loves us – if Jesus wills it … why did this happen?

And into that tumult of feelings, and at the beginning of each funeral service, Jesus’s words cry out to us from this story: ²⁵…‘I am the resurrection and the life. Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live, ²⁶and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die. Do you believe this?’ He asks us all, and I guess the answer varies for each one of us, from one day to the next.

Martha shared a faith in resurrection which had been nurtured in large part by our reading from the prophet Ezekiel today – a vision of God’s power and will to raise the dead to life again – to restore us to our own soil, and to our families and our friends. Ezekiel is able to articulate how extraordinary that moment must be. Even after the vision of the bones coming together, the sinews, flesh and skin coming on them, and even the breath restoring them to life, God still refers to them as “these bones”. Ezekiel is telling me that their life and ours is entirely and always dependent on God – moment by moment. Without God, we are nothing but dry bones.

And then he addressed us directly:  ¹²  Thus says the Lord God: I am going to open your graves, and bring you up from your graves, O my people; and I will bring you back to the land of Israel. ¹³ And you shall know that I am the Lord, when I open your graves, and bring you up from your graves, O my people. ¹⁴ I will put my spirit within you, and you shall live, and I will place you on your own soil; then you shall know that I, the Lord, have spoken and will act, says the Lord.”

Then we will know. But for the moment, it’s important for us to ponder all these things a week out from Palm Sunday. These are the questions of our life, our death and what we make of these images and words which have shaped our faith and our values. What is our image of Jesus as we enter the week before his public self-offering? What is our understanding of resurrection? Ezekiel and Jesus both make a distinction between mere resurrection and the fulness of life. And so we need to ask ourselves what we are doing with the gift we share of breath. Are we living as apparently- living dry bones? If we are, can we hear the cry, calling us by name to come out to life? Will we come out? Amen

Revival – Lazarus, the Valley of Dry Bones and Us

I like making connections: it makes what seems dry and fragmented come alive and have meaning for me. Some people like to break ideas down into their component parts so that they can see how the concepts work. They’re analysts. I’m a synthesist: I like to grab bits from varied sources, and connect them all up into something unexpected which might make an energizing connection to us. Today I want to connect words of the hymns we are singing with the readings from Ezekiel and from John’s gospel, and see if that connection enlivens both the songs and the readings for us.

The hymn we sang before the gospel, “O breath of life, come sweeping through us” connects to the main themes of those two readings, but also to us and to our churches today. Five times in that hymn we have the word “revive”, and several times the related words “renew”, remake” and “restore”. The hymn makes it clear that it is the church and us that need revival through the Spirit, the breath of life and love. So the overall theme of this reflection is “revival”, and our readings provide us with two stark images of that. Through the word of the Lord, new life comes to what is very dead. When Jesus wants to open the tomb of Lazarus, Martha doesn’t hesitate to state the unpleasant reality: “Lord, already there is a stench because he has been dead four days.” Yet at the call of Jesus: “Lazarus, come out!” he walks from the tomb still in his shroud. The spirit of the Lord sets Ezekiel down in a valley that was full of dry bones. The prophet reports that the bones were very many and they were very dry. Yet as the prophet speaks the word of the Lord as directed by the Spirit, the dry bones in the valley come together, being covered with sinews and flesh. The prophet in obedience to the Lord calls the Spirit from the four winds to breathe upon them and they live. Ezekiel is given the vision of the valley of dry bones as a metaphor representing the kingdom of Israel; in verse 11 the Lord says: “Mortal, these bones are the whole house of Israel.” The notes to the New Oxford Annotated Bible say: ‘the bones are the exiles who have no more hope of resuscitating the kingdom of Israel than of putting flesh on a skeleton and calling it to life.” Yet the promise of God through the prophet is that “graves will be opened, the people brought up from the grave and brought back to the land of Israel.” So they experience not only revival, but also restoration to their home. In the story of Lazarus, there is also the sense of joyful restoration when the revived Lazarus welcomes Jesus to his house and table in chapter 12, and Mary anoints Jesus with oil in her gratitude. As we connect these powerful stories to ourselves and our church, we sing fervently the final lines of the hymn: “Revive us, Lord, the world is waiting/ equip your church to spread the light.”

Our opening hymn “Lord of creation, to you be all praise” speaks in two verses of freedom. Freedom and praise go hand in hand as recurring themes in Scripture. Jesus says to the family and friends of Lazarus at the mouth of the cave, “Unbind him and let him go.” This restoration of freedom reminds us of the slaves being liberated from Egypt in the Exodus, or the exiles being released from Babylon. Along with the liberation there is the sense of homecoming, a source of joy and gratitude: those in the Exodus come to the Promised Land, the exiles return to Jerusalem the Golden, Lazarus sits at table in his own home with his sisters and Jesus, and many are brought to faith because of him. These homecomings are the work of our great Creator God, who continually re-creates, restores, reconciles, redeems, resurrects – all those re- words that mean fresh life and hope come again, in the midst of death and despair. Israel is restored from exile, Lazarus is revived, and many come to belief in Jesus because of that. It sounds joyful and so it is, worthy of praise and gratitude to the Lord of creation. Yet the hymn makes clear that revival only works when we hand over who we are in trust to God. In different verses, the hymn says to God: “I give you my will, I give you my mind, I give you my heart, I give you my all.” That handing over to God and matching our will to God’s is very clear in Ezekiel’s obedient prophesying that brings new life to the kingdom of Israel pictured as dry bones.
However, enabling new life requires courage. Part of that courage is taking the risk of handing over to God, rather than trying to shape the future to our own ends. There’s courage too in risking ourselves on a journey whose destination we do not know. That brings us to the hymn with words by John Bunyan, “Who would true valour see/let him come hither”. John Bunyan himself was an example of those words. In 1678, while in prison for worshipping outside the auspices of the Church of England, he wrote the great work entitled The Pilgrim’s Progress from this World, to That Which is to Come. Bunyan’s title sums up the challenge facing Lazarus in coming out of the tomb, the challenge facing Jesus and his disciples as they move towards Jerusalem and his death and resurrection, and the challenge facing the returning exiles for whom Ezekiel the prophet is speaking. We know the return from exile was not easy, physically because of the rugged terrain they had to cross, and politically and spiritually because of the conflict between those who stayed and those who were exiled. Lazarus too faced a great risk in returning. He is still mortal and will have to go through the experience of death again: in fact his very revival has put him at risk of dying again soon. In John 12:9-11 it says: “When the great crowd of the Jews learned that he was there, they came not only because of Jesus but also to see Lazarus, whom he had raised from the dead. So the chief priests planned to put Lazarus to death as well, since it was on account of him that many were deserting and were believing in Jesus.” In other words, the raising of Lazarus put his life at risk, but also precipitated the authorities’ actions against Jesus which brought him to the cross.

Actually, once Jesus made the decision to return to Bethany, which was only 2 miles from Jerusalem, he and the disciples knew they were at risk of death by stoning, which had almost happened on their previous visit to Jerusalem for the Festival of the Dedication. When Jesus decides to go despite the disciples’ warning, Thomas shows the courage and love to say, “Let us also go that we may die with him.” Thomas shows the valour described in the Pilgrim hymn. “Those who beset them round/with dismal stories/cannot the brave confound:/their strength the more is”. This is a fine moment of shared valour, when Jesus and the disciples jointly make the choice to go to Bethany at the risk of death. The raising of Lazarus will be the reassuring sign for Jesus’ followers that death does not have the last word. When he is ready, he makes the journey, knowing it will be his last. The disciples follow, despite their fears for his safety and their own. They show us courage centred on faith, hope and love.
The tide of time is moving towards death, but also towards resurrection, the ultimate revival. As Bunyan’s hymn says in the third verse: “they know they at the end/shall life inherit.” This is the promise that Jesus shares with Martha when he arrives at the village. We have it in one of the great “I am” sayings of Jesus in John’s gospel: “I am the resurrection and the life. Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live…” These are the words we sing in verse 4 of the hymn “I am the bread of life”. In verse 5 of that hymn we share Martha’s affirmation of faith: Yes, Lord, I believe that you are the Christ, the Son of God who has come into the world.” The triumphant chorus of that hymn affirms the promise of resurrection: “And I will raise them up at the last day.”

Lent 4—Mothering Sunday 26-3-2017 Bridgewater ^{1 Sam 16 1-13 Ps 23 Eph 5 8-14 Jn 9 1-41}

For the third week in a row, we’ve read an extended story from John’s Gospel. Each one has been a story of someone meeting Jesus. And for each of them, it’s a life-changing encounter: so important that they go and tell others about it. It’s as if we can hear them say, “I’ve met Jesus; he’s changed my life, and no matter what people say, I will share this. Everyone needs a chance to meet Jesus, and I’m helping you to do just that.”

Two weeks ago, it was a leader of the Jewish religious establishment; a man called Nicodemus. He visited Jesus secretly at midnight ^{(Jn 3.1-17)}. Remember how baffled he was by Jesus? Jesus told Nicodemus that if he wanted to see the kingdom of God, he must be born again—born from above. Nicodemus didn’t get it then, but later on, he was re-born. Later we’d see him abandon his prestige and security and become one of Jesus’ disciples. ^{(Jn 7 & 19)}

Last week, it was a Samaritan woman. Perhaps a dubious personality in her own community, she met Jesus at Jacob’s well. This meeting happened at midday. As they talked, she came to see her own life through Jesus’ eyes. She was utterly transformed by the experience. She left her bucket at the well and hurried off to call everyone in her village to come and meet Jesus too.

Today, it’s the turn of a man who’s been blind from birth. We just heard how Jesus gave him his sight. The religious authorities feared Jesus. So they said they’d expel this man from his faith community unless he denounced Jesus as they did. But he refused to lie down and be walked over. And later, when he met Jesus again—and this second time, he could see him—he declared his belief in Jesus, and worshipped him.

So three people meet Jesus; three people who go out from that first meeting and tell others about Jesus—three people who try to help others meet Jesus – even when they’re under pressure to reject him. Nicodemus stuck up for Jesus in the face of his brother Pharisees ^{(Jn 7)}. The Samaritan woman ran to the community she’d seemed to avoid and called them to meet Jesus ^{(Jn 4)}. And today, the man born blind willingly accepts the life of an outcast if that’s what it’ll cost him to follow Jesus.

Each story challenges you and me to do the same – to say, “I’ve met Jesus; he’s changed my life, and no matter what people say, I will share this. Everyone needs a chance to meet Jesus, and I’m helping you to do just that.”

Someone must have done that for you – maybe your parents or brothers or sisters or friends. They must have thought, “I’ve met Jesus; he’s changed my life, and no matter what people say, I will share this. Everyone needs a chance to meet Jesus, and I’m helping you to do just that.” And then they made sure you did meet Jesus, just like they had.

It’s really important that we do this too – that we help people meet Jesus. Because people are shy. People who don’t know Jesus don’t often come here and ask us to introduce them to Jesus. Not with all the things people are saying and thinking about Jesus’ followers today.

You must have noticed how we’re called God botherers, flat-earthers and fanatics. Apparently everyone knows how we ram religion down unsuspecting people’s throats; how we all want to interfere with other people’s personal relationships, tell them who they can and can’t marry. We’re obsessed, apparently. So why would anyone bother to come here?

But don’t you wish they’d give it a try? I mean, for the third week in a row, we’ve seen Jesus meet someone and he hasn’t judged them or forced scripture down their throats. He’s simply given them his attention, his time and his love, and it’s turned peoples’ lives around – then, and ever since.

We’ve seen him do it: John has given us a ringside seat each time – really close so we can feel the peace and joy as his love prises open the chains of legalism and exclusion they’ve lived with all their lives. We’ve seen all this. So how will we respond? Isn’t it obvious? Is there anything to hold us back from sharing these stories with people we know?

People live with extraordinary stresses: people carry terrible burdens. We know Jesus sets people free from the tyranny of those burdens. He’s given us faith, hope and love – just like he did for Nicodemus, the Samaritan woman and the man born blind. We’ve heard from people in this parish who’ve shared their stories with us – and Jesus has transformed our lives too. If we know all that and we see another person struggle under burdens, don’t we invite them to meet Jesus? The Samaritan woman did it after knowing Jesus for five minutes. The man born blind did it before he even knew what Jesus looked like.

They met Jesus, and they invited other people to get to know him. We’ve met Jesus, so it’s obvious what we do next. Bring people here: fill this Church with people who have questions. We’ll discuss those questions. Fill this church with people who are burdened with fear or loneliness. We’ll spend time with them and leave off talking with close friends to some other time. Let’s help people meet Jesus, and let his love do it’s healing, freeing work in their lives.

“I’ve met Jesus; he’s changed my life, and no matter what people say, I will share this. Everyone needs a chance to meet Jesus, and I’m helping you to do just that.” Amen

Mothering Sunday Cake and Posy Blessing

 

God, giver of all joy:

We ask that you bless this cake and these posies,

that they may be to us

symbols of our communion with you and with each other.

As they were once scattered over our land

as blossoms and blooms, grasses, vines, trees and cane

yet are now one,

so let us in our diversity

be your one redeemed people,

and your delight. Amen.

 

The Power of Story and Symbol

What a feast of stories we are having from John’s gospel over these weeks of Lent –Nicodemus going by night to question Jesus, the encounter between Jesus and the Samaritan woman at the well, today the healing of the man blind from birth, and next week the raising of Lazarus. These extended stories with their vivid characters and dialogue bring the gospel alive in all its complex humanity. They engage us with people exploring difficult issues that are still relevant – the tension between legalistic and spirit led religious expression, liberation from gender and cultural stereotyping, the empowerment of women in ministry, a redemptive theology of suffering, the spiritual blindness of judgmentalism, healing as re-creation, death, grief and resurrection. The advantage of a story in exploring such deep and meaningful themes is that it shows the dilemmas and questions, the motivations and emotions. A story does not come to us with the black and white categorizing of dogma, but instead shows us the overlapping greys in a subtle and universal picture of people wrestling with faith and life. In the poem “Another Way of Seeing”, I wrote the following lines about the shift in our perspective given by stories, using the metaphor of looking at a landscape without my spectacles on:

I slip my glasses off and lift my eyes:

my gaze turns outward to a world grown blurred,

the edges softened and the shapes more strange.

Expected outlines shift before my eyes.

Here certainties dissolve and sight is drawn

to blends of colour and the wash of light.

The world is made like this with layered veils,

and stories patched like quilts, ambiguous

to naked eyes, and yet perhaps the lens

we look through tames awareness to plain sight.

We miss the warp of chaos, interlaced

in patterns underpinned and edged with grace.

Gospel stories and Jesus’ parables challenge our theological and cultural preconceptions. In other words, they take off the lenses through which we view the world. We see this happening at the very beginning of the story of the blind man. The disciples ask a question: “Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?” Here we have characters we identify with expressing a theological assumption that has had a damaging impact down the ages, and still does, the assumption that if someone is afflicted in some way, then they are being punished by God for sin. I was devastated as a young adult when my dear devout grandmother was diagnosed with breast cancer, and she asked the question: “What have I done to deserve this?” It’s a question that is ingrained in our thinking, but I was so sad that she agonized over whether she was being punished by God. Why would God punish a godly and loving lady who worked tirelessly for family and disabled children? It seemed to me that either God or our common view of God was at fault, not my grandmother. The theological explanation that suffering is a consequence of sin may have some validity at the level of the whole society, which I gather is the Jewish understanding. For example, pollution does have a causal link to cancer, and that knowledge helps in prevention. For the individual, blame by self or others is not helpful in facing affliction. Just imagine the number of times in which the man blind from birth and his parents faced the judgement and rejection implied in the disciples’ question. No wonder his parents were so fearful of being rejected yet again.

Why do we ask this angry or self-harming question: “Why me?” I guess it’s part of the search for meaning, but it often cripples that very search. For observers, like Job’s pastorally inept friends, the assumption that suffering is a punishment for sin is an attempt to distance themselves from the suffering, and assure themselves of their own safety. The theological assumption that suffering is a punishment from God is challenged dramatically and thoroughly in the book of Job. Jesus turns it upside down: “Neither this man nor his parents sinned; he was born blind so that God’s works might be revealed in him.” What a healing change in perspective for the afflicted man! God is not judging him but treating him as a special focus of grace. This is another case of God’s preferential option for the poor that we see throughout Scripture, and which the liberation theologians focus upon. As in the archetypal story of the Exodus, God liberates people from bondage, whether it be political or economic oppression, prejudice, rejection and marginalization, or physical, mental or spiritual disabling. As Mary says in her great liberation hymn, the Magnificat, God has “brought down the powerful from their thrones and lifted up the lowly.” That transposition is seen in this gospel story – the blind man is healed, the spiritual authorities who reject him and refuse to believe his story are seen to be spiritually blind, but resistant to awareness and healing. This creates an ironic new perspective from Jesus on the themes of sin and judgement. He says: “I came into the world for judgement so that those who do not see may see, and those who do see may become blind.” Some of the Pharisees near him heard this and said to him, “Surely we are not blind, are we?” Jesus said to them, “If you were blind, you would not have sin. But now that you say, “We see,” your sin remains.”

The healing of the blind man is a symbolic action which confronts the spiritual blindness of those who dare to judge both the man and Jesus, and who will not accept healing for their distorted view of religion. They invent every excuse to disbelieve the man’s story, and judge Jesus as sinful because he mixes mud and heals on the Sabbath. Over and over again, Jesus confronts the legalistic abuse of religious authority by healing on the Sabbath. He heals the woman bowed down by a spirit of bondage not only on the Sabbath but in the synagogue, and she stands up straight symbolically by publicly praising God in the synagogue, an action forbidden for a woman. There is a powerful symbolic aspect in all the key healing stories of Jesus. He liberates through healing the people marginalized and rejected by the society’s attitude to their affliction, and he heals the physical afflictions that parallel the spiritual malaise of the society. It is the society that is spiritually deaf, blind, crippled, leprous and possessed by destructive spirits. The physical or mental healings are symbolic of the healing needed in the people, the country, and particularly among the authorities. The contrast of the healing of the blind man and the conspicuous failure to hear, to see or to be healed among the religious establishment makes the point so powerfully.

Jesus underlines the symbolic aspects of this healing story in his use of the contrasting metaphors of day, night and light. He says: “We must work the works of him who sent me while it is day; night is coming when no one can work.  As long as I am in the world, I am the light of the world.” Another fascinating aspect of symbol in this story is the use of mud and washing in the healing process. Jesus’ mixing of dust with his own water, saliva, to make mud, and putting it on the man’s eyes suggests a new creation aspect to the healing. Just as creatures were formed from the earth, so this man’s eyes are transformed through earth and living water. The washing suggests baptism and rebirth, but also empowers the man to take part in his own healing. It’s a symbolic enactment of what Jesus says to other people he heals: “Your faith has made you whole.”

There are so many layers of meaning in this story that we could keep on exploring them all morning. Perhaps we can already begin to see how a story engages us with developing an authentic theology of experience, rather than an inherited and unexamined theology. A story asks us to empathize, and to connect to our own related stories. The stories that Jesus told and the stories that he lived out with others have a unique capacity to overturn our expectations, and so to unsettle our preconceptions. If we were challenged on those grounds in debate, we would become defensive and entrenched in our position, but a story sneaks up on us, seeking our identification with that which will open us up to transformation. That is the power of Jesus’ parables but also of these beautifully crafted stories in John’s gospel.

Lent 4—Mothering Sunday 26-3-2017 Bridgewater

1 Sam 16 1-13 Ps 23 Eph 5 8-14 Jn 9 1-41

For the third week in a row, we’ve read an extended story from John’s Gospel. Each one has been a story of someone meeting Jesus. And for each of them, it’s a life-changing encounter: so important that they go and tell others about it.

It’s as if we can hear them say, “I’ve met Jesus; he’s changed my life, and no matter what people say, I will share this. Everyone needs a chance to meet Jesus, and I’m helping you to do just that.”

Two weeks ago, it was a leader of the Jewish religious establishment; a man called Nicodemus. He visited Jesus secretly at midnight (Jn 3.1-17).

Remember how baffled he was by Jesus? Jesus told Nicodemus that if he wanted to see the kingdom of God, he must be born again—born from above. Nicodemus didn’t get it then, but later on, he was re-born. Later we’d see him abandon his prestige and security and become one of Jesus’ disciples. (Jn 7 & 19)

Last week, it was a Samaritan woman. Perhaps a dubious personality in her own community, she met Jesus at Jacob’s well. This meeting happened at midday. As they talked, she came to see her own life through Jesus’ eyes. She was utterly transformed by the experience. She left her bucket at the well and hurried off to call everyone in her village to come and meet Jesus too.

Today, it’s the turn of a man who’s been blind from birth. We just heard how Jesus gave him his sight. The religious authorities feared Jesus. So they said they’d expel this man from his faith community unless he denounced Jesus as they did. But he refused to lie down and be walked over. And later, when he met Jesus again—and this second time, he could see him—he declared his belief in Jesus, and worshipped him.

So three people meet Jesus; three people who go out from that first meeting and tell others about Jesus—three people who try to help others meet Jesus – even when they’re under pressure to reject him. Nicodemus stuck up for Jesus in the face of his brother Pharisees (Jn 7). The Samaritan woman ran to the community she’d seemed to avoid and called them to meet Jesus (Jn 4). And today, the man born blind willingly accepts the life of an outcast if that’s what it’ll cost him to follow Jesus.

Each story challenges you and me to do the same – to say, “I’ve met Jesus; he’s changed my life, and no matter what people say, I will share this. Everyone needs a chance to meet Jesus, and I’m helping you to do just that.”

Someone must have done that for you – maybe your parents or brothers or sisters or friends. They must have thought, “I’ve met Jesus; he’s changed my life, and no matter what people say, I will share this. Everyone needs a chance to meet Jesus, and I’m helping you to do just that.” And then they made sure you did meet Jesus, just like they had.

It’s really important that we do this too – that we help people meet Jesus. Because people are shy. People who don’t know Jesus don’t often come here and ask us to introduce them to Jesus. Not with all the things people are saying and thinking about Jesus’ followers today.

You must have noticed how we’re called God botherers, flat-earthers and fanatics. Apparently everyone knows how we ram religion down unsuspecting people’s throats; how we all want to interfere with other people’s personal relationships, tell them who they can and can’t marry. We’re obsessed, apparently. So why would anyone bother to come here?

But don’t you wish they’d give it a try? I mean, for the third week in a row, we’ve seen Jesus meet someone and he hasn’t judged them or forced scripture down their throats. He’s simply given them his attention, his time and his love, and it’s turned peoples’ lives around – then, and ever since.

We’ve seen him do it: John has given us a ringside seat each time – really close so we can feel the peace and joy as his love prises open the chains of legalism and exclusion they’ve lived with all their lives. We’ve seen all this. So how will we respond? Isn’t it obvious? Is there anything to hold us back from sharing these stories with people we know?

People live with extraordinary stresses: people carry terrible burdens. We know Jesus sets people free from the tyranny of those burdens. He’s given us faith, hope and love – just like he did for Nicodemus, the Samaritan woman and the man born blind.

We’ve heard from people in this parish who’ve shared their stories with us – and Jesus has transformed our lives too. If we know all that and we see another person struggle under burdens, don’t we invite them to meet Jesus? The Samaritan woman did it after knowing Jesus for five minutes. The man born blind did it before he even knew what Jesus looked like.

They met Jesus, and they invited other people to get to know him. We’ve met Jesus, so it’s obvious what we do next. Bring people here: fill this Church with people who have questions. We’ll discuss those questions. Fill this church with people who are burdened with fear or loneliness. We’ll spend time with them and leave off talking with close friends to some other time. Let’s help people meet Jesus, and let his love do it’s healing, freeing work in their lives.

“I’ve met Jesus; he’s changed my life, and no matter what people say, I will share this. Everyone needs a chance to meet Jesus, and I’m helping you to do just that.”

Amen

Mothering Sunday Cake and Posy Blessing

God, giver of all joy:
We ask that you bless this cake and these posies,
that they may be to us
symbols of our communion with you and with each other.
As they were once scattered over our land
as blossoms and blooms, grasses, vines, trees and cane
yet are now one,
so let us in our diversity
be your one redeemed people,
and your delight. Amen.

Lent 3A

^{19-3-17 A & C}

^{Jesus and the Samaritan woman at the well}

^{John 4.5-42}

We can easily think of two other Samaritans connected with Jesus. There was the Good Samaritan of the parable ^{(Lk 10)} and the only one of the ten Lepers healed who thanked Jesus ^{(Lk 17)}. And now there’s this woman. They’re all very positive pictures.

But Samaritans were outsiders: Jews and Samaritans didn’t get on at all. Samaritans were very unorthodox Jews. Their Passover was celebrated on Mt Gerizim near Nablus / Shechem – not in Jerusalem. They revered different scriptures; only the Torah. Yet even that was a version with about 6,000 differences from the Jewish one. Samaritans were hated outsiders. Yet in the Gospels, these outsiders seem to understand and receive the truth about Jesus very clearly. So how are the gospel-writers looking to affect us with these stories? To be tolerant, for sure; but how do they explain why we should? What’s John trying to tell us through this story?

Today’s is a story which calls up very rich associations. And we shouldn’t expect anything less of John’s Gospel. First, we’re told that the encounter happens at Jacob’s well in Samaria. Jacob also had something to do with another well. He met his future wife Rachel by a well in the land of the people of the east ^{Gen 29}. Samaritans are ethnically at least partly from the East. When Assyria conquered Israel, they forcibly populated it with settlers drawn from cities in an area we now call Iraq. So it’s no wonder the indigenous and settler populations had an ancient, deep hatred for each other. But I digress. The point is that this is foreign soil for Jesus too.

So today’s gospel presents us with Jesus, another lone Jewish man in a foreign land, meeting a lone foreign woman at a well named for Jacob. This woman will also provide water from the well to drink. Marriage will again be a significant topic. And seasoned listeners will know that the other, earlier well in the Jacob story ^{Gen 29} had a large stone covering its mouth; a stone which had to be rolled away to provide the gathered flock with its life-giving water. John evokes that ‘stone rolled away’ image deliberately; John always has lots of irons in the fire.

We’re told it was about noon. Do you remember last Sunday’s encounter between Jesus and his visitor, Nicodemus? It was night time then. Today’s story happens in broad daylight. Jesus isn’t hiding this meeting with an outsider like Nicodemus did. Such a meeting would have caused great scandal among the Jews. (cf Jn 8.48 they accuse Jesus of being a Samaritan and having a demon). It sure shook his disciples!

So a focus of this story is Jesus’s ministry among people considered to be “outsiders.” Jesus does some extraordinary border-crossing in this story. For a start, he enters Samaria, then he starts a conversation with an unaccompanied Samaritan woman, and finally, he even accepts two days’ hospitality from the Samaritan community. None of this was thinkable in decent Jewish society.

Jesus asks this woman for water. In today’s Psalm 95, it’s God who provides life-giving water. In today’s story, this ‘heretic’ woman gives water to Jesus. Later, she will take the water of life – the good news of Jesus – to her village. By this stage in the gospel, her only equals as witnesses to Jesus are John the Baptist and Mary.

And another extraordinary thing; Jesus and this woman have a serious theological discussion. She knows her traditions. She’s waiting for the coming Messiah. In the synagogues, men and women sat separately. Here at the well, Jesus and this woman sit and speak together about the things of God. These are big changes.

And as a theologian, she’s no slouch. She misunderstands Jesus at first. But that’s no surprise. Pretty well everyone in John’s gospel looks rather silly when they first do theology with Jesus. This woman makes much faster progress than most. She moves from scornful sounding doubt:

¹² Are you greater than our ancestor Jacob, who gave us the well, and with his sons and his flocks drank from it?”

to a partial understanding, but still feisty:

¹⁹ The woman said to him, “Sir, I see that you are a prophet. ²⁰ Our ancestors worshipped on this mountain, but you say that the place where people must worship is in Jerusalem.”

and on towards the truth

²⁵ The woman said to him, “I know that Messiah is coming” (who is called Christ). “When he comes, he will proclaim all things to us.”

and once he’s identified himself, she rushes to her city to share the good news.

²⁸ Then the woman left her water jar and went back to the city. She said to the people, ²⁹ “Come and see a man who told me everything I have ever done! He cannot be the Messiah, can he?”

The really exciting thing about this story is that the most unexpected person can become the bearer of the greatest news of all – that the divine gift – living water; eternal life – is something an outsider can bear for the world. Something that the Stations of the Cross reminds me every Lent is that we’re all foreigners really. And yet we can be the means by which people can discover what those Samaritans soon proclaimed: ⁴²“we know that this is truly the Saviour of the world.”

The beginning is breaking down barriers – being open to laying aside our preconceptions and our certainties. That’s the heart of our Lenten study series this year. People who are treated as foreigners in their own land – Aboriginal Christians – are introducing us to a Jesus we never knew.

What do you think will be next? Let’s have a few moments of silence to ponder that question, then I’ll lead us in an anonymous prayer.

---

Five-finger prayer

This prayer can be a model for the children’s prayers.

Have them draw around one hand on a sheet of plain paper.

Go over what each finger can represent

When they pray:

• thumb – friends and family
• index finger – people who help you learn about God and Jesus
• middle finger – leaders in our community and the world
• ring finger – people who help persons in need
• little finger – ourselves

Have the children write these categories on the fingers. If time, pray together using the five-finger prayer.

 

 

O Jesus,

Image of the invisible God,

Word made flesh,

tired stranger,

waiting in the noonday lull

at Jacob’s well.

Are we all

the woman with her water-jar,

bent on the chore of the moment,

angry memories in our bones,

our thirst for God

hidden in the business of the day?

Do you meet us gently too,

hardly recognized,

quietly leading our thoughts

towards the deeper waters,

where our souls find rest?

Probing too,

uncovering secrets

we would rather forget.

“Lord, you have probed me,

You know when I sit and when I stand,

You know my thoughts from afar.”

Is the woman,

sure and strong,

our reflection:

sure but unsure,

strong but so weak,

seeking but afraid to find

our Saviour so close by?

Amen

^{Author unknown}

The Samaritan Woman at the Well

Some people still use passages of Scripture as evidence that women should not be priests or pastors. Women, like me, who believe that they are called to ministry, find support for that conviction in several of the gospel stories in which we see women inspired by Jesus to act as ministers and leaders.

Today we have heard one such story. After her transforming encounter with Jesus, the Samaritan woman goes out to testify to her community, and to evangelize – to bring people to Jesus. She leaves behind her water jug, having been offered the gift of living water springing up within her, the gift of the Spirit, the gift of God’s grace which brings her new life, and satisfies the thirst for understanding and love which has gone unsatisfied through a series of relationships with men.

Even though this promiscuous lifestyle has meant that most people don’t want to associate with her, she goes in public and alone to speak to people in the town, testifying to Jesus, and asking whether or not he might be the Messiah.

She is one of several women in the gospels whose stories provide the Scriptural authority for women to be priests and ministers, at least in the opinion of many who support women’s ministry.

Admittedly, those stories are set against some of the statements in the Pauline letters, that women should not teach in church, or be in positions of leadership, but even the Pauline literature provides examples of women who appear to have been leaders of house churches and evangelists, Priscilla, Lydia and Junia amongst others.

Women in the gospel stories perform various roles included in the job description of a minister: proclaiming the good news in public, bearing witness, testifying and evangelizing, debating with Jesus publicly about theology and healing, learning at Jesus’ feet along with the disciples, being called by the risen Christ to an apostolic task, and enacting a priestly ritual.

Let’s put the Samaritan woman’s story into the context of the experience of these other women. The woman in Mark’s gospel who anointed Jesus’ head with oil was led by the Spirit to perform this priestly and prophetic rite. Jesus said that she was preparing his body beforehand for burial, which would be enacted prophecy. Anointing of the head with oil by a prophet or a priest is the way in which kings and priests were acknowledged as the ones chosen by God. People present were angry with her, supposedly for her extravagance, but also I imagine for putting herself forward to perform this anointing ritual in public. It must have seemed both embarrassingly intimate, and trespassing on priestly prerogatives. Yet, Jesus said she had performed a good service for him, and that she would be remembered for it wherever the gospel is told. We don’t know if this was the same woman and the same incident as that described in John’s gospel, chapter 12, when Mary of Bethany anointed Jesus’ feet with oil and wiped them with her hair, in thanksgiving for the raising of her brother Lazarus from the dead. We know that this Mary sat at Jesus’ feet, learning from him as a disciple, despite the disapproval of her sister, Martha, who wanted her to do women’s work instead. Later, Martha herself joined the ranks of women leaders among Jesus’ followers, publicly proclaiming Jesus as Messiah just as Peter did, and receiving important teaching about the resurrection.

Other women speak out in public places of worship, proclaiming Jesus and praising God. Luke in chapter 2, verse 38, tells us about Anna, the prophet in the temple, who greets Jesus as a baby and goes “to speak about the child to all who were looking for the redemption of Jerusalem”. The woman healed of a spirit of bondage in the synagogue stands up straight and begins praising God publicly, a symbol of what Jesus did for all women, giving them a voice and releasing them from bondage, in religion and in society. Mary Magdalene was commissioned by Jesus to bear witness to the resurrection, acting as the apostle to the apostles. Women, including Jesus’ mother Mary, are part of the group in the upper room to whom the Spirit comes at Pentecost, to prepare them for leadership in the early church.

As for the Samaritan woman at the well, some commentators call her the first Christian missionary. It seems clear that the woman, after her life changing encounter with Jesus, goes back into her community and tells everyone about him, causing crowds to come out to see and hear him for themselves. We are told in verse 39 that ‘many Samaritans from that city believed in him because of the woman’s testimony: “He told me everything I have ever done.”’ Actually in Greek it says that the people began to believe because of the “word” of the woman. The word for “word”, “logos” is significant, because it also refers to the Wisdom of God, and Jesus himself. Usually in the gospels the only person to speak “logos” is Jesus, but two women do as well – the Samaritan woman in her proclaiming of the good news of Jesus to her community, and the Syro-phoenician woman, who argues with Jesus to get him to heal her daughter. Jesus says to that woman that it is because of the word or “logos” which she speaks, that her daughter is released from the demon possessing her.

The Syro-phoenician woman and the Samaritan woman have much in common. Both would normally be ignored by a Jewish religious man like Jesus because of their gender, because of their ethnic origins, and because of their life style. Jesus interacts with these women on an equal footing when they speak out and challenge him, rather than rejecting them as his society would have expected. In fact, he sets up a situation in which they are given the opportunity to speak to him as an equal. With the Syro-phoenician woman, he acts at first according to his society’s religious and social prejudices, saying that food is to be given to the children, that is the Jews, and not to the dogs, such as this Gentile woman. It’s a pretty confronting comment, but then she has come in from the streets, a woman travelling alone in public and accosting him in a private house. Also she comes from a place known for its licentious behaviour, and she speaks in the elegant cadences of a courtesan. The woman does not accept his harsh statement, which is perhaps a challenge to respond rather than a brush-off. She answers him cleverly, saying that even the dogs under the table get the crumbs. He seems to value her cleverness as well as her courage and faith, and he empowers her by attributing the healing of the daughter to her word, not his power.

With the Samaritan woman he asks for a drink of water, which breaches two taboos of his culture. A Jewish man on his own should not speak to a woman in a public place. A Jew would not share a drinking vessel with a Samaritan, because they were held in contempt for their religious differences. The woman challenges him on both these points. Like the Syro-phoenician woman, this woman is alone in a public place. She has gone to the well alone at noon, rather than joining with a group of women going there in the cool of the day. That in itself is an indication that she does not live by the accepted standards of propriety in her society. It seems that the Samaritan woman is a promiscuous woman by her society’s standards, therefore an outcast. Jesus doesn’t hesitate to name the situation: “You’ve had five men, and the one you’ve got now isn’t yours.” The word translated “husband” in our version can mean either man or husband in Greek.

As with the many tax collectors and sinners who sat at table with him, Jesus offers hospitality to this woman. Instead of the drink he asked for, which she is uncomfortable about giving, he offers her living water, the Spirit of God, the source of eternal life. Instead of her attempt to contrast Samaritan ideas of right worship on the mountain with Jewish temple worship, he offers her a new way of worship in spirit and in truth, a way that does not exclude those of diverging backgrounds but rather includes even someone like her. Perhaps the gift that makes the most difference to her, the thing that stands out in her testimony about him , is his knowing of everything she has ever done, and the fact that he still values her and wants her to understand his truth. He understands fully who she is and yet he does not hide who he is from her. When she speaks of the Messiah who is coming, he answers “I am he, the one who is speaking to you.” He wants her to know him, and the Samaritan woman receives what he offers, and is she transformed. She goes to the people who have excluded her, and she tells them that she has met a man who knows her fully and yet includes her. She asks them the question to which she already knows the answer, “He cannot be the Messiah, can he?” They have to go to find out for themselves. He stays with them for a while, and they listen and relate to him as she did. They come to accept, first on her word, and then on his word, that he is truly the Saviour of the world.

Are we as ready as the Samaritan woman was to know Jesus fully and to be fully known, and to receive the gift of grace, the living water that satisfies our deepest longings?

Lent 2 a
^{A & C
12-3-2017
John 4.1-21, Gen 12 1-4, Ps 121, Rm4 1-17}

Nicodemus visits Jesus in the night

We’ve heard stories of two people today who risk everything on the basis of am impossible challenge. There’s Abraham, who leaves everything to obey God, and Nicodemus, who visits Jesus in the night. He’s our subject today.

Like others in Jerusalem, Nicodemus had seen the signs Jesus has performed. He may well have been there when Jesus cleared the Temple of the people selling birds and animals for sacrifice, and the money changers. Fascinated by this man, he arranges to meet Jesus. But he’s not game to be publicly associated with Jesus. Jesus cleansing the Temple might have been called a terrorist act these days – or the act of some fanatic from a religious fringe group. So Nicodemus visits Jesus, but secretly, in the night.

Nicodemus is just like many people here – educated, committed and faithful, and with a respected position in the community – a reputation that’s taken years to earn. Who here would visit a revolutionary new spiritual teacher like this in broad daylight? Would you meet with Jesus at Essence or Ruby’s on Wednesday morning for coffee? Might be noticed! What would they say?

So yes, Nicodemus visits Jesus in the night. John’s Gospel makes a lot of the symbolism of light and darkness. Think of the last few verses from today’s gospel: ‘¹⁹And this is the judgement, that the light has come into the world, and people loved darkness rather than light because their deeds were evil. ²⁰For all who do evil hate the light and do not come to the light, so that their deeds may not be exposed. ²¹But those who do what is true come to the light, so that it may be clearly seen that their deeds have been done in God.’

Maybe Jesus meant Nicodemus chose to come out from the darkness – came to the light of Jesus; so he was somebody who does what is true.

If so, he was right. But poor Nicodemus got more than he bargained for. No sooner had he paid his respects to Jesus than he was utterly confounded by a saying about being born from above – born anew – born again. He took it literally – and who wouldn’t without a lifetime of teaching on Christian baptism. Jesus takes him off into another realm of understanding about being born not of his mother, but of the Spirit. You’d think that with such obscure sounding teaching, Jesus would never see Nicodemus again.

And maybe he doesn’t; but we do – twice. The first time, Nicodemus risks his reputation when he challenges his fellow Pharisees; they want to haul Jesus before a kangaroo court^{(ch 7)}. The next time, he joins Joseph of Arimathea burying Jesus’s body. By doing so abandons his ritual purity ^{(ch 19)}. So he won’t be able to participate in the Passover the next day. That’s like a priest on Holy Saturday deciding to give up the chance to celebrate Easter the next day.

Nicodemus also gives up as any pretence to secrecy. He is by now so deeply a disciple of Jesus that even after Jesus’s execution – which made other disciples run away and hide in fear and doubt – he has become so profoundly a disciple of Jesus that he risks any social standing he has to pay his last respects. The Spirit has done just what Jesus said; she breathed where she chose, and Nicodemus was born anew; born again; born from above.

But that takes us several weeks down the track, doesn’t it. What about now? As we journey down that track? Does Nicodemus’s visit to Jesus in the night have something to say to us, who are like him in so many ways? I think it must.

It’s sometimes really tricky for us to have our faith identity and our social identity open to view at the same time. They don’t necessarily match.

At our soup supper, we discussed where we get our identity from: our family, faith community, nationality, career, things we do with friends, our language, where we live, things that we’re passionate about, things we love about people and things we hope people love about us. It’s quite a mixture, isn’t it. And we protect these things; we don’t want them laughed at or called into question. An attack on the things that make us who we are is really threatening.

Sometimes our faith identity and personal identity can contradict each other. We’re finding in our Soup Suppers how our national identity and the plight of fellow Christians who are Aboriginal are deeply at odds. Our studies are giving us the chance to hear the stories of faithful Aboriginal Christians; to read the same scriptures as these brothers and sisters through the same set of glasses. And that experience brings us all into the presence of Jesus together.

And that’s the point. Jesus came for us all – for the whole world. We heard him say it this morning: ¹⁶ ‘…God loved the world in this way: he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life. ¹⁷ ‘Indeed, God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him.

No-one is left out of God’s love; God sent Jesus in order that the world might be saved. Was it that insight which made Nicodemus choose to risk his identity – career, friendships and social standing – to rethink his own people’s whole reason for being? This son of Abraham made the same choice as his ancestor. He left everything to follow God wherever the breath of the Spirit might lead. The purpose was the same: that all families of the Earth – the whole world – might receive God’s blessing. May we be courageous enough disciples to follow these very clear examples! It’s about God’s Grace; God’s Love. Everyone needs it and we are the chosen vessels. Amen

Nicodemus and the Importance of Questions

When I went to an EFM group here with John Stephenson, and then on to a Bachelor of Theology, one of my most liberating discoveries was that I was free to question who God is, what Scripture means, who I am, and what makes life worthwhile.

There might not be simple answers, or the answers might change as I change, but the questions open doors to transformation for me.

Our Clinical Pastoral Education centre director, Les Underwood, always says to our groups that asking the right questions is more important than finding the right answers.

Richard Rohr, in a foreword to John Dear’s book The Questions of Jesus, writes: “I am told, for example, that Jesus only directly answers 3 of the 183 questions that he himself is asked in the four Gospels! (I will let you find them!) This is totally surprising to people who have grown up assuming that the very job description of religion is to give people answers and to resolve peoples’ dilemmas.

Apparently this is not Jesus’ understanding of the function of religion because he operates very differently.”

Rohr goes on to say: “Instead, Jesus asks questions, good questions, unnerving questions, re-aligning questions, transforming questions.  He leads us into liminal, and therefore transformative space, much more than taking us into any moral high ground of immediate certitude or ego superiority. He subverts up front the cultural or theological assumptions that we are eventually going to have to face anyway.  He leaves us betwixt and between, where God and grace can get at us, and where we are not at all in control.” Later Rohr says: “Easy answers instead of hard questions allow us to try to change others instead of allowing God to change us.  At least, I know that is true in my life.”
The dialogue between Nicodemus and Jesus is a powerful example of the importance of questions to and from Jesus. I want to illustrate that by reading a portion of a letter I imagined Nicodemus writing to other faith leaders:

“I address this letter to several of those I consider most open-minded in matters of religion. Like me, you have probably been examining the teaching of Jesus of Nazareth, trying to decide if he is misleading the people. As I listened to him, I began to ask myself whether he is challenging us, as the prophets did, to see that there is something missing or distorted in our present understanding and practice of who we are as people of God. Do we need to change our perspective? Until I had heard Jesus speak, I had been quite content to follow in what I believed to be the ways of the law and the teaching of the prophets. Jesus made me more aware of the great principles in our Scriptures that are the essence of the law and the prophetic writings. In Deuteronomy 6:5 and Leviticus 19:18, we are instructed to love God and to love our neighbour. That love is the basis of everything. The prophets have frequently reminded our people of that. In Jesus, perhaps that love of God and neighbour is fully expressed.”

The more I thought about Jesus, the more I felt disturbed by awkward questions.

As a Pharisee, have I got my priorities wrong? If I practice the letter of the law but use that legalism as a substitute for love of God and neighbour, do I focus on a superficial conformity, and lose the Spirit that is meant to give it life?

New life in the Spirit is what Jesus spoke to me about in challenging terms when I went to see him the other night in secret, trying to get some answers.

He said, “Are you a teacher of Israel and yet do not understand these things?” At the time, I felt quite angry that he could dare to challenge me so. I have spent my life studying the law, yet he said that he and his followers have a different kind of knowledge. He said to me: “We speak of what we know and testifies to what we have seen, and yet you do not receive our testimony.”

He claims to have knowledge from his experience that was more immediate and compelling than anything I had found in my studies. He looks at things through different eyes, and he believes he sees the kingdom of God from the inside. He says it’s like being reborn. I tried to resist that idea, making fun of the thought of going back in the mother’s womb and being born again. Yet I could see in him something I wanted to experience for myself. I ask myself: Can I experience this new life in the Spirit? Is there a spiritual reality that could make my life more meaningful and connected to God’s purposes?

If I come to accept Jesus’ teaching fully, it would change everything. One minute I believe that this change is life giving and I want to embrace it. The next minute, it all becomes overwhelming because it affects my understanding of God so deeply and it asks me to make a commitment that could be dangerous. I see in Jesus’ face the knowledge that being true to his convictions might cost him his life and that his followers might be equally at risk. I’m not sure I would be ready to be counted as his follower when other religious leaders decide they want to be rid of the challenge he represents. Sometimes I wish I had never heard of Jesus. However, I can’t help but ask myself: Do I merely want my religious practices to be comfortable and familiar, or do I really want to discover new life and enter the kingdom of God?

I wonder about what new life in the Spirit might mean to me, I hope that as I write I will gain the courage and confidence to support Jesus publicly.

I am coming to believe that Jesus does not undermine old truths, but reinterprets them in ways that can change lives. His teaching is consistent with the tradition, particularly that of the prophets, but he makes tradition meaningful and alive in ways that bring us fresh possibilities.

Micah says that being right with God is to do justice and to love kindness and to walk humbly with our God. When I talk with Jesus, I feel as if I see the power of loving kindness and justice. When I allow myself to walk humbly with Jesus, I realize that he is the living answer to my questions about what it means to be born from above, born of the spirit and able to see the kingdom of God. He said that “what is born of the flesh is flesh and what is born of the Spirit is spirit”. Flesh and Spirit are not in opposition, as some of the Greek philosophers believe. Our Jewish understanding is that flesh and spirit are a united whole, but flesh without Spirit is dead. That’s why we think of the Spirit as breath or wind. You can’t see it, but a body without breath is dead, and our world without wind to bring the rain would be a desert.

We believe that our God is Lord of the seen and the unseen, yet too often we focus only on what is seen, which we can predict and control. The unseen is mystery and risk. Like the wind, it comes and goes unpredictably. To be born of the Spirit is to be responsive to what is unseen, to be moved by this energy from God which cannot be limited or controlled.

That is what I sense in Jesus, this strong link to the energy of God which creates and shapes the world in ways we cannot control. Yet our religion often seems to want to control people and to limit our relationship to God to the example of the past, the traditions of worship and Scripture interpretation. Yet God is not contained and defined by our boxes. The big question for me is this: Am I ready to follow Jesus beyond my comfort zone? I wonder what questions arise for you as you examine the teaching of Jesus and this letter.

Lent 1 A 5-3-2017

^{Gen 2 15-17 & 3 1-7, Ps 32, Rom 5 12-21, Mt 4 1-11}

Today we’ve heard two very familiar stories from the scriptures – a pigeon pair – about people tempted to abandon their loyalty to God. The story from Genesis often gets described as the story of “The Fall” – or the story of “Original Sin”. It’s about the first humans being tempted to ignore God’s warning about forbidden knowledge, and then what happens when they give in to that temptation. So it’s about humanity’s loss of innocence; about our expulsion from paradise – becoming strangers to God, and about the origin of death. We might call it the story of becoming strangers.

A Canadian Theologian, William Danaher wrote that in this Genesis story, human flourishing is compromised. It’s a tragedy. Trust is eroded, loyalty is abandoned – people who were faithful people, faithful friends, suddenly become strangers, not only to God, but to each other and even to their own selves as well. When we act on a choice like this, somehow we stop being the people we knew we were only moments earlier.

It’s a terrible spot to get into. Betrayal always leads to destructive silence; a secret loneliness that alone we have no strength to overcome. As the Psalmist says, whilst I held my tongue; my bones wasted away … your hand was heavy on me day and night. Yet we’ve heard today that there is a way back from it. Paul stressed it again and again today. No matter what lie has been told; no matter what a stranger we’ve become to those we love and who love us, and even to our true selves, the free gift of Jesus’s integrity and grace offers us the way back.

The joy of this experience is beyond normal language to tell, but as ever, the Psalmist knows the words; whoever puts their trust in the Lord, mercy embraces them on every side.

The Gospel story of Jesus’ temptation in the Judean wilderness is the pigeon pair to the story from Genesis – a mirror in which much is reversed. Where there was the lush Garden of Eden, now there’s a harsh, dangerous desert. There, two people with all they needed; now Jesus alone and at the brink of survival. And the temptation to ignore God’s words is more sophisticated; now it’s presented as a temptation to hear God’s words falsely; to imagine they’re only about personal gain. The packaging is more sophisticated, but the basic temptation is the same; forget your loyalty; forget your integrity; forget your honesty and go for self-sufficiency, invulnerability and power and glory.

If we go down this path, can we see how it will lead us away from our own humanity? Everything precious to us is shared with our loved ones; it’s received with grateful joy, or suffered in the embrace of compassion. Outside of relationship, none of it has meaning. Knowing this, it’s clear how gross and destructive each of the temptations in the wilderness actually is. Each demands the abandonment of trust, of loyalty, the abandonment of being in relationship – in short, the abandonment of being truly human. And in the wilderness, Jesus withstands them all. We might call this the story of sticking with your friendships.

But for now the wilderness is the image we need to stick with. The desert is lonely and dangerous. Yet it is an essential place for us.

It’s the place we end up when we’ve succumbed to temptations which all derive from the temptations we’ve heard today – and they all lead to isolation. The emotions out in that wilderness are likely to move from bitter sadness through angry self-justification to overpowering self-pity – then back again. We’re tempted to give into those feelings – blame others for what we’ve done; choose to cut ties and go it alone – imagine how sorry they’ll be. It’s a place where we have to choose between becoming a monster, or going back and owning up to the idiot we’ve been.

The Spirit led Jesus into that wilderness – and he went.

This is not the only time Jesus went into the place of our weakness; our vulnerability. It’s the story of his life – his birth and his death. And we need to keep most firmly in view what those choices of his were for. If the Genesis story is one about becoming strangers, his story is about seeking us in the wilderness. As soon as he’s been baptised and commissioned, he marches straight out to us in our wildernesses – our desert; opening our eyes, un-stopping our ears, calling us back a sense of who and where we are. The desert isn’t something we can avoid or ignore. It’s part of every human life. We discover it in Lent as a space God allows – creates – to receive us. Our meeting place with God 

In the ABM Lenten desert reflections, Celia Kemp writes; …there is no space that God opens up in our lives that God doesn’t fill. The challenge is to leave the busy surfaces of our lives and enter the desert at our heart in the wild hope that a way may be prepared for us to see God. Amen.