Maiden speech for Synod (Anglican Diocese of Perth 2023)

Madam President, members of synod,

Gemma Baseley, Rector of St Paul’s Beaconsfield

I rise to move motion 17.7 on Modern Slavery, which stands in my name and is seconded by Revd Tim Russell from All Saints College, Bullcreek.

I first learned about modern slavery in 2001. At that time, it was estimated there were 21 million slaves in the world. In the past year, that figure reached 50 million.

The average price of a human in 2023 is 66 aussie dollars and, in the 5 minutes it takes me to move this motion, another 10 people will have been bought and sold, worldwide.

And while modern slavery and human trafficking is not as prevalent in Australia as it is elsewhere, there is not a single country in the world that isn’t impacted by this crime; either as a place where people are bought or sold, a route they are trafficked through, or somewhere complicit in buying the goods and services they are forced to create.

In Australia there are thought to be more than 41,000 people trapped in slavery but those working on the ground believe that even if you add a zero to that figure it would still be a conservative estimate. Here, the most common forms of slavery are forced labour in industries such as agriculture, horticulture, meat processing, and construction, forced marriage, and commercial sexual exploitation of adults and children.

And we are not excluded from this crime. Due to globalisation, products of slavery are prevalent in our homes. According to the Global Slavery Index, produced by the Minderoo Foundation, the most at risk products imported into Australia are computers, mobile phones, clothing and accessories, fish, rice and cocoa. These come to us via the hands of 16 million people enslaved and exploited by global supply chains. The problem is immense – so huge that it feels impossible to imagine, but each statistic has a name.

So, I stand here today on behalf of Miriam, who was trafficked from Nigeria to London, where she was bought by three different Christian families, over ten years. She lived on the kitchen floor, eating scraps left by the children, and working 16 or more hours each day. Every Sunday, Miriam was taken to church and sat in Anglican pews, between her slave owners. When I met Miriam, she told me that, week after week, she hoped someone would ask if she was ok. She said she tried to communicate with her eyes that she needed help, but nobody noticed, and nobody asked. It took a raid from the home office for Miriam to be freed.

And I am standing on behalf of the man who walked into a church-run café and slid a piece of paper across the counter as he ordered his coffee, saying ‘I am a slave. Please help’. And those who were serving refreshments didn’t know what to do.

And I am standing on behalf of Ruqia Haidari, an Afghan girl from Melbourne who was sold into a forced marriage for $15,000 and trafficked to Perth. She confided in her school friend that she didn’t want to marry a stranger, but her friend didn’t know what to do and two months later she was murdered by her husband, In Balcatta, in this diocese.

I believe we want to help. We want to stop this crime against humanity and restore dignity for all God’s children, but we don’t necessarily know how.

This motion provides all faith leaders with opportunities for meaningful and appropriate training by Walk Free and My Blue Sky, via the Social Responsibilities Commission, so we can spot the signs, source effective referral pathways, and communicate effectively with those who are in our pews, our prisons, our care homes and our classrooms, so future Miriams and Ruqias and visitors to our drop-in centres might be safe and free.

I urge you to support this motion.

A sermon for St Francis Day

Micah 6:6-8             Canticle of the Sun            Gal 6:14-end                       Luke 12:22-34

What a month we’ve had, haven’t we? We’ve suspended our usual liturgy to focus instead on the God of all creation, taking our place in the ecumenical movement of the Season of Creation.  We have affirmed our responsibility to partner with the Creator in recreating and caring for all that is good.

On the first Sunday, Peter helped us consider the trees from Babylon to Zion to Fremantle and beyond. Next, Carol came and shared her connection to this beautiful country on Land Sunday. In the third week, Jo Vallentine spoke about wilderness and our responsibility to the earth, and last week we thought about rivers when Alias gave us that glorious visual aid as he went through the rivers of baptism. Today we reach the end of the Season of Creation as we remember the life and witness of the creation saint, St Francis of Assisi; the patron saint of animals, ecology and the environment.

St Francis, or Giovanni as he was born, was a man who knew God. He knew the words of his creator and he knew what they were asking of him. He was single-minded in his attempts to do what his Lord asked, and he put these commands before all things, even when it cost him all he had, and all he owned, and his entire earthly inheritance.

Giovanni was a lover of Christ and a wandering spirit. On his travels he came across a tumbledown chapel in San Damiano, just outside Assisi. While praying there he had a vision of God and clearly heard the words ‘repair my church which is falling into ruins’. Sat in a building falling into disrepair, Giovanni took this command to mean a physical rebuilding and set about his work.

And I’ve been thinking on that a lot, in preparation for today.

Repair my church, which is falling into ruins.

And I have wondered about Francis’ interpretation of what he heard from God that day because the church is way more than the stones that make or break it. The church is always, first and foremost, the people.

And then the diocese called. Literally, you can’t make these things up…

Gemma, we have been up to have a look at the cross on the top of St Paul’s that was damaged in recent storms and I’m afraid to say it is unsafe. We are going to have to remove it completely. If it falls it will damage the roof, or car park or people.

Repair my church, which is falling into ruins. God said to Francis. And now the diocese seemed to be saying the same thing. And if it wasn’t the cross, it could have been finishing what we started on the west wall or repairing the masonry in the hall or countless other tasks.

And yet, I still wonder about the Creation Saint’s translation of his message from the one who created him.

Repairing churches is important – I am not saying that it isn’t. Of course we must repair this storm damage. Of course we must make it safe for us and for those who pass by and for all who will come this afternoon. We must care for our buildings – they are the places we gather and worship and bury our loved ones and feed those in need and live out our promise that all are welcome. And yet, the church is always, first and foremost, the people.

And when we hear God’s command to Francis, against this morning’s passages from scripture, maybe it becomes clearer…

The prophecy from Micah warned us that God doesn’t want our sacrifices or our sin offerings – God has told us – O mortals – what is good and what the Lord requires and it is to do justice, and love kindness and walk humbly with God.

And when you get a call from the property department before 9am talking about emergency safety plans and cranes and potential risks then it is soothing to hear the words from that beautiful gospel passage that reminds us – do not worry about your life or what you’ll wear or about any of the rest. And don’t worry about what you’ll eat or drink. Don’t keep worrying. And in place of worry, we are urged to, instead, strive for God’s Kingdom. Strive for it. And don’t be afraid because your Father is going to give you good things.

So, friends, while we must pay attention to fixing broken buildings, how much more must we attend to broken people. How much more must we notice those around us who are not ok and do all we can, in outrageous acts of kindness to restore and rebuild them.

Poor Francis is always talked about with this story of the chapel at San Damiano but he was a full advocate of care for people and animals and the environment – way more than caring for bricks and mortar. He is the originator of the fabulous charge to “Preach the Gospel at all times. Use words if necessary.” And the reminder that “The deeds you do may be the only sermon some people will hear today.”

Quite apart from preaching to birds and wolves and recognising his kinship with all of creation, Francis was a devoted follower of his Lord Jesus. Fixing a broken building allowed him to gather others around him – who probably also needed fixing – and was the basis of forming his religious order, that became the Franciscans. And as he rebuilt, so he taught and embodied the gospel.

Perhaps we can learn from him in that too. And as we work together to rebuild this church, maybe it could become a witness to the people who walk past, or visit, or worship here, that we are doing so out of love for our Creator, and first and foremost as a care for the people who make it church today and will do so for generations to come. Amen.

Season of Creation: River Sunday

Genesis 8:20-22, 9:12-17             Psalm 104:25-35                Rev. 22:1-5               Mark 1:4-11

Last Sunday Kath Jordan stopped me as we were leaving church and said ‘have you seen the ABC documentary called River? It is wonderful!’ I hadn’t but, knowing River Sunday was coming, I decided it would be good preparation. And Kath was right. It is wonderful. It has an incredible soundtrack by the Australian Symphony Orchestra and a beguiling commentary by Willem Dafoe. I was so mesmerised by it that I sat and scribed the whole script and I want to share some of its wisdom with you, if I may…

It began like this:

When the first rains fell the earth awakened,

It rained without pause for thousands of years,

Sculpting the landscapes into being;

Drops gathered as streams,

Streams braided into rivers,

Growing in force as they grow ever onwards and downwards.

Patient and persistent it wore mountains away

As it looped and meandered.

Where rivers wandered, life could flourish

For rivers are world makers

They have shaped the earth and they have shaped us as a species

Rivers are the source of human dreams

It was rivers that created fertile land and made it possible for us to settle and to dwell

Over time they became highways by which trade and technology spread inland

And along them also flowed poetry, stories and religions, politics and conflict

Rivers grew towns and cities, but they were also indifferent to human plans and dreams

Fickle and unpredictable

In flood they could wreak havoc

In drought they could disappear completely.

I paused the film here because it starkly reminded me of something I heard when I was in Canberra last month. A colleague spoke about her recent trip to Laikipia, Kenya, where the rains have failed for the last 5 seasons and are predicted to fail again. The drought they face is the worst in more than 40 years and their riverbeds are baked dry. Livestock and livelihoods are being lost, daily. Desperate wild elephants storm and destroy water tanks. More than 4 million people are without food and water; one million are under the age of 5. Women and children dig for hours in the dry riverbeds, searching for small pools of moisture, grateful to find even a cup full.

Water is life. Our rivers carry streams of life. And we fail to treat them carefully, with the worth they deserve.

But back to the soundtrack…

We’ve stopped going to the river: now we bring the river to us

But there is always a downstream cost

Somebody somewhere must have less

The amount of water in the hydrosphere hasn’t changed since the first waters fell

But the number of people on earth has grown exponentially

And every one of us is utterly dependent on water

[Instead of respect and care] we have riddled our rivers with poison in the name of progress

Leaving the water unswimable, undrinkable, even fatal

Instead of life-giving sediment and nutrients, rivers carry millions of tonnes of plastic waste into the sea each year

As always, the poorest suffer most.

Many rivers now fight for survival

The mystery and beauty of a wild river is beyond our ability to comprehend

But within our capacity to destroy.

Rivers that have flown for eons have been cut off in decades

Time and again, upstream need and upstream greed have led to downstream disaster

The lives of our rivers now will determine the destinies of generations to come

We will be remembered for all that we have depleted damaged and killed

Rivers are vulnerable to our harm but they also possess miraculous powers of recovery

Given a chance their life pours back

To think like a river means to dream downstream in time

To imagine what will flow far into the future from our actions in the present

To be good ancestors to those who come after us

Downstream of us…

So, Rivers really are the source of life and livelihood.

But today we gather at a different kind of river; today we come to the river of the water of life, bright as crystal, flowing from the throne of God.

Today we come to the rivers of baptism, where God revealed the majesty of Jesus, renewed the promise God made in the Genesis reading we heard today and proclaimed God’s deepest love for God’s children – you are my son, the beloved, with you I am well pleased.

Today, on River Sunday, we gather at the rivers of baptism with Alias, to hear those words from God again; to hear God whisper, ‘Alias, you are my child and I love you. I am so pleased with you’.

And we each come with him. And as we reach the water’s edge, we acknowledge that, together, we need God like we need water – for life and all things.

We come and stand alongside Alias as he makes his own promises to follow the example of Jesus, as he steps into the flow of God’s grace, and as he gets drenched by the love of God. We do this together – we acknowledge our need of God and our gratitude for God’s provision of water to wash away sin and bring life in abundance.

On this River Sunday we ‘dream downstream in time’

We ‘imagine what will flow far into the future from our actions in the present’.

We commit once again to be ‘good ancestors to those who will come after us, downstream of us’ by looking after our waters. And as baptised children of God, rivers take on an additional significance to us. To the world, rivers bring life. To us they also bring our redemption, our healing, our wholeness, and our life’s worth.

That documentary ended by saying, ‘We share our fate with rivers.  We flow together’. As those who have been baptised in the river of life, the river of God, never has that been truer. May we always bring life to all who are downstream of us. Amen.

A Witness Talk for Perth Cursillo

When you volunteer to give a witness talk like this, you are sent some guidelines. They begin with this… ‘The prime purpose of a witness talk is to demonstrate the effectiveness of the Cursillo method in the life of the speaker’. Gotcha. That’s easy. Some of the most transformational aspects of my life and faith journey can be directly attributed to the cursillo movement. But then the guidelines go on to say… ‘A witness talk is not an extraordinary event or sensation’. Well, I am sorry, but my experiences through and because of cursillo are pretty extraordinary and maybe even sensational, which is hardly surprising because we follow an extraordinary and definitely sensational God!

I made my Cursillo in Coventry, in the UK, back in 2005 – Cursillo #30. I knew nothing of what I was going along to, nothing of what awaited me there and certainly nothing of the ripple effects it would have on the rest of my life. I was already strong in my faith. I was a sold-out Jesus follower and I knew it would be me and him, against the world, forever but little did I know quite what those kind of promises would mean.

I walked into the room on the first evening, found my way to my table group, looked across the room and saw this tall, gorgeous man, in a red t-shirt, standing at another table. I was secretly gutted he wasn’t my table leader and felt determined to arrange mealtimes so I could speak to him.

The weekend progressed and the talks were amazing, the atmosphere was incredibly spirit-filled and I didn’t even mind the arts and craft activities. God was so tangibly present, all of the time, speaking, encouraging, pouring out love in every piece of palanca and every meal and every talk and I had never felt so close to God in my life, I don’t think.

And then, in the stillness of the church, surrounded by hundreds and hundreds of tealights and before an enormous cross, God asked me if I would say yes to ordination. Was I prepared to become a priest if that was what God was asking of me? At the time my own priest was utterly terrifying. She was a bully and an abuser and I knew that saying yes to God meant having to go and speak with her so, even though, in the silence of that church that night I had whispered a tentative yes to God’s outrageous invitation, I left my cursillo weekend and did nothing.

A year later I found myself back at cursillo, this time staffing as a table leader. God’s invitation to the priesthood had got stronger in my mind, and my quiet whisper of yes had become a pretty hard hearted no. But still God called and still other people kept saying to me ‘when will you be a priest’ or ‘have you thought about ordination’.

In all other things I really wanted to say yes to God. I wanted to do what God wanted for me. But ordination? I just couldn’t. So I set off from home for my weekend and made a dreadful deal with God. My deal was, if 10 people on the weekend suggested I get ordained, I would do something about it. Ten people. On a weekend where there was only going to be 16 people. I was really cutting it fine.

On the first evening 6 people had already mentioned ordination and I was livid! And surely enough, as the weekend progressed, the remaining 4 added their voice to the call. But the most incredible thing was that there was a woman in my table group called Alison. Alison had a disability that meant she couldn’t speak, except in a very gentle whisper. All weekend, our arrangement was, if she wanted to contribute to group discussions she would tap my arm, I would lean in and she would whisper her words for me to share. We did this all weekend and it worked well, so when she once again tapped my arm on the last day, I leant in to hear what she wanted to offer. And she said to me ‘when you get your own church I am going to come to it’. What could I do? God is sneaky and always gets what God wants. So, I returned to that candlelit sacred space where I had first heard the call, said sorry to God for not responding, and promised I would test out this vocation. And, exactly ten years after that first whisper – in 2015 – I found myself knelt before the bishop in Durham Cathedral, committing to serve God for the rest of my days as a priest in God’s church.

And as for the red t-shirt guy? When palanca arrived for the cursillo I staffed on there was something each day with an Australian postmark on. Red t-shirt guy had moved to Australia where he had begun a new life, preferably somewhere God couldn’t reach him. Five years ago, we reconnected, fell in love and he and God invited me on an adventure to create holy chaos down-under so two years ago I left the UK, emigrated to Australia, got married and became rector here.

To say Cursillo changed my life is not an understatement, is it? Saying an unequivocal yes to God, no matter what it costs and what it takes, will always do that. And I think that Cursillo is set up to create the perfect atmosphere, the perfect climate, to make those grand promises and to mean them.

So, you see, it is possible to speak about the effectiveness of the Cursillo method in the life of the speaker, but it’s definitely not possible to do so without mentioning extraordinary and sensational events.

Thanks be to God for God’s extraordinary and sensational invitations. May God give us the grace to always say yes. Amen.

Speaking Truth to Power

1 Kings 19: 9-18        Ps 85:8-13            Rom 10:4-15            Matt 14:22-33

They say everyone has at least one book in them, waiting to be written. I’ve never been sure of mine, but in the few weeks I think I’ve discovered it… My book would be called, ‘Things they never taught you at theological college’. And it is volumes and volumes long!

Two weeks ago, during that horrendous storm, a poor woman beat the door of the rectory in a near hysterical state, saying ‘you need to come quickly. Someone has left a dead body on our doorstep’. It turned out it was an abandoned urn of cremated remains that was eventually reunited with the next of kin but, yes, they never taught that at theological college.

And this past week has provided material for at least a few chapters, if not an entire volume.

On Monday I went to Canberra to join a delegation of 40 Christian leaders, all women, coordinated by a movement named Micah Australia. Micah empowers Christians to advocate for global justice to end extreme poverty, stop conflict, and protect communities from climate change. They do this in a variety of ways, one of which is this annual event at Parliament House. Now in its 5th year, a representative from every Christian denomination and charity is invited to walk those corridors of power, meeting with politicians from across the political spectrum to lobby on global justice.

This year, 40 of us – in small groups – met with 43 politicians; 21 from the ALP, 11 coalition members, 3 greens and 6 independent or cross bench members.  Our delegation from WA – one Anglican, one Baptist and one from the Salvos met with Senator Matt O’Sullivan, Patrick Gorman, Kate Chaney and the president of the Senate, Sue Lines. And in each meeting, in each chamber, and in the presidential suite, we asked these politicians to campaign for a Safer World for All, beginning with the poorest and most marginalised people in the world.

We told them, on the current trajectory, by 2030 there will be 575 million people living in extreme poverty. There will be 600 million people facing hunger and 84 million children (predominantly girls) not in education.

We reminded them that 22 of our 26 nearest neighbours are developing countries and the border between Australia and PNG represents the starkest difference, in terms of rich versus poor, in the whole world.

We showed them that Australia’s global aid budget has slipped from 14th to 27th, now sitting alongside Korea in terms of how financially compassionate we are towards our global neighbours.

And we told them why we care.

43 political leaders heard that as Christian leaders we are passionate about action being taken because we believe all people are made in the image of God and are full of dignity, value and worth. And we seek a world where there is justice for the oppressed, food for the hungry and nobody is left behind. And then a few of us shared our own experiences of global poverty. My colleague from Anglican Overseas Aid spoke about visiting Kenya where riverbeds are completely dried up and famines are the worst in 40 years. I spoke about how poverty pushes people towards selling their own children into slavery, so other family members might be able to eat.

Each meeting was different. We debated climate change and the voice referendum and what our political leaders could do to change the world for the most vulnerable.

And I kept thinking ‘they never taught me this at theological college’. And they didn’t. But the truth is, as people who follow the God who shows preferential treatment towards the poor, we absolutely have something to say in this space. We have more than 2000 years’ experience of following the One who stands up for those most in need and who calls others to lead with compassion and justice, asking us to go to those in power and speak the truth.

And sometimes it is terrifying. Of course it is, because we feel ill-equipped to do all God asks of us. We feel tongue-tied or inexperienced or like someone else would do a better job.

But we mustn’t forget the lessons from this morning’s gospel reading.

When Jesus calls us, it might feel like we are flailing around in a storm – I mean, what can 40 women say in Parliament House about the needs of the world that can make any difference? It might feel like the waters are battering us and we might be terrified, but Jesus comes in peace – take heart, it is I, he says, do not be afraid.

At our briefing the day before, we were asked how we were feeling.

Terrified I said. I am terrified.

But Jesus came in peace. More than that, he came in peace and then he came in power, and I went from terrified to brave. Bold, even. We have something to say in the face of poverty and injustice because we serve a God who says this is not ok. This is not how it is meant to be. Be more compassionate. Care for those in need. Make change – yes you. And go and speak truth to power and call them to make change too.

So, Jesus comes in peace and tells us not to be afraid and he invites us to do hard things – come, he says. Come. I’ve got you. And when we accept that invite, when we step out and do hard things sometimes it is overwhelming, but Jesus reaches out God’s hand and catches us. And it wasn’t in the walking on the water that people saw he was God, it was when he calmed the storm, when he took away the fear, when he takes our hand, it is then people say, ‘truly you are the son of God’ and worship him.

And, no they never taught me that in theological college. We never got trained in storming the corridors of power and calling politicians to account. We never learned how to lobby or petition for the needs of the poor. But the disciples never got taught to walk on water either.

And the same hand that drags them from drowning, and the same voice that says peace, is the same hand that leads us and the same voice that calls us. So, may we take hold of that hand, listen to that voice, go where we are led and do what is asked of us and in it all, may we know we are held and called by the one who is truly the Son of God, and may we worship. Amen.

The Greatest of all Miracles

Isaiah 55:1-5      Psalm 145:8-9, 14-21     Romans 9:1-8     Matthew 14:13-21

Is there such a thing as small miracles and big miracles. Like, if you’re going to defy the laws of physics or biology, I guess miracles are all pretty big. But some do feel bigger than others, don’t they? Raising someone from the dead or restoring sight to the blind feels like a bigger act than turning water into wine.  And today we have the miracle of the feeding of the 5000 men, plus women and children, with just five loaves and two fish. A miracle so significant that it is the only one mentioned in all 4 gospels. A miracle that is a precursor to our holy meal and one prophesied centuries before, in our reading from Isaiah:

You that have no money, come, buy and eat…without money and without price. Come to me, and eat what is good, and delight yourselves in rich food…Come to me…so you may live.

It’s a huge miracle. Five loaves, two fish, a huge crowd, everyone is fed and there are 12 baskets left over.  And yet, this week it struck me that there is an even bigger miracle that takes place in this story. Something so big that it didn’t just change things for the crowd on that hillside that day, but it changes everything, for all time, and it changes everything for us. That miracle is hidden away in a few words in verse 16, and it says this, ‘you give them something to eat’. You do it.

Jesus is presented with a crowd in need. A crowd who are hungry. They have nothing to eat. They are poor and outcast. Some are sick. They have heard if they just hang on this man’s words, or touch his cloak, everything will be better. They are desperate. They need food. They need life. And Jesus, full of compassion, says to his disciples, ‘don’t send them away’. You do it.

And the disciples don’t know what to do. They don’t know how to deal with the needs of the world, right before them. They don’t know how to deal with poverty and brokenness and injustice and sickness and the whole polycrisis gathered before them on that hillside. Their solution is to send them away – go and get what you need somewhere else – and Jesus’ solution is ‘don’t send them away’. You do it. Between us, and what we have, we have the solution, he says.

So, they gather everything they have and bring it to Jesus, and he blesses it and gives it back and there is enough to go around. Enough and some to share, of course, like always.

And, as I so often say, as it was with them, so it is with us.

We see need before us and around us all the time. If we don’t, we are asleep.

And the human reaction, the temptation, is to say, ‘go to the doctor, go to centrelink, go to work, ask your friends, talk to your family’ and Jesus says, ‘you give them something to eat’. ‘You do it’.

And that feels terrifying, when the world is this broken, when the needs are this great. But all that Jesus asks of us is all that we have and all that we are. All that is in our hands and hearts. All that is in our baskets and our packed lunch. And he says, ‘bring them to me’, and he takes us and all we have and all we are and looks to heaven and blesses and breaks us and sends us back to the crowds so that everyone might be filled and satisfied and then he gathers what is left over and we find there is more than we began with. We give everything we have and discover, lo and behold, that we gain more, and so do those around us.

This week, I went to an elderly care home for a holy communion service. In the group was a very old lady, strapped into a padded wheelchair. She is in the final stages of dementia and mostly sleeps. She was wheeled in, and she slept through us singing and the bible reading. I blessed and broke the bread, consecrated the wine, and wove through the chairs, distributing our holy meal among those there. I reached Jeannie’s wheelchair and rubbed her hand. She opened her eyes and I said ‘do you want to eat this, it’s Jesus’ and she opened her mouth and nodded and ate. I came back with the chalice and again, gently got her attention and offered her a drink.

She looked at me, looked at the chalice and I heard her speak for the first time. She said ‘look at that. It is beautiful. Look at all the colours coming from it. Do you think it is wonderful?’ and I said to her ‘it is Jesus. I think it’s the most wonderful thing in the world’ and she drank, and her carer cried and they were both filled and satisfied. She had taken a mere crumb, a tiny sip, and it was all I had to offer, and it was more than enough and there was so much left over in that moment. My heart was way fuller than it had been before I got there.

We give Jesus all we have, and he blesses it and gives it back to us to give out and, in doing so we bless others and we also get a blessing, because that is how outrageous grace works.

We follow Jesus at our peril really, don’t we?

It demands all we have and all we are, and it gives us work to do.

You do it, Jesus says.

But when we give and when we do the work, we find those around us are filled and satisfied. And there is not only enough for others, but there is also more than enough for us. Yes it demands our all, but it gives all and more in return.

So, may we be a people who see the need, and have compassion in our hearts for those in need. May we bring all we have and all we are to Jesus. May we place it all in his hands for him to bless and break and give. And may we gather up all that is left over, and in it find God’s richest blessings. Amen.

The parable of St Paul’s, Beaconsfield

1 Kings 3:5-12         Ps 119:126-136        Romans 8:26-39         Matt 13:31-52

In these past 3 weeks, Jesus has told us 8 different parable, each beginning with ‘the Kingdom of Heaven is like…’

Well, if you will allow me, may I tell you another parable…

The Kingdom of Heaven is like a group of people who went to the diocese and asked them to be benefactors of an old house and a huge patch of wasteland, growing wild oats, behind their church. And when the group of people asked for money, they were told no, and in their sadness, they sat together, defeated, and decided the land was not to be theirs and their dream was over.

And then, early the next morning, one of the group, came, alone, to morning prayer and heard the words of Jesus clearly say ‘the kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field, which someone found and hid; then in his joy he goes and sells all that he has and buys that field.’ And hearing those words she went and asked friends to loan all they had to buy the old house and the wasteland and the oat field and 24 hours later she stood and bid for it at auction and won. And knew she had bought the treasure.

The Kingdom of Heaven is like a patch of wasteland that was divided up and shared between a community of people, each with their own home and their own place but with shared values and common principles and with a hope for the future.

The Kingdom of Heaven is like a church community that moved into housing promised to them on paper, without seeing what they would be, but knowing that good and holy things would come from being together in one place for a shared purpose.

And paths were laid, and plants were sown and trees grew and birds and animals and people found their homes in its shade. And there was agreement and disagreement and there was peace and there was upset. And people came and people went, and the kingdom of God continued to grow and spread.

The kingdom of God is like a well-cared for garden that attracts bees and cats and lizards and butterflies and birds and bats. And sometimes street sleepers cook up crystal meth in the flower beds and burn the concrete and steal and break things and are grateful for the shade and the shower and outstay their welcome and disappear and we worry, and feel their absence.

The Kingdom of God is like a church that dares to open its doors and say ‘everyone is welcome’ and mean it. And regret they mean it. And regroup and dust themselves down and mean it again.

The kingdom of God is full of scones and fresh coffee and gallons of soup and so much fizz and cake and hymn singing and elm dancing and zen Buddhists shuffling past on their meditation days and people setting up easels to paint and overfull car parks that drive us mad. It is full of muslims rushing to make Friday prayers, pulling off their thongs and washing their feet as they go. It is community breakfast and morning tea and trying to remember to count to ten before responding to the latest comment or email. And forgetting. And saying sorry. And not feeling sorry. And working on loving people anyways.

The kingdom of God is all around us, springing up like those poppies through the concrete. Spreading like spilt milk, getting everywhere like dropped glitter. And all that we see and know and do and experience is just a glimpse. It’s just a glimpse, just a fraction, of the kingdom of God but it is still real and it is still here and it will keep coming because the Kingdom of God is unstoppable, untameable, unbeatable.

And it began long before the auction for the wasteland but it was purposefully continued in that daring decision to follow the words of Christ, to take him at his word, to sell all that you have to buy the field. And in buying that field so much treasure was found. So much treasure. And in buying that field so many weeds were found too. And they were part of the treasure because nothing is wasted in the kingdom of God.

The Kingdom of God is past, present and future. And this parable is the story of our past and present, so what will we sell to find the treasure of our future, here, for the furthering of God’s Kingdom?

Let me finish with these glorious words from RS Thomas, found on the back of the white sheet…

THE BRIGHT FIELD- R.S. Thomas

I have seen the sun break through to illuminate a small field for a while,

and gone my way and forgotten it.

But that was the pearl of great price,

the one field that had treasure in it.

I realize now that I must give all that I have to possess it.

Life is not hurrying on to a receding future,

nor hankering after an imagined past.

It is turning aside like Moses to the miracle of the lit bush,

to a brightness that seemed as transitory as your youth once,

but is the eternity that awaits you.

The parable of the sower…NOT the parable of the soil, seed or rocks

Isaiah 55: 10-13               Psalm 65: 8-13      Romans 8:12-25      Matt 13: 1-9, 18-23

This isn’t the first time I’ve stood before you with one of our poppies in my hand, and I doubt it will be the last, but this morning’s gospel passage reminded me once again of the sermons these poppies keep preaching.

I’ve just returned from 2 weeks in the UK, visiting family and friends.  In the town I emigrated from, the local council have strewn wildflower seeds along the central reservations of the main roads in and out of the town and they are bursting with colour. There is evidence of seeds being sown and plants being grown, all over the place. And when I left here, the poppies were dormant and nowhere to be seen, and now they are beginning to burst out again.

This morning’s gospel passage is about seeds and plants and growth too… or is it?

Jesus calls it the parable of the sower – listen then to what the parable of the sower means, he says. Not the parable of the seeds or soil or the birds, or rocky places or thorns, or anything else. Listen to the parable of the sower.

A farmer went out to sow his seed and he scattered it; on the path, in the thorns, in the rocks, and where the soil was good.

The farmer scattered the seed everywhere. They didn’t care where it landed – they just flung it about. Some of it took root, some of it didn’t, some of it was food for the birds, some of it grew into food for people, some of it lived and some of it died.

This is a parable about the farmer, about the one who sows the seeds. And in this story, the farmer is God, and the seed is Jesus. And God has this amazingly healthy lack of concern about where God sows. In God, Christ is for all people, all the time, in every place. And here is the surprising thing, perhaps – it is God who sends the Christ-seed, it is God who does the planting of the Christ-seed, and there is no place where God won’t send and plant him.

What? You mean it isn’t about us and about our acts of evangelism and our publicity of the Jesus story and our capacity to paint him in a good light that spreads him across this world? Well, alleluia, this gospel story seems to be saying no, it’s not. God is the farmer and God sows the love and light and life of Christ like wildflowers. (Even the OT reading reminded us that it is the work of the rain from heaven that makes buds blossom and flourish, and not us… And the psalm said – YOU tend the earth and water it, and make it rich and fertile). Hang on a minute. God has got this covered and doesn’t need me to do the work for God? Consider that for a moment!

So why am I standing here with a poppy in my hand? Because these poppies remind us about the lavish, indiscriminate, vast outpouring of the message of God.

These poppies, as you may know, originated in Flanders fields, in Belgium, where two pilgrims procured seeds and brought them back to St Paul’s. And those seeds were sown and these poppies grew. Then a gust of wind came and took some of the seeds of these first poppies and carried them on the breeze to Martha street and they dropped and fell on the concrete and they magnificently burrowed their way down, and the seed died there, but, in time, their strong but delicate head burst back up through that concrete. And along came a bird and pecked a poppy plant and carried the seed to south beach and up to the city and out to the hills, and poppies sprang up there too. And then, to raise funds, some people harvested the seeds and sold them here, and people bought them and planted them in other suburbs and other states and maybe even other countries, and the poppies continued to grow. And they are everywhere. And they cannot be tamed.

And as it is for these poppies, so it is for the word and love of God. But more so.

Because what began at the dawn of time, and came to human life in a manger in the middle east, is now known throughout the world. And we never know how fruitful anything will be. We never know if concrete will discourage or challenge the seed. We never know where the bird will drop it, or where the Holy Spirit will blow it. All we can do is watch what the farmer is up to, and see what happens. All we can do is welcome babies for baptism, watch God plant and water the seeds of faith in children like baby Ada, and then wait for flowers and fruit to grow.

Three weeks ago, we had a confirmation service with the Archbishop and we began a new tradition here. We gave to each candidate a little sapling, with a tag on it that read, ‘plant this as a reminder of the new life that is yours today, in Christ’, and we sent them home with it. And we planted one here too, with a tag that said ‘confirmations, June 2023’.

Today we will continue that tradition – as part of our work towards reaching net zero, and because it is good and true – and baby Ada will be given a plant with that same message. And hopefully Brett and Hayley will take it and plant it. And we will plant one here too, as a reminder of this day – so we get to see, visually, what the holy farmer, the sower, is doing among us.

Friends, the sower is at work. Seeds are being nurtured and grown. Flowers and fruit are bursting out all around us. God keeps on planting and watering and tending the earth. And we get to watch God’s Kingdom grow, thanks be to God. Amen.

A sermon for an annual meeting…

EXODUS 19.2–8a             PSALM 100             ROMANS 5.1–11              MATT 9: 35ff

This morning’s bible readings seem to have specifically been chosen for an AGM – did you notice? I can assure you they weren’t, but let’s look at them, in turn, and see how they might be speaking to us, on this day, where we stop, consider, look back over what has been, and look forward to whatever future God might be calling and leading us into.

Our first reading was part of the Exodus story. Those early wanderers are camping at Mount Sinai where God reminds them how God has carried them on eagle’s wings and brought them to God’s self. I read that and thought of that beautiful song we often sing – and I will raise you up on eagle’s wings – a song that I think of as something of our anthem. There were years of wandering and God has been constantly faithful and near. And we have been carried on the wings of God’s love and always brought near to God.

The exodus story is also our story. And so, the commands of the exodus God are also our commands; …obey me fully…keep my covenant… God says. And the promises to the Exodus people are our promises too; …you will be my treasured possession…you will be a holy people. And so, the response of the Exodus people might inspire our response too; ‘We will do everything the Lord has said,’ the people responded together.

Then we had psalm 100 – Give thanks to God and bless God’s holy name. For the Lord is good, his loving mercy is for ever: his faithfulness throughout all generations. And that’s the point of today; a time of thanksgiving – thank you God for your loving kindness, for each other, for this place, for this parish. Thank you, God – we bless your holy name. It is a time to recall God’s goodness to us. We have been through much and God was faithful. We are growing and changing and God is faithful. We are committing afresh to our future and God will be faithful. Great is God’s faithfulness.

Next …….. read the New Testament reading – we glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit, who has been given to us. This reminds me of this past Pentecost, just a few weeks ago, when we should have had a baptism and the family got sick and cancelled a couple of hours before the service. And God was amazing – as ever – and led us into that incredible time of anointing, for those who longed for more of God’s Holy Spirit and one by one nearly every person was anointed and God’s love was poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us. And it felt like a really significant way-marker on our journey together. The past is behind us, the present is good, and the future is filled with hope…and hope does not disappoint us.

And only then did we get to the gospel – to those wonderful words of Christ, calling his disciples, sending out workers into the harvest and giving them specific instructions.

‘The harvest is plentiful’, Jesus says, ‘but the workers are few’.

You know that age-old conversation – there is so much to do, and it’s always the same people who do everything!  I’ve heard that said in every church I have ever been a part of. And I’ve heard it said here. And it might feel like the same people do everything, especially when we are tired, but that same number of people is way bigger here than in many places. And that number is growing! Before the restructure of our parish council, we had maybe a dozen people who were ‘running’ the church.

With our new support groups, we have more than 30 people involved in some aspect of decision making – maybe more like 40, especially when you include people who are on rosters too. We are blessed. The harvest is plentiful – I absolutely believe it – and the workers are growing in number and confidence and courage. And, at the advice of Jesus, we will continue to ‘ask the Lord of the harvest to send out workers into the harvest field’…whilst also recognising and acknowledging that the worker God might be calling could be any one of us…and probably is you.

When we hear the list of the names those Jesus called, I wonder if we can hear our own name in that list too? Simon (called Peter), his brother Andrew; James son of Zebedee, John, Philip and Bartholomew; Maureen, Thea, Michael and Howard. Craig, Janice, Gordon and Russell. Gabby, Linda, Lucia and Glenda and Iris. And everyone else because Jesus calls us all – never doubt that.

And just as he called those first disciples, with specific instructions, so he calls us with specific instructions. And we might – in error – call it Parish Councillor or support group member or external verifier or whatever grand name we give it, but really our call is always to go to those who are lost and tell them they are loved and there is a way home. We are called to go to the sick and heal them – especially to heal others of the disease of loneliness and isolation – we are called to bring light and life to places of darkness and death – to bring peace where there is chaos and hope where in despair. And to recognise we have so much to give, and it was all given for free – out of the goodness of God’s eternal grace – and so we should be giving for free too.

Friends, later today we will have an agenda to follow and boxes to tick. We will have positions to fill and reports to give but let us not forget these lessons from scripture, above and beyond it all…

  • We are carried by a God who loves us, and is safe to obey
  • We can be thankful for God’s love and mercy and unending faithfulness
  • We must have hope in the future because we walk into it with the Holy Spirit
  • And we are called and sent by God to make a difference in this world

And may that be our true agenda. Amen.

Go and learn what this means…

Gen 12:1-9         Ps 33:1-12           Romans 4:13-25         Matt 9:9-13, 18-26

Back in the early 2000s my priest was smart. She sent 4 of us on a course to learn to preach – probably so she could dodge Trinity Sunday for the rest of her ministry. We did 6 sessions and then had to write a sermon on any bible passage we chose and preach it to our course mates. I really wanted to choose some of the verses we heard just now.

‘Just then a woman who had been subject to bleeding for twelve years came up behind him and touched the edge of his cloak and said to herself ‘if only I touch his cloak I will be healed’.  Jesus turned and saw her, and said, ‘take heart, daughter, your faith has healed you’ and the woman was healed’.

I loved that story; I have such affinity with this woman who knew shame and exclusion and I wanted to share her sense of isolation and unwelcomeness…and her complete restoration. The problem was, I couldn’t reliably say the word ‘haemorrhaging’ and that was how she was described in my translation of the bible – the haemorrhaging woman. It always came out herromaging. So, I had to choose something else. But her she is again this week, my old friend, and this time she isn’t haemorrhaging at all; she is ‘subject to bleeding’. So, I get a second chance.

This woman had been bleeding for twelve years; 4,383 days. More than 4000 days of feeling exhausted and depleted, socially ostracized and excluded. Twelve years of not being able to enter the temple. Twelve years of not being able to sit anywhere public, or even brush past others, lest they ‘caught’ her uncleanness, or became tainted by her sin. Twelve years of social isolation – not even eye contact was permitted. And she had tried everything to be made well – other gospel accounts say she spent a fortune and visited all the doctors and physicians and still she was bleeding.

Twelve long years. How long is that? Interestingly, it is the same length of time the synagogue leader’s daughter has lived for before she prematurely died. The woman has been bleeding for the daughter’s entire life. But now, they receive complete healing, through the touch of Jesus. These two females – both ritually unclean – are touched and healed by this man who gives no regard to ritual cleansing, nor the sacrifices he would be expected to go through to be made clean again.

Twelve is the number of power and authority and completeness, and this pair of miracles, twelve years in the making, demonstrate something of the new world order Jesus ushers in. You see, in this passage alone, Jesus racks up a whole host of misdemeanours. He calls a tax collector to be one of his closest friends – the lowest of the low – he shares a meal with sinners – probably without ceremonially washing, as was his want – he sees the woman who was bleeding – looks right into her eyes, and calls her daughter – he welcomes this outcast woman intimately into his own family – and then he goes to the place of death – touches the rapidly cooling body of this small child – takes her hand and lifts her to life. Through his power and authority, he brings completeness.

But Jewish society doesn’t allow for things like that, and if Jesus were to be purified from these acts alone, he would have literally required ritual cleansing on days 3 and 7, complete isolation for a week, two turtle doves, two pigeons, a visit from the high priest, a full fumigation with incense, and anointing with holy oil. That would make right the violations caused by the bleeding woman and the dead child. Unfortunately, nothing would cleanse him from his meal with sinners – that was flatly prohibited.

That was the requirement to ‘correct’ the ‘wrong’ Jesus had done. It doesn’t make sense! So is it any wonder the holy one says, ‘go and learn what this means; I desire mercy not sacrifice’.  God does not care for correct living, holy hoop jumping and sacrificial cleansing for any ‘mistakes’, instead God calls us to a much higher account – that we choose mercy, not sacrifice.

This week I took seriously that direction – go and learn what this means: I desire mercy not sacrifice. And here is what I learned…

Sacrifice is predominantly an Old Testament imperative – mentioned almost 250 times, in 29 of the 39 books. It features far less in the New Testament, and on almost every occasion it corrects the previous teachings. Christ’s kingdom is about fully sacrificing ourselves; a whole life offering. Giving all we are, rather than bartering with a vengeful God who needs appeasing. Giving our living and breathing selves, rather than the blood of dead animals.

Mercy is scattered equally across both biblical testaments.

And here is an interesting thing… In the Old Testament mercy always describes a characteristic of the Divine, or a means to receive that gift – like ‘if we build this mercy-seat we will know the goodness of God’. But, when we get to the New Testament the use of the word shifts – mercy is still used to define God, but now we also hear the word as a requirement of those who are trying to follow God too. It is no longer something for us to simply throw ourselves upon, or beg for, it is something we must learn, something we must do.

I desire mercy, not sacrifice, Jesus says. What might that look like?

Mercy to the haemorrhaging woman looks like eye-to-eye contact, a welcome into the family, a healing touch. Mercy to the faith leader’s daughter is new life. Mercy to Matthew is saying ‘you are enough. Come and be my friend’. Mercy to the sinner is a seat at the table. Those around Jesus needed mercy. And those around us need mercy too.

We know we have received mercy. We know we were loved into life and will be recipients of grace and mercy all our lives. But we are made to be channels for God’s mercy to flow through, not vessels to hold it in. We receive so that we might pass it on. We have known mercy, so we might show mercy.

The woman who bled for 12 years reached out and touched the hem of Christ’s cloak and she was healed.

The girl who took the hand of Jesus received life.

As we approach this altar we too reach out, touch Christ, and receive healing and new life.

As we do that today, might we promise to share that with others?

Might we be givers of mercy rather than demanders of sacrifice?

And may the only sacrifice we give be all we have and all we are, amen.