Christmas Eve according to Bette Midler…

I love a Christmas song.  Since moving here the hot Christmas thing is the craziest thing to get used to – jingle bells in the supermarket aisles while the AC is blasting out and the sweat is dripping will probably never become normal. And I’ve heard some new and unique takes on the Christmas story – Santa’s sleigh being pulled by 6 White Boomers was a bit of a surprise and tonight’s Silver Stars is a welcome addition to my carol repertoire. I never knew there was a song to tell me when to make my Christmas gravy (you’ve missed the day, if you didn’t know either….) but there’s one song that has followed me here and that is Bette Midler singing From a Distance… You know it?

It’s a nice song – IMO Cliff Richard did it well but Bette does it best. I especially like her little drummer boy section and the joy to the world ending is simply brilliant – but it’s not right.   I’m sorry Bette – your theology is totally wrong.  Your song tells us big unhelpful lies.  And I’ll tell you why.

She beautifully sings God is watching us, God is watching us, God is watching us… from a distance.  And that’s just not true.  And tonight’s gospel reading tells us why…

In the beginning was the Word – Jesus. And the Word was with God and the Word was God.  And the Word – Jesus – became flesh and lived among us.

The Word became flesh and lived among us! Or the way one paraphrase version of the bible puts it…The Word became flesh and blood and moved into the neighbourhood.

God is not watching us from a distance at all!  God is near, so near, in skin, alongside, with, eye-to-eye – not far away and looking down upon.

And that is the beautiful profound promise of Christmas; because of Christmas, where God put on skin and came and lived among us, we are not alone, being watched from a distance.  We are totally WITH.  Always accompanied by God, in Christ.

Last Christmas, and this Christmas, have really been sideswiped by a global pandemic, and even though we are currently safe within these borders, we are still – many of us – spending Christmas without our favourite loved ones.

There are many of us who will have an extra space, or two, or more, at our Christmas dinner tables.  Even this week, I have sat with a newly bereaved widow, waiting to bury her beloved husband, and I’ve had conversations with people who are dreading Christmas, or even have cancelled it, because they feel like they just can’t face it on their own, or with their person missing. 

And maybe that Christmas loneliness is familiar to you, maybe even years on.  And I want you to know that you are seen and known and loved.  And I want you to also know that God is not far off, even if it feels that way.  God is not watching us from a distance.  Not at all.

Because of Christmas, God is watching us, right up close and personal; right around our dinner tables, right here, right now; and, more than that, God is not just here and now, but is also there and there and there and everywhere.

God is with those who are away from their families this Christmas, and with the prisoners in their cells and the doctor carrying out emergency surgery; and with the patient; and with the woman who will see nobody.  God is with the refugee who is far from home and no longer knows where home is and is with the person surrounded by family but who feels entirely alone, even in the midst of chaos and business.

But here is the beautiful truth; because of Christmas, God, in Christ, is so near.  So near.  God is in the candlelight and the gift wrapping; in the turkey dinner and the Christmas pudding. God is alongside the barbie and at the beach and whatever else you Australians get up to on a bright sunny hot Christmas day! God is in all the celebrations and the post-dinner swim or snooze. God is in every bubble in every glass and completely in the little tradition that is unique to your family, and your family alone.  God is even in the gravy you should’ve made on 21st!!

Whether you are approaching this Christmas with absolute joy, or slight trepidation; whether your Christmas promises to be the best one ever, or be tinged with sadness; or most likely all those things – don’t listen to Bette Midler.  Her song is great. Her perspective is interesting but she doesn’t really know what she’s talking about.

God is not watching us from a distance.  God is right here, up close, eye to eye, heart to heart, soul to actual soul:

The word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory; the glory as of a father’s only son, full of grace and truth.

So. May you know it afresh, or for the first time ever, this Christmas.

May your day, your week, your year, be filled with the light and life, the glory, the grace and truth of the Christ-child.  And may you know that God has come near, and lives right here, among us, because of love for you. And because God is DELIGHTED to do so.

Joy to the world, the Lord has come.  Alleluia.  Amen.

Magnificat!!

Luke 1:39-45 [46-55]

When I told my stepson I was going to bible study this week, he said, ‘don’t you know the bible yet? I would’ve thought you would know it by now…’ Well, after a couple of hours exploring this morning’s passage, I can categorically tell you, and him, that no, I don’t know the bible yet, but I am very much enjoying swimming deeper in the pages of scripture.

This morning’s words are so familiar to me and among my very favourite in the whole bible. I have many of them tattooed on my body. Those words accompanied me during some really significant moments in my faith journey; ‘let it be to me according to your word’ was the final kick I needed to get me to ordination. ‘He has filled the hungry with good things’ was the directive to open a soup kitchen. The Magnificat gave me the name for my dog, Maggie, and the whole thing has made me fall in love with Mary but as we talked this week, we saw new things.

We began a few verses before where our gospel reading starts, with the terrifying angel Gabriel appearing to Mary and telling her the divine plan. In Gabriel’s visit, he broods over Mary. He broods over her, just like the holy spirit broods over the waters in the dawn of creation. Isn’t that amazing? God is up to God’s incredible work of creation again. The angel appearing to Mary isn’t just a work of redemption or hope or salvation – although it is those things. Gabriel’s announcement to Mary is a work of creation – it is the dawn of the new creation, and it begins in exactly the same way.

And what is this new creation? Well, according to this wonderful song of Mary, the new creation will be characterised by a complete turnaround of events. The old order of things will be changed, and a new system will be established.

In this system, the currency is mercy; with incredible strength the proud are scattered; the powerful are no longer the ones in charge because the lowly are lifted up to take their place; the hungry are full; the rich are poor; AND ALL FUTURE GENERATIONS are provided for. That is not just a system that is a bit better than the old one. It is a brand-new creation, a creation of peace, to the very ends of the earth. It makes the old order unrecognisable. Complete change.

You know, my favourite Magnificat is that until 1986 it was against the law in at least two countries to read the Magnificat aloud, in public.  In Guatemala and India, the government banned the public recitation of this passage because they recognised the revolutionary nature of it.  They saw this song of Liberation encourages the oppressed to take a stance, to say NO to the systems that keep them poor and hungry, to rise up and challenge all that is wrong in the world, and they were afraid.  They thought it was so subversive they were afraid that if the poorest people heard it, there might be an uprising.

That’s amazing to me.  World leaders, even in most of our lifetimes, saw and recognised the potential for radical and enormous change, prophesied by a poor, teenage, peasant girl, and they were so afraid they tried to silence her. 

Mary’s account of God’s promises of mercy does not make easy listening to those who are satisfied or comfortable in this world; it is the poor who are seen, lifted up, filled and helped by the Almighty, whereas the powerful are brought low and the rich are sent away empty.  That has a real impact on us because we are not part of the two-thirds world that live in poverty.  It is not going to be one of our children to die in the next ten seconds, or the ten after that, or after that, from malnutrition.

There is enough currency, enough food and wealth and power for all people to live well but redistributing it requires a revolution. It means we must have and keep less, give more away, in order that others may have more. And that’s not a popular option. But as a people who are rich and full, we need to take our place in the revolution and make this promised new creation a reality. It seems like an impossible feat on our own, even as a whole church gathered.  Anything we can give, or do, is just a drop in the ocean.  What could we possibly do to help? 

Well, perhaps we can turn to blessed Mary for our example.

The angel told Mary she had been given the Christ; that He was inside her body and the world was going to be different because of her carrying Him and bringing Him to the world.  Mary took Jesus into her body, became the God-bearer, and with Him living inside her she proclaimed the Magnificat.  When Mary welcomed Christ into her body, her response was for her whole being to magnify the Lord and then she was able to see the world as it really can be. Mary takes on, as her own, God’s resounding NO to the fatality of oppression. 

Because God, incarnate, was living inside her, sharing her blood stream, she was transformed and through new eyes she was able to see the world differently; the systems and structures of the world will be changed.

And every Sunday we gather to receive the body of Christ – to literally take Jesus into our body.  Mary carried Jesus in her body. She became the God-bearer.  And in the Eucharist, we carry Jesus in our body too.  As we become the God-bearer – and take Christ into our body this morning, and every time, will we also open our eyes to see the promised new creation of the Divine Creator?  Will we commit to doing whatever we can to work with God to bring these promises about? Will we say no to oppression and an almighty yes to liberation?

Mary’s proclamation describes the dawning of the new creation; the world where Heaven and Earth collide.  And Mary isn’t the creator of this new age; but she is how God brings it about.  And this can be true for us too.  We don’t need to bring Heaven to Earth in our own strength.  Indeed, we cannot. But neither do we get to shirk our responsibilities in the transformation of this generation. Indeed, we must not.

So, what will you do with the Christ you take into your body today, and every time you approach this altar? How will you present him to this world? As Mary said, the mighty one has done great things for me. That’s true for each of us, isn’t it? The mighty one has done so many great things for us. What will we now do for the mighty one in return?

Amen.

Hope is Fierce!

Luke 21: 25-38

Wednesday night, just gone, I had a particularly bad night’s sleep and at 4am I found myself forming a sermon for this morning. Pretty pleased with myself for completing this task so early in the week I fell back to sleep with a smug grin. It was an ok sermon as well – advent is about waiting, I don’t like waiting, what things shall we do while we’re waiting – that was the kind of gist of it. Pretty solid. Maybe I’ll save it for next year, I certainly cant preach it today because on Thursday morning I woke up to some awful news from back home and it resonates so deeply with this morning’s apocalyptic gospel reading that I knew a complete rewrite had to be in order…

‘There will be … confusion by the roaring of the sea and the waves’, Jesus said

On Wednesday afternoon, this week, at 2pm GMT – just as we were beginning what for me was that sleepless night, 28 people died in the English Channel, while trying to cross from Calais to the UK in a small inflatable boat – the biggest loss of life by drowning in the Channel in many years.  The BBC reported 27 deaths: 17 men, 7 women, 3 children, but there was also an unborn child, because one of those women was pregnant and that child’s life counts, and was lost too, so the number is 28. Two of the passengers survived, and only one of those who died has so far been identified: 24-year-old Maryam Nuri Mohammed Amin – a Kurd from Northern Iraq, who was travelling to the UK to surprise her fiancé.

She messaged him as the dinghy began to lose air and sink. She told him the boat was deflating and they were trying to get the water out of it. He said, ‘she was trying to reassure me in her last message and give me hope that the authorities were on their way to rescue them, but the help came too late’.

She was trying to give him hope.

‘There will be distress’ Jesus said

On Thursday, this week, it was the International Day for the Elimination of Violence Against Women and the start of a campaign called 16 Days in WA.

16 days in WA draws inspiration from the global movement for 16 Days of Activism Against Gender-based Violence to create change in culture, behaviour and attitudes that lead to violence against women and their children.  Politicians took to social media with their slogan ‘don’t be silent when you see violence’, to encourage ordinary residents, like us, to speak up when we see violence or disrespect towards women.  They want to bring hope to those women and children who are trapped in domestic violence, or controlling relationships. They want to give hope that there is a way out.

Today is the first Sunday of advent and our theme is hope.

Friends, there are some truly horrific things happening in our world today; I don’t need to tell you that. Climate change, global warming, war, racism, oppression, the buying and selling of humans, huge inequality between the rich who just get richer and the poor who die of their poverty. There’s injustice all around, and there is prevalence of fear; total gut wrenching, crippling fear.

People are fleeing for safety and are dying in their attempts. And in the 21st century we are still having to educate people, or commit ourselves, to speak up against violence and disrespect where we see it. It beggars belief.

And yet, I can’t get away from hope! I can’t move without being bombarded by the blessings of the creator. Just like the fig tree in this morning’s gospel, so hope is sprouting her own leaves everywhere I look. She is all over the place and she is a magnet, a real draw, irresistible in her approach and totally beguiling!

People are being drawn to our community and are encountering the source of all Love. We are recognising afresh that we are standing on holy ground here and this is a place where healing and wholeness spring up, even through the cracks in solid concrete, and there is nothing we can do to tame it or to stop it. I am thankful for that which has gone before and al that has led to this point – the good and the bad. I am grateful for the hard slog you lot have put in. And I am hopeful, so hope-filled for our future together because I feel like, what we are waiting for here is a time of rejoicing, a time of jubilee. ‘Our redemption is near’ – that’s what Jesus calls it. I can’t help feeling absolute hope, even in the midst of some real shit.

Hope is a fierce beast.

She texts her frantic fiancé, saying help is on the way.

She refuses to be silent in the face of violence.

She flees abusive partners when her life is in danger.

She turns a convict-built hostile place, designed as an asylum for women, into a glorious vibrant arts centre (I discovered that piece of heaven on earth this week too!).

And she stands, defiant, when the dangers and difficulties and darkness of this world threaten to overwhelm her.

‘When these things begin to take place’, Jesus says, ‘stand up and raise your heads’

My 4am sermon was right – advent is a time of waiting. But it was also so wrong. It’s not a time where we need to fill the space of that waiting with all this activity. It is a space in time where we need to simply stand. Stand up. Raise your heads. Hope is coming. Hope is on its way. And hope will not disappoint us.

And if hope leads us into action, all the better. If hope encourages us to speak out or speak up or make change or resist change then go with it. Let hope take you by the hand and lead you in the paths she walks.

And as we encounter those who are without hope right now, may we offer ourselves to be bringers of it.

Stand up, raise your heads, hope is drawing near. Amen.

Christ the King 2021

John 18: 33-37

I need to prefix today’s sermon with something of a caveat, on this day when we ‘celebrate’ that Christ is King. Much to my mum’s disgust, I am no monarchist, and maybe the echoes of Kingship and ruling and authority grate on you too. But can we try to shelve those strong emotions briefly because Christ’s Kingdom is no dictatorship or oppressive regime – everything we know about ruling and authority is entirely other in Christ’s rule. Thanks be to God. So with that in mind, fasten your seatbelts and let’s dive in.

We had a wonderful time this morning, didn’t we?!

All manner of amazingness happened at South Beach and we loudly and publicly declared – in word and action, that CHRIST IS KING. Josie proclaimed Jesus as her King and made some profound promises to try to follow him and we who are baptised, reaffirmed them too. And today, the church worldwide reminds herself, and her community that Jesus Christ is King – King of the World, King of the Church, our King.

So the gospel passage is kind of peculiar, don’t you think? A bit jarring. Maybe some context might be useful…

This passage comes immediately after the events of the last supper.  Jesus has told his closest friends that the time has come for him to be handed over to be killed.  Judas has left, collected his blood money, and is lying in wait for the moment of betrayal.  Jesus and his disciples have wandered across to the gardens nearby, and as they walk, Judas leads a heavily armed detachment of soldiers and religious leaders to meet him.  As they come face-to-face with Jesus, they fall to the ground in his presence, and then gather themselves.  They capture him, beat him and hand him over to certain death…and that is where our gospel passage this morning begins.  A beaten and bloodied Jesus is before Pilate and asked ‘are you the King of the Jews?’. 

And Jesus doesn’t answer the question.  He just stands, broken and half-naked, and asks a different question ‘Do you ask me this on your own, or did others tell you about me?’.  In this whole exchange he frustratingly never answers the question.

And I don’t know why, because he totally could. 

YES! I’m the King of the Jews. Yes, I’m the ruler of all the kings of the earth. I’m the alpha and the omega.  He doesn’t tell him that just as he is being presented before the jeering crowd today, soon He will be presented before the Ancient of Days and given his true Kingship. 

He doesn’t tell Pilate all the things he’s done… I’ve healed the sick and raised the dead.  I’ve eaten with outcasts.  I’ve spent time with the hated and kissed the untouchables.  I’ve called out lies and falsehood and injustice.  I’ve taken the lowest and the least, the uneducated and the hated and empowered them to pass on my message to generations to come.

But he doesn’t say any of that. He just gives this elusive answer…  ‘my kingdom is not from this world’, he says, and how right he is.  His kingdom was not like the kingdom of Caesar or Pilate or Herod; a kingdom that operated on violence and oppression and the ruling classes trampling on everyone else.  It was, and is, entirely other.

It is a kingdom based on truth, not on power.  A kingdom based on love, not hatred or fear.  This is a whole different currency, and to the world, and to Pilate, and to people seeking to build kingdoms in the 21st century, it doesn’t make any sense, but that is the subversive, counter-cultural rule of Christ the King.

The Kingdom of Christ turns the whole kingly order of things upside down.  He didn’t come in the way a king should come and he didn’t live recognisably as a king. His crown was about to be one of thorns and his throne was a brutal cross.  What have you done Jesus?  This is not kingly.  Are you really the king?

And Pilate’s question rings out today too, in this generation, because people are still searching for Truth. Looking for freedom and liberation, and they might glance at the church and wonder if maybe it could be true.  Could Jesus be our King?  Jesus’ Kingdom is not like Queen Elizabeth’s or Scott Morrison’s or any kingdom of this world.  It’s not, but could it be relevant even now? Could it be something – some place – better and trustworthy and true?

For Josie today, and those of us who call ourselves Christian, we believe it is.  We believe Jesus is King, and is good, and rules with justice and equity, not just testifying to the truth but actually being Truth; we believe he is the alpha and the omega and his kingship shall never be destroyed.  At least, we’ve committed our lives to living as if we believe it, even on days when we don’t or can’t.

But what are we doing, that shows we are citizens of a kingdom that is not from this world?  What are we doing, to point to Christ the King, and His Kingdom here, in Beaconsfield?  A kingdom of peace and non-violence; a kingdom of life and light and love and freedom; a kingdom of good news, where the hungry are fed and the homeless are housed, where the naked are clothed and the lonely have friends; where prisons and hospitals are empty and the environment is clean and green. 

A Kingdom where its citizens gather by the ocean at early o’ clock to publicly die to sin and rise to new life in Christ the King – a sure sign we are either mad, or serious about this…or both.

Today Josie nailed her colours to the mast. She joined the ranks of those who are baptised children of God. That kind of membership will never be repealed. She will be a baptised child of the King forever. And for those of us who are counted in that number, we too have nailed our colours to the mast…or rather, we have handed  ourselves over to be nailed to the throne of our Lord – we have died with Christ and been raised to new life in Him.

Will we live every day for our King and for the building of His Kingdom here on earth, as it is in Heaven?

Now to Him who sits on the throne, be all dominion and glory and Kingship, now and forever, Amen.

Remembrance Sunday 2021

Mark 13: 1-8

When I meet people for the first time, they inevitably notice my accent and ask where I come from. I’ve been really interested by my own response! You’ve heard me talk about the parish and town I left and how much I loved Hartlepool, and those stories will continue ad nauseum, but I’ve found myself saying ‘I’m originally from Coventry… spent about ten years in Yorkshire…and moved here from the North East coast’ and I’ve realised – hardly surprisingly – that all three of those places have been home and hold a piece of my heart. And already, I now count here in that number too. I’m home here. Anyways…

I am what is known as a Cov Kid – born and raised in the city of Coventry, smack bang in the middle of England and I’m dead proud of my first city; it is a city of peace and reconciliation, a city of sanctuary for countless people seeking asylum from all around the world, and it has a fairly dreadful football team who break my heart each season. But, this week, as we have commemorated Remembrance Day, and I’ve been thinking about this morning’s readings, my birth city has been particularly on my mind, and I’ll tell you why…

On 14th November 1940, eighty-one-years-ago-today, 500 German planes flew over the city of Coventry, dropping 500 tonnes of high explosives and 36,000 incendiary bombs.  Two thirds of Coventry’s buildings and factories were affected, 568 people lost their lives and more than a 1000 were injured.  Over 2000 homes were destroyed and a further 41,000 were damaged.  The German Official News Agency described the raid on Coventry as the most severe in the history of war. 

The morning after the attack, the city was burning – visible from miles and miles around and only the spire, and external walls of the great Cathedral remained intact. From the top of the spire the provost and stonemason surveyed the damage and saw the two enormous roof beams that had fallen last.  They were lying, as they fell, on top of the smouldering rubble, in the shape of a cross.  And, right there, with thick smoke in the air and the embers still red hot, the Provost made some history-making decisions; he resolved that Coventry Cathedral’s legacy would be one of peace, not retribution.  And the church would be rebuilt to the glory of God.

He immediately went to work, for peace.   He took the charred roof beams, bound them together as they were, piled some rubble to form a basic altar, and stood this cross behind it so mass could be celebrated there within hours.

He then collected the roof nails and shaped them into crosses to send across the world, to leaders and people in authority, as a symbol of reconciliation and as an invitation to join him in becoming peace builders for the future.

And then, he took another charred beam and in this great building, with stones thrown down, and not one left upon another, he scored two words in the wall of the apse behind the crude altar.  He wrote them in foot high lettering, and it simply said FATHER FORGIVE.

FATHER FORGIVE.

And he stopped there.  FATHER FORGIVE.

Provost Howard was not heralded as an amazing man, nor a brave, prophetic and wise Priest. In fact, he was vilified in the press and thought a fool.  How, on the morning after such destruction could he write FATHER FORGIVE without any indication that it was clearly the Germans who needed forgiveness?  How could he dare to imply anyone else might need forgiveness too?  If he had to write something holy, why did he not at least finish the sentence, and write FATHER FORGIVE THEM?

When asked, he plainly stated we can never point the finger at ‘them’; that in war and destruction, there is never US and THEM.  There are never ‘those that need forgiving’, and those who don’t; but forgiveness is something we all need, all the time. 

Father, forgive. 

Forgive this hatred and destruction.  Forgive what will be done in retaliation.  Forgive this world that speaks a language of war and not love.  Forgive, because we are ALL in grave need of your mercy.  Now, just as much as then. Forgive as we recall and remember. Forgive, even when we forget.

FATHER FORGIVE, because we have been led astray and not followed you as we know we should.

FATHER FORGIVE, because we have failed to see that sometimes destruction brings new life and a new way of thinking that is better than all that has gone before.

FATHER FORGIVE, because we have been alarmed at the state of the world and forgive because we haven’t been.

FATHER FORGIVE, because nation is rising against nation and kingdom against kingdom, and we are not people of peace and reconciliation.

FATHER FORGIVE, because there are earthquakes and famines, and we are suffering compassion fatigue and are paralysed because we don’t know how to help…or have failed to notice.

FATHER FORGIVE, because we have dominated and destroyed your world and we are not doing what we can to heal it.

FATHER…FORGIVE…

Provost Howard spoke prophetically in writing these words.  He knew of his, and our own, need for forgiveness, even when we are the victim.  And maybe he could glimpse that sometimes large stones and large buildings, and systems and structures, need to be demolished, thrown down, before something good and pure and holy and redemptive can spring up in its place.

Because, if the blitz on Coventry hadn’t happened, I wonder if that city would have ever become one that is this devoted to peace and reconciliation and welcome.  I wonder if that spirit would have sprung up without first the tearing down.  I don’t know.  But I do know that we worship a God who is a redeemer, and that good things always come in the place of hurt and brokenness.  I know that God does not leave things demolished and destroyed but is always, ALWAYS, in the redeeming and rebuilding business.

And maybe, today, we face situations that feel like they are broken and permanently ruined?  Or maybe there are things in and around us that may need to be pulled down and destroyed too, for peace and wholeness to be built in its place?  For the Kingdom of God to be fully established. Whatever it is, as we navigate our way – externally and internally – through distractions, wars, earthquakes and famine, may we always trust in the future kingdom that the Lord is building here, and as we wait for the perfect rebuilding, and total redemption may we actively contribute to the building of it, and always be quick to pray; FATHER FORGIVE.  Amen.

Breaking up is hard to do…

“It’s not you, it’s me, but we just can’t be together any more…I’m sorry…”

This week I have thought, then whispered, then stated these words, defiantly.

No…it’s not the world’s shortest marriage! It’s a conversation I am having with my FitBit*.

*(other step counters and smart watches also apply)

I’m sorry, FitBit; I know we have been together for such a long time and have shared so much fun together. We have been to some amazing places, and you have counted my steps – every single one of them – literally every step of the way. I mean, if you weren’t there, did I even work out??

I have hovered at the top of the FitBit leaderboard for weeks at a time and, when my trusty friend beeps at me to say I haven’t done 250 steps in *this* hour, I have got up and walked…or waved my arm around in the car as I drive…(surely it’s not just me who does that?!).

But I’m having something of a midlife crisis I think, and I’m completely re-evaluating diet and exercise and body image and self esteem and I am terrified and excited about this, in equal measure, and I want to share it with you at this point; the point where I have so many more questions than answers; the point where I don’t really know what I can do or be or become; the point where I feel challenged right to the very core of my being; this point, where I realise in a scarily profound way that I have been a slave to ‘being thin’ for at least the last 30 years, probably longer. And it has to stop. Beginning with the loss of my FitBit!

We have just come back from a glorious honeymoon, which was wonderful in every way. We sampled some of the most amazing food and wines from the stunningly beautiful wine regions of Western Australia. We have eaten and drunk our way around the Swan River and Margaret River, and beyond, and it has been blissful. And as we have travelled, so I have been reading a book called STRONGER (you can find it here… https://www.amazon.com.au/Stronger-Changing-Everything-Womens-Strength/dp/1529050812/ref=sr_1_9?keywords=stronger&qid=1636535621&sr=8-9)

In this book, Poorna Bell writes some incredible truths that have been hidden from me for decades. She writes that exercise can simply be for fun (what? Not for burning the most calories and ‘getting rid’ of last night’s curry?!). She says that exercise can be used simply to get fit and to become strong. And I never knew, not fully, that this was true. Society, the patriarchy, social media, and my own inner voice, have all told me that exercise is to get thin, stay thin, maybe get fit (but only to help with the thin thing)…and if you happen to enjoy it then you’re lucky, but, even if you don’t, you have to do it anyways because otherwise you will be F A T – and there’s nothing worse than that.

Friends, this inner voice talks bullshit. And she needs to be taught to sit down and shut up.

So I find myself here, on 10th November 2021, almost certainly weighing more than I ever have before (because I’ve not counted a single calorie since England, and I haven’t topped the leaderboard on my FitBit either), wanting so desperately to be free of this addiction to what the scales say…wanting to be free from the obsession over how many bloody steps I’ve taken today…wanting, really longing, to know the answers to some of these questions…

  • What does it feel like to be hungry?
  • What does it feel like to be comfortably full and then STOP eating?
  • Why is my sense of self worth tied up in what I weigh?
  • What if the ‘some foods are good and some foods are bad’ premise is actually a lie?!
  • What if exercise was purely for fun??
  • What would happen if I never weighed myself again, and just ate what I fancied, when I was hungry, and stopped when I was full???

You might be reading this and thinking ‘you can’t really mean that?’ but, genuinely, truly and honestly, I don’t know the answers to these questions but MAN, I want to find out. And I am determined to go on a journey of discovery to try to answer them because I’ve tried the whole diet-exercise-binge-starve-gain-lose-self-love-self-loathe cycle for way too long and it’s not right.

I would go as far as to say it’s not what God wants for me! I am fearfully and wonderfully made; Psalm 139 tells me so. And my addictions and obsessions do not lead me to live life in all its abundance, as promised in John 10:10. I’ve got it wrong. Really wrong.

And. I. Am. Done.

So, I am breaking up with my FitBit first. And I am going to walk along the beach because IT IS STUNNING and it is only 2 blocks away and because it makes my heart and soul glad and gives me space to thank the Creator of it all – and not because I have to hit 15,000 steps.

And I am going to try every last one of the crazy workouts available to me in this amazing part of the world – if they sound like fun to me. And if I enjoy them, I will do them again – BECAUSE THEY ARE FUN, not to burn off food that was delicious.

And, can I also say, I am scared of this? I am worried about embarking on this stage of the journey. And I don’t quite understand what my fear is (except the irrational fear that, as I said, I will get fat…and my brain is conditioned to believe that fat is bad…which is absolutely wrong).

So I am committing to blogging about it because it feels significant (to me) and maybe like something others might have thoughts and feelings about. I would love to know what you think.

Right: first up…aerial yoga!!

Jesus’ 4-word Sermon

Mark 12: 28-34

If feedback from congregation members was, in any way, a measure of the ‘success’ of a sermon I could reliably inform you that my two ‘best ones’ so far were the first one, where I told you I only have one sermon – many of you have asked me about that statement – and the other was the one where I mentioned Bunnings – largely because of my terribly British pronunciation of it, and your inherent love of the place!

Anyways…if it were true that there really is only one sermon, then Jesus seems to be the true modeller of that theory. And today’s gospel reading really boils down all his teaching, all his life, into just four very simple words:

LOVE GOD

LOVE OTHERS

And that is it. Jesus’ message and life’s work, in 4 words – Love God, love others.

I seriously considered just saying those 4 words today and then sitting down, and if there is anywhere in the world where I could legitimately do that, it is almost certainly here, and some of you are almost certainly longing for me to do exactly that, but I want to say a few more things before we take time to sit and reflect.

Love God. Love others. The 4 most important words in all scripture.

Imagine if those 4 words were the measure by which we made every decision, every choice, every single deed. Does this thing demonstrate I love God? Does this choice enable me to love others more?  How can my time be used better in the quest of love? That is how it is supposed to be. It’s not a golden aspiration or aim we can never reach. It’s the plan! The greatest of all commandments. It is possible. Everything we do, don’t do, spend, give, take, everything we even are is intended to be for love of God and others.

So, the question is not, should we love God or could we love God. The only question is how. How Lord, how can we love you and love others well.  Better.

In the four short Sundays we’ve been together we have already had some great examples of what loving God and others looks like. We explored the need to lay down all we have, even our very lives if we need to, and come to God hungry and expectant, willing to place ourselves in the very hands of God that we might, as that gorgeous Methodist Covenant Prayer says ‘be employed for you or laid aside for you, exalted for you or brought low for you….’  Last week we considered how we might love God by throwing ourselves upon God’s mercy….and love others by extending that same mercy to them.

Jesus preaches throughout scripture but the message is always the same:

Love God, love others.

Yesterday I went along to the diocesan training on keeping children safe from sexual abuse. Many of you have been on the course, I know. It was shocking and deeply concerning and the church has a long way to go until all God’s children are safe within her walls but, do you know, one of the things that really shocked me, (particularly as I was thinking about this morning’s reading) was when the trainer shared words from scripture about forgiveness. She seemed to be saying we should forgive those who abuse children and extend love to them. And then she said, ‘but only the ones who are repentant’.

But I don’t think that is what Jesus says in his 4-word sermon.

You see, love is a gift from God; a fruit of the Spirit. It is the very source and essence of who God is – not just something t we somehow muster up. Friends, loving like Christ is life giving, life threatening. But there are no caveats; it is not ours to arbitrate or ration. Like mercy, it is a gift we are given, in abundance, not to keep, but always to pass on – whether or not we think the recipient deserves it. And when we love we become more and more like the Creator. More and more like the One we seek to love.

Love God. Love Others.

And our most perfect example is found in Christ. And how does Christ Jesus love?

He Loves, outrageously and indiscriminately.  He Loves, even when the world tells us to hate.  Or even, especially when the world tells us to hate. 

Jesus loved his disciples with everything he had and everything he was and everything he did. He loved them when they were loveable and when they were utterly unlovable. He loved through healing, feeding the hungry and welcoming the outcasts.  He loved the sinners and the untouchables.  He loved through touch, hospitality and welcome. He loved all people; Jews and Gentiles, men, women and children, those who were sick, paralysed, possessed with demons.  He even loved the dead…and loved them back to life.  He loved and loved and loved, in every thought, word and deed…and then commands us to do the same. 

Giving our lives over to love is crazy and bold and all-consuming and life altering and Jesus said it over and over.  It was his one and only sermon!

And in these pages of scripture He is speaking to us as individuals, and to the church as a whole; this is our commandment.  This is how we should behave to the person next to us and how the church should be behaving to the world.  This is what we should be known for.

Love God and Love Others, Jesus says. Love Extravagantly and unconditionally.  Love in every thought, word and deed, and continue to keep on choosing to do so, even when it hurts, even when we don’t want to, even when we aren’t thanked or noticed, even when we aren’t loved back.  Love more abundantly, more outrageously, more like Christ. 

Jesus’ teachings are simple. Easy to understand, but world-changing if we take them seriously. If we are serious about joining and remaining in this Jesus movement, it will take us to the very edge of ourselves. It will cost us everything and give us back even more. All through this crazy revolution of love.

You know, sometimes I’d really like to just say 4 words as a sermon, and then sit down. Maybe I should.

Love God. Love Others.

Amen.

Sermon from 24/10/21

Mark 10: 46-52

Every day that we get to live in this place, something else strikes me as beautiful or amazing, and reminds me how incredibly lucky I am! Drinks around the fire-pit, conversations with new friends, clear blue skies, another vegan cake to try, and yesterday it was the stunning display of poppies in our grounds. They’re simply beautiful, aren’t they? And they’re everywhere! And yesterday, what really struck me was this one little poppy, popping out of the concrete outside the garage door.

Have you looked closely at a poppy lately? Their petals are paper thin, and their stalks are whispy and easy to snap – especially when they are small and young – and yet, something inside this plant is so strong, so tenacious, that it can burrow its way through inches of concrete and push its little poppy head through and out into sunlight. Now, to me, that speaks volumes about the intricate care and concern of the Creator – the commitment of a tiny plant, to reach the surface and survive, says a great deal about the Divine, but it also says something to me about the man we met in this morning’s gospel passage. The tenacity of the poppy resonates somehow with the ballsy blind Bartimaeus.

Bartimaeus, unashamedly and purposefully rejects his place in society, shouts aloud, refuses to be silenced, throws off his begging cloak and runs to Jesus. And what does he ask for? Yes, he asks to be able to see again. But what is it that he first asks for? Mercy. He asks for mercy.

Jesus, son of David, have mercy on me. Again he says it; son of David, have mercy on me. As tenacious, bold and ballsy as those poppies, Bartimaeus throws himself at the feet of the one he is declaring as King and begs for mercy.

The healing of the blind man is amazing, miraculous, the bit of the story we always focus on, but this week I’ve been unable to get away from this desperate cry for mercy. It’s the same cry we have heard from Job these last few weeks; it’s the same cry the wretched psalmist writes of, it’s the same gift that each priest – since the dawn of time – begs for, because we can’t follow this calling in our own strength – it’s there in each one of our readings; Son of David, Creator God, Holy One, have mercy.

And I wonder if this gift of mercy is one of our best kept secrets.

I wonder if mercy is what the world today, what the people of our parish, are really searching for. Because what does mercy look like, with skin on?

In our gospel reading, showing mercy meant the blind could see.

But if we were to greet everyone we met, or every person we heard about, with mercy, what transformation might occur?

When we see through the eyes of mercy, we become agents of reconciliation and forgiveness, the homeless are given somewhere to live, the lonely find company, the hungry receive food, the stranger knows warm welcome. When we choose to act with mercy the poor no longer languish in poverty, the naked get to wear the best clothes, the chains of oppression are broken, there is no us and them, just one community, one family. Could we be merciful people? Could we be known for our mercy?

And what about if we place ourselves on that roadside, in that cloak of Bartimaeus? What about when we are the ones who need mercy? Might we begin to recognise again, or for the first time, our absolute dependence upon the mercy of the One we are tentatively trying to follow, and, perhaps even more exposing, our very need of the mercy of one another? Imagine if we forgot about ourselves, cared much less about what people thought, and threw off our proverbial cloaks, leapt to our proverbial feet and cried out ‘Lord, friends, have mercy on me’.

It was through the request (demand, even) for mercy that Bartimaeus regained his sight. Just consider, what might our Lord restore to us if we were to ask the same?

Going back to those poppies: they won’t be stopped. They refuse to be tamed. They will spring up wherever the heck they want to, like it or not. And formerly blind Bartimaeus was the same. He wouldn’t be shushed or held back. He wouldn’t stay seated or keep quiet.

Son of David, have mercy on me, let me see again.

We would do well to take lessons from the poppies and the beggar and throw ourselves on that same mercy, with tenacity and determination, asking for God’s mercy whilst also asking for our eyes to be opened to those around us who also need that same gift that we know and need.

Greater minds than mine, down through many centuries, have taken the words, of this social outcast and have used them as meditative prayer, repeating over and over; Jesus Christ, son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner. Books are written about what has come to be known as the Jesus prayer – bishops, monks, and many others swear by it. So, I invite you now to spend a few minutes praying those words silently too, one alongside another, as we ask God to have mercy upon us, and to give us the grace we need to extend that gift of mercy towards others.

Lord Jesus Christ, son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner. Amen.

I wonder…

A sermon from St Paul’s Beaconsfield, WA, on Sunday 17th October, from Mark 10: 32 – 45 – you can read a link to it here… https://bible.oremus.org/?ql=501465079

I received a card from a wonderful friend back home this week and in it she wrote… ‘God gave me a message for you and said this: God is with you in Australia but speaks with a different accent, so you’ll need to listen carefully’. Then Craig and I were in Bunnings and he had this super fast conversation with the shop assistant and I think I caught about 20% of what they were saying, so I’m definitely trying to fine tune my listening skills, but on Tuesday evening I went along to the bible study that John runs each week – 7:30pm in the meeting room, highly recommended – and God spoke, right there, in many and clear ways and I need to share some of those holy riches with you this morning.

We began the study as they do each time – reading the gospel passage twice through and then going around the room, asking ‘I wonder’ type questions: things like ‘I wonder what Jesus meant by drinking the cup he drinks’, ‘I wonder what sitting at the right and left mean, and what glory really is’ and ‘I wonder what being baptised with the same baptism as Christ means’. And nobody offered answers or explanations, we just wondered for a while – just sat with the mystery instead of rushing ahead to the answer. And then we kind of wandered through our wonderings and thought together about what they might mean.

And. God. Was. With. Us.

And it was wonderful – wonder FULL, literally – and also deeply unsettling, really quite uncomfortable.

So, James and John spit out this request that is really quite rude and also pretty familiar, isn’t it? Jesus, we want you to do for us whatever we ask. Can you relate to prayers of your own that might sound similar? Shopping list prayers! Jesus, heal my dad, stop it raining, find me a parking space, give me this job? Some of them are really good requests, but more often they are my will be done prayers, rather than thy will be done.

James and John do it in spectacular style here, but I think it was ever thus. Jesus, teacher, do for us whatever we ask. And Jesus replies, in Jesus’ infinite grace and mercy, ‘what do you want me to do for you?’ What is it that you want? And they tell him – let one of us sit at your right and the other at your left in your glory. When we fast forward through the death, flogging, spitting, and mockery you speak of, can we have our own comfy thrones next to you, either side?

And Jesus says, ‘you don’t know what you are asking’. And I think they kind of do know what they’re asking – they want to be seated in full view in glory. They want a reward, to look important, they do know what they are asking. What they don’t know is what it takes to get there, what the path of discipleship really is. And let’s just wonder about that for a few minutes…

Can you drink the cup I drink?

Can you be baptised with the baptism I am baptised with?

Friends, listen to that because these two questions of Jesus are not just to James and John. They’re not just questions for 1st century Palestinian followers of the itinerant Rabbi Jesus. They are questions for all of us who are tentatively trying to walk this path of discipleship

Can we drink the cup? Can we be baptised? What does it even mean?!

Well, here’s the thing: it is an invitation to certain death. It really is. Last week we were invited to give up all we had, sell all our possessions, and follow Jesus. And today, we see where that road goes. It is the road that leads to life, never forget that, but first it is the road that journeys through death. It costs us all we are and all we have, even our very lives.

Can you drink the cup I drink, Jesus asks? That’s not just the cup of wine from the last supper, but the cup of suffering that Jesus begs God to take from him in the garden of gethsemane: if it is possible, take this cup from me: yet not what I will but what you will. Can you drink from that cup James? John? Can you? Can we?

And can you be baptised with the baptism I am baptised with? Baptism is the sacrament in which we die – we don’t tell that to parents who bring their little babies in their frilly hats to the font – but it really is the sacrament in which we enact our death – we drown our old lives, drown our sins in those waters of baptism and rise again to new life, to freedom, healing, forgiveness. Can you take that baptism, Jesus asks. Can you die, will you die, for me, that you might live?

And what about this glory James and John ask after? Can we sit beside you, one on your left and one on your right in your glory?  Doesn’t that resound with painful  images of Golgotha – where our Lord hung on the cross with two criminals, one on his right and one on his left – and where his true glory was revealed, where the centurion declared, on behalf of all humanity for all time, ‘surely this man was – is – the Son of God’.

When James and John make their demand, Jesus is so right when he says, ‘you don’t know what you are asking’. Can we sit beside you? Well, I don’t know about that, Jesus says, that’s up to God, but if you really want to be counted there among the glory, this is the way the road goes to get there – it goes through suffering and unto death and then, onwards to resurrection. But to reach glory, the way there is the way of death.

And for those of us who are committing our lives to bear the name Christian, for those of us who are daring to believe that this Jesus stuff is real and has something to say to 21st Century living, we are signing up to death. And how we are also signing up to life!

It is an upside-down kingdom where the first are last, where the greatest are the slaves and servants, and where we only gain life by embracing death. It doesn’t make sense and the world calls it boring but Jesus’ message, Jesus’ call is not for the fainthearted. It is fierce, all encompassing, life changing, REAL. And, as that great hymn reminds us, it demands my soul, my life, my all.

As I said last week, and will say often, it is costly and compelling. And it is for you.

I wonder, will you follow? Amen.

First Sunday: The Rich Young Ruler (Mark 10:17-31)

Last Sunday – 10th October 2021 – was my first Sunday as Priest-in-Charge at St Paul’s Beaconsfield, having been commissioned a few days beforehand (you can watch the commissioning service here if you missed it… https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zea-R53uVw4 ). I promised I would blog my sermons each week, and then promptly forgot, so forgive me for the delay, but here it is; my introductory sermon to the wonderful people at St Paul’s, and my thoughts on giving up all we have, selling it, and giving the money to the poor…

This week has been something of a whirlwind!

I have met so many people, heard many stories, tried to find my way around this precinct, tried to understand what a precinct is!, driven an automatic car for the first time, spent 2 days at Synod with hundreds of strangers – all trying to figure out what the Anglican Church of Australia is and does… and all the while trying to come up with something to say to you this morning.

Everywhere I went, people were said, ‘I don’t usually come to church but I’m going to be there on Sunday to see what you do’…no pressure then…And, in one such conversation someone helpfully said, ‘it really doesn’t matter what you say; people just want to know something of you’, and while that feels a bit odd, it stayed with me and made me wonder what you might want to know…

So here are a few things about your newly arrived priest.

I am a brand new wife to my shiny new husband of 10 days, which also makes me step-mum to Craig’s four children. I am a daughter, a sister, an auntie, cousin, granddaughter, relative, friend and dog-mum to Maggie, who will join us in January.

I love to get behind a cause, so I am vegan, an active campaigner to end slavery and promote women’s rights, I am a feminist, and an advocate for those who are poorest and most oppressed. I believe black lives matter and am, like many, counted among the #metoo number.

I say the wrong things at the most inopportune moments, have a hundred ideas before breakfast, and have a phobia of pre-packed sandwiches. I love Jesus and beach walks and drinks that fizz and being a wife and my dog. And I only have one sermon…

Like genuinely, I only have one sermon.

Many years ago, I went on a course for those starting out with preaching. In the first session the leader told us we all have one sermon inside us and we just need to figure out what it is…and then preach it forever. I thought that was the most ridiculous thing I had ever heard – I mean, how can you preach the same thing about the good Samaritan and the nativity?  But it turns out this man was right.

And many years from now, whether it is your first or millionth visit, you will likely hear me say, fundamentally, the same thing, which is this…

Jesus says this amazing thing

We should do this thing

You will need the food of this holy meal to sustain you to do it.

Oh, and always lean heavily on the side of grace.

So, in today’s gospel we meet this guy who is often called ‘the rich young ruler’ and he comes to Jesus and asks, ‘good teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?’  Jesus tells him that he must keep the commandments, which he says he’s done since his youth, and then comes the kicker…

‘Jesus, looking at him, loved him and said ‘you lack one thing, go, sell what you own and give the money to the poor…then come follow me’.

Wow. Jesus doesn’t sugar coat it, does he?

Give up everything and come to me with empty hands and an open heart and we can get to the work of seeing the Kingdom of God.

Friends, following Jesus is costly. Man, it is so costly.

Jesus doesn’t ask for a bit of this – a few dollars here, and slightly less time with family – he literally asks for everything we own, everything we possess, every relationship we have, all we are and all we do – give it all up, he says, and follow me.

Following Jesus costs everything.

It is hugely costly, but it is also utterly compelling.

It’s like the most terrifying rollercoaster ride for a rollercoaster fanatic.

It’s the journey that leads an anxious priest to leave family and friends and home and church on the invitation of this crazy God who says ‘come and join me on a holy adventure. Let’s get up to mischief’. It is insane and doesn’t make any sense.

Sell what you own and give your money to the poor?

Leave house, brothers, sisters, mothers, fathers, children and fields?

And then follow me.

And here’s the crazy thing – Jesus is on his way to certain death and that is the path that he invites us on.

Now, forgive me for saying this Lord but it’s not a great invite, is it?

Leave everything you know and love?

Give up all you have – give it all away to the poor – and then walk the path towards death.

But here’s the thing. We worship a God who turns everything upside down.

We follow a Jesus – or at least we are trying to – who asks us to die in order that we might live.  The path of radical discipleship asks, well demands us to give away everything we have in order that we might gain all we need.

We give our wealth so the poor may have more, but in doing so we reap the greatest of rewards – a hundredfold, Jesus promises, and not just when we die but here and now too.  It doesn’t make sense. It is all-consumingly costly, but it is also utterly compelling.

And today we begin our holy adventure together.

I have heard this call to leave everything behind.

I have heard this call to give up everything so that others can have more.

I have heard that invitation, just as the rich young ruler did.

And today we have heard it again.

The question is, will we together, return to the feet of Jesus and tell him we, I, the people of St Pauls, the parish of Beaconsfield, we are in? Will we tell Jesus we will give it all up, all away, and follow Him?

The invitation the rich ruler heard still echoes down through the ages and it rings out here today, for you. Will you say yes?

And will you put down, give away, give up, whatever Christ asks in order to follow Him with empty hands and open hearts?

As you approach this altar a few minutes from now I invite you to commit afresh to this eternal invitation to walk with Christ towards the building of God’s Kingdom. I invite you, as you hold out your hands to receive our Lord’s very body, to hand over whatever you are carrying, whatever you are still clutching, in order that you might be able to claim real life, true life, instead.

Follow me, Jesus says – for us it feels impossible, but for God it is possible.

So let’s set off together today thanking God for all that has been and trusting God for all that lies ahead as we see God’s Kingdom come here among us.  May it be so, Amen.