Holy Adventures

A new look at the Widow’s Mite…

1 Kings 17:8-16 Psalm 146 Hebrews 9:23-28 Mark 12:38-44

How often do we genuinely approach scripture as if for the first time?

Usually we scan a passage, recognise the key figures, and assume we know the moral of the story – just as I did this week. Ah, the widow’s mite. We know the message of this one; loving and serving God demands my soul, my life, my all. Give everything. And then, something happens – something as seismic as the election of a president, and something as minor as reading a commentary from decades ago – and suddenly, the passage takes on a new message that is so ‘other’ to what I was previously taught, so opposite from what I previously believed, even what I preached before, that it stops you in your tracks.

I thought I knew this passage – Jesus and his disciples are watching the worshippers going into the temple. Some swan around in their wealth and riches and cascade their coins into the treasury. Jesus is not pleased with them. The widow brings her two copper coins and is highly commended for giving all she has. But is that what happens? I don’t think it is.

For sure, Jesus is very clear of his condemnation of the scribes – ‘beware’, he says, ‘they devour widow’s houses for the sake of appearance… they will receive the greater condemnation’. But does he commend the actions of the widow? ‘She, out of her poverty has put in everything…she had to live on’. It’s an observation, not necessarily a commendation. And when we read it alongside the verses from our other readings, they shed useful light on it too…

In our Old Testament reading we meet another widow. We hear her say, ‘I have only a handful of meal in a jar…I am going home to prepare it for myself and my son that we may eat it and die’ and Elijah tells her she will not die but will be cared for by the Lord until the rains come.

And our psalm is clear too: ‘the Lord executes justice for the oppressed…gives food to the hungry…lifts up those who are bowed down…watches over the strangers…[and] upholds the orphan and widow’.

God’s opinion of the poor and the widow is abundantly clear. God’s directive for how these groups of people should be cared for is unquestionable; care, lift up, give, watch over.

So, a new reading of this gospel passage might decry the systems that command this poor widow to give her last two coins before she can enter the temple. It condemns the rules that say only the rich can enter. It disrupts the processes that keep the rich at the front, relegate the poor to the back whilst taking their last coins so all they can do is go home to die.

The Lord of Heaven and Earth is very clear. Poverty is avoidable. It should not be a terminal illness. And we, as the world’s rich, are the medication to heal it. The world’s rich, are God’s solution to ending poverty and oppression.

So how have we got this so wrong?

How are we those who perpetuate poverty, even perpetrate it.

And while I haven’t made a complete u-turn from my deepest belief that following Jesus does mean giving up my own rights, my own comfort, even my own wealth – that still remains true – I am beginning to hear, in this gospel passage, that sometimes following Jesus looks like being the one who makes sure the widow has enough to live on, rather than demanding she give her last coin to the treasury. It has become a cry to see the systems that keep the poor as poor as possible – even to the point where they must donate their last coin to the wealthy, and go home to die. In the economy of God, we cannot be those people. We must not build or maintain those systems and, if we look ahead to next Sunday’s readings, Jesus continues this message and talks about the destruction of those systems.

But we are here in this week, in this place in history, where more than 74 million people voted to be led by a man who makes promises for mass deportation of immigrants, whilst giving tax breaks for the top wage earners; whose policies end diversity, equity and inclusion programs, while denying climate change and increasing drilling for fossil fuels which, of course, has a catastrophic impact on the world’s poorest first. He will restrict education for those who are poorest and only permit medical aid for those who work. He will keep the rich rich, and take the last two copper coins from the world’s poorest before sending them home to die. And I am sorry if mixing politics and religion is not palatable but these choices, this behaviour, is not what is asked of us when we sign up to follow the prince of peace.

We are asked to put more coins into the hands of those who think they are on their way home to die…and give them the promise of life. And we are asked to dismantle the systems that make them believe they must give that last coin in the first place.

This precious widow in our gospel reading did not need to give money before she was acceptable to God and beloved in God’s sight. And if she did die of poverty, then surely, she is one of the most glorious saints in light. As I say, so many times, there is enough wealth in this world for everyone – enough and some to share. What we need is an equitable sharing of it, and a bringing down of those systems that exist to line the pockets of the fat cats and starve the poor to death.

Every three years in the Anglican church we get the same readings from scripture. This time around the widow and Jesus are calling loudly to me to care for the poor, raise up the downtrodden, call out the systems of oppression – even destroy them. And because that is such a scriptural imperative, I think they always were.

Give us ears to listen, eyes to see, wealth and willingness to make change and voices to speak out for those who are kept silent. Amen.

All Saints and All Souls

Isaiah 25:6-9 Psalm 24 Revelation 21:1-6a John 11:32-44

(Today we celebrate All Saints Day and remember All Souls; the souls of those we have loved and lost and who are now counted among the saints in light).

For someone who was brought up conservatively Baptist, I have a surprising devotion to the saints. I love the big hitters, particularly blessed Mary and Mary Magdalene, but they are merely the beginning of my saintly interest. When the Church went online for those long months of COVID our dispersed virtual congregation accidentally formed a new worshipping community under the watchful eyes of Ss Isidore and Carlo; the patron saints of the computer, and the internet. And this week I discovered the delight that is St Drogo – the patron of coffee, insanity and unattractive people and uncovered the irony that it’s St Gemma who’s the saint of all things back pain related. Who knew?!

And while we might petition St Anthony when we lose something, I am more interested today in the quieter, less famous, more under-stated saints that are around us, both living and departed, every day – because today is ALL Saint’s day, not SOME saints day.

Today we pause, breathe deeply, and seek comfort in the assurances of our Old Testament reading, that tells us there are those now feasting with the Lord at a lavish banquet. We hold tight to the promise that death will be swallowed up forever; there will be no more tears, no disgrace, no more waiting – just rejoicing and gladness.

Today we wait, together, for the day when we and our loved ones will be reunited, with God, in the new heaven and the new earth; where God will fully dwell with all humanity – our tears will be wiped away, mourning and pain will be no more, and all things will be made new.

Today we collectively gather at the universal tomb of death as we eagerly wait for Jesus to come and weep with us, take away the stone, and call life to ‘come out’ again.

We gather in this liminal space where we know death and grief – where, for some, this is the first All Saints Day where our favourite human saint is at the eternal banquet instead of eating with us – we gather here where our memories of our loved ones cause anxiety because we can no longer remember what their voice sounds like, we can no longer hear their laugh or smell their scent. And we gather here, taking our place in the line of the Saints – holding the baton that is ours to run with at this time, until it is time to hand it over.

And as we gather to honour those who have allowed the light of Christ to stream through them and warm our own faces, so we recognise that we each have a role in allowing ourselves to be used as saints – light bearers – on the journey of life for another.

You see, we are all saints. We are all forgiven, redeemed, made holy, given grace. There are those who came before us – great champions of the faith, stretching right back to the dawn of time – and there are undoubtedly those who will come after us. And here we are, right now, with our own part to play, trying to spot the saintliness in one another. Sometimes our light is tarnished, sometimes it is easier to spot. Sometimes we mar the image of the creator as it seeks to stream out of us. Sometimes we look at another and it is like we look directly into the face of Christ.

Last year I told you my favourite All Saints story, about the little girl wandering through a church, looking at the imagery of saints in the stained-glass window, before saying to her mummy, ‘now I understand! A saint is the one the light shines through’. Absolutely.

A saint is the one the light shines through. And one of the reasons we miss those who have gone before us is because the light that shone through them was fascinating and beautiful and life-giving and beguiling. Our call, as baptised children of God is to be that light for others or, as our gospel reading puts it, to follow Jesus’ invitation and command to be – like Lazarus – unbound, so the light might stream out of us, unhindered, undistorted, too.

We have a lifetime to do this, a lifetime to make an impact, and forever to be missed – like those we remember today. We grow into saints throughout our earthly lives, every day, ready to receive the crown when we reach the eternal banquet. And this is a lot to take in – a lot to process.

Today, we allow ourselves the time in this sacred place to recall the souls of all the saints; living and departed. We allow ourselves the capacity to be surprised by feelings that come unexpectedly to the surface and we sit with them, hold them, maybe light a candle for them and allow them to float upwards and outwards towards God.

We take a pause to allow the Christ to do that next bit of work in unbinding us, so that God’s Light might beam more brightly through us and, as God does God’s gentle work of grace in all these feelings, we simply breathe, say yes, and allow it to happen. So let us pray…

Time to speak out!

Jeremiah 31:7-9 Psalm 126 Hebrews 7:21-28 Mark 10:46-52

Last week I led a session at Wollaston Theological College, for those training for ordination. I had one hour to talk about the role of the church in the world. A whole hour! I began with my favourite question – one you will almost certainly have heard me ask before. I asked them ‘what is the one thing you would stand up in court for, go to prison for, even die for?’ And we took time to consider that, and to explore what the role of the Church might be in these situations. And we talked about immigration and poverty and injustice, but then, as I read this week’s readings, I realise what we were really discussing was what it is we refuse to stay silent about. What is the thing that breaks our silence and makes us speak out?

Human trafficking, child sexual abuse, the environment, homelessness, addiction, education, lack of access to services, loneliness, care for the sick and elderly. What are the issues, what will we do, what should the church – God’s people collectively – do?

Often, the focus of the story of Bartimaeus is the miracle of the restoration of his sight. And that is remarkable. Miraculous. But that isn’t the thing that caught my attention most this week. It was all the noise!

In the Old Testament reading we have people singing aloud, raising shouts, proclaiming (you can’t do that quietly), giving praise, and weeping. In our Psalm there is laughter and shouts of joy and then we meet the blind man, sat on the roadside. Or rather, we walk past the blind man on the side of the road. Totally pass him by and don’t notice him at all and Blind Bartimaeus begins to shout out, ‘Jesus, son of David, have mercy on me’! Many order him to be quiet – but this is the thing he will break his silence over, and he cries out even more loudly, ‘Son of David, have mercy on me!’

The crowds are moving, the people are noisy and the voice that rings out above it all asks for mercy. People try to shut him up and Jesus stops. He stands still and he says, ‘call him here’ and they do.

The blind man refuses to stay silent when he knows his healing is available to him. He refuses to keep quiet, regardless of custom or tradition or respect. He cries out his own protest shout. And while we reflect on him breaking his silence, I wonder again what I might break my silence over. What is your Bartimaeus moment? When will we find ourselves standing alongside our own Bartimaeus and speak out for the sake of that man. What is it that will do away with our excuses of being too shy, not brave enough, not educated enough? What will open our hearts enough so our voices will follow?

And that leads me to ask the question, what will the church – worldwide – refuse to stay silent over? What loud calling voice do we need to hear from the church in the world, right now?

This past week I received an email from an organisation called ‘Palestinian Christians in Australia’, asking for the church in Australia to speak out against the genocide in Palestine. They wrote,

This past weekend, we commemorated one year since the Church of St. Porphyrios was hit by an Israeli airstrike, killing 22 and injuring 18 members of our community. Hundreds of Palestinian Christians remained sheltering [in churches] in Gaza. They have been there since October 2023, with nowhere to escape. Close to 200 have valid visitor visas for Australia. But the Australian government has not adequately supported them to leave Gaza, and now their visas are due to expire.

We are inviting Christian leaders around Australia to advocate with and for us.

In direct response to this advocacy, the government has pledged just over $477,000 to Palestinian Christians in Australia to house families arriving from Gaza. We are thankful for God’s faithfulness, the Church’s support, and the government’s provision… But thousands of the Australia Palestinian community’s family members remain trapped in Gaza, suffering famine, destruction and bloodshed. We are calling for the Australian Church to join us once again, as we say, more must be done.

We are inviting you to join the coalition of Christian leaders, as we call on the government to:

Grant emergency humanitarian visas to thousands of Palestinians in Gaza.
Provide sustained diplomatic pressure on the Israeli government about border crossings to allow safe evacuation from Gaza
Provide assistance once these families arrive in Australia.

We are looking for churches to endorse the campaign…

And that makes me want to stand, like Bartimaeus did, and cry Lord Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on us…

Last week, I preached that sometimes we need to say yes to God and then stay silent. And that remains true. It is also true that sometimes we need to say more – not just in prayer, but in word and action, in letters, in protests, in court or parliament, online and in person. Sometimes we don’t have the luxury of remaining silent. Sometimes speaking out leads to healing and freedom. Sometimes speaking up shines the light on that which is wrong and brings about change.

The words of the collect at the start of the service captured it beautifully when we prayed, ‘Jesus Christ…you heard the cry of the blind beggar when others would have silenced him. Teach us to be attentive to the voices others ignore, that we might respond and heal and welcome, for the sake of the gospel.’

So, in a few moments of silent reflection, let’s consider the question I began with; ‘What is the thing that will break your silence and makes you speak out’. There are those who are waiting for your voice. Amen.

Say yes…then shut up!

Isaiah 53:4-12 Psalm 91:9-16 Hebrews 5:1-10 Mark 10:35-45

Last week, Revd Ros read the story of the rich ruler. This morning’s gospel passage follows almost directly on from that one. Almost, but not quite, because those who compile the lectionary chose to leave out 3 little verses. Three verses that change the context of this morning’s passage, pretty significantly…

They say this, ‘The disciples were on the road, going up to Jerusalem, and Jesus was walking ahead of them… He took the twelve aside and began to tell them what was to happen to him, 33saying, ‘the Son of Man will be handed over, and they will condemn him to death; 34they will mock him, and spit upon him, and flog him, and kill him; and after three days he will rise again’.

For the third time in a few days, Jesus tells his disciples he is about to be arrested, beaten and killed; he’s going to die; and James and John respond with, ‘Teacher, we want you to do for us whatever we ask of you.’ Do for us whatever we ask.

And hasn’t it always been thus? How often do we approach Jesus in that way? Jesus here is my list; please do this for me. Sort this, fix this, make this go away and this happen… how often are we tempted to that?

But Jesus doesn’t answer their request; instead he says to them ‘you do not know what you are asking’. Can you drink the cup I drink? Can you be baptised with the baptism I am baptised with?

James and John are asking the man who is God to do for them exactly what they want. Their request of Jesus is the wrong way around; Jesus we want you to do for us whatever we ask of you… That doesn’t seem to be the right order of things at all.

How different would things be if we somehow managed to allow God to be God – total surrender – and didn’t ask for anything, but rather allowed the one who is the originator of all that is Good to do the asking of us. What if we listened rather than spoke? If we spent time consciously in the Lord’s presence, not saying, do for us what we ask of you, but rather saying give me the grace that I might do for you God, whatever you ask of ME. I will do whatever you ask of me – I’ll even drink the cup of suffering, and say yes to the baptism of death. I’m yours and I’m in. And then just wait.

What might God ask? What is it that God want each of us to do? In today’s reading God asks for service; serve those around us and love and serve God too, following the example of Christ.

The example of Christ is servanthood; total self-giving, always putting the needs of others before our own, always going the extra mile, choosing love and kindness, outdoing others in all that is good, and loving God with all that we have and all that we are and all that we do. If we spent our whole lives concentrating on that, what a difference we would find around us. If we committed to always serving others and loving God, first, and fully, and left our ‘do whatever we ask of you’ demands out, we may find that we were as close to God as if we were sat at God’s right or left hand.

I’ve been really thinking about these words this week and it has caused me to reflect on my own prayers. Since being in Australia I feel like the Holy Spirit has been inviting me into a deeper, wider, broader, space. When I first started getting into the ocean each morning the invitation that came to me was to ‘swim deeper’ – to swim in the depth of God’s grace like the parts of the ocean where hydrographers don’t even know where the seabed is. And to keep swimming. And as I have tried to respond to that invite, so I have found the words of my prayers falling away, until they just become Yes. I call them my ocean prayers and on a good day all I find myself simply praying is yes. Yes God, whatever it is; yes. Not asking anything, just swimming in that richness of grace and love, knowing that whatever God asks or gives or does is good and it is safe to say yes…and that there are probably no other words.

Because, as Jesus says, when we do ask, we don’t really know what we are asking. Lord give me a parking space – yuck.
Even Lord end world poverty – well, isn’t that ours to do, rather than absolving all responsibility to our shopping list God in the sky.

Instead of ‘my’ will be done, shouldn’t we always be asking for ‘thy’ will to be done?

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. Can you drink from that cup James and John? Can you? Can we?

As we take this question seriously, may we take a break from asking anything of God; may we err on the side of silence rather than hollow requests; may we instead follow the example of Christ; loving God and serving one another, and giving all we have. May we simply say yes, and leave the rest to God. Amen.

A sermon for St Francis Day 2024

Genesis 2: 18-25 Canticle of the Sun Rev 5: 11-14 Matt 6: 25-29

Today we come to the end of our Season of Creation, and we celebrate the life and witness of St Francis of Assisi; the patron saint of animals, ecology and the environment. We began the season with John’s sermon on the Earth. He concluded that sermon with a beautiful quote from Pope Francis, so it seems fitting to begin this sermon with an equally wonderful quote from the same. In his encyclical on the environment, thePope writes this tribute to St Francis:

I do not want to write this encyclical without turning to that attractive and compelling figure whose name I took as my guide and inspiration… I believe St Francis is the example par excellence of care for the vulnerable, and of an integral ecology lived out joyfully and authentically … He was particularly concerned for God’s creation and for the poor and outcast… He shows us how inseparable the bond is between concern for nature, justice for the poor, commitment to society and inner peace.

This is the third consecutive year we have celebrated the feast of this Saint, often described as being the most popular and admired…but probably the least imitated.

When we have celebrated this great saint in previous years, I have told you about his upbringing and his refusal of the family wealth. I have spoken about his hearing from God in a rundown chapel in San Damiano, where he received the call to ‘repair my church which is falling into ruins’…and the building projects that ensued. I have explained how he rejected his inheritance, publicly, nakedly and even violently at the hands of his rich father, and then went on to unintentionally form a monastic community of followers around him. And these are remarkable and admirable things about this saint. If these things pique your interest do go and read about them for yourself because this time around, I am captured by an account written by Dr Frances MacKay in her article entitled, Saint Francis; Saint as Holy Fool.

I think she would’ve liked Christabel’s explorations of humanity, because she writes, ‘I find myself wondering about the man behind the saint’, and I do too. And she goes on to explore his humanity and his rise (or stumble) towards sainthood.

She explains how grounded Francis was in his own humanity, how one of his brothers overheard him in prayer one night, asking over and over, ‘Who are you O God, and who am I?’ She says, ‘Like other mystics, he understood that the search for God and the search for his deepest self are two sides to the one coin.’

Who are you, O God, and who am I?

This was a question Francis asked his God throughout his life. It held answers that shaped his life and ministry and religious order. It is the basis upon which he penned that glorious canticle we just read together and that beautiful poetry of becoming a channel of God’s peace. This question, and his exploration of the answers, seeped into his bones. It meant he could see his place in all of creation; that God is all powerful, all good, worthy of all praise. And that we – the entire cosmos – belong to God and are siblings together in that huge family of creation; the sun is his brother; the moon is our sister; wind, air, clouds, storms, water, fire – they are all our siblings and we, and they, reflect something of God’s glory.

Who are you O God? You are the creator, the source of divinity, worthy of service.

And who am I? I am part of your family; your child, one another’s sibling. I am one who praises and worships. I enjoy creation. I revel in the beauty and power and strength and value and colour of all you have made, and I am sustained by it.

Who are you O God? You are the one who is Love

And who am I? I am one who forgives for love

Who are you O God? You are most high

And who am I? I am peaceful, I am happy, I am following you. I am thankful.

Francis’ two-fold question was everything. It was all he needed to go through life. Knowing God, and knowing himself in relation to God directed all he did. It was these two questions that took him from his lofty ambition of being a knight and a troubadour, carried him through sickness that brought him near to death. These questions took him to the feet of lepers who he kissed and motivated him to embrace the marginalised – they were his siblings too.

And then, on 4^th October 1226, he embraced the one he called Sister Bodily Death, dying, naked and on the rubbish tip outside the town walls, just as he requested. He had lived with those questions – who are you, O God, and who am I – throughout his life. He allowed them to mould and inspire and shape him. And then, just as he took the hand of Sister Death, he told his brothers, ‘I have done what is mine to do, now you must do yours’. And so left behind this legacy for others to consider and act upon.

Who are you O God?

Who am i?

I have done what is mine – now you must do yours

Those words are challenging. And I hope they speak to our next new venture that begins today, as we take Church to the Beach, as we extend hands of blessing – just like Francis did – to animals and humans and as we pray together for peace in the world.

Who are you O God? You are the creator of the cosmos and all created things, the King of peace.

Who am I? who are we? We are God’s children, created to praise and worship.

I have done what is mine – now you must do yours. What is ours to do?

Dr MacKay describes Francis as a holy fool, quoting Francis himself who said ‘The Lord told me what he wanted. He wanted me to be a new fool for the world’.

As we consider what is ours to do, those words spoke to me so clearly.

‘Holy fools’, she says, ‘tear down illusions, illuminate what is new, are subversive, at one with ourselves and the cosmos, being unselfconsciously who we are, not trying to conceal it under some persona designed to impress. The holy fool is single-minded and wholehearted’.

Who are you O God? You are good.

And who are we? We are holy fools, ready to follow you whatever the cost. And wherever it takes us.

Francis did what was his to do. Now it is our turn. Amen.

Clean heart – dirty hands

Deuteronomy 4:1-2,6-9 Psalm 15 James 1:17-27 Mark 7:1-8,14-23

One of the things I remember when I arrived at the monastery where I trained for ordination, was being handed a weighty manual of rules for college living. Page after page explained the times to be in church and the times to be in our rooms; when to speak and when to stay silent; when to walk and when to be seated. It taught us what to wear for offices or lessons, and how to clear the tables at the end of mealtimes; ‘swiftly and with dignity’. And while it was pages and pages thick, it could have been summed up really concisely; love God, care for your fellow ordinands and tutors, and follow the traditions of those who have been here longer.

In today’s gospel reading we find a similar kind of discussion. The pharisees and some of the scribes are surprised to find that Jesus’ disciples aren’t keeping the purity rules of Judaism. They’re not washing their hands, they aren’t following the traditions of their elders, they aren’t scrubbing the produce they bought from the market, and they aren’t scouring the pots and pans.

Jesus tells them God does not care for human traditions. He replaces the rule book by saying, ‘there is nothing outside a person that by going in can defile, but the things that come out are what defile’. God does not care for clean hands, washed vegetables and scrubbed cooking utensils. God cares about the human heart. Jesus goes on to say, ‘it is from within, from the human heart, that evil intentions come: [and then lists them]. All these evil things come from within, and they defile a person.’

You see, it’s not that God doesn’t care about purity. God really does. But the purity God is concerned with is purity of the heart, and that is much bigger, much deeper.

Let me say that again; God cares about the state of our hearts. Or, as St James says, in the epistle we just heard, ‘Religion that is pure and undefiled before God is this: to care for orphans and widows in their distress, and to keep oneself unstained by the world’. Keep your hearts clean, and don’t be afraid to get your hands dirty in meeting the needs of the world.

God is concerned with the state of our hearts, because from our hearts can come evil and wickedness or love and worship and care for those in need. Actually, the truth is much more nuanced. It is more likely that all these things come from our hearts at one time or another – we need to pay attention to wheedling out that which is not from God and cultivating that which is Godly, pure and worthwhile. Clean hearts, dirty hands.

The work required on our own hearts is lifelong and requires commitment and attention. What in me is good? Let’s do more of that, be more of that.

What in me is not good, what is defiled? Let me get that out, give it to God, repent, turn around and make purposeful steps away from it. That takes time and effort. It doesn’t happen by accident, and it is important. Don’t worry about your hands or food or containers – the germs and goodness from all that will end up in the sewer anyway – worry about your heart. Focus on your heart. Give me your heart, let’s work together on that, says God.

And maybe that sounds terrifying to you – certainly uncomfortable, maybe a bit invasive, vulnerable-making? Washing hands, food and pans is one thing but washing my heart – allowing God to wash clean my heart – what will God find there? What have I hidden there even from myself?! What will be exposed? How loveable am I if the whole of my heart is known? Keeping purity laws is much easier but now you’re saying God wants to purify my heart?

……………………………

As I was thinking about this passage this week I got an email from the Australian musician, writer and actor, Nick Cave. He sends out sporadic emails to his mailing list called the Red Hand Files. People write in with questions and he chooses one or two to answer each time. They vary from things like ‘do you ever worry about being on the wrong side of history’ to ‘what is joy and where is it?’ and anything in between. Nothing is off limits, he says, and his responses are often insightful, poignant, witty, wise.

This week he answered a question from a British Poet who wrote a poem with the same title as Cave’s latest album. As he shared the poem I found that it spoke, somehow, to this passage. It is called Sometimes a Wild God. You can read it in full online but here is an excerpt…

Sometimes a Wild God.

Sometimes a wild god comes to the table.
He is awkward and does not know the ways
Of porcelain, of fork and mustard and silver.
His voice makes vinegar from wine.

When the wild god arrives at the door,
You will probably fear him.
He reminds you of something dark
That you might have dreamt,
Or the secret you do not wish to be shared.

He will not ring the doorbell;
Instead he scrapes with his fingers
Leaving blood on the paintwork,

Though primroses grow
In circles round his feet.

You do not want to let him in

You are very busy.
It is late, or early, and besides…
You cannot look at him straight
Because he makes you want to cry.

Your dog barks;
The wild god smiles.
He holds out his hand and
The dog licks his wounds,
Then leads him inside.

The wild god stands in your kitchen.
Ivy is taking over your sideboard;
Mistletoe has moved into the lampshades
And wrens have begun to sing
an old song in the mouth of your kettle.

‘I haven’t much,’ you say
And give him the worst of your food.

[It goes on, but it ends like this…]

Sometimes a wild god comes to the table.
He is awkward and does not know the ways
Of porcelain, of fork and mustard and silver.
His voice makes vinegar from wine
And brings the dead to life.

We worship a wild God and that wild God is way more concerned with the state of our heart than our hands. May we make our hearts clean and not be afraid to get our hands dirty. Amen.

The ‘to whom can we go’ moment…

Joshua 24:1-2a,14-18 Psalm 34:15-22 Ephesians 6:10-20 John 6:56-69

This morning’s gospel passage is beautiful, vulnerable, tender and challenging.

It is so delicate I hardly dare speak about it.

For several weeks we have heard Jesus speaking of himself as the bread of life. He encouraged his early disciples, and us, to feast on him; eat his flesh and drink his blood…and some of those listening didn’t like it and now they speak out: ‘this teaching is difficult; who can accept it?’ and many of his disciples turned back and no longer went about with him. Then Jesus turns to his closest friends and asks them ‘do you also wish to go away?’ And Peter speaks this phrase that breaks me, every time.

He says ‘Lord, to whom can we go? You have the words of eternal life. We have come to believe and know that you are the Holy One of God’.

I came to faith aged 4. I asked Jesus to come and live in my heart and I meant it. I heard bible stories and prayed and sung the songs and told my friends I was a Christian, even when they called me a Bible Basher. And then the bright lights of university turned my head, and alcohol and late nights made church entirely unappealing. Uni life turned into married life and that was tough and lonely and when married life turned into divorced life, my tiptoeing back into church was brought to an abrupt end, when I was told to leave.

By some miracle, in 2001, I found myself at a Christian festival, surrounded by bible stories and music and Christians – all the things I had relegated to the ‘too hard’ or ‘too boring’ baskets. And right there I heard this call from God that was so compelling, so all-consuming that I had to say yes. And that day, in April 2001, despite the faith and lack of it that had come before, on that day, I knew I was saying yes to Jesus, forever.

That day became my ‘Lord to whom can we go’ day – because I had believed and had come to know that Jesus is the Holy One of God. And from that day, it didn’t matter how tough it got, how much I liked or didn’t like what God was asking of me, it didn’t matter. Because I now knew it. And I knew there was nothing I could do about it – there was nobody else to whom I could go.

And in this passage, we hear Peter’s moment – yes this is hard teaching, yes this might even get us killed (and it did), but to whom else can we go, because you have the words of eternal life. We have believed it and now we know it is true.

And I wonder if those words resonate with you.

I wonder if you have had your ‘to whom can we go’ moment too?

Maybe you remember that date and time, or those years where it happened gradually. And maybe you can confidently say, this is it; it’s me and Jesus forever, I can’t ever turn back.

I asked the residents of one of my care homes this week. Margaret said she chose to follow the Lord, aged 13, and never looked back. Then she thought about it and told the group about when her brother was killed in a motorbike accident at 18, and when her baby was stillborn a few years later. She said, ‘I was angry with God and decided I wouldn’t pray for 6 months…but I couldn’t do it, because I needed him’. She had believed and had come to know…so where else could she turn? To whom could she go? Her faith, her vulnerability is stunning. But equally as beautiful was Betty, there beside her, because she was honest about not being as sure.

Perhaps you aren’t sure either – coming to church and being part of this vibrant and supportive community is great. I’ll even go on the reading roster and make morning tea if you want, but do I really have to follow all the teachings of Jesus, because some of them are really hard. And you’re right; following Jesus is sometimes super hard. And it’s costly; in time, money and talents. And sometimes it doesn’t make us very popular.

This week has marked the anniversary of the Abolition of the International Slave Trade and the birthday of William Wilberforce. He was an incredible man, who did amazing work for the liberation of slaves, and he did it in the name of Jesus. He did it because he had believed and come to know that Christ is the Holy One of God.

One of the remarkable quotes attributed to him says ‘you may choose to look the other way, but you can never again say that you did not know’. When we know that a new slave is bought and sold somewhere in this world, every 30 seconds, we can’t unknow it; we can choose to look away, do nothing, but we can’t delete the knowledge from our hearts and minds.

And it is as true for the following of Jesus, as it is for the crime of slavery. When we really know, then we can make the choice to look away – we can turn back and no longer go about with Him, but we can’t unknow that Jesus is the Holy One of God. Those disciples that left that day had to face the fact that Jesus is God, but following Him is too hard.

And how about us? Have you met the living Christ? Have you heard his teachings and know them to be true? Have you held him in your hands in the living bread of the mass? Do you recognise this tender determination of Peter, can you count the cost and say with him ‘to whom can we go… we believe and know Jesus is the holy one of God’. If you are in this journey for life, tell him again as you meet him at this altar, a few minutes from now.

And if you aren’t sure, come and receive the nourishment of the living bread that came down from heaven. Come and take food for the journey because it is sometimes tough, sometimes tiring, and we need the true food and true drink to be able to keep following.

So let me end with this deep question from Jesus, asked afresh to us here and now, and then lets ponder our own answer: friends, do you also wish to go away?

Amen.

Is it time to go upstream?

Exodus 16:2-4,9-15 Psalm 78:22-28 Ephesians 4:1-16 John 6:24-35

Do not work for the food that perishes, but for the food that endures for eternal life…

This week, the news from the UK has been terrifying and horrific. On Monday, 3 children were murdered, and another 7 people injured when a 17-year-old boy walked into a dance class, with a knife, and stabbed those attending, and those who rushed to protect them. Alice aged 9, Bebe aged 6 and Elsie aged 7, were killed in the attack. Others are in a critical condition in hospital.

Immediately the neighbourhood gathered in peaceful vigil for those children and their families. Local churches opened and people lit candles in prayer. Children began making friendship bracelets as a symbol of hope. And then misinformation began circulating across communities – the one with the knife is Muslim, his family are here illegally, they said – and hatred, fear and retribution began springing up. This looked like riots in London and Liverpool and Sunderland and Hartlepool – places not even near where the attack had happened. And police were attacked, bricks were thrown, shops were looted, cars were burned and violence and vandalism took over.

It is difficult to see how one act led to this chilling series of responses. Police, politicians and residents wonder how peace might ever be restored. And we find ourselves asking, what caused these extreme reactions and how might we heal those wounds at the source to prevent it from happening again? And that reminds me of the wisdom of Archbishop Desmond Tutu who is attributed as saying, ‘There comes a point where we need to stop pulling people out of the river. We need to go upstream and find out why they’re falling in’.

I couldn’t ignore the stories of Alice and Bebe and Elsie this week. But they also tell us something more profound about this morning’s gospel reading. Because it seems that in that Jesus is saying if we only focus on the here and now, we fail to see how we got here. And if we only focus on how we feel in this situation we are simply pulling people out of the stream. If we only focus on the next meal we might fail to see the solution to hunger. We might fail to see the invitation to what really is life.

You are looking for me, not because you saw signs, but because you ate your fill of the loaves, Jesus says. But that’s not it; look for me because of what that means. Follow me because I can feed you forever, not because I give you a bit of bread and fish. You are downstream and hungry – come upstream to me, and find the source of true sustenance, find the living bread. Eat of the Christ.

I am the bread of life, Jesus says. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty. Don’t settle for a morsel of food; feast on me and you will be fed forever. That’s the promise of Christ.

And the hungry ones who are chasing after Jesus don’t get it – they refer to the feeding miracle of the day before – actual bread and physical fish, and the feeding miracles of their ancestors in the wilderness – the manna in the wilderness – and because they are hungry today, they focus on that and miss the true offer of Christ.

We follow the Christ who says, ‘come to me and you will never be hungry; believe in me and you will never be thirsty’. Don’t settle for being pulled out of the stream with a little crumb of bread that will feed you for a day. Come upstream and be fed in your entirety; body, mind, and spirit. I have so much more for you. Simply believe.

We are living in a time where the world is hurting.

People are hungry – literally starving – 700 million people are living in extreme poverty. Wars are raging – 1 in 5 children live in active conflict zones, and that number is growing. People are homeless, even in our own town. Even in our own families. We need to make decisions on how we will help.

As I have reflected on this I have thought about the amazing work of Just Manna, our charity here, and the community that gathers around our monthly meals here. We are meeting the immediate needs of those around us. We know that is our purpose. We know we can’t solve the issues that bring people to us – we can’t stop hunger and poverty and isolation and loneliness, but we can do what we can. We can meet the need for today. And that is so valuable. That is part of the call of God. And it is great that we hear that call and respond.

And there is an additional call – because as Jesus is, so we are challenged to become – and the additional call is to go upstream and see why people are falling into the stream of injustice and poverty and we are called too to stop the systems that push them in.

In this morning’s passage, Jesus is saying ‘come to me and I will feed you and make sure you aren’t hungry again’. And in our mass, we replicate that promise – come, just as you are, hands out and hungry, and receive a welcome and a solution to the situations that got you here.

We don’t know how to heal the cause of the world’s problems, we don’t know how to stop people from wandering into a dance class with a knife and commit hideous crimes of violence, but we believe in the one who offers life and deep transformational change. And our belief in Christ might lead us to dare to believe that the food we receive here is truly him and as he truly enters us we might receive the sustenance to care more practically for this world. Even upstream. Even at the source.

As you come to this table today, I urge you to come with the expectancy that you might be filled with the living bread. Come in hope that you might be filled with all you need to bring balm to this hurting world. Come and eat and drink as food for your pilgrimage to travel upstream to meet the living Christ who is caring for those who need it most and who is waiting there for us to join Him.

Eat this living bread in memory of Alice, Bebe and Elsie, and all who have died in acts of violence this week. May they rest in peace and rise in glory, amen.

Nothing is lost…

2 Kings 4:42-44 Psalm 145:10-18 Ephesians 3:14-21 John 6:1-21

And so begins 5 weeks of gospel readings from John Chapter 6. Five weeks of readings about bread. Five weeks in the same chapter and this morning I can’t get past one simple sentence; the one found in verse 12.

On this exact week, back in 2011, I made an enormous mistake. The blame that was attributed to me in this mistake cost me my job, my reputation, and many of my friends. It resulted in me being asked to leave the church where I’d worshipped for eleven years, and my journey towards the priesthood was put on hold, indefinitely.

When my mistake was discovered I had to go and tell the Bishop. Despite my bishop at the time being a gentle, kind and gracious man, I knocked on his door in true trepidation, and in floods of tears. I went in and told him the very worst of me. I was mortified and very sad. I knew he could relegate my vocation to his wastepaper basket and that was actually quite low down on my list of worries at the time. I stood in front of him and recounted the whole situation, leaving nothing out, and he just listened and pondered. I gabbled my way through my sins and when I got to the end of it all I remember I said to him, ‘I feel like I have lost everything’.

Even though 13 years have passed since that day, I remember exactly what he said. He said ‘and you have’.

I feel like I have lost everything

And you have

But that wasn’t all. He went on to say – look at the story of the feeding of the 5000 in John’s Gospel – the account we read today. Look at what Jesus does, he said.

In John’s account of this miracle the gospel writer says, ‘gather up the crumbs so that NOTHING may be lost’. And I can’t ever get past those simple words in verse 12 – gather up the crumbs so that nothing may be lost.

I’m not telling you this as a confession – all of that is forgiven, gone, forgotten – but this morning’s gospel reading resonates so deeply with me, because it is my story. It is a story of the outrageous grace and redemption of the God we serve, and the One who makes a hideous mess into something beautiful.

Often, we hear this story and we focus on the feeding miracle. We look at the hungry crowds who are miraculously fed on five loaves and two fish and we are amazed. But today, instead, let’s be amazed by that promise in verse 12. Let’s focus on the God who takes the broken pieces – the God who takes OUR broken pieces – and does something beautiful with them, so that nothing may be lost.

Standing in the bishop’s office, as I did that day, with hopes and dreams shattered and weighed down in shame, I couldn’t imagine how things would ever be better. When we are in the middle of brokenness it is hard to believe that Jesus can take those broken pieces and gather them up. It’s hard to imagine a future time when our brokenness might be formed into new, beautiful, redeemed, holy, things. But that is the promise of this passage. That is the miracle of this miracle. Yes 5000 people were fed, but more than that; in Christ, nothing is wasted, nothing is lost.

Friends, we worship a redeemer. We worship the One who loves the broken pieces – the one who loves all the leftover forgotten bits – and who does miraculous remarkable things with them. And just as God did that for me, and promises to do that for us, so that same promise is a banner over this whole world – gather up the crumbs of this world, so that nothing will be lost.

How will God gather up the broken pieces of Gaza and bring about restoration?

How will God collect the brokenness of lives shattered by FDV or affairs or whatever it might be and make sure nothing is lost?

How is that even possible? I don’t know, but I do know that redemption is not only possible, it is always on its way, and the way things are right now is not the way things will always be. And I know that even now Jesus is gathering up the crumbs, collecting the leftovers and working God’s grace and healing into them so that something amazing will become apparent, so that redemption will be known.

Today, let’s pause and consider this: what broken pieces do you have? What have you lost? What seems discarded and rubbish? And how might God be gathering and holding and moulding that into some future beauty. And listen to what this passage says about that work of redemption; it is abundant! Huge! Twelve baskets full in fact. Enough and some to share.

So, today, I invite you, I dare you, to look inside yourself and uncover those broken hidden lost pieces of you and bring them with you to this altar today. Approach this rail today with it all in your hands – look at what I’ve done, Lord, and exchange your broken pieces for the broken body of our Lord in this mass. Lay your broken pieces down, confident and safe in the knowledge that you are always welcomed by God, that nothing you’ve done or will ever do would turn God’s face from you, and that our God is in the redemption business. Exchange your broken pieces for future beauty, in abundance. It isn’t too late. Every bit of you, and all you have done, is useful and will not be wasted.

I feel like I’ve lost everything, I said.

And you have.

But listen to the words of Jesus in John chapter 6 – gather up the crumbs so that nothing may be lost. Amen.

Come away…

Jeremiah 23:1-16 Psalm 23 Ephesians 2:11-22 Mark 6:30-34,53-56

Some weeks are extra busy, aren’t they?

Some weeks we find ourselves, like the disciples, with so much coming and going, that we have ‘no leisure even to eat’. We can understand that sentiment.

But this morning’s gospel reading doesn’t even tell us the half of it! Putting it into context, the disciples have just returned from their first lone mission. They healed the sick, cast out demons, proclaimed repentance, and all with only a staff in their hand – no bread, bag, money or spare tunic. At the start of today’s passage, they return to Jesus, exhausted. He sees, and extends this wonderful invitation, ‘Come away to a deserted place all by yourselves and rest a while’. So, they get into the boat and sail across to a deserted place by themselves. The introverts among us can hear the bliss in that sentence – a deserted place, all by themselves. But the crowd gets there first – a great crowd, interrupting their rest, and the work continues.

What the lection leaves out in the middle of the reading is the small matters of feeding 5000 people, walking on water and calming the wind and the waves.

A rest in a deserted place, on their own, this is NOT!

And still it continues. They regroup and seek solace in the next place their boat might take them. This time, the ‘whole region…began to bring the sick on mats to wherever they heard he was’ and they begged him and they touched him – reaching out and grabbing the fringe of his cloak – they’re surrounded by desperate people – it is all a far cry from that welcome he extended a few verses earlier – ‘Come away to a deserted place all by yourselves and rest a while’.

Following Jesus is sometimes exhausting.

Family, work, sickness, homelife, adulting, loneliness is sometimes exhausting.

And I think about the people, worldwide, who turned up for work on Friday morning this week, probably thinking they just had to get through the next 8 hours beforethe glorious weekend…and the worldwide computer outage hit. The blue screen of doom wreaked havoc all over the world and banks, telecommunications firms, TV and radio broadcasters, supermarkets, emergency service call centres, airlines, rail and transport links, healthcare providers and even the London stock exchange all went down. A single defect in a single computer update caused a universal headache and a vast amount of work for many people who were hoping to head into the weekend. Life is sometimes exhausting.

Come away to a deserted place and rest awhile, Jesus invites us still.

How can we do that? And when?

When will be led to lie down in green pastures and beside still waters and have our soul restored? And I wonder, if we don’t sometimes get to do that here, then when? If we can’t take a few minutes, in this sacred place, to sit, with Jesus, and rest, before launching back into the demands of life, when can we do it?

So, for a longer period than usual, let’s pause and be still. Let’s rest awhile, in the safety of the shepherd’s care…