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…

A Prayer for Indifference

Amos 7:7-14          Psalm 85:8-13       Ephesians 1:1-14         Mark 6:14-29

In a popularity contest between Amos and John the Baptist, who do you think would win? John’s diet and dress sense might appeal to a certain demographic and Amos has fig trees and heavenly visions going for him but they both have a lot that is against them and, in terms of popularity, they’re probably both relegated to near the bottom of the list.

Amos, the first Old Testament prophet to have a book named for him and John, often thought of as the last of the Old Testament prophets – these two men book-end history; and where does it get them? Amos, almost certainly killed by King Jeroboam and John, with his head on King Herod’s plate. They’re not the best advert for being a prophet, are they?

Amos preached a message of divine judgment, demanding justice from God’s people over ceremonial worship and rituals. His uncompromising message deeply unsettled the ruling classes. He spoke out against the way things were, and prophetically occupied a different time, a desired time, where justice would roll down like rivers and righteousness like a never-failing stream. Ill-equipped as he felt, as a simple farmer, he boldly spoke truth to power, even when his words were not well received.  He knew his God. He knew the message he had heard and the visions he had seen and he shared it, even in palaces and temples.

And then we have John. Wilderness wandering, locust eating, John. John preached a prophetic message of judgment, repentance and justice too. Repent for the Kingdom of God has come near. He called out unrighteousness – even to King Herod. He called religious leaders a brood of vipers. He seemed unafraid to speak up and speak out. It got him thrown into prison and then, in a drunken scene of wild promises, false loyalty, fear and shame, his truth telling got him beheaded.

And that brings us to Jesus. His words of challenge and truth; his call to radical discipleship, unconditional welcome, care for the poor – before all others; his encouragement to outcasts and sinners (Come and follow me!), and his pursuit of justice over ritual and rules, made him a problem to the ruling classes too. It took him to the cross and got him killed.

Speaking truth to power is a dangerous game.

Challenging the status quo is costly.

Standing on the barricades will win you as many enemies as supporters – more, often.

In popularity contests, prophets rarely win.

But we are called to a different way of living.

Once we sign up to the Jesus movement, we are called to righteousness and justice, to outrageous love and incredible grace. When we have chosen to follow Christ to the end, we join the ranks of the Truth Speakers. We become those who call out injustice wherever we find it and we agree to pursue life in a new way, where money and possessions, rank and status, are not what define us; loving kindness is. And we chase after it with all we have and all we are and we won’t settle until we find it. And every time we see the old way, we go again. Over and over. It’s no wonder it’s unpopular.

…………

While I was away, I read something truly wonderful.

In her book, Sacred Rhythms, Ruth Haley Barton writes about praying for indifference. Praying for indifference sounds like the exact opposite of the example set by Amos, John the Baptist and Jesus. I felt myself react to her suggestion. 

She went on to acknowledge that this might summon up thoughts of apathy and lack of care, and she says:

‘indifference is [also] a very positive term…meaning ‘I am indifferent to anything but God’s will’…a state of wide openness to God…where I want God and God’s will more than anything – more than ego gratification, more than looking good in the eyes of others, more than personal ownership or comfort or advantage. I want God’s will; nothing more, nothing less, nothing else’.

Hear that again… I am indifferent to anything but God’s will.

I want God’s will more than anything. More than ego. More than looking good. More than ownership or comfort. I want God’s will; nothing more, nothing less, nothing else. She goes on to say we must pray for wisdom and then chase after God’s will. Find it out, long for it, ask, pray and then take hold of it with both hands, regardless of what it costs. God’s will; nothing more, nothing less, nothing else.

That’s what Amos wanted. That’s what John the Baptist wanted – I must decrease so He can increase. That’s what Jesus wanted; yet not what I want, but what you want.

So consumed were they with truth and fulfilling their mission from God it got them exiled, imprisoned, beaten, beheaded and killed. And that was the simple bit. Before that they had to enter high places and call out injustice. They spoke up and spoke out and lost friends and followers. It didn’t just cost them their life, but it cost them every single day of their life leading up to it.

And it will cost us the same too.

The world doesn’t need good people, sitting in religious buildings, singing hymns and chanting liturgy. The world needs those who are indifferent to anything other than the will of God – nothing more, nothing less, nothing else.

The world might not realise that is what it needs, and it might not welcome that level of truth telling, that purity of love, that extension of grace, that demand for justice. Those of us who choose to walk this way might also come last in a popularity contest but if we are praying for indifference then maybe we won’t care.  It’s a big call. It’s a big ask – for indifference to anything other than the will of God but I’m ready. Will you join me?

Let’s pray:

God, make us indifferent to anything other than your will – nothing more, nothing less, nothing else. Amen.

Healed (not just cured)

Lamentations 3:22-33      Psalm 30   2 Corinthians 8:7-15      Mark 5:21-43

A few weeks ago I spoke about favourite sandwich fillings. You might remember.

I had learned about what they call the Markan sandwich, hence my mention of Christmas dinner in a bun. When I approached this morning’s reading, I recognised that is another Markan sandwich. We have Jairus approaching Jesus, begging for his daughter to be healed, and Jesus went with him.

Then we meet the woman who has been bleeding for 12 long years. 4,383 days of exhaustion and social exclusion. More than 4000 days of not being able to enter the temple, nor even able to sit anywhere public, lest others became tainted by her sin. Twelve years of making eye contact with nobody. And she had spent a fortune on doctors and physicians and still she was bleeding. She interrupts Jairus’ story, presses through the crowd, and reaches out and touches Jesus’ garment so she can be healed. Jesus senses power come out of him and asks who touched him. He comes face to face with the woman and tells her she is healed. And then we return to Jairus. By the time they arrive at his home, Jairus’ daughter is dead. Jesus goes in, takes her by the hand and raises her to new life.

Jairus and his daughter

The bleeding woman

Jairus and his daughter again.

Another Markan sandwich.

Two amazing tales of healing. Two examples of Jesus going to the place of death and decay, the place of filth, forbidden, challenging all the rules of ritual and purification. He goes there and speaks light and life and brings healing and wholeness.

But what does this story say to us, more than 2000 years later?

And what does it mean when we don’t see people healed, or raised from the dead?

Nearly two years ago, my brother-in-law was diagnosed with a medical condition that was quickly making him blind. The medical staff could do nothing to slow or stop it. There is no cure. What do we do with healing miracles when our experiences of family members, close friends, even ourselves, is one of not being made well, or of dying and not being taken by the hand and raised up to life. Not in this realm anyway.

And then I began to wonder about the difference between being cured and being healed. And that shone an entirely different light on the story. Let’s look again.

Jairus comes running – my daughter is at the point of death, come and lay hands on her. Jesus arrives and his daughter has died.  Jesus takes her by the hand and tells her, ‘talitha cum’, get up, and immediately the girl got up and began to walk about. She was cured of her illness. But then Jesus tells her family to give her something to eat – in the 1st century, sitting and eating together meant someone was part of the community, part of the family. So initially she was cured, but her true healing came in being restored to her family.

And then the bleeding woman.

She grasps Jesus’ garment and the bleeding stops. She is instantly cured.

Then Jesus asks who touched him – the disciples laugh, but he finds the woman and she comes in fear and trembling and tells him the whole truth. By then the bleeding has stopped. She is cured. But when he says to her, ‘Daughter, your faith has made you well; go in peace, and be healed of your disease’, then she is healed. She is not bleeding. But she is so much more than that. She is now the daughter of the King; restored, accepted, welcome, clean. She is whole – truly healed.

And I began to think, is it possible to be healed and not cured? And is it possible to be cured and not healed?

There is no cure for my brother-in-law’s condition.

Maybe you or someone you love has also heard those words from a medical professional – there is no cure, or, this is terminal. It is hard. Really hard.

And yet, in Christ, we are offered, day after day, complete restoration, healing, wholeness, a welcome into Christ’s own family, belonging.

It is possible to grasp that invitation, to be that, and still be physically unwell.

And similarly, perhaps it is also true that one can be cured of their illness and never encounter life in its fullness, free and whole, never be truly healed, and that is deeply sad.

The woman in that crowd could have gone home that day, never having looked into the eyes of Jesus and hearing those words ‘daughter…go in peace’. She shouldn’t have been in that crowd – she knew that – only desperation took her there. If she had never heard those words of welcome, that acceptance into the family of God, she may well have been cured, but would she have been fully healed? Not fully, I don’t think so.

I am beginning to see that finding a cure is not what is the most important thing. Healing is our goal, healing is our aim. And, as the church, as Christ’s hands and feet here on earth in this time, healing is also our primary purpose.

For a world that is afraid and anxious, healing looks like space and quiet calm.

For a person who is lonely and isolated, healing is a warm welcome, time, a chat.

For those without, healing is provision.

For the hungry it is food, for the cold it is clothing, for the homeless it is shelter, for the marginalised it is advocacy or giving up something of our own rights so others can have more.

We might not be able to cure disease or sickness. There might be no cure. But there is always healing to be found. It flows from the Divine source; it is found in streams of living water; it is eaten and drunk from this table; it is found in friendship and fellowship; in fun and in those tough conversations, and it is offered to each of us, over and over, that we might be healed and extend it to others for their healing too.  

Jairus’ daughter was healed by Jesus’ touch and her family’s meal.

The woman was healed by her bravery, perseverance and then Christ’s warm welcome and peace.

We are each offered healing and wholeness in every moment of each day.

Let’s chase after healing, take hold of it, grasp it, become it.

And let’s share this gift of healing with those still in need. Amen.

God is God (not you)

Job 38:1-11            Psalm 107:1-3,23-32      2 Corinthians 6:1-13       Mark 4:35-41

I wonder if this morning’s gospel reading took you back to Sunday school days?

Did it remind you of the classic action song – ‘with Jesus in the vessel you can smile at the storm…as we go sailing home’? (please tell me that song made it to Australia!).

This passage was a solid one for kids in my churches growing up. And the message we had to learn, along with the actions, was we didn’t need to worry because Jesus is in charge – he will calm the raging seas and the storms in our lives.

It’s a great message – it’s true to the story, maybe it’s even the point, but what else does God have for us? And what does God have for us in a world where sea levels rise, storms are more ferocious, and people die in boats as they cross waters looking for somewhere safer to live – where the waters are wild and untamed and aren’t peaceful and still. And hearts aren’t either.

And that train of thought took me to the reading from Job that N just read for us.

Job has been suffering and struggling. He has lost everything; his livestock, his servants and his children have all died in one day. His health fails and his friends are useless and revel in some intense victim blaming. He reaches the point where he wishes he was dead – he is full of fear and he’s angry and he feels intensely sorry for himself – understandably – and then God interrupts him and we have this passage, where God asks Job all these rhetorical questions:

Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth?

Tell me if you have understanding

Who determined its measurements – surely you know!

Who stretched the line upon it…who laid the cornerstone…who shut in the sea with doors when it burst out of the womb.

Who prescribed bounds for it and said ‘thus far shall you come and no farther’

And Job relents, pleads for his friends and he and they are restored.

And then we have Jesus, woken up in this fierce, terrifying storm, and he speaks to it and says ‘peace, be still’ and the wind ceases and there is dead calm, and the disciples are filled with awe.

And I think these two passages say the same thing.

And I think they have an overarching message that streams down through time and eternity and speaks into every situation…and even into our annual meeting, and every second that proceeds and follows it.

In this passage from Job we are hearing God say ‘I am God. I’ve got this. I made this and you and all these things. I am God’

In the gospel reading we hear Jesus saying ‘peace, be still’ or ‘I am God, I’ve got this. It’s going to be alright. Don’t panic’.

And the condition of the human heart is to think that we are the most important one here – that we are God – we are the centre of the universe – we are in control. That seems to me to be humanity’s starting point and go-to, particularly when the shit hits the fan. I’ve got this. I’ll sort it. and if we acknowledge there is a God, our main temptation is to create God in our own image; a God who loves the people we love and likes the things we like. A God who agrees with our politics and hates anyone and everything we hate. That is the condition of the human heart.

And our role, our counter cultural existence as children of God and followers of Christ is to say ‘I am not in control, Lord – you are’. Our role, through our whole life is to constantly assess where we are positioning ourselves and get out of the way so that God can be front and centre. Not because God is needy and insecure and wants the attention but because God is God and life works out better when we live that way.

Our lives work is to shift our attention from ourselves, from our vain ambitions to succeed and look good and to place our attentions on God and on all that God is doing and then to join in. 

Of course Jesus can calm the storm – in the beginning was the Word and the word was with God and the word was God – he was there when the wind and rain and sea and sky were made. Of course he can calm it. And of course he can calm the storms in our hearts and lives. Of course. And we can’t, because we are not God. But, as people who are committing our lives to follow and worship God and are trying to become more like Jesus we have a role in calming storms too.

While we need to make ourselves less of a god (with a small g) we also need to follow after the example of the one true God. So where we can bring peace and calm, we absolutely must. Where we can soothe the sick, care for the bereaved, help those who have lost everything, we must. Wherever we can be Christ’s hands and feet that is our role. Not because we are God, not because we can do it better, but because we want to open wide our hearts and emulate that life-giving love we have found in God.

God calms storms; literal and figurative. God brings peace. There is no situation that can’t be healed and stilled and redeemed. Our job is to fix our eyes and hearts on God, get out of centre so that God can work, and if we spot ways that we can join in, pray for the grace to do so. Amen.

A Gospel Sandwich

Genesis 3:8-15                  Psalm 130                          2 Cor 4:13-5:1                   Mark 3:20-35

What is your favourite sandwich filling? It’s a big question.

Before I went vegan mine was turkey with stuffing, cranberry sauce, maybe a pig in blanket, splash of gravy – the full Christmas dinner, in a sandwich. Where am I going with this, you might wonder. Well, if all else fails in the next ten minutes you can at least bliss out on your favourite sandwich filling.

But I got to thinking about this, this week, because so many of the commentators on this morning’s gospel reading describe it as a ‘typical Markan sandwich’; apparently something that this gospel writer is well known for… Mark’s sandwiches are less fun than my Christmas dinner bun, but probably far more nutritious.

So I wonder if you might look at the gospel text again, have it in front of you. It begins midway through a sentence with, ‘And the crowd came together again, so that they could not even eat’ and continues, ‘When his family heard it, they went out to restrain him, for people were saying, “He has gone out of his mind.”’

The bread of Mark’s sandwich is the mention of the crowd, and particularly Jesus’ family among them – Jesus’ family come, in a direct translation, to ‘arrest him’ or ‘take him away by force’ because people are saying he is crazy.  

Then we have the scribes and their talk of beelzebul and demons and questions of satan casting out satan and Jesus’ parable of the strong man’s house being plundered – this is the filling of the sandwich.

And then we return to the bread – the talk of the crowd again, with Jesus’ family among them when his mother and brothers send for him and call him and Jesus replies ‘”Who are my mother and my brothers?” And looking at those who sat around him, he said, “Here are my mother and my brothers! Whoever does the will of God is my brother and sister and mother.”’

  • Bread – crowd and family
  • Filling – satan and beelzebul and demons and plundering and sin
  • Bread – crowd and family

This is not my favourite sandwich and, honestly, it takes some chewing, but the commentators tell me that the Markan Sandwich allows us to engage with the text and understand it more fully. So how might that be?

Well, I wonder if it points to something else one of the commentators wrote, in her book called Embodying Mark, where the author writes that this passage is ‘like most passages in the gospels’ the whole story of salvation in a nutshell.  

That stopped me in my tracks. It feels like the sort of statement that might be true but that certainly needs applying to other passages to check. She says most stories in the gospels tell the entire overarching message of love, grace and salvation and contribute to the bigger picture…but can stand alone. That’s so interesting to me, and sounds feasible and something worth returning to when we read the stories of Jesus.

It’s like my original sandwich – it is the full Christmas dinner but it’s part of a bigger Christmas dinner. Yes? Anyway, let’s apply her theory to this passage and see if it works.

This centre of this text is about Jesus’ victory over all that is dark or evil – his subversion of the strong man, by the One who is stronger and the freedom this brings. The filling in the proverbial sandwich is the reason for the incarnation – light over darkness, goodness over evil, freedom over captivity – and this is framed within the context of people – humanity, community, particularly family.

Jesus came to be a part of humanity, to live as human, among humans, specifically within a family, and to extend that warm welcome, that unconditional welcome of being part of his family to all people – these are my mothers and my brothers – this isn’t at the exclusion of Mary and Joses and his other brothers but at the inclusion of everyone else. You’re all my family – all are welcome – there is no longer those who are counted as ‘in’ and those who are ‘out’ – now all are included. That sounds like gospel to me!

So, the sandwich analogy that was

  • Bread – crowd and family
  • Filling – beelzebul, satan, demons and sin
  • Bread – crowd and family

Now, in a more detailed way, reads…

  • Bread – there was this crowd of people, family, all the world – humanity – and Christ was born into it to make things different, to bring about change.
  • Filling – humanity was under the banner of darkness and evil but the arrival of the Light of the World meant that all that was dark got tied up, restrained, controlled and banished so that…
  • Bread – the crowd – humanity – can be free to be a part of the family of God, with that unconditional welcome.

And so, when we try to locate ourselves within this Markan Sandwich, as we take our place within this gospel narrative, perhaps we are the crowd – the top slice of bread – who are recipients of this gracious eternal invitation. Maybe we are sitting around Jesus, pressing in to touch him, straining to hear what he is saying, wondering if it might just apply to us, to me, and hearing that offer and realising that our deepest need is already being met. Maybe we are taking our place as siblings of Christ, maybe even his mother. Perhaps the invitation of this passage is that we and all humanity no longer need to watch from the doorway but can enter right in – just as we are – as full members of the family of God, fully caught up in God’s mystery and love.

This passage really is the gospel in a nutshell, isn’t it.

Because of the incarnation, darkness is tied up, defeated, light has triumphed and God’s family is an extended and open invitation to all.

This week I had a meeting with our fabulous new tenants from Cana Communities. They describe themselves as a ‘messy family that welcomes those with least options’. That sounds like gospel too. Or as we might say here, in our own attempt to live out the gospel, ‘St Paul’s where everyone is welcome’. God give us the grace for that to always be true. Amen.

Observe the Sabbath and keep it Holy…

Deut 5:12-15               Ps 81:1-10                    2 Cor 4:5-12             Mark 2:23-3:6

Observe the Sabbath day and keep it holy as the Lord your God commanded you…

I’m often mistaken for being a bit of a rebel – someone who breaks rules, wilfully and on purpose. I don’t know where this reputation came from but it’s not true. The student who won ‘geek of the year’ in my last year at high school is still very present within me and, if I know what the rules are, I am pretty diligent at keeping them. And while there are definitely times I am more keen to ask for forgiveness than permission I just can’t seem to willingly break rules. (In fact, it’s one of the many reasons I am so grateful to be part of this community, because it’s knocking some of my good girl corners off, and I like it!)

Observe the Sabbath day and keep it holy as the Lord your God commanded you…

So, I wonder why this particular rule isn’t one I have been so quick to follow. And I wonder if it is because I have misunderstood it all these years. I have thought of it as doing nothing – the shops being shut, the television being off, that sort of thing. But the Jesus in this morning’s gospel reading from Mark seems to be saying something else entirely.

Then he said to them, ‘is It lawful to do good or to do harm in the sabbath, to save a life or to kill’…and he was angry at their hardness of heart.

I like this Jesus! I like him because he breaks the rules, yes,  but I like him not just because of that. I like him because he chooses sense over sanctimony. He chooses kindness above what is perceived to be right. He chooses compassion and he follows that through into action, regardless of the consequences.

He and his disciples were hungry, so he fed them.

The man had a withered hand, so he healed him.

He did what was needed, when it was needed and isn’t that common sense and kindness? And he was vilified for it. The pharisees moaned about him behind his back; ‘look, why are they doing what is not lawful on the sabbath’. They watched him to catch him out, in order that they might accuse him of wrongdoing and then they ‘went out and immediately conspired with the Herodians against him, how to destroy him’.

He was accused of not keeping the sabbath, except what he was doing was holy work. Feeding the hungry, healing the sick. Some things are worth breaking the rules for.

Well… was he actually breaking what was the true essence of the rule, or was he challenging the legalistic letter of it??

Observe the Sabbath and keep it holy, God commanded. Feeding the hungry, healing the sick, challenging those who say it can’t or shouldn’t be done – that is keeping things holy, for sure.

Jesus knew what he was doing. He wasn’t stupid – he was a Jew who knew his scriptures, he knew what was good and right and he was committed to doing those things. And he knew his call and his purpose. And that came first, above all things.

Remember those beautiful verses in Luke 4 where he announced his mission; the spirit of the Lord is upon me and has anointed me to preach good news to the poor, release to the captives, sight for the blind, to set the oppressed free and proclaim the year of the Lord’s favour.

Jesus knew what he was here to do. He knew what his holy purpose was. And he was determined to fulfil it wherever he saw the opportunity.

Jesus chooses not to stick to rules that take him away from his true purpose. Instead he fulfils the greater rule of being engaged in holy work of loving God and loving others as fully as possible.

And what about us?

What is our true purpose?

What will we put before all things, so that we might love God and love others as fully as possible?

Jesus’ sabbath days weren’t full of silent space. They were full of grace and compassion and kindness. Imagine if even just for one day each week our time was spent fully engaged in grace and compassion and kindness. Fully engaged in loving God and loving others. What change could we bring about – especially if we did it together!

Rules that keep us away from doing that are not rules to keep – anything that takes us away from our primary purpose – the work God has for us to do – are rules to be looked at, weighed up and discarded.

But discarding rules and living this life of grace, compassion and kindness comes at a cost. For Jesus it was another nail in his hands and feet, literally – the pharisees went and conspired how to destroy him. For some people, radical kindness, outrageous love will always feel like a threat and will be judged harshly, maybe even to the point of death. But it is the way of Christ – it is our primary purpose.

Jesus broke the rules to feed the hungry and heal the sick. I want to be known for that too. I want that to be my legacy. I recognise that might be costly and some might not like it, but doing good, being kind, showing compassion, extending grace, all this is so much more important. These are the ways we observe the sabbath and keep it holy – by engaging always in holy work and making each day a day of worship to God and service to others.

What is your true purpose?

What will you discard the rules for, so that your purpose can be fulfilled?

And if the cost of that is death, will you do it anyway? Amen.

Ascension Day 2024

Acts 1:15-17, 21-26           Psalm 1         1 John 5:9-13          John 17:6-19

Before I trained for ordination, I did a school assembly on Ascension Day where we took a knitted Jesus, some balloons and a cannister of helium gas and the children had to guess how many balloons it would take to ascend the knitted Jesus. 16.

At college, Ascension Day was a big deal. The youngest ordinand would get up before dawn, and ring a large bell, enthusiastically, to wake the college. Bleary eyed ordinands would climb to the top of the tower, to watch the sunrise, hear the trumpet anthem and sing the hymn that ends, ‘risen, ascended, glorified’ and drink champagne. A very English sort of celebration that I’m sure our first century Palestinian jew would find a bit odd.

And these two things are my only truly memorable encounters with the ascension. That is, until this year. And while we didn’t have the Ascension Day readings today, our gospel passage prefixes it, in this way:

Jesus says, ‘now I am no longer in the world…and I am coming to you’. And then, ‘we are one, and now I am coming to you’. His ascension is very much in his mind that at some point in the near future he will return to God, from whom he came. And, if you cast your mind back 40 days to Easter Sunday, we had that glorious account of his resurrection appearance to Mary where he said to her, ‘do not cling to me because I have not yet ascended to the Father’.

The ascension is deeply significant. So significant that it is a day of holy obligation where a mass must be said. And yet, because it always falls on a Thursday, it is often lost, midweek, which is why I wanted to reflect on it a bit here, because if I’ve ever thought of it at all, I’ve thought of it as a going upwards, like his disciples would see him take off from the ground and disappear into the clouds, headfirst, feet last. That is how it is depicted in art and stained glass and even in a pilgrimage site in the UK where ornately painted feet are dangling through a chapel ceiling…

This year Ascension Day coincided with the fortnightly mini retreat that Peter runs and we discussed whether we could combine that with a mass. And we talked and read and shared, and I am so grateful for that time because the fruit that grew from it was rich. Between us, and the writings of greater minds than ours, we began to see Ascension not as a going up, but as a reuniting – a returning of Jesus from being fully human to becoming once more entwined in the divine. A reunion.

We read from Fr Rob Edwards, quoting Thomas Merton, who wrote: “This is the grace of Ascension Day: to be taken up into the heaven of our own souls, the point of immediate contact with God.” He went on to say ‘Heaven is where God is present. God is present within each of us, closer to us than any human being. So when we are looking for God, there is no need to look up into the sky, as we often do, but rather to turn our glance inward.”

Ascension became not just an upward movement of the bodily Jesus to the divine heavens but actually an entwining of Jesus into the Godhead, and one that can involve us too. Jesus went back to heaven, but heaven is where God is and that might just as easily be within and around us.

And from our own Sister Alma we heard her reflections on Richard Rohr’s teaching where she mused, ‘All of our time with God is linking heaven and earth, and we are sharers in his divinity as he is in our humanity.’ And that made me think of something else that until then had been unrelated. As I am filling the chalice at the altar for mass so I pray, ‘through the mystery of this water and wine, may we share in the divinity of Christ who humbled himself for our humanity’. And in that, the veil somehow becomes thin, and we might even dare to believe that our taking of the bread and wine, the body and blood of Christ, becomes our own ascension day. You see, as we come to this table – hands outstretched, bodies hungry, faith tentative – we take into our own bodies, the Christ. We are reunitied with him, entwined, he in us and we in him. Or as Thomas Merton might say, there is no need to look up into the sky to see him, but rather we can simply turn our glance inward.

Did Christ ascend to fully reintegrate into the godhead? Is that what happens to us in the mass, do we find our place once more in the godhead. Friends, I have not come anywhere near to the end of my musing on this, but these questions excite me and feel like they have the potential to change things.

They make me want to revisit each of those resurrection experiences where the risen Christ walked through walls and appeared on a dusty road, walked awhile, and disappeared again. They make me want to imaginatively occupy the BBQ on the beach or what it felt like to place my hand in the holes in his hands and side. If we can’t cling to him because he is not yet ascended, what would a touch feel like. I don’t know, but I feel like a tiny flame has been lit and I am keen to engage more. And I wonder if you have thought of this bit of the Jesus story before – in this way, or any way – and what you make of these musings.

To enable that, I encourage you to spend 10 minutes a day, until Pentecost next Sunday, or beyond, in silence with God. And maybe take some of these thoughts to God. As Richard Rohr’s says, ‘[the ten days] after the Ascension [gives ten] days of space and of absence, that ‘alone’ time, allowing the divine Spirit within, the room to stretch and act.

As you allow the Divine to stretch and act in you, and as you eat and drink in a few minutes, may we become less of what we are weighed down with and more of what we are soaring for. May we become who we truly are and may we know more of who Christ truly is too. Amen.