The Holy Trilogy

Acts 10:44-48                    Psalm 98                 1 John 5:1-12                    John 15:9-17

People are often surprised to hear I’ve never seen any of the original Star Wars trilogy, nor the Lord of the Rings trilogy, despite their roaring box office success. And maybe there were certain lessons I should’ve learned in them and maybe the gaping holes in my education will present themselves at some later point, in a pub quiz no doubt, but this morning we have the third part in a trilogy that I am much more familiar with; The Holy Trilogy.

For a trilogy to be good, each part needs to stand alone, and be complete, and there also needs to be an overarching sense that each one complements and completes what has gone before it. So, let’s see what this Holy Trilogy has for us.

Two weeks ago, we had Good Shepherd Sunday, and we were challenged, to lay down our lives for our Shepherd. More than that, to be prepared to lay down our life for others too. It is a tough call, but the call of the disciple is to give up all we have, lay it all down and follow the voice of God wherever God is leading. Very clear, very simple – not easy, but very simple.

Last week, episode two, we were told time after time that we must abide in Christ – I am the vine, my father is the vine grower, you are the branches, abide in me. Stay put, keep close, abide, keep growing and fruit will come. God will do all that is required; we just abide. Again, super clear, not easy – especially for those of us who would love to muster up a bumper crop of fruit – but very simple.

So, we approach the third part in this Holy Trilogy with parts one and two in mind – we need to lay down our lives, for Christ and for others, and we need to keep close to him so that God can do whatever is needed in us and through us. And what comes next?

Simply this, just three words; love one another.

Abide in my love, love one another as I have loved you, love one another. That’s it. Give up all we have. Stay close to Jesus, always. And love one another.

And if there were no other words written, or movies made, this would be enough. This is it. So simple. One theologian describes it exactly that way when he writes, ‘‘this new commandment – [to love one another] – is simple enough for a toddler to memorize and appreciate, and profound enough that the most mature of believers are repeatedly embarrassed by how poorly they comprehend it and put it into practise’. 

Love one another, as I have loved you Jesus says. Love one another, He says.  And then he really stresses the point because he says it over and over.  It’s like He’s saying love one another, and then love them a bit more, and then, when you think it’s not possible to love them more, love them even more. 

Love until it hurts, and then keep on loving. 

Love, outrageously and indiscriminately. 

Love, even when the world tells you to hate. 

Love especially when the world tells you to hate. 

Love when you are hurting, love when they are hurting. 

Love one another as I have loved you…

And how had Jesus loved His disciples? 

He loved them when they were loveable and when they were unlovable.

He loved them in calling, empowering, teaching and training them.

He loved through healing, feeding the hungry and welcoming the outcasts. 

He loved the sinners and the untouchables. 

He loved all people; Jews and Gentiles, men, women and children, those who were sick, paralysed, possessed with demons. 

He even loved the dead…and loved them back to life. 

He loved while he was put to death, and through death and into new life…and then commanded His disciples to do the same. 

And He continues to give the same command to each one of His disciples down the generations, including us.  Love one another as I have loved you; so simple that even a toddler can memorise and appreciate and yet profoundly and embarrassingly poorly practised.

Jesus’ trilogy for living is that simple – be willing to lay down your life for this Jesus movement, keep close to Christ and love others. And yet we get it so wrong, don’t we – way too often.

Here we are in May.

May is domestic violence awareness month. Last weekend, the front page of our Sunday paper was a photo of a beautiful young mum, with the headline, ‘another woman is dead’. Thirty-year-old Erica Hay from Warnbro died in an arson attack, along with three of her children. The fire is believed to have been started by her partner. Erica is the 27th woman, in Australia, to be murdered by an intimate partner in 2024. With this trajectory, this year’s death toll for victims of family and domestic violence will be higher than last years, which was higher than the year before. And women in Anglican church communities are at least as likely, if not more so, to be victims of violence in the home at the hands of their partner.

And we are the people who are charged with this simple command: love one another. We are failing. We need to love one another way better.

Loving one another does not look like coercive control, physical, emotional, financial or sexual abuse. Loving one another looks like being bold enough to ask if someone is ok, or asking how they got the bruise. Loving one another is sacrificial and brave. It is fierce and dangerous. Loving one another as Christ loved us means we might even risk being killed for it.

Jesus’ Holy Trilogy is so simple, so clear, and it needs to be the basis of our beliefs AND our behaviour. Lay down your life, stay close to Christ and love one another. May we believe this is the best way to live. And may our behaviour reflect it too. Always. Love one another. Amen.

Abide…

Acts 8:26-40          Ps 22:26-32            1 John 4:7-21        John 15:1-8

I write my sermons on a Saturday, but I got to yesterday and still had nothing to say.  No message, no illustrations, just the familiar creeping panic of a preacher with blank page syndrome.  I had done all the things and had produced zero fruit, ironically.  I knew there are 43 references to the word Abide in the bible – and 14 of them appear in this morning’s readings alone. I did commentary searches and sermon searches on the word abide, but still I had nothing. And then I returned to the passage and realised how much I needed to hear these words.  And how very simple they are.

Jesus said to his disciples, ‘I am the true vine and my Father is the vine-grower.  He removes every branch that bears no fruit.  Every branch that bears fruit he prunes to make it bear more fruit… I am the vine.  You are the branches. Abide in me.’

How much I had missed the point?  I was scrabbling around, desperately trying to produce fruit; muster up something that might nourish you.  But we don’t do the producing.  We don’t do the pruning.  We don’t even do the growing.  It just happens in us, and through us, by the nurture of the vine and the attention of the vine-grower.  All the fruit; the growing, harvesting, and pruning, is God’s business.  Pure grace.

And our job is to remain in the vine.  Stay put.

Abide in me as I abide in you.

And God will work around us and with us, pruning that which bears no fruit, making sure the conditions are right and all we have to do is just hang out. That sounds easy.

Does it?!

It doesn’t sound easy to me. I want to do things. I want to create and produce fruit, left, right, and centre. I want to have things to show for my work. I’m not an abider, I am a do-er!

I love what Nadia Bolz-Weber says, in relation to this.  She writes:

What I wish Jesus said is: “I am whatever you want me to be.  And you can be whatever you want to be: vine, pruner, branch, soil…..”  What Jesus actually said is: “I am the vine.  My Father is the vine grower.  You are the branches.”  Dang.  The casting has already been finalized.  Vines, and branches off of vines, are all tangled and messy and it’s just too hard to know what is what …Not only are we dependent on Jesus, but our lives are uncomfortably tangled up together.  The Christian life is a vine-y, branch-y, jumbled mess of us and Jesus and others. 

So true! We really are entwined with one another and our community and the diocese and the worldwide church and the rest of the world. All part of one big picture of the Jesus movement.  

And in this passage Jesus is crystal clear about that – we are not in this alone. There is nothing unique about the followers of Jesus – we are mixed into one big vine. Isn’t it a good job that God is the one doing the pruning, tending, caring and fruit production?! We simply must remain and stay put.  We just need to abide.

This passage takes us back to Maundy Thursday. This is part of Jesus’ farewell discourse where he is giving his last human words to his followers. They don’t know exactly what is to follow – despite having been told – but Jesus wants to be very clear. Remain with me, abide with me, and everything else will be ok. God has got this. You just need to keep following, stay close. Don’t wander off.

And if the disciples had done that, if they had remained close, part of this holy vine, it would have taken them to the cross, through the cross, into the tomb, down to the depths of hell to destroy death and out the other side into resurrection dawn. That’s what abiding looks like.

Abide in me, and you will experience all of life, the destruction of death and darkness and the dawn of the new world. It’s like Jesus is warning, urging, instructing his disciples of this now, because following him is about to step up a few notches. Life is about to get even more hairy, even more costly, even more all-consuming, and he wants them to stay close. Stay close to me, he says, all of you – and that means staying close to one another. Even if it is as messy and twisty and turny as a vine. That’s ok – my father is the vine-grower. You just stay put and God will sort the fruit production out.

The image of the vine sorts out the order of importance.

Jesus is the vine – the source of life.

God is the holy gardener, in charge, making sure there is light and shade, food and water, pruning the bits that are firewood.

We are dependent on the gardener’s mercy. We are not the vine. We are not the grower. We are not the one who prunes. We are the branches. We just abide. And only by abiding is there any chance that fruit will be produced.

These are Jesus’ final words to his followers. It’s like he could see what was to come – how tempted his Church would always be to do things its own way, rather than to do the messy work of life and worship together. But Jesus is saying that’s not an option.  The only thing you need to do, he is saying, is abide. Stay close to me in the same way that I stay close to you, he says. That is everything. Everything else flows from there.

In staying close to the vine – in abiding with Christ – fruit will be produced in and through us. God will make sure of that. In staying close to Christ, will we see fruit bud and blossom that provides food for the hungry, shelter for the homeless, rest for the weary, hope for the hopeless. If we abide in Christ we will see fruit heal the sick, set the prisoners free, and bring peace to this hurting world.

Staying put, abiding, is hard for the ones who love to do.

Abiding with those who we find hard to love is difficult.

Abiding in Christ and acknowledging this is not about us, but all about him, is a challenge to our independence.

But when we abide in Christ and he abides in us we will see so much fruit and God will be glorified. May God give us the grace to lay our own stuff aside and simply abide in Christ. Amen.

The Lord is my Shepherd

Acts 4:5-12             Psalm 23      1 John 3:16-24      John 10:11-18

Every month I visit the local elderly care homes to take communion services. Every month there are women and men in the late stages of dementia who no longer know their own children but can sing the 23rd Psalm, without missing a beat.

Last week, my family received the devastating news that a close family friend had gone to work, like any other day, but collapsed and died before the ambulance could reach her. She was not yet 50 and left behind 3 children. The day before she died, she posted an image of these words from the 23rd Psalm on her social media.

Yesterday I received a call from a daughter whose father is very sick and isn’t expected to recover. When I sat beside his bed I began reciting the words I have read at bedsides in the final hours of life, many times before. As I said ‘the Lord is my shepherd’ his eyes open wide and he rushed to say ‘I shall not want’ and he beamed at me and said, ‘I have always been looked after’ as he pointed upwards.

Why do these words run so deep? Why do they stay so long in the heart and mind. What is it they provide that we – the world – must so deeply need? And why does Jesus echo them so clearly in this morning’s gospel reading?

Let’s reflect on what these words promise…

The lord is my shepherd, I shall not want:

that speaks of relationship, intimacy, and provision

He makes me lie down in green pastures and leads me beside still waters…:

that is rest and refreshment

He guides me in the paths of righteousness, for his name’s sake:

that is guidance and purpose

Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I will fear no evil, for you are with me; Your rod and staff they comfort me:

that is a promise of safety, protection, companionship, comfort

You spread a table before me in the presence of those who trouble me:

abundance, a sign that God is our supporter

You have anointed my head with oil and my cup shall be full:

provision, and certain safety

Surely goodness and loving mercy will follow me all the days of my life:

this speaks of blessing

And I will dwell in the house of the Lord, forever:

and we get all this, for ever, as pure gift. Grace.  

And I’ve been wondering why this is so deeply known. Is it because it sums up all that God promises to us and for us and because that fills the deepest need in each of us?

Yes, it is comforting. It gives us hope. But this sermon has been so difficult to pin down because these readings have come this week, when things have felt tough…

This week, in this country, a priest at a church named The Good Shepherd was stabbed whilst preaching to his people and we wonder what would have happened if we didn’t have such tough gun laws.

This week, where I travelled to the high court with Ned, fearful he would be returned to detention. We listened to the most influential legal minds in Australia talk about policies and laws with no reference to the people they affected, nor the impact their decisions would have on them. I heard people justify indefinite detention, like it was a good idea for all concerned; like it wasn’t stealing whole eras of life and like ‘third country options’ were an actual possibility – like people need to be found a place that is safe from Australian policies – that is safer than here – and that that was the solution to our bulging detention centres. I heard arguments that said AZC20 can stay out of detention – but another 200 people must remain in. And statements justifying those hideous places as ‘detention, but not punitive’.

This week, it would have been the perfect time to have a holy shepherd providing a physical block – an actual barrier – between the vulnerability and evil of one human against another, rather than feeling like the wolves are drawing near.

And I know and love these promises from Psalm 23 and John 10. And I have relied on them time after time, and will do again, but the words that ring truest in this week are these from the epistle…

‘How does God’s love abide in anyone who has the world’s goods and sees a brother and sister in need and yet refuses help? Little children, let us love, not in word or speech but in truth and action.’

Someone has the world’s good…sees a brother and sister in need…and refuses help.

Let us love not in word but action.

When we read that against those deep-seated promises of the Shepherd, we might hear the challenge that there are times we need to be that physical presence – the one that lays down ones own life to bring the comfort, protection, safety, hope and blessing that others are crying out for.

The world needs the promise of the Good Shepherd.

Sometimes that comes in singing and reciting those precious ancient words that spring from the heart and emerge from the lips of the dying. And sometimes those promises need to grow skin and legs and become action.

We have heard and known the promises of our Good Shepherd. We have walked beside the still waters and through the valley of the shadow of death and been anointed and comforted and fed, and known that every step is accompanied by goodness and mercy.  We know it to be true. And we are also living in a world where life doesn’t always show it to be true.

And when we come up against that, it is our job to shepherd, just as we have been shepherded – to remain even when the wolves are drawing near – to count the cost and help anyway – to lay down our lives and to love, not in words or speech but in truth and action. We can’t rely on ancient hymns, or even scripture alone to teach these truths we have given our lives over to. Sometimes we need to be the story as well as tell it.

May we – who have the world’s goods, see a brother or sister in need – never refuse help. And may we love, not in word or speech but in truth and action. Amen.

Leading with Vulnerability

Acts 3:12-20          Psalm 4        1 John 2:15-17; 3:1-6           Luke 24:36b-48

I went to an AA meeting once. I had only ever seen AA meetings on TV before, so I wasn’t sure what was usual practice and what was poetic license, but they really do begin by going around the circle saying ‘my name is x and I am an alcoholic’. And then, this amazing thing happens; everyone else says ‘hello x’.

Each person goes in, leading with the most vulnerable thing about themselves, laying it right on the line, and they receive the welcome and acceptance that they really need. Regardless of it? In spite of it? Maybe because of it! They aren’t greeted as the alcoholic they just acknowledged themselves to be; they are greeted as the named person they really are.

And something in this morning’s gospel reading made me think about that, in the example Jesus sets.

Luke Chapter 24, where our reading came from today, is super eventful.

It begins early in the morning on the first day of the week when the women arrive at the tomb to anoint the body of Jesus. He isn’t there – why do you look for the living among the dead. He is not here. He has risen, just as he told you he would – and they go and tell the disciples. Then two other disciples walk the 12k to Emmaus, accompanied by a stranger on the road. They chat with him but don’t know who he is until he breaks the bread at their meal …and then he disappears from their sight. They get up and run the 12k’s back to the others and they each tell each other ‘it’s true! He has risen!’ and then we get to verse 36 where we began today… ‘While they were talking about this, Jesus himself stood among them and said to them, ‘Peace be with you.’ 

They were startled and terrified and thought they were seeing a ghost. And that seems weird – Mary and the other women have seen him. Simon Peter and another disciple have seen him. The two disciples on the Emmaus Road have seen him. They have all seen him TODAY. He has spoken to them, eaten with them, walked with them, and yet now, at this evening’s appearance, they are startled and terrified and think it is a ghost. And this is when Jesus does his introduction:

Why are you frightened? Why do doubts arise in your hearts? Look at my hands and my feet. See that it is I, myself. Touch me and see.

And that is what reminded me of that AA meeting. And the power of vulnerability and how easy it is to try and hide away and only project the best versions of ourselves.

Jesus’ hands and feet have been pierced and mutilated. And he doesn’t hide his wounds. He uses them to show people who he is. And he uses his hands and feet to show people what God has done.

You see these hands, with these holes where the nails held me to the cross?

You see these feet, that were pinned there too?

They broke me and killed me, but God raised me from the dead and you can see it is me, because these wounds are still here.

And because Christ leads with his wounds, because Christ is willing to be identified as the wounded healer – the one who died – the one who has all those experiences in his very recent past and is standing here now because of them, not despite them. Because Christ leads in that way, so we can do the same.

It’s like we are being invited, encouraged, welcomed to share all that we are – all our good bits, our damaged bits, our healed bits, and our yet-to-be-healed bits – and that we will be accepted as we are. Just like in that opening round at AA.

So, why we are so inclined to shove our proverbial nail marked hands into our pockets and bundle our scarred feet into our boots and pretend all the time we are ok? Why do we try to keep our mask straight, and paint on a smile? Maybe our lesson from this newly risen Christ is there is power in vulnerability and hope for others in our stories of healing. And there is overwhelming strength in the journey towards that place of wholeness. We don’t need to be fully healed to be a witness to what God is doing for us. We can still be on the way. There is truth and beauty in our becoming.

They were startled and terrified, the gospel writer says.

Why are you frightened, and why do doubts arise in your hearts.

Yes, they’re standing in front of a man who was dead yesterday, and here he is asking for fish. That’s pretty frightening. That might make you doubt your sanity. But perhaps it’s more startling, more frightening, being face-to-face with someone who wears his wounds boldly, as testament to God’s conquering of death and darkness and despair, and that he might be encouraging them – us – to do the same; to wear our wounds and our vulnerability out loud. Not hide away until it is a story we can tell about ‘that time back then’, when it’s cleaner, more sanitised.

Sharing our suffering, our experiences and our pain while it is still present has power. It shows others there is hope. It shows that acceptance is still possible.

It is what I noticed at AA – ‘my name is x and I am an alcoholic’………‘hello x’.

And sadly it is not always what we have come to experience in the church. But it is the example of the Risen Christ.

Why else would his wounds still have been visible after his resurrection?

God could have chosen to resurrect Jesus with perfect, healed flesh. But, in some celestial plan, the scars remain. And perhaps they remain as witness to the healing and transforming work of God.

And if that can be true for Jesus, it can be true for you too. So don’t hide, friends. Don’t be terrified. Don’t be frightened. Take your hands out of your pockets and your feet out of your boots. You are welcome here despite your wounds. You are welcome here because of them. Amen.  

Peace be with you…

Acts 4:32-37             Psalm 133               1 John 1:1–2:2           John 20:19-31

I don’t know about you, but I feel like Thomas has had a bit of a resurgence in the last few years. In my childhood years, and even into adulthood, Thomas was always known by that moniker Doubting Thomas, and he was always used as an example of how not to behave. Do not doubt but believe, was the message. Until recently. And recently I have noticed this rising tide of people defending Thomas, even sticking up for him. Even just last week, someone said to me, ‘Thomas made the first profound acclamation – My Lord and My God – the biggest claim in all the gospels’. Its only taken 2000+ years, but Thomas’ reputation seems to finally be shaking off its tarnish. So, it wasn’t Thomas who grabbed my attention in this morning’s reading. Instead, I am struck by Jesus’ arrival and the kind of greeting he gives to his disciples…

This morning, we meet them, huddled in the upper room, for fear of the Jews, and I suspect that having denied, betrayed, and abandoned Jesus the disciples were really wallowing in their shortcomings.  It wouldn’t be a stretch to think they were passing around blame for the death of Jesus, trying to make the other’s faults greater than their own; like, ‘if Judas hadn’t betrayed him, it would’ve been ok’ and ‘Peter, if you hadn’t denied him first, I was going to say I knew him’. They all screwed up.  There would be enough blame to go around.

And then, even while they’re locked away, it is here, amid doubt, fear, heartbreak, and blame, that Jesus came and stood among them.  Jesus: no respecter of locked doors, or self-pity, or hiding, comes and stands among them. It is here he appears to his disciples and says, ‘Peace be with you’.  Peace.  They’ve denied and betrayed and deserted and made fatal mistakes in their following of him…and Jesus’ first words to them are, Peace be with you.

His final word, if they had been there to hear it, was ‘finished’. That was it, the end of how things had been, how they once were. It Is Finished. And now is the dawning of the new world; all that was is gone and the new beginning is one of peace. Absolute, all consuming, fear swamping, peace.

And as I thought about this earlier on this week, I reflected once more on how much we need that same greeting, same promise, same hope, right now, at least as much as those first disciples did. Maybe more.

Yesterday, I scanned the front page of the BBC news website where I read:

  • Ukraine has carried out a drone attack against targets in southern Russia and claims to have destroyed six Russian planes at an airbase in the Rostov region.Eight more aircraft were badly damaged, while 20 service personnel could have been killed.
  • 7 Aid workers have been killed in Gaza, adding to the at least 33,000 Palestinians in this current conflict. And those who remain are being purposefully starved
  • New York and Taiwan have both been hit by earthquakes in the past week
  • A French student has been murdered by his fellow classmates,
  • And the world’s biggest iceberg – nearly 4000sqkm – is drifting to who knows where…

Closer to home, I have a friend who was unable to deal with life any longer and chose death instead, along with loved ones waiting for test results or surgery, and you can insert your own scenarios here too, and the list goes on. And the only thing that might make any of this better is that elusive peace.

So is it any wonder that, when Christ conquered death, when life became everlasting and darkness lost all power to the source of light, is it any wonder that his first words were PEACE. Peace be with you. It’s going to be ok. That is the promise.

Peace in place of war

Peace not conflict

Peace among world leaders and countries

Peace between classmates

Peace as universal language and currency

Peace for our planet as it struggles to breathe without choking

And peace for our friends and relatives and ourselves, as we wait for that diagnosis, or treatment or relief.

Peace be with you, Jesus said. Peace be with you.

Peace is often portrayed as a gentle breeze, lapping waves, or a silent bird drifting by but is not peace – that is calm. Peace is other, it is countercultural, it says fear doesn’t get to win, despair doesn’t get to win, doubt, blame, anxiety, war, violence, discrimination, or darkness – none of these get to win. Peace trumps them all.

Peace is a gift – a fruit of the spirit – it is given to us and grows in us and is dependent on Jesus – the prince of peace. Peace, apart from that is merely an absence of the things we want to avoid. But we don’t follow a God of absence, we follow a God of deep and real presence. And that presence is peace.

Tonight we gather again to pray for peace; to say ‘we recognise we are in trouble and we don’t know how to make it better but we believe that you do Lord, and we are pleading for it’. We will gather in our own ‘upper room’, as the disciples did, and wait for Jesus to come and rescue us from the mess we have made, universally.

Our waiting is not passive or in vain. It is active waiting, with a faith that we know the One who can make change. We know the one who brings peace, who is peace.

We gather for our friends and relatives and fellow humans in Gaza or Ukraine or in hospitals or prisons, for those who look ahead and can only see a bleak future, and we plead for peace. When we don’t know how to help, gathering and praying to the one who is peace, brings peace, promises peace, is something we can do.

And whenever we share the peace with one another or take the prince of peace into our hands at every mass, may we pause for a moment and commit to pray for peace for the world, that the living Christ may come and stand among us, among them, and say ‘peace be with you’.

Amen.

A sermon for Easter Sunday

Isaiah 25:6-9                      Acts 10:34-43                    John 20:1-18

What a Holy Week we have had! And here we are, at service 29 of 30, and Christ is risen – the foundation of our faith, the hope for the world, light in the place of darkness and life in the place of death. And what is there left to say? Well, let me make 4 observations from the story, and 4 challenges for us.

The gospel passage begins pretty frantically. Mary comes to the tomb and saw the stone was removed. She runs to tell someone, meets two disciples on the road and the three of them run back to the tomb. One runs faster, gets there first, finds it empty, ‘believes’ (although the gospel writer doesn’t say what they believe, because they don’t understand that Jesus has risen so…??) and then they go home.

And then everything becomes calmer, more tender, and it becomes Mary’s story with her Lord, and it is beautiful. She sees Jesus. She doesn’t know it is him. She mistakes him for the gardener and then she hears her name, and she knows. And she falls at his feet and worships. Jesus tells her – don’t hold onto me, go to my brothers, give them this message and Mary announces to the rest – I have seen the Lord. The resurrection is proclaimed, and the world is changed.

And as I reflected on these words, these extraordinary events, here is what I noticed – 4 things Mary did, 4 actions for us to imitate.

Mary went

Mary wept

Mary worshipped

Mary witnessed

Mary went while it was still dark. She went to tend and care for the one she loved. She went to the place of darkness and death. She went where others were too fearful to go. She went, even though going had potentially dangerous consequences. She went, and nothing could keep her away.  And because she went, she was there when the light of the world really dawned. 

She went and she wept – she wept at all that was lost and all that needed to be found. She wept for all she had hoped for and for all she thought would never be fulfilled.  She wept for her loss and at the imagining of what life would be like without Jesus.

And Mary worshipped – She heard her name, safely from his mouth, just as she did when he first set her free.  She knew he was back, that death hadn’t won, and she worshipped at his nail-scarred feet.  But she didn’t stay there. She knew that his rising, that this new, free, world of life and light meant that she had work to do and she got up and set to work right away.

She heard his command, and she went and witnessed to all she had seen and heard.  She took her gold-prize message of life forever, her message of salvation that stuck two fingers up at sin and death and suffering; she didn’t tuck it away, securely in her heart; she ensured she witnessed to it everywhere she went. Let it burst out of her lips, that the world might be changed.

Mary went – to the garden

She wept – at the tomb

She worshipped – the risen Christ

And she witnessed – to everyone she met

And this is our example, as we try to follow the risen Christ.

‘Early, on the first day of the week, while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene went…’ to the place of true darkness and death.  Where are the dark places we might need to go?  Will we go? And are we confident we will find Jesus there?

When Mary got there, she wept.  Of course she wept.  Her hope was well and truly gone; not only was he dead but they had also taken him away.  There was nothing left, no body left. And she wept. Sometimes, weeping is the right and appropriate response.

What makes us weep?  What situations feel so desperate, so impossible to solve, that all we can do is weep?  When we weep, can we consciously take that despair and heartbreak to Jesus? Can we find the hope that our weeping will be received, comforted, even resolved in him?

And then she heard her name, spoken so familiarly, and she knew it was her Jesus and she worshipped; rabbouni, teacher, let me hold on to you; my refuge; my place of safety.  Her despair was gone, her hope was restored, and her response was worship. Do we take our despair and tears to Jesus and, as they are lifted from us, do we respond in worship? And have we ever heard him speak our name as we do?

As Mary’s weeping turned to worship, so she heard her Lord’s voice, and she heard the specific instructions that were hers to fulfil.

‘Do not hold onto me…go to my brothers and give them this message…’

And she witnessed to her brothers, and to the rest of the world, the truth that she knew to be true. She witnessed to those who were languishing in grief and darkness.  She witnessed to those in locked rooms and with fearful hearts.  She witnessed to those who were defeated by death.  She witnessed with words that change everything ‘I have seen the Lord’.

Have we each seen the Lord?  Have we seen Him, in the bread and wine, in the faces of each other, in the readings and the hymns; have we seen him, and will we witness to others that we have seen the Lord?

Mary went, she wept, she worshipped, and she witnessed.

And may she be our example, that we too may go in search of Jesus, weep at darkness and despair, wherever we find it.  May we worship when we see Christ’s transforming power and bear witness to others. 

And if none of this makes sense to you, if you have no idea what it means to go or weep or worship or witness, talk to me or someone else you trust. Because, like Mary, many of us have seen the Lord too, and long to witness to this message of light-over-darkness and life-over-death.

Alleluia Christ is risen!

He is risen indeed, alleluia!

Meditation for Good Friday II

I was there

I had to be there

He was my son. My firstborn, my Lord.

I watched them

I saw them hurt him, thrust a crown of thorns upon his head, hoist up a sign mocking him as ‘The king of Jews’ and dividing his cloak up amongst them.

But didn’t they see, that is who he is; the king, Lord, messiah, Son of the living God.

When he was conceived the angel told me, ‘He will be great and will be called the Son of the most high. The lord God will give him the throne of his Father David and he will reign over Jacobs’ descendants forever; his kingdom will never end.’

Never end. Is this really the end?

I wanted to go to him, help him, hold him, care for him just like I did when he was a child. Memories of his life came flooding back.

Like the time he went missing. Scared the life out of me he did! 3days it was. 3 whole days. We’d gone up to Jerusalem and were travelling back home. As Jesus was twelve at the time he was at the age where he could travel with the men, and so I thought he was with Joseph. But, Joseph still saw him as a child and thought that he would be safe travelling with the women and children, so neither of us knew we had left him behind. When we realised we searched and searched, frantically trying to find him. When we finally did, there he was, sat down in the temple, as if nothing was wrong. Learning, listening, questioning he was, talking to the Rabbi. A learned man of God right from the very beginning.

I was there at his first miracle. He turned the water into wine, at a wedding of a friend of ours. I knew he could help. I told them,

‘Do as he says’. Even then, demonstrating kindness, grace and goodness.

Those precious memories stopped me in my tracks.

Then he looked up and saw me, quietly weeping, as my tears mixed with his pain, like an ugly smudged painting. It was as if he knew my thoughts. ‘Woman, here is your son,’ and to His close friend John, he said, ‘Here is your mother’. Even in his hour of greatest pain and suffering, he thought of me. My son.

My soul glorifies the Lord and my spirit rejoices in God my saviour….

God’s mercy extends to those who fear him, from generation to generation. He has performed mighty deeds with his arm; he has scattered those who are proud in their inmost thoughts.

I always knew he was special. God showed me before he was even conceived . There I was, treasuring these things in my heart. I was there at the very beginning of his life, as he took his first breathe, a tiny baby placed in a feeding trough fit only for animals. Now here I am at the end. Willing him to take his last, to be free from all of that suffering and pain. Watching him Hanging there on a cruel cross, nails piercing his hands and feet.

But he is the messiah. The Son of God.

His Father God, where are you now? Why have you abandoned him?

And then he let out his last breath. The sky turned black, like nature was mourning alongside us. As if God himself had removed all of the colour from this place. And it was over.

Our job here on earth was complete.

I stood still, taking it all in, loving him, listening to the cries of the crowd, watching the soldiers pierce his side just to make sure he was definitely gone.

But….

It didn’t feel like the end.

My spirit filled with hope like a peace descended on me at that moment. It wasn’t just relief that he was free from pain, it was more than that. The only way I can describe it, is it’s like God wasn’t finished just yet.

Meditation for Good Friday

I woke up early, in that half-light, struggling to orientate myself, trying to figure out where I was, for a moment not feeling the fear and anxiety and then it hit me again in another almighty wave. This cold stone cell, these chains, and that hollow empty feeling, like hunger, but filling my whole soul, seeping into my bones. Will today be the day I die?

Tensions have been rising around the jail. A new convict was brought in through the night. What a stir.

Dead man walking.

People jeering, soldiers mocking, high priest questioning. And as the cock crowed the sentence was passed – criminal charged, crucify him.

I do not know the man, but some were shouting King.

Some shouted King, but the louder cry was crucify.

His fate, the same as mine.

But is today the Passover? Someone is released at Passover – maybe today is my day after all. Maybe today will be a Good Friday. Maybe today I will live?

Convicts are assembled, dragged together into line, paraded before the crowd, baying for blood. How should I stand, what will best appeal to those who hold my fate right there in their mouths? Should I look them in the eye, or look down in regret? Can I show an apology? Am I sorry? And what is that current running through my bloodstream? Hope?

Do you want me to release for you the King of the Jews??

Not this man.

Not this new convict, this silent, whipped, beaten and bruised criminal.

I don’t get a look in – nobody is considering me for parole.

Release Barabbas!

Barabbas?! He’s a terrorist – a violent murderer.

I’m not like that guy. I’m a rebel, not a killer. And they are releasing him?! He gets his freedom?? They didn’t even see me standing there, condemned.

So our fate is sealed. We will die, today. And I will be alongside this one they mock as king.

I chance a look at him. He is just staring, but there is something in that broken face, something behind those swollen eyes. No, I can’t place it. Peace? Surely not. Must be pain, acceptance, maybe he’s able to dissociate. Maybe he’s not here at all.

But then the whip is cracked and we are present. The crowd screams in unison and we are forced into line.

Bones exposed, skin raw, muscles wasted, hunger won, battle lost and we are presented with a cross. A crude, splintered, heavy wooden cross. Our weapon of torture. Our place of death. This king’s throne.

‘Carry it’ they shout, and we stumble under the weight.

Walk, trip, fall, whip, snap, weep, walk – all the way to the place of the skull.

The walk is interminable but arriving feels worse.

It feels like it will take forever to get there, but unfortunately it wont. We’ll be there soon enough. We will be gone soon enough.

With every step I think of those I love and those I have hurt. One list long, one pitifully short. I deserve to be here. These steps, this cross, this hill, this death – it’s the way the road goes for people like me.

The crowds line the streets – they said they would.

People spit, others cry.

The king falls and falls again. Someone else carries his cross. And his mum is there too. It looks like her own heart is pierced, just as our hands and feet will soon be.

My head spins, blood gurgles in my throat and blurs my eyes.

My ears are muffled to the sound of the crowd and all they hear is the thud of my heart. How many more times will it beat, before it stops, for good?

And then we arrive. The cross hits the ground, we are thrown on top and the guards pin us down, tie us down and then drive the nails into our wrists and feet.

I’m sure I black out. I feel it. I can’t feel it. My mouth is dry and my limbs are burning.

I feel a rush of air as the cross is raised, and pain like I’ve never felt before excrutiates through me as it, as I am dropped into the stand. The place I will die.

Again, I black out, I come round.

The crowd blurred below, the soldiers gambling and laughing – fighting over something, spitting and drinking.

I try to move my head and I see the man beside me, and the one beside him.

I thought he was pleading – get us down from here – but he’s mocking – get us down if you can, King.

He calls him Jesus.

This is Jesus?

The prophet? Messiah? The son of God? I’m dying beside the Christ?!

And I don’t know what happens, but I find a voice. I tell him to shut up – we deserve this and he’s making things worse. We are in the presence of royalty, in the presence of divinity and holiness. He must know what I have done and yet all he says is ‘father forgive’ and ‘I thirst’.

What do I have to lose? These are my last breaths, my last minutes. What can I lose? What can I gain?

I manage to swallow – a mix of blood, sweat and saliva – and in one breath I force out ‘Jesus remember me when you come into your kingdom’

My mind is cloudy but my thought is crystal clear. In that moment I knew it.

That forgiveness was for me. 

That thirst is for righteousness, holiness, freedom.

He will drink in another kingdom, and I want to be there.

He looks at me and there is something like a smile, something like love, and he says, through split, dry, lips ‘today, you will be with me in paradise’.

Today? This day, that began with the promise of sure and certain death?

This day of torture, shame, mockery and pain.

Today, paradise.

What dawned in the depths of darkness is setting into a truly Good Friday.

We wish to see Jesus

Jeremiah 31:31-34       Psalm 119:9-16       Hebrews 5:5-14    John 12:20-33

I have a question for you: Why do you come to church? (You might be sat there wondering the same thing!) But genuinely, why do you come to church?

Our community is pretty fabulous, the coffee is fresh, there is often champagne, the choir always sounds great, sometimes even the preaching is ok. But what is it that draws you back, week after week? Or what brought you back after that long spell you had away from church? I’ve been thinking about it, and I have to believe that, as with the Greeks in this morning’s gospel passage, the bottom line about why we each come, is that we want to see Jesus.

You see, there are nicer people, better coffee, colder champagne, greater music and yes even better sermons, elsewhere, but the reason we come here – I might even dare to say, whether we realise it or not – is because something inside us is captivated, drawn, intrigued enough by the notion of God that we come along because we want to see more, maybe even touch, hold or taste more. Like those first century seekers, we want to see Jesus.

On Tuesday night I went to a different church for a meeting. I didn’t realise I was going because I wanted to see Jesus. I thought I was going because it was in my diary. But there I met this woman called Asuntha. Asuntha Charles is the National Director of World Vision in Afghanistan.

Born in a village in southern India, Asuntha was the last daughter in a family of six. There was no reason for her to go to school and every reason for her to be married. But Asuntha was born to a feisty mama who, whenever Asuntha asked ‘can i…’, replied with ‘let her have a go’.

Asuntha completed school and university and became a social worker, always seeking out women and children in the world’s poorest corners. More recently her work has taken her to Afghanistan. When Taliban rule began, humanitarian agencies were encouraged to pull out, but this tiny, brave, single woman refused to leave. She showed us photos of 5 year old girls she had rescued from the marriage they were being sold into, with men nearing retirement age. And she told us that she will work with girl children in that broken place until one of them becomes president.

I thought I was going to a meeting. I was. And in it, I saw Jesus.

Sir, we wish to see Jesus. Well, go and hear Asuntha. Go and see what people do in my name, he says.

The next day I went to share holy communion in an elderly care facility and I read them this bible passage and I told them how I had seen Jesus the night before, in the words and face of Asuntha. And then Janet spoke.

Four months ago she was given three months to live. But Janet knits. And she has a deal with her Lord that so long as there is wool, she will keep knitting. When the wool runs out, she will go home, she says. She is midway through her recent cancer treatment and feels rotten but wool keeps appearing in her room and she often has no idea how it got there. So, she addressed the group, saying, ‘I knit. I knit beanies and mittens and socks for prem babies. And sometimes, when I knit, a little teddy pops out and I give that to the babies too. And I do that as a reminder that Jesus loves them’. And she was not in the least surprised when I said I could see Jesus in her. She can see him too.

Sir, we wish to see Jesus.

Well, he is appearing in knitted bears and beanie hats in prem baby wards of Perth’s hospitals. You will see him there.

And we come here with that same request – we wish to see Jesus.

And we might glimpse him in the scripture, or hear him in the melody of the hymns, we may hold him in our hands; eat and drink him in the mass, and at the end of the service I will send you on your way with these words; ‘May you see the face of Christ in everyone you meet, and may everyone you meet see the face of Christ in you’.

Sir, we wish to see Jesus – he is right here – around you and within.

Or, to use St Patrick’s words, whose feast day we remember today;

Christ is with you, Christ before you, Christ behind you, Christ in you,

Christ beneath you, Christ above you, Christ on your right, Christ on your left,

Christ when you lie down, Christ when you sit down, Christ when you arise,

Christ in the heart of every one who thinks of you,

Christ in the mouth of everyone who speaks of you,

Christ in every eye that sees you, Christ in every ear that hears you.

You wish to see Jesus?

He is right here.

Let us pray:

God. We wish to see Jesus.  Show us where we might find him.

Open our eyes, unclog our ears to hear him, make us attuned to where Jesus shows up.  Show us Jesus in the changing of the seasons; in the warmth of the sun and the cool of the clouds.

Share Jesus with us in waves on the beach that are made of the same water that lapped on the shore when he roasted fish with his disciples after the first Easter. 

Show us Jesus in those we look up to and respect. 

Show us Jesus in those who serve others, in those who bring new life into this world, and in those who care for us after death. 

God, show us Jesus in the places and people we don’t want to see Jesus in. 

Remind us that they share a spark of the eternal life of Christ, even if we might not see it, even if they might not see it. 

Show us Jesus in a world that doesn’t look like the one Jesus proclaimed and show us Jesus calling us to make that world a reality. 

God, we wish to see Jesus. 

We want our eyes and ears and hearts to be open.  God, refresh us with Jesus. 

Amen. 

For God so loves…

Numbers 21:4-9                 Psalm 107:1-3,17-22         Ephesians 2:1-10               John 3:14-21

For God so loved the world that he gave his only son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life.

Objectively, this verse is the most famous of all Jesus’ quotes. It is probably the most popular bible reference in the world. And a verse that elicits more than 2 million internet searches, month upon month. It is often described as the ‘bible in a nutshell’.  It features on signs at sporting events, on the underside of paper cups in a well-known American burger chain. In the Baptist church of my childhood, it was even the code for the burglar alarm – 43:16! And is a passage one is hard pressed to pass over, when it crops up in the gospel reading for the day. Truth be told though; I don’t love it. And spending a week studying it has forced me to consider why.

As I have read commentaries and sermons, so I discovered I’m not alone in this opinion. More than a few other preachers struggle with it too. Some write that they don’t like the ease with which it can be used as an exclusionary way of saying ‘I am in’ and ‘you are out’. And because it isn’t the whole message of God’s love for God’s world. And for too long, it has been used in more conservative contexts to highlight the doctrine of Penal Substitution, which says God gave His son to die on the cross, to take the punishment of the sins of the world; that Jesus died as an atoning sacrifice, so humanity could be reconciled to God.

And, as one commentary writer said, either we believe in a God who forgives, or we don’t. And if we subscribe to a belief in a forgiving God then we can’t also subscribe to penal substitution – because that isn’t forgiveness, that is atonement. If we believe in outrageous grace and unconditional love, we can’t also believe a price needed to be paid.

You see why I have struggled with this verse?! But I think it says three really important things. The first is this:

It says that God looks at the world and loves it, loves us, loves. God loves.

For God loved the world so much that He gave.

God’s heart, God’s opinion of the world is summed up in one word – LOVE. It is God’s love for us – for us all, for all God has created – that means we can be in relationship. Not blood sacrifices, not right thinking or believing or feeling – simply that we are the recipients of God’s love and grace. And that is enough.

As St Paul wrote in our epistle for today, ‘God, who is rich in mercy, out of the great love with which he loved us… made us alive together with Christ – by grace you have been saved …this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God’.

The next thing we can learn is that this gift of love changes everything.

So here is an interesting thing; almost everywhere else in John’s gospel, the word “world” is used negatively — to refer to an entity that is at odds with God, even the enemy of God. So, in Jesus’ farewell discourse we hear that he is not of the world, we are not of the world, the world will hate us, just as it hated Christ…and so it continues. So, it is remarkable in this passage to find Jesus say God loves this God-hating world so much that God is willing to give the most precious gift God has, as God’s most profound act of love for this world. And this gift is so that the world might be changed and saved.

Not from a wrathful God, but from itself. From a place of darkness into a place of light.

And that is the third thing…

God sent God’s son as a transforming gift, from darkness to light.

Jesus came to a world that was hostile, but beloved of God, as a life-giving, love-proclaiming gift, and a source of unquenchable light.

And what did the world do? The world loved darkness.

The world loved darkness because darkness hides our actions, our meanness, our corruption, our wrongdoings. The world loves darkness because we can do what we want and not get caught.

So God, the brightest light of the world, the one who created light, sent a fraction of Godself, wrapped up in the skin of Jesus to bring light – the light of the world. Not to shame the world, not to trick the world into being exposed, but as an outrageous gift of love, to say ‘I see you, and I know you, and I still utterly adore you’. I can see what you are doing, and I love you. Don’t run and hide – you are loved.

And the world hated it.

Not the whole world, of course, but the people and places of power and evil – the systems and structures that needed darkness so their work could thrive and spread. They didn’t want light. They needed darkness to be able to function. So when they encountered The Light, they killed it. They killed the expression of undeserving, unmerited love – the gift of God – the true light.

But God’s love has never been destroyed. God’s light has never been extinguished. And in this generation and in this place, we are it. We are the light bearers of the God who loved the world so much. And that gift – that free gift – needs to be taken to the world’s darkest places and shone on the world’s most corrupt and dark systems, policies, and ruling forces so they are revealed and potentially redeemed in that blaze of light. And we are the hands and feet and voices and actions that carry it.

In our baptism, we were given the charge to ‘shine as a light in the world to the glory of God the father’ and that charge has never been revoked. We don’t need to chase darkness away – indeed, we cannot – we simply need to shine God’s light, that the world may know it is loved, and that we might be reminded that we are too.

So shine as a light in the world to the glory of God the Father.

Or as one of my favourite poets would say:

‘we step out of the shade, aflame and unafraid…

For there is always light,
if only we’re brave enough to see it.
If only we’re brave enough to be it.’

May we see it, may we be it and may the world be changed. Amen.