baptism – Holy Adventures

The Baptism of Christ…on tour!

Isaiah 43:1-7 Psalm 29 Acts 8:14-17 Luke 3:15-22

This past Sunday I was on tour, preaching at Grace Chapel, Kwinana for the baptism of a child named Bertie. Here is the sermon…

I love a fun fact. Do you love a fun fact?

Did you know that elephants are the only mammal that can’t jump, or horned lizards squirt blood out of their eyeballs to ward off predators?! Butterflies taste with their feet and cows moo with regional accents and have best friends. Did you know that?

Did you know that Bertie’s favourite things are his swimming pool (bodes well!), zip wire and spiderman?! Could you have guessed?

Did you also know that there is the same amount of water on the earth now as there was when the earth was formed? And while it is possible that this means the water you drink is likely to have been drunk by dinosaurs at some point in time, I have a way better thought… how about this… some of the water you drink today, some of the water you swim in, or the water we will baptise Bertie in, might just be the same water in which Jesus was baptised, as we heard about just now. How about that?

When I first realised water was recycled over and over since the dawn of time – raining down into rivers, sweeping out to seas, evaporating into clouds and beginning again – and the atoms making up my own glass of water could be part of the water the spirit brooded over back in Genesis One, or that Moses parted or Jesus was baptised in – when I first realised that, my mind was blown and here we are again, this morning, right back by the river Jordan, with John and our Lord waist deep in that water…

Can you picture that moment?

People, filled with expectation: is John the messiah we’ve waited for??

John’s cryptic answers and strange clothing. His mentions of fire, water and spirit.

Herod, breathing out murderous threats.

And people queueing to get into those waters, die to sin and come out the other side – dripping on the riverbanks. And then along comes the Palestinian carpenter, Joseph’s son, wading into the water. John sinks him under and then it happens.

He’s lifted out of the water, the heavens open; the spirit descends, visibly, like an actual dove and there is the voice…

You are my son, the beloved; with you I am well pleased.

An epiphany

And Jesus is baptised in water that has been around since the dawn of time.

And so are we.

At each baptism service, I think ‘what one thing do I want this family to know today’. What one thing? And often it’s this: even though you can’t see the heavens open, or the spirit descend like a dove – even though you can’t see it, and probably can’t hear this voice of God saying ‘you are my son, you are my daughter and I love you’ – please know that is exactly what is happening today. That’s what I want every baptism child and family and supporters and godparents to know.

That is what I want Bertie to know deep inside his spiderman heart. That’s what I want you to know, mum and dad, Matthew and Kirsty. You are loved, Bertie is loved and God is insanely proud of you – not for anything you’ve done but simply because you are you. Or the way our first reading put it; ‘I have called you by name, you are mine. You are precious in my sight, honoured and I love you’.

And that’s what I want you all to know today too. Because it is the audacious claim of our faith! This is what we believe – that the one who created every atom of water, every single moment of history, sees us, right here, right now, and loves us. God speaks. Out loud. And says to us ‘you are my child, my beloved, and with you I am well pleased’. And it’s not dependent on what we’ve done or not done. It’s just because.

So, Jesus is baptised…and the love of God pours over him and down onto him and the voice of God cries out LOVE. And we, many of us, were also baptised in water – maybe even some of the very same molecules. The very same H₂0. And every single day since, the heavens continue to open over us and the spirit descends on us. The voice of our creator, the source of life, declares those words over us – you are my child, I adore you. Whether you’ve seen it or heard it, is not what is important. What is important is what is true. And the truth is, you are loved.

You were loved before you were born, you were loved as you were born and while you have grown. You were loved when you were at your best. You were loved even when you were at your worst. And you’ve never deserved it; it has always been outrageous grace. There’s nothing you can do to make God love you more and God will never love you less. What a message of hope. What an epiphany!

Whether we share the same molecules in our own baptism that Christ was drenched in at his – whether it’s splashes of the same water or not, the truth is that it is the same God tearing the heavens apart, lavishing God’s spirit upon us and pouring out affirmations of love and belonging. The same love, the same promises, the same parenting, the same holy acceptance, streaming through history, ever towards us. Always in our favour.

And this is what we celebrate for Bertie and his family today; a significant moment in Bertie’s life when we stop and say, precious one, you are loved. May you always know it, always be it, always share it, keep becoming it. And as a reminder of that for us all, and a reminder of our own baptism, this holy water will remain in the font and after you have received your communion you might want to revisit these waters of baptism again, dip your fingers in, make the sign of the cross once more on your forehead, drink it, drench yourself if you want to and receive the assurance once more that you are loved with the abundant love of God…

Remember your baptism and be thankful.

Amen.

What if you fly?

Genesis 17:1-7,15-16 Psalm 22:24-32 Romans 4:13-25 Mark 8:31-38

It’s rare to remember the full contents of a sermon, isn’t it? I can probably remember around 4 great sermons in my life – the one that brought me back to faith in 2001, the time I heard this hot guy preach in 2005 – that was a real blinder – so much so, I went on to marry him! And there have been a couple of others, but they are few and far between. But it just so happens one of my all-time favourites was a sermon I heard on this morning’s gospel passage while I was sat in the Los Angeles sunshine, in an outdoor church, in a parking lot, that had been turned into a garden. A Garden Church. And it was 2017. My dear friend Revd Asher only spoke for 5 minutes, and he blew this gospel apart.

Asher is transgender and was born in a female body. He spoke about his teenage self, walking into a doctor’s surgery during his transition journey. The doctor invited that teenager to bring a few items that characterised them. In that box were photos of Mary – the name Asher was given at birth – they recalled the time she was bridesmaid, there were notes and trinkets and other things she held dear. And the doctor asked Mary if she was prepared to close that box and die, in order that Asher might live.

And Asher had a really important decision to make; Asher said, ‘I had to decide, was I prepared to give up what I believed to be life and do something really bold in order to gain what truly is life’. Asher, or Mary, was being invited to die in order to truly experience what is life. And in this morning’s gospel passage we are invited to do just that too.

If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves, take up their cross and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it and those who lose their life for my sake will find it.

In this invitation, I picture Jesus standing on the edge of a huge mountain, gazing over the precipice. So here we are, Jesus says: if you want to follow me, you need to let go of all this…let go of what you believe to be life, do something really bold, and then you will truly gain what is life.

Erin Hanson, a young Australian poet, captures something similar to this in her beautiful words where she writes, ‘There is freedom waiting for you, on the breezes of the sky. And you ask, “What if I fall?” Oh, but my darling, “What if you fly?’

Every single day, we get this invitation from Jesus Christ; there is freedom waiting, and it looks a bit different than you might expect because it involves being prepared to leave everything behind, even yourself, take up your cross and follow me, Jesus says. And yes, you might fall, but oh my darling, what if you fly – yes you will lose your life, but my darling, you will gain it. You will save it.

What an invitation – to give up the ordinary for something extraordinary. What an offer – and it’s definitely an offer, not a demand. If you want to become my followers. If you want to. You get to choose. And you can choose to say no. God won’t love you any less but oh my darling, then you might never fly. You might never gain that extraordinary life.

And what a day to be reminded of this because today we are celebrating baby June’s baptism. I once read a fabulous book about baptism where it memorably said ‘baptism is the sacrament in which we die’. That’s not something we often say, because it’s not that palatable for the parents, or their friends and family. But symbolically, in the waters of baptism we say yes to that glorious invitation from Jesus and that means saying no to doing things are own way. We are saying we will take the hand of Christ, step off from this ordinary life and believe we will fly. We are committing, each of us who are baptised, and teeny baby June today – we are committing to live our life Christ’s way, not ours – or rather, to deny ourselves and follow him. And because June is only 4 months old, her parents and Godparents will say yes to that eternal invitation on her behalf, and we will promise to help them to fulfil it, until she is able to stand before God and a Bishop and make those promises for herself.

In our invitation from Jesus, there is always something we will need to leave behind. Asher had to leave behind Mary. He had to do something bold to lose what he had believed to be life, in order to gain what truly has turned out to be life; a life laid down in worship and service of Christ’s church as the priest of God that Asher now is.

And just as Christ invited Asher to live his own extraordinary life, so Christ is inviting us, so Christ is inviting you.

What might you need to leave behind?

What do you need to let go of so you can take hold of new life with both hands?

Today Jesus is inviting baby June to the waters of baptism and every day he is inviting us to step out, leap off, from our ordinary existence into something completely extraordinary.

What if you fall? Oh my darling, but what if you fly. Amen.

A Theology of Water

Genesis 1:1-5 Psalm 29 Acts 19:1-7 Mark 1:4-11

You will know if you meet an open water ocean swimmer. You will know in seconds, especially if it is winter. You will know because they will tell you. We can’t help ourselves. We swim first thing, usually, and we carry that ocean experience with us all day; the waves, the temperature, the movement, the ocean life, the saltiness, it sticks to us, flows through us and it somehow continues to wash over us, in meetings, in the supermarket, in the street, so it’s not surprising that it also features in our conversations. A lot.

This week, I’ve been thinking about this morning’s readings while I was in there.

I was thinking about the dawn of creation where the Genesis God ‘swept over the

face of the waters’ and it was from that place that God said ‘”Let there be light”; and

there was light’. And it was good. At the beginning of all things, there was water.

And the amount of water on the planet hasn’t changed since God first swept over it. it hasn’t changed since that first burst of light – we have just moved it about, harnessed it, drank it, wasted it, swam in it, watched while it evaporated, and sheltered – or danced – while it poured.

The water we swim in is the same water the Spirit brooded over. The water in our taps is the same water that Paul and Apollos and John baptised in. The water of our own baptism is the same water that Christ was baptised in. The same water that the dove descended onto. The same water that God’s voice spoke over, and proclaimed “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.”

The same water that made up 70% of the body that God came to earth to inhabit, makes up 70% of each one of us too. And God loves every drop of it – every single atom of which we are made up.

The same combination of hydrogen and oxygen – colliding together to form H₂O – is in and around us, as it was in and around the Creating God, and as it was in and around the human God. And as I have immersed myself in that water each morning, so I have marvelled so deeply; it’s no wonder we are drawn to the water’s edge. No wonder we thirst for it. God made it and it makes us. Incredible.

Several years ago, there began a trend for choosing your word for the year. I was a committed eye-roller at this fad. I was utterly resistant to choosing a word, even more disparaging about the notion that God might give me a word for the year and I perfected my displeasure in people sharing their word with me.

If you’ve read the newsletter this week you will see that two years ago, my word was ‘healing and wholeness’. Last year my word was ‘light’ and this year my word is adventure. But additionally, this year, I have begun to wonder, even daring to ask, what is God’s word for our church for the coming year?

(For those who are still at the eye rolling stage of this type of thing, get ready…)

I wonder, I might even be so bold as to say I believe, that our word here at St Paul’s, for 2024, is flow. Flow. I’m not fully sure what that means but I think it is entwined, saturated even, in the sentiments of this morning’s readings.

God brooded over the waters and proclaimed light in the darkness.

The same God brooded over the waters of baptism and proclaimed great pleasure.

From the moment of creation, through the incarnation, during the life, death, and resurrection of Christ, until here and now, and beyond, God has streamed through history, cleansing and healing and nourishing and inviting each and every person to get into that slipstream and go with the flow of God’s grace and favour. And water is the source of life. Life does not and cannot exist without it.

And I am believing that God, in 2024, is inviting us to swim deeply, with the flow of God’s love – for the good of our own healing and for the life of those in and around this place.

Usually, on this day in the church year, we do a symbolic act of renewing our baptism vows – often I spatter you with holy water and encourage you to ‘remember your baptism and be thankful’. But this word – flow – is a holy invitation and we need to choose whether we will accept it, individually and collectively, rather than just being recipients of a soaking, whether we want it or not.

So, I’m going to bless this water and when you come forward to receive your communion, you can do whatever you choose as a symbol of your yes to the invitation of God to be part of God’s flow of life and abundance this year. And, if you want to begin the year by receiving prayer – perhaps for a fresh outpouring of the living waters of God – people will be at the font during communion, offering to pray for you.

We give you thanks that at the beginning of creation your Holy Spirit moved upon the waters to bring forth light and life. With water you cleanse and replenish the earth; you nourish and sustain all living things.

We give you thanks for your Son Jesus Christ: for his baptism by John, for his anointing with the Holy Spirit.

And now we give you thanks that you call each of us to new birth in your Church through the waters of baptism.

Pour out your Holy Spirit in blessing and sanctify this water so that as we approach this water, we made be made one with Christ, and move ever more closely in the flow of the Spirit. Bless us, your church, that we may be a blessing for others. Amen.

Season of Creation: River Sunday

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

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

It began like this:

When the first rains fell the earth awakened,

It rained without pause for thousands of years,

Sculpting the landscapes into being;

Drops gathered as streams,

Streams braided into rivers,

Growing in force as they grow ever onwards and downwards.

Patient and persistent it wore mountains away

As it looped and meandered.

Where rivers wandered, life could flourish

For rivers are world makers

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

Rivers are the source of human dreams

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

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

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

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

Fickle and unpredictable

In flood they could wreak havoc

In drought they could disappear completely.

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

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

But back to the soundtrack…

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

But there is always a downstream cost

Somebody somewhere must have less

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

But the number of people on earth has grown exponentially

And every one of us is utterly dependent on water

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

Leaving the water unswimable, undrinkable, even fatal

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

As always, the poorest suffer most.

Many rivers now fight for survival

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

But within our capacity to destroy.

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

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

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

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

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

Given a chance their life pours back

To think like a river means to dream downstream in time

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

To be good ancestors to those who come after us

Downstream of us…

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

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

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

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

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

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

On this River Sunday we ‘dream downstream in time’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pentecost 2023

Acts 2:1-21 Psalm 104:26-36 1 Cor 12:1-13 John 20:19-23

Sometimes I read something so brilliant, so perfect, that I want to share more than just the essence of what the writer says. Sometimes I want to share whole chunks of their thoughts, just as they say them. This morning’s sermon is, in large parts, down to the wonderful work of Barbara Brown-Taylor and I thank God and her for many of these words…

Take a breath. Take a breath.

Do you know that the word ‘conspire’ means to breathe together.

So take a breath again…and know we have just launched our own conspiracy!

Knowing this seems to make sense of why the newly risen Jesus would come and appear to his terrified disciples and breathe on them, and say, ‘as the father has sent me, so I send you…receive the holy spirit’.

Keep hold of that thought – of the link between breath and conspiracy and the Holy Spirit. Keep hold of it as you keep breathing through these next few minutes. Keep hold of that thought as you hear this…

BBT writes, ‘If you have studied earth science, then you know that our gorgeous blue-green planet is wrapped in a protective veil we call the atmosphere, which separates the air we breathe from the cold vacuum of outer space. Beneath this veil is all the air that ever was. No cosmic planet-cleaning company comes along every hundred years to suck out all the old air and pump in some new. The same ancient air just keeps recirculating, which means that every time any of us breathes we breathe star dust left over from the creation of the earth.

We breathe brontosaurus breath and pterodactyl breath. We breathe air that has circulated through the rain forests of Kenya and air that has turned yellow with sulfur over Mexico City. We breathe the same air that Plato breathed, and Mozart and Michelangelo…

Every time we breathe, we take in what was once some baby’s first breath, or some dying person’s last. We take it in, we use it to live, and when we breathe out it carries some of us into the next person, or tree, or blue-tailed skink, who uses it to live.

And she goes on to say, ‘When Jesus let go of his last breath – that breath hovered in the air in front of him for a moment and then it was set loose on earth. It was such pungent breath – so full of passion, so full of life – that it did not simply dissipate as so many breaths do. It grew, in strength and in volume, until it was a mighty wind, which God sent spinning through an upper room in Jerusalem on the day of Pentecost. God wanted to make sure that Jesus’ friends were the inheritors of Jesus’ breath, and it worked’.

Today we celebrate Pentecost – the day when a holy hurricane turned lives upside down, forever, and the church burst into flames, burst into life, to bring good news to people everywhere, in words and phrases they could understand; to show everyone, whoever they were, that God was for them – for us – for all people. And it came in fire and words and power and in breath. Everyone was filled with God’s own breath.

And as they breathed God in, so they were changed on the inside.

And as they breathed God out, so the world was beginning to change around them.

Nervous, clumsy people, who always said the wrong thing, suddenly became bold and confident and eloquent. Grieving people became full of hope and joy and lost people found a sense of direction. And when they opened their mouths to speak, Jesus’ voice came out. They healed the sick and spoke darkness into light. And nothing had happened – no additional training or anything like that – they had simply dared to breathe in God…and then breathe God out again. And it turned them into a force that changed the whole world; the same force that propelled us here today, whether we know it or not.

Listen to the way BBT puts it… ‘The Holy Spirit entered them the same way it had entered Mary, the mother of Jesus, and for the same reason. It was time for God to be born again – not in one body this time but in a body of believers who would receive the breath of life from their Lord and pass it on, using their own bodies to distribute the gift’.

That is what we are celebrating here today*. And that’s why today is a specially good day for a baptism! Because in baptism we are doing that too.

In a few moments, baby Ada will be anointed with holy oil – the symbol of the outpouring of God’s Holy Spirit we are all breathing. Then she will be washed in holy water, in the name of God – Father, Son and Holy Spirit. And she will be given the gift of fire – a flame lit from our holy fire here in church – as a reminder that God is light, in whom there is no darkness at all, and as a challenge to go from this place, full of the Holy Spirit, and take God’s light to all the world – to make the world a lighter and brighter place, simply by being in it.

Today we celebrate the first mass outpouring of God’s Spirit at Pentecost and today baby Ada has her own personal Pentecost in and through her holy baptism, and we all get to share in it – get to catch bits of it.

So, as we do that, I encourage you to notice your breath. And know it is God. And as you breathe God in, may you know beyond all knowing that you are completely loved. And as you breathe God out, may you know that even your very breath has power to change the world. And in Ada’s moment of baptism, may your breath be for her – aimed at her, as a prayer for her future, that she too may know she is loved, always, and may this little person one day go on to be a true force for good in this world. Amen.

*At this point I had to divert from the script because the baby was unable to be baptised today, due to Covid. Instead of completing the sermon as written, I invited people to come to the altar rail for anointing with holy oil, for a fresh outpouring of God’s Holy Spirit.

Some things are hard to understand…

Genesis 12:1-4 Psalm 121 Romans 4:1-4, 13-17 John 3:1-17

Some things are really hard to understand, aren’t they?…like, I was never any good at physics. And I have no idea how to fold a fitted sheet. People cleverer than me might be able to answer my questions about those things, but it’s still hard for me to understand. And in this morning’s gospel reading, Nicodemus found things hard to understand too…

‘Rabbi, we know that you are a teacher who has come from God because no one can do the signs you do unless they have been in the presence of God’, he says. And then Jesus says, ‘no one can see the kingdom of God without being born from above’. Which doesn’t really help. And Nicodemus says, ‘you what? How can anyone be born after having grown old?!’. It’s really hard for him to understand. And Jesus’ answer doesn’t make it much clearer… ‘no one can enter the kingdom of God without being born of water and Spirit…you must be born from above’.

Some things are hard to understand.

But every now and then, something, or someone comes along, and they say or do something that makes things easier to understand. They give you a tip or explanation that makes sense, or at least makes it easier to remember.

By the time I was 12, I knew I would never be a physician. I liked the Bunsen burners in chemistry and I was fascinated by the human body in biology but physics and I were never going to get on. And so, in the early morning hours on the day of my physics test, I found myself crying over my revision. I just didn’t understand. I snuck into my mum’s bed and had a good worry about it. She looked at my schoolbook and began to teach me physics. Before breakfast. And I remember her tips. We were doing electronics and she said ‘when you wire a plug the bRown wire goes to the right – because it has an R in it – and the bLue wire goes to the left. Hey presto. I could do physics – enough to scrape through that test anyway. Sometimes we need a visual aid or some way of remembering.

And Nicodemus didn’t have one, not in this passage anyway (he got it in the end because he was right there at the crucifixion – but not in this passage). But for us, today, we have a very clear visual aid, a perfect way of remembering and understanding what Jesus is talking about. And that is shown to us, right here, in the tiny, perfect person of little baby Navy Rain.

You see, last July, Navy was born. She was born of the flesh – I expect Hayley can particularly vouch for that. But today, 8 months later, this little person will be born all over again (don’t worry Hayley, you don’t have to go through it again!). Today baby Navy will be born of the Spirit – she will be born from above. Nicodemus had it wrong – he thought that being born a second time must’ve meant returning to the mother’s womb – but that’s not it at all. This morning, Navy will be born for the second time, in and through the waters of baptism. She is our reminder, our lesson, our perfect visual aid of what Jesus was talking about.

And for all of us who have been baptised, we have each been born twice too – once of the flesh and then of the spirit. And, as I always say, we only baptise once because once is enough, enough for a whole lifetime – enough for a new lifetime. But because we worship a God of absolute abundance, God is always waiting to pour out more love, more life, more grace on each of God’s children. So, yes, one rebirth is enough, but also, we have the invitation and offer of rebirth in every single moment of every single day.

Every time we come together, we can be reborn, refreshed and renewed by the Spirit.

Every time we make our confession and receive God’s forgiveness we are reborn, made clean, refreshed and renewed by the Spirit.

Every time we come to this altar rail and receive the body and blood of Christ in our holy meal, we are made new, reborn, given new life, more life, from above.

Stuart and Hayley gave life to baby Navy. Hayley literally birthed her. And it doesn’t get more fleshy than that. And that was a gift. A true, amazing and wonderful gift. A gift from God, and Navy’s family and friends have brought her to church today to thank God for that gift. But God just keeps on giving gifts, because God is like that! Today’s gift for Navy is new life, through Baptism. And as it is for her, so it is for us. We are offered that gift of life – every single one of us, all are welcome, nobody is left out. And whether we were baptised a hundred years ago, or whether we haven’t made it to those waters yet, we each have the same invitation from God that Navy, in her own 8 month kind of way, is saying yes to.

And the invitation never runs out. We are always and eternally invited, in God’s act of great love, to new life and renewed hope. We are always invited to see the Kingdom of God and be the Kingdom of God and live in it and build it for those around us.

A few moments from now, we will see Baby Navy splash her way into her second birth – we will witness her new birth-day (I expect Hayley is particularly glad we weren’t all at her first one!). May this precious moment be a constant reminder to us – something that helps us understand – the holy invitation to be born of the flesh and of the spirit. And in and through it may we see the kingdom of God. Amen.

Candlemas

Malachi 3: 1-5 Psalm 24 Hebrew 2:14-18 Luke 2:22-40

I’ve told you before about when God invited me to Australia to create holy chaos, but I don’t think I’ve told you about what came next. I heard this invitation – you can come to Australia if you want – and I said yes…so the job hunt began. I went onto the diocesan website for Perth and found the bit where it listed the vacancies. Let me tell you, there are lots of them, or there were when I was looking. And I clicked on each one and began to read. Some were immediately discarded because they had heavily coded messages that indicated they wanted a men or someone who was conservative or an evangelical minister, and that clearly wouldn’t have been a match, but even so, a short-list began to emerge. And then I’d message Craig – things like, what about Kwinana, where’s that? How about Bassendean? And Craig would – literally every single time – say no. I’m not moving there – it’s too posh or too far or too whatever and he was pretty determined to stay in Alkimos, so I’d go back to the drawing board.

And then one day – actually while the time difference meant Craig was sleeping – I saw the advert for this little place called St Paul’s, in Beaconsfield. And I clicked on the link, and it took me to the church website and I read the first sentence on the home page and knew, in less than 3 seconds, I was home. It said something like, ‘come and join us as we search for the Divine together’.

The fact God was not being described as He, and I was being invited on a journey – with others – to figure out what this crazy life as a God-chaser might look like was enough. It was everything. And I messaged Craig and distinctly remember it said something like ‘I’ve found the place. I don’t know where you’re going but I’m moving to Beaconsfield’. And that one sentence – come and join with us as we seek the Divine – was the key.

And I’ve been thinking about that this week, as we approached today – Candlemas – when we remember the presentation of the baby Christ in the temple, and the epiphany to faithful Anna and devoted Simeon, and as we heard those wonderful words from the prophecy of Malachi – because all of it is all about seeking the Divine, together.

So hear again, the words of the prophet Malachi, echoing down through the ages: The Lord whom you seek will suddenly come to his temple…

This prophecy speaks of who Anna and Simeon, and the whole Jewish nation, were waiting for: a death-defying, devil-slaying, high priest, in the service of God. And it foreshadows this day, when the Holy Spirit propelled them to the temple, inspired their vision, and revealed the Lord, in their very midst.

And they found a baby. Just an 8-day old baby.

Was this really what had been promised for more than 500 years? Was this the hope of the world? The one who would judge and redeem and purify and refine? The one who would set the oppressed free, defend the widow and the orphan, and care for the alien? Could this little person really turn the whole world upside-down? It seems hard to believe, doesn’t it? Could this baby be the Divine?

But Malachi’s prophecy continues, this one who suddenly comes to his temple ‘…is like a refiners fire…he will sit as a refiner and purifier of silver and will purify and refine like gold and silver’.

And this bit blows my mind, every time, because do you know how a silversmith refines and purifies their metal? They sit, for long periods of time, holding their metal in very intense heat and they hold it there until the dross burns off. They hold it until it is free from impurity. And they only know it is pure when they can see their reflection perfectly in it. When the face of the one who is creating it can be fully seen.

Malachi’s prophecy promises the Lord is coming and will refine and purify like gold and silver. And on that day, in the temple, prayerful Anna, and spirit-inspired Simeon, recognised the image of God in the face of the baby Christ. And they took the child and saw the future salvation of God, God’s very self, reflected in that pure unadulterated face of Christ. And they believed.

And that is what we remember today – that the image of the creator was revealed in the face of that tiny baby who was brought to the temple. But what this place – this temple – has shown me is that the image of the creator is revealed in one another as we journey together to discover more of the Divine. It’s like this place is another of God’s refining fires – where we are each held to the light, held in the fire, until God can see God’s face in each of us – until our own reflection is the image of God. That’s the journey of this place.

That might sometimes feel like a big ask – being held in the fire doesn’t sound comfortable and trying to reflect the image of the divine sounds like something I fail to do every single day. But, friends, we are baptised children of God and everything that needs to be done happened right there in those waters. In the waters of our baptism, we were cleansed and purified and made holy – in those waters we were made to fully reflect the face of the Divine – and we were given a holy calling, symbolised by the gift of the lit flame: shine as a light in the world, to the glory of God, we were told.

And today, Candlemas, is the festival of light; it is a day to celebrate this light. And, as Rumi says, we are stars wrapped in bodies, thoughts and feelings and the light we seek is right here. We cannot fail to reflect something of the Divine because it is in our very DNA, it is the foundation of who we are; our life’s work is simply to allow it to shine more brightly, more clearly, that others might see and, like Anna and Simeon, believe.

So, on this festival day, where we think of light and fire and our call to shine and reflect the image of the Divine, even as we are seeking after them, let’s have a visible reminder of this.

Candles – light one from paschal candle – pass along – light one another’s with ‘let the image of the divine shine through you’

Amen.

An Epiphany about Epiphany

Isaiah 42:1-9 Psalm 29 Acts 10: 24-43 Matthew 3: 13-17

A few years ago, I had an epiphany about epiphany. Until then, I had thought epiphany was the word to describe the journey of the wise men. A day in the year. A celebration. I hadn’t connected that epiphany was a word we use in other contexts when speaking about sudden realisation or revelation. Recognising that was an epiphany in itself! And here we are in Epiphany season – the wise men came and went last week and epiphany continues. Today we find ourselves at the banks of the River Jordan, where Jesus and John the Baptiser are gathered with a crowd.

Imagine that…

People, filled with expectation: is John the messiah we’ve waited for??

Queues waiting to get into those waters, dying to sin and coming out the other side – dripping on the riverbanks.

And then along comes the Palestinian carpenter, Joseph’s son, wading into the water.

There’s an exchange – will he, won’t he? He will! And John sinks him under and then something happens.

He’s lifted out of the water and the very heavens burst open; the spirit descends, visibly, like an actual dove and there is a voice…

This is my son, the beloved, with whom I am well pleased.

An epiphany

The epiphany – the surprise realisation – in the baptism of Christ is that Jesus is the Son of God, and because of this, things are about to change. It is a revelation, an epiphany, of the reality of the Christ. And maybe this was an epiphany to Jesus too. This is the Son of God, You are my son, and God is not angry – God is well pleased. This is who they have been waiting for, the dawning of the age of salvation, grace, mercy and Love. An epiphany of a seismic change in history.

And when people come for baptism, like baby Kaius and little Gabrielle who I am baptising in the ocean this afternoon, all I really want for them and their family is their own epiphany; an overwhelming realisation that they are a child of God and that God is well pleased with them. That’s what I pray for each time. That’s what I always try to communicate; if you are going to leave here with just one message let it be that you are a beloved member of God’s family; God’s child, utterly loved.

When I was at college, our principal worked hard to hold together a group of ordinands from different traditions, with differing theologies and vastly varying opinions. Time and again he would remind us that our greatest calling is our baptism; that the thing that unites us is our God-given status as baptised and beloved children of the living God; that there is nothing greater than that – not our call to ordination, not if we go on to be bishops or archbishops, not our family wealth or intellect. Our greatest call is our call to walk through those waters of baptism – like Kaius and Gabrielle will today – and know in our hearts that the heavens broke open over us and God’s voice declared you are my child and I love you. With you I am well pleased.

And God tells us that regardless of what we have done and what we will go on to do. God declares that over each one of us regardless of where we have come from and where we are going. And God keeps on telling us that, every last moment of every last day, until God can tell us face to face. And that is the epiphany of baptism – that you are loved, just as dearly as Christ and just as profoundly as you were at that moment of your baptism.

And I pray that this is an epiphany for you today; that today might not just celebrate the epiphany of Jesus being proclaimed as the beloved Son of God, but that it might be an epiphany for each of us too. That today might be overwhelmingly significant for Kaius and Gabrielle and their family and friends, but also it might be significant for you too; that you see and hear and sense and feel the enormity of your greatest calling – a beloved child of God who is proud of you. May that be an epiphany that lives in your heart for this whole season and beyond because it is the truth.

You are my child, God says, my beloved. And with you I am well pleased. Amen.

BAPTISM

Advent 1 – Hope is untameable!

Isaiah 2:1-5 Psalm 122 Romans 13: 9-14 Matt 24: 33-44

When I first arrived in WA people kept telling me, ‘You must see the wildflowers’. And because everything in WA felt, feels, so huge to me, expected the wildflowers to be huge too. I was expecting flowers the size of my head and leaves bigger than my palms and instead, what I kept finding, were these tiny delicate beautiful little flowers, popping out in the most unexpected places.

This week, Craig and I set out on our first attempt at walking a section of the Bibbulmun Track. It was hot and hilly and dry and dusty…and it was hard work…but all over the place there were these breath-taking wildflowers. Every shade of colour. Every shape, just so tiny and delicate and seeming to be springing up against the odds, almost. Beautiful flowers in barren places.

And they spoke to me, over and over, about hope.

Hope blossoming in places I didn’t expect to see it.

Today is Advent Sunday – the first day of our new church year – the beginning of a new season that leads to Christmas – the beginning of a period of waiting, in the church. And what is it that we are waiting for?

Well, we’re NOT waiting for Christmas, or the birth of a baby. During advent the church watches and waits for the return of the Christ, for God to come back. During advent we are watching and waiting for the fulfilment of the promises Jesus made to return.

But, here’s the thing. I don’t like waiting. It feels too passive, too boring. And how do we know what we are waiting for? How do we know if it’s anywhere close? How can we see if it’s on its way? Because we’re not waiting for the arrival of God – God is already here – always has been, always will be – what we are waiting for is the full arrival of God’s entire kingdom.

And if we’re waiting for the arrival of a whole new kingdom, might it be possible that we could begin building that kingdom while we wait?

Or, might it be possible that it isn’t entirely dependent upon us and is already being built around us already, but sometimes we get the privilege of actually joining in? Could that be true?!

If we get to join in, that completely transforms our time of waiting. It is no longer a passive observance – it is no longer just watching…sitting around…waiting – it becomes our life’s work, our entire purpose even. Something we watch out for, and take part in, each and every day.

You see, the kingdom of God is springing up all over the place. And it is a kingdom characterised by hope. It is that hope that the day of salvation is here…and coming…that it’s something that is not just possible but is on its way.

It’s on its way! And we can see it because it is a kingdom that looks like those tiny delicate wildflowers, budding and blossoming in barren dry sand where it seems to make no sense.

It looks like swords being repurposed as ploughshares and spears being used as pruning hooks instead.

The springing up of the Kingdom of God looks like light in dark places, work for the unemployed, food for the hungry, release for those who are indefinitely detained, housing for the homeless, clothing for the naked, healing for the sick – hope for those who are just in the depths of despair.

The unravelling and revealing of the Kingdom of God among us is pure hope for today and the future. It is hope-filled and hope-giving.

And right now, right here, it looks like a family who found our church and chose it to be the place where they would bring their tiny baby to pass through the waters of baptism to join our family of faith.

Today, the Kingdom of God is seen in the visible sign that there is hope of another generation – characterised by baby Honey – there is another generation that is choosing to follow Jesus. Another generation that is saying yes to this invitation to join in with bringing hope to the world, while we wait for the true fulfilment of the promises of God.

Friends, hope is all around us and it is unstoppable. Let us spot it, let us spread it, let us be it! Amen.

BAPTISM