love – 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.

Healed (not just cured)

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

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

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

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

Jairus and his daughter

The bleeding woman

Jairus and his daughter again.

Another Markan sandwich.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then the bleeding woman.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For those without, healing is provision.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

God is God (not you)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tell me if you have understanding

Who determined its measurements – surely you know!

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

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

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

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

And I think these two passages say the same thing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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 27^th 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.

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.

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.