Priest – Page 2 – Holy Adventures

Gaza Ceasefire Rally – Feb 2024

I was asked to speak at the Gaza Ceasefire Rally, in Fremantle last Saturday. I knew I wanted to stand up for peace, I knew I wanted to call out the actions that damage and destroy humanity, but I really battled with what to say, how to say it, how brave to be, and my nerves were really alert. Really alert! I wrote 4 full, different, scripts. But this is what I stood and shared. I hope it landed as a call for peace, as an end to violence, as a cry for a ceasefire and as care for humanity – especially those who are most marginalised and oppressed. I hope that is what was communicated, because that is my heart…

I’m Revd. Gemma – I’m an Anglican priest – and I am unashamedly in love with a Palestinian Jew who, 2000+ years ago, lived a radical message of love and peace for all people. ‘Love your enemies’, he said. And always, always, he focussed first and foremost on the marginalised, oppressed, displaced, and forgotten. And he went and stood overlooking Jerusalem, in the West Bank, and he wept – actually, the scriptures say he sobbed uncontrollably. And I think he is still doing that, especially now, especially today.

Since the events of 7^th October there have been memes circulating on social media saying things like, ‘if you ever wondered what you would do in the face of human slavery, apartheid or the holocaust, you are doing it now’…and we are doing this now, to say ‘we don’t know what to do, but this is not ok’. To say a resounding no to genocide and the taking and holding of hostages, whatever their race or nationality. We are here to protest a world where humans can block or withhold life’s basic provisions; to stand up for those who need aid or shelter or water and to say it is not acceptable to force a whole community of people into the ‘safety’ of Rafah, just to chorale them there and turn on them. And we are here to decry the actions of Hamas.

Friends, there are no words. Standing and watching and weeping, sobbing uncontrollably, is a valid and understandable response. And showing up to do so together, in solidarity with those who are opposed to genocide and in favour of peace and justice, in solidarity with those whose lives depend on a ceasefire, who need aid and food and water, who need to be released from hostage situations, who need somewhere to live and a place to call home. That is valid and that is why people of all faiths, and none, can come together and hope – together – for that.

If you want to do more, you can walk the distance from Gaza City to Rafah – 36km – charting that distance on your body, here with those who walk and run and flee for safety in the holy land. If you want to walk part or all those steps, check out the Gaza Ceasefire Pilgrimage website. The walk is happening in 85 cities across the world. Here, it is 2 weeks today – 24^th February – and is from Hillary’s to Bathers Beach. You can sign up online – Gaza ceasefire pilgrimage.

Friends, we don’t know what to do, we struggle to find the words to speak, but by showing up, together, for peace, we are doing all we can so that when history looks back and asks us, ‘what did you do?’ we can say we didn’t look the other way but we nailed our colours to the mast as people of peace and as activists towards a just and gentle future. May our actions be significant, compassionate, liberating and healing for all people and may we be people of peace.

A Witness Talk for Perth Cursillo

When you volunteer to give a witness talk like this, you are sent some guidelines. They begin with this… ‘The prime purpose of a witness talk is to demonstrate the effectiveness of the Cursillo method in the life of the speaker’. Gotcha. That’s easy. Some of the most transformational aspects of my life and faith journey can be directly attributed to the cursillo movement. But then the guidelines go on to say… ‘A witness talk is not an extraordinary event or sensation’. Well, I am sorry, but my experiences through and because of cursillo are pretty extraordinary and maybe even sensational, which is hardly surprising because we follow an extraordinary and definitely sensational God!

I made my Cursillo in Coventry, in the UK, back in 2005 – Cursillo #30. I knew nothing of what I was going along to, nothing of what awaited me there and certainly nothing of the ripple effects it would have on the rest of my life. I was already strong in my faith. I was a sold-out Jesus follower and I knew it would be me and him, against the world, forever but little did I know quite what those kind of promises would mean.

I walked into the room on the first evening, found my way to my table group, looked across the room and saw this tall, gorgeous man, in a red t-shirt, standing at another table. I was secretly gutted he wasn’t my table leader and felt determined to arrange mealtimes so I could speak to him.

The weekend progressed and the talks were amazing, the atmosphere was incredibly spirit-filled and I didn’t even mind the arts and craft activities. God was so tangibly present, all of the time, speaking, encouraging, pouring out love in every piece of palanca and every meal and every talk and I had never felt so close to God in my life, I don’t think.

And then, in the stillness of the church, surrounded by hundreds and hundreds of tealights and before an enormous cross, God asked me if I would say yes to ordination. Was I prepared to become a priest if that was what God was asking of me? At the time my own priest was utterly terrifying. She was a bully and an abuser and I knew that saying yes to God meant having to go and speak with her so, even though, in the silence of that church that night I had whispered a tentative yes to God’s outrageous invitation, I left my cursillo weekend and did nothing.

A year later I found myself back at cursillo, this time staffing as a table leader. God’s invitation to the priesthood had got stronger in my mind, and my quiet whisper of yes had become a pretty hard hearted no. But still God called and still other people kept saying to me ‘when will you be a priest’ or ‘have you thought about ordination’.

In all other things I really wanted to say yes to God. I wanted to do what God wanted for me. But ordination? I just couldn’t. So I set off from home for my weekend and made a dreadful deal with God. My deal was, if 10 people on the weekend suggested I get ordained, I would do something about it. Ten people. On a weekend where there was only going to be 16 people. I was really cutting it fine.

On the first evening 6 people had already mentioned ordination and I was livid! And surely enough, as the weekend progressed, the remaining 4 added their voice to the call. But the most incredible thing was that there was a woman in my table group called Alison. Alison had a disability that meant she couldn’t speak, except in a very gentle whisper. All weekend, our arrangement was, if she wanted to contribute to group discussions she would tap my arm, I would lean in and she would whisper her words for me to share. We did this all weekend and it worked well, so when she once again tapped my arm on the last day, I leant in to hear what she wanted to offer. And she said to me ‘when you get your own church I am going to come to it’. What could I do? God is sneaky and always gets what God wants. So, I returned to that candlelit sacred space where I had first heard the call, said sorry to God for not responding, and promised I would test out this vocation. And, exactly ten years after that first whisper – in 2015 – I found myself knelt before the bishop in Durham Cathedral, committing to serve God for the rest of my days as a priest in God’s church.

And as for the red t-shirt guy? When palanca arrived for the cursillo I staffed on there was something each day with an Australian postmark on. Red t-shirt guy had moved to Australia where he had begun a new life, preferably somewhere God couldn’t reach him. Five years ago, we reconnected, fell in love and he and God invited me on an adventure to create holy chaos down-under so two years ago I left the UK, emigrated to Australia, got married and became rector here.

To say Cursillo changed my life is not an understatement, is it? Saying an unequivocal yes to God, no matter what it costs and what it takes, will always do that. And I think that Cursillo is set up to create the perfect atmosphere, the perfect climate, to make those grand promises and to mean them.

So, you see, it is possible to speak about the effectiveness of the Cursillo method in the life of the speaker, but it’s definitely not possible to do so without mentioning extraordinary and sensational events.

Thanks be to God for God’s extraordinary and sensational invitations. May God give us the grace to always say yes. Amen.

A sermon for an annual meeting…

EXODUS 19.2–8a PSALM 100 ROMANS 5.1–11 MATT 9: 35ff

This morning’s bible readings seem to have specifically been chosen for an AGM – did you notice? I can assure you they weren’t, but let’s look at them, in turn, and see how they might be speaking to us, on this day, where we stop, consider, look back over what has been, and look forward to whatever future God might be calling and leading us into.

Our first reading was part of the Exodus story. Those early wanderers are camping at Mount Sinai where God reminds them how God has carried them on eagle’s wings and brought them to God’s self. I read that and thought of that beautiful song we often sing – and I will raise you up on eagle’s wings – a song that I think of as something of our anthem. There were years of wandering and God has been constantly faithful and near. And we have been carried on the wings of God’s love and always brought near to God.

The exodus story is also our story. And so, the commands of the exodus God are also our commands; …obey me fully…keep my covenant… God says. And the promises to the Exodus people are our promises too; …you will be my treasured possession…you will be a holy people. And so, the response of the Exodus people might inspire our response too; ‘We will do everything the Lord has said,’ the people responded together.

Then we had psalm 100 – Give thanks to God and bless God’s holy name. For the Lord is good, his loving mercy is for ever: his faithfulness throughout all generations. And that’s the point of today; a time of thanksgiving – thank you God for your loving kindness, for each other, for this place, for this parish. Thank you, God – we bless your holy name. It is a time to recall God’s goodness to us. We have been through much and God was faithful. We are growing and changing and God is faithful. We are committing afresh to our future and God will be faithful. Great is God’s faithfulness.

Next …….. read the New Testament reading – we glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit, who has been given to us. This reminds me of this past Pentecost, just a few weeks ago, when we should have had a baptism and the family got sick and cancelled a couple of hours before the service. And God was amazing – as ever – and led us into that incredible time of anointing, for those who longed for more of God’s Holy Spirit and one by one nearly every person was anointed and God’s love was poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us. And it felt like a really significant way-marker on our journey together. The past is behind us, the present is good, and the future is filled with hope…and hope does not disappoint us.

And only then did we get to the gospel – to those wonderful words of Christ, calling his disciples, sending out workers into the harvest and giving them specific instructions.

‘The harvest is plentiful’, Jesus says, ‘but the workers are few’.

You know that age-old conversation – there is so much to do, and it’s always the same people who do everything! I’ve heard that said in every church I have ever been a part of. And I’ve heard it said here. And it might feel like the same people do everything, especially when we are tired, but that same number of people is way bigger here than in many places. And that number is growing! Before the restructure of our parish council, we had maybe a dozen people who were ‘running’ the church.

With our new support groups, we have more than 30 people involved in some aspect of decision making – maybe more like 40, especially when you include people who are on rosters too. We are blessed. The harvest is plentiful – I absolutely believe it – and the workers are growing in number and confidence and courage. And, at the advice of Jesus, we will continue to ‘ask the Lord of the harvest to send out workers into the harvest field’…whilst also recognising and acknowledging that the worker God might be calling could be any one of us…and probably is you.

When we hear the list of the names those Jesus called, I wonder if we can hear our own name in that list too? Simon (called Peter), his brother Andrew; James son of Zebedee, John, Philip and Bartholomew; Maureen, Thea, Michael and Howard. Craig, Janice, Gordon and Russell. Gabby, Linda, Lucia and Glenda and Iris. And everyone else because Jesus calls us all – never doubt that.

And just as he called those first disciples, with specific instructions, so he calls us with specific instructions. And we might – in error – call it Parish Councillor or support group member or external verifier or whatever grand name we give it, but really our call is always to go to those who are lost and tell them they are loved and there is a way home. We are called to go to the sick and heal them – especially to heal others of the disease of loneliness and isolation – we are called to bring light and life to places of darkness and death – to bring peace where there is chaos and hope where in despair. And to recognise we have so much to give, and it was all given for free – out of the goodness of God’s eternal grace – and so we should be giving for free too.

Friends, later today we will have an agenda to follow and boxes to tick. We will have positions to fill and reports to give but let us not forget these lessons from scripture, above and beyond it all…

We are carried by a God who loves us, and is safe to obey
We can be thankful for God’s love and mercy and unending faithfulness
We must have hope in the future because we walk into it with the Holy Spirit
And we are called and sent by God to make a difference in this world

And may that be our true agenda. Amen.

A family friendly talk for Mother’s Day

Our Mother’s Day service was a family service and our sermon was interactive. I printed out each letter of MOTHERS DAY on individual sheets of paper and 10 volunteers held each one, rearranging the letters to form the words in bold-underlined below.

Today is Mother’s Day – a day we can remember our mums and those who have been like mums to us – our sisters, step mums, aunts, grandparents, godparents, carers, and many others…

Some people’s mums are the best; they smell like sweet soap and make the perfect apple pie and never get mad. They smother you from head to toe in kisses and keep the cupboards always full of chocolate.

But for some people, Mother’s Day is one the hardest day of the year because their mum wasn’t perfect, and life was much more ordinary than that. much more complicated, more muddled, more normal…or maybe something worse

And some of us will find a day like today really sad, because our mum isn’t with us and we miss her because she has died, or lives far away, or we feel sad because we would have loved to have been a mama and we aren’t one.

Today’s bible readings had something to say about all of these things, even though they didn’t mention mums and were written a long, long time before Mother’s Day ever became a thing.

The first reading that Jacques read to us, promised us that we are all God’s children – so God is like our mother, a perfect one. One who loves us always, with all her heart.

And our gospel reading promised that we will not be left on our own. I will not leave you orphaned, Jesus said. That means we will always have a parent, right beside us, all of our days on earth, and we will be safe and loved and cared for.

And wherever we are, whoever is nearby or far away, God – our divine mother – our holy mum – will always be a place of refuge, a home for us to go to, every single day until…

…Someday we will be together, forever, in heaven, face to face. Amen.

And this is all amazingly good news. Because we are loved more than we can ever imagine, and we always have our Heavenly Mama cheering us on and helping us out. So, the only bad thing about all of this is that I can’t get the word hamster into the story… haha!

Fun fact: some other words that could have been included in the talk are…

Smother

Rhyme

Death

Myth

Destroy

Stay

Smart

Dream

A Sermon for Good Friday

Good Friday 2023 – John 19: 14 ff

I don’t like boxes much. Especially when they contain theology.

As a child, the Good Friday box contained an angry God who needed to be placated, and that could only ever be done through the death of his Son. The box contained adult words like sacrifice and blood and atonement and substitute. And I knew I was bad and could only be good because of whatever it was that was in that box.

As a young adult, the box held a vengeful wrathful God that I was uncomfortable with. I found him a bit embarrassing – all this talk about there needing to be a death so the debts could be paid – it got in the way of Good News, and wasn’t appealing, so I sealed the box more tightly and tried to ignore it; instead looked ahead to Easter Sunday, not wanting to spend any time looking at the contents of this day, at all.

As an older adult, who left the church in shame and confusion, I tentatively lifted the lid on those boxes, and many others that I had gathered along the way. All kinds of things tumbled out of them – words and phrases and feelings and pain. And I realised I understood way less than I ever thought I had. My lack of understanding became my guilty secret. It was authentic, at least, but it couldn’t be enough. Could it?

As a student of theology and then an ordained person, I began meeting others; those who wrote about what they believed and preached it and those who were daring to lift lids on boxes and didn’t seem ashamed of what had been buried there.

And then I met disciples and other Jesus followers; those who had shouted crucify, to avoid answers to questions like ‘weren’t you with this man?’. I saw those who had given kisses of betrayal and said, ‘this is the one’.

And those disciples are great company on this day, as we hear again those taunts – crucify him – and as we hear the mockery of ‘the king of the Jews’. As we hear the soldiers casting lots for the blood-soaked tunic, and the sobs of the weeping of the women. We can sit with those confused, distraught would-be followers as they see Jesus thirst, and know somehow that it is a thirst for righteousness and a new kingdom, not for sour wine on some pock-marked sponge on a filthy stick.

And as we hear our saviour say ‘it is finished’, as we watch God die, we don’t know much, if anything, but may we know beyond all knowing that whatever is in those bloody boxes is not even a fraction of what happened there that day. May we know that whatever it is we have been told and constructed is nothing compared to what actually went on in flesh and blood, and in the heavens above and the earth below; that as those words ‘it is finished’ came out in spit that mixed with air, and in blood that seeped into soil, so something significant happened.

Something significant happened. And we can never grasp it and never understand it. But for the love of God we will keep on trying.

Because that cross, in its bloodied, brutal, glory, is surrounded by boxes.

Open Boxes, without any lids, with questions and uncertainty tumbling out.

Boxes with lids nailed down, with theology and surety firmly held inside.

And the base of that cross goes down into the ground, way further than we know

And the top of the cross reaches taller and higher

And the cross beam stretches wider and broader than we can ever imagine

And as that cross goes deeper and wider and taller and broader, so must we keep digging deeper and reaching higher and stretching wider in our encounter with the crucified lord. Not rushing ahead to Sunday, but spending time here – as uncomfortable as it is, as painful as it might feel, as uncertain and tentative as it feels – we need to wait here, surrounded by these boxes of questions and theories.

And as we wait, something is already beginning to happen. Something is already changing in the highest heavens and the deepest depths.

May we wait. May we never stop waiting.

In our waiting may we wonder. May we dig deeper and reach higher and stretch wider. May we burn the boxes of our theories and understanding and may we simply wait here, at the foot of the cross, in the presence of our crucified Lord, not knowing what is happening, but trusting that even Friday can be Good. Amen.

A Sermon for Maundy Thursday

If I have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet. For I have set you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you.

Each Maundy Thursday we hear this gospel passage, and we do what we can to re-enact it in some symbolic way. Similarly, when ordaining deacons, the bishop instructs them to wash the feet of the people they are called to serve in their ministry. It’s clear, isn’t it? Wash one another’s feet. Do as I have done to you.

Very simple.

And so, each year at the soup kitchen in my last parish, which conveniently opened on a Thursday, we washed the feet of our unhoused, addicted guests. We took bowls of hot soapy water, fluffy towels, and a stash of new, warm socks, for our guests to take in exchange for whatever they were wearing on their feet.

On the first year, I set the station up, with the bishop’s chair, right on the chancel steps, and people watched with interest. They began to wander up, tentatively, to see what was happening and some agreed to have their feet washed. And as I washed, I explained about Maundy Thursday and that this is when Jesus washed the feet of his disciples.

And then in came Paul. And I don’t remember seeing Paul before, but he staggered down the aisle in a pretty bad state. Paul smelt strongly of alcohol, rolling tobacco, and other unpleasant things. His eyes weren’t focussing too well and his speech was slurred. He made his way to the chancel steps, and shouted at me to tell him what I was doing. I told him I was washing feet for Maundy Thursday and giving away new socks and he said he wanted that, so I invited him to sit down. I asked him his name and began to take his shoes and socks off.

Now, for us, who have been in church for holy week before, if we are going to offer to have our feet washed, we might prepare for it, might we? We come in clean socks, with washed feet, maybe even a pedicure! Well, it turns out Paul had no such knowledge of this ritual and to say he had done no such preparation is putting it mildly. His socks were filthy and wet, and his feet were worse.

I peeled them off and discovered his big toe was badly burned. The night before he had passed out, so drunk, that he hadn’t been aware the gas fire was burning his skin and it was raw and sore. The dressing he had on it needed some attention, but I set about washing his feet as best I could.

This great idea of foot washing no longer seemed so great. This charge from Jesus, and the bishop, was certainly not glamorous, nor was it easy. And as I washed Paul’s feet, I talked to him.

He told me his partner had left him the night before and fled to a refuge because he had beaten her, so badly. He was remorseful – a bit – but mostly he was annoyed at being left, and he had drank his feelings, all night, out of anger and hurt. And I continued to wash, and truthfully, I wanted to squeeze his poorly toe at various things he said. The way he spoke was vile; his opinion of women was gross and his capacity to take any responsibility for the state he was in was nil. Honestly, I was disgusted really, and I was so cross that I was there on my knees in front of him, doing this thing Jesus asks of us.

Paul didn’t have an amazing conversion experience. He still came, each week, in various stages of drunkenness, eventually reunited with his partner. And I sometimes think of him and wonder if he is still alive. I wonder if he remembers having his feet washed; if he remembers how honest he was in that conversation about his anger and his struggles with his violence and his addictions. I wonder if anyone ever washed his feet before, and told him it was because Jesus had told his followers to do the same, as an act of love. And I wonder if he knows he is worth loving.

As I washed Paul’s feet, and spoke to him each week, my attitude was often so wrong, but Jesus kept on breaking in, as he always does. And love was somehow there. Sometimes hard to spot and certainly hard to feel, but always there.

Paul is worth loving, worthy of loving, because we have been loved by Christ and have been commanded to pass that on. And I absolutely know that, in washing the burned and filthy feet of a man who had beaten his partner in an alcohol-fuelled rage, Jesus grew more love inside me and taught me that loving people is sometimes hideously inconvenient; it can smell bad and mess with my head and core values, but it is the command. And that it was a tangible, outward expression of something beautiful to Paul; something he may have never known before. And it was from God, because it wasn’t from me.

Wash one another’s feet. Do as I have done to you, Jesus says. And do it out of love for one another; whatever it costs and whatever it takes. Love indiscriminately and outrageously. Love when it hurts and when it makes you mad. When it is inconvenient and makes no sense. Love when it gets in the way of what you think is right and wrong. Love like Christ; when it gets you beaten, unfairly tried and killed. Love when everyone else has stopped. This is Christ’s commandment; do as I have done to you. Love as I have loved you.

By this will people know you are my disciples if you have love for one another. Amen.

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.

Return to me with all your heart: a sermon for Ash Wednesday

Joel 2:1-2, 12-17 Psalm 51 2 Cor 5:20-6:10 Matt 6:1-6, 16-21

Return to me with all your heart, with fasting, with weeping, and with mourning.

Return to the Lord.

Today we begin our journey into lent, knowing it takes through the wilderness, among the hosannas of the ride into Jerusalem, and to the passion and pain of the cross. We know what lies ahead, but there are 40 days in which to get there. How will we use this time?

Return to me with all your heart, God says, with fasting, weeping and mourning. Return to the Lord.

So my questions this Lent, are:

Where is your heart currently?
Where do you need to go, to retrieve the pieces of your heart that are not with God?
How will you search for those pieces to bring them back?
And how will you hand them over to God?

Return to me with all your heart, God says. All of it.

What will help, this lent, for you to discover where you have left your heart? If you aren’t sure where all the pieces of your heart are, check the end of this gospel passage – where your treasure is, there your heart will be also. Check where your treasure lies, and there you will find your heart.

So before you give up chocolate or wine or social media this Lent, consider ‘how will my lack of these things help my heart return to God’? Will not doing these things make me love God more??’ And if it will, then it is the perfect Lenten discipline. The perfect way of fasting. If it wont bring your heart back to God then you might reconsider…

A while ago, I gave up drinking – it was stealing too much from me and not giving me any of the things it promised. Giving it up was a good thing – it has great benefits. I sleep better, my anxiety is reduced, my heart rate is improved, my mind is clearer, I have more time and more money available, I’ve even dropped a few kilos. All these things are good. But God is not so intent on good, as much as holy. Giving up drinking is good, but what I do with that extra time and clearer mind and increased money and energy – what I do with that has the potential to become holy. Especially if I use it to bring my wandering heart back to God.

And, truthfully, if I want to reclaim the distracted and straying parts of my heart, and return them to God, that is not found in the absence of wine; it is found in what I do in its place. Reclaiming my heart for God happens when I choose to spend more time with the God I’ve chosen to follow all my life, and who I gave my whole heart to back in the beginning.

Giving up something is ok, but only if, in its place, something holy begins. And Lent is a gift of time and space to do that; to try one new thing that will return your heart more fully to God.

In the church we begin Lent with receiving the sign of the cross on our foreheads, in Ash.

This is an ancient tradition, where ash is a symbol of mourning; where we mourn for all the ways we have failed God and failed one another; a moment to turn from all our failings and purposefully face the direction of the cross: literally realign ourself with the cross – it is right there, on our heads, right in front of us, and we are immediately placed right behind it, back where we belong.

On Ash Wednesday, we commit all over again to walk the way of Christ, together, as we try to return to God, with all of our heart, drawn by God’s grace and mercy and steadfast love.

Return to me with all your heart God says. Not because God is possessive and angry. Not because God doesn’t want us to love other people and other things.

Return to me with ALL your heart God says, because that is the best and safest place for our hearts to be. It is an invitation of love, on God’s part – as always. Because when our hearts are fully with God we can love outrageously and fiercely and boldly. When our hearts are fully with God our friends and neighbours and community will benefit most fully.

Returning to God, with all our hearts takes work and commitment. It takes dedication and doesn’t happen accidentally, but it is the absolute best thing for us, and for those around us. It will transform our lives and our church and our community. It will change the world.

Return to me with all your heart, with fasting, with weeping and with mourning.

Return to the Lord your God, for God is gracious and merciful, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love, and relents from punishing.

So, my questions for this Lent, again, are:

Where is your heart currently?
Where do you need to go, to retrieve the pieces of your heart that are not with God?
How will you search for those pieces to bring them back?
And how will you hand them over to God?

Return to me with all your heart, God says. All of it.

May this signing, with ash and oil, mark a significant moment in your returning. Amen.

Pentecost! 🔥

Another week, another round of lessons in Australian life. This week it was the birds. They’re so LOUD! Huge magpies, Stunning pink galahs, and the kookaburras. Well, I don’t know that I’ll ever get accustomed to the sound of them – they’re incredible. But, on our dog walk yesterday, along with the bird song, I saw a large bird cage sat on the verge, waiting for its next owner to claim it and it reminded me of a wonderful thing that started – with birds – just before I left the UK.

I had a friend, Ronnie, who was a prison chaplain, and he was setting up a project for prisoners. He was offering those in treatment for addiction the opportunity to own a budgie, and he was on the lookout for donations of bird cages. And yesterday, with that cage on the roadside, it came back to me again. And the more I thought about it, the more I thought this sounded a bit like Pentecost…

Birds are the freest of all animals. You can’t pin them down. You can’t catch them. They leap off buildings and migrate to other countries and swoop and dive…and even their very design – those wings and feathers – speak of freedom and flight. So, it’s no wonder that a bird is often used as a symbol of the Holy Spirit.

Birds don’t live in cages, not ordinarily. But for these budgies to fulfil their purpose in this project, they need a cage. They need a cage so that they can go to these prisoners, who are in cages of their own. The cages of addiction as well as the physical cage of their prison cell. And I wonder if that is a useful image for the outpouring of God’s Holy Spirit, at Pentecost, and since the dawn of time, and every day since.

Pentecost was a kind of hijacked Jewish festival that then became a significant way-marker on an unstoppable process beginning at the dawn of Creation when God spoke Light into being. The outpouring of something incredible and unmovable. The continuation of one long, eternal, act of grace; a gift literally OF God, part of God’s self, given to us, for always. The freest, flightiest, most free-flowing part of God came down to earth to live within the cages of humanity – to dwell fully in the cage of our hearts, to fulfil God’s ministry of love.

She inspires us to acts of holy mischief; invites us and accompanies us on it. She is subversive and cunning, in all the best ways. She should be taken seriously because She is dangerous as fire, and essential as air. But the Holy Spirit is not simply to be described or pinned down or explained. She is one to be encountered, experienced, from the inside out, and to know and be known by.

It is by the Holy Spirit that our gifts of bread and wine become for us the body and blood of Jesus Christ at every mass.

It is the Holy Spirit of Pentecost who descends on you at every blessing and absolution and dismissal.

She baptises and confirms and ordains and consecrates.

It is by the Holy Spirit that new people wander into our church and stay.

It is the draw of the Holy Spirit that brought you to church this morning, even if you think it’s just what you do on a Sunday morning.

God chose a day and date and time in history to do something significant – the event we heard in our Acts reading. But it wasn’t the first time – She was brooding over the waters even before God said ‘let there be light’ – Pentecost wasn’t her first outing and it is certainly not her last. Pentecost is breaking out here, there, and all over the place and is utterly unstoppable. You can’t resist Her, and you can’t avoid Her. You can only choose to spot what she is up to, and decide whether you want to join in.

And just as my friend Ronnie was asking for more birdcages to house his budgies in prisons, so our Lord is asking for more hearts to house God’s Spirit, to take love and light, holy mischief, and freedom, to the darkest places of this world.

BUT, the significant difference between the prison story and the Pentecost story, is that Ronnie hoped his birds would stay in their cages whereas God hopes our caged hearts might just burst open and let the Spirit out!

Every day, but perhaps more notably on a day like today, God asks for places where God’s spirit might live, and for people through whom God’s work might be done. And today God is asking us.

I am excited by whatever it is God might have in store for our church and community in this next chapter. I believe it when the gospel reading says we will do even greater things than our Lord. And I also know we can’t do it alone, but only through the fire and breath of the Spirit.

So, right now, in a tangible and active way, you are invited to commit, once again, to join with the Spirit in whatever it is she wants to do here next. To say yes to this next holy invitation, and be refilled by that same spirit of creation, incarnation, resurrection and Pentecost. And John and I will symbolise that by anointing you with the oil of God’s spirit, on your foreheads and your hands – if you want to. And we don’t need to know what we are saying yes to, just that we are saying yes. And we are here for it. So john will come and join me and if you would like to be prayed for and anointed, please come and join us at this altar rail too.

Let us pray:

Pour out your spirit upon us Great God, as we say yes, again, to your holy invitation. Amen.

Deeds, not words…

Things are really hotting up here election-wise aren’t they? A day rarely passes without a leaflet in the mailbox, a billboard scooting past on a trucks, or a knock at the door. There was a national prayer vigil on Wednesday, and have you received your very useful fridge magnet from a certain counsellor?

Growing up in a household with a trade unionist grandad and a militant mum, I was taught the importance of voting in every election from a very young age and I heard about the works of the Suffragette movement way before I could pronounce it.

In the UK, women peacefully campaigned for an equal right to vote for more than 5 decades, with no success, but in 1903 a group of feisty activists adopted a slogan that became their motto – deeds not words. They tried every which way of communicating through words – to no avail – so they began direct action. Some of the reports of what they did sound bad – arson, window smashing, criminal damage – and others sound hilarious – the arrest warrant for a woman found in the house of commons ‘in male attire, with a riding whip in her coat pocket’ was among my favourites. What they learned was that deeds were what changed things, not words. And it worked and, after many heroic deeds and some bloodshed, even death, women got the vote

This was super controversial at the turn of the last century but I’m not sure why because Jesus was already onto it 2000 years earlier…

‘How long will you keep us in suspense?’ the Jews asked Jesus… ‘If you are the messiah, tell us plainly’. They want to know the truth, and they want Jesus to tell them. They want a simple yes or no answer. Are you the messiah Jesus; yes, or no? and Jesus replies by saying, ‘I’ve told you and you don’t believe’. He says the works he does is all the proof they need – the works I do in my father’s name testify to me.

It’s like he’s saying, I can tell you if you want, but its way better to see. This isn’t about being told the answers and accepting it blindly. This is about way more than that. It’s about deeds not words … it’s like he’s saying, ‘I’ve told you and I can tell you again if you want, but it makes no difference if you don’t see my actions, believe and follow me. I can tell you, but you must connect the dots and let it impact you. Let it change you’.

Jesus’ deeds show beyond all reasonable doubt who he is. These people had seen him heal the sick, raise the dead, give sight to the blind, cast out demons, feed the hungry…they’ve seen all these things, and still, they’re not quite sure. Are you the one we are waiting for, or should we wait longer? Should we expect another? Tell us!

They’d been told, over and over!

But the gap between the brain and the heart is the biggest of all.

At some point we need that eureka moment where we go ‘ohhhh’. At some point we have to almost give in and say, ‘I’ve seen enough to think it might be proof’ and, as much as my brain is able to grasp it, I choose to believe.

And I think, as it was with those first disciples and those Jewish leaders, so it ever will be. The world is always waiting, always questioning, always wondering. What is true? What is real? And I wonder what the world, what our community, sees and hears from us, about us, in this place that offers any kind of answer to that question.

This week our Just Manna committee met together, and we heard about a woman who had lost custody of her child because they had become homeless. Within 36 hours we had managed to find her somewhere to stay and she was reunited with her baby and her immediate response was a text that said, ‘thanks so much for your help and prayers…I can’t explain how complete I feel’. We could have just prayed for her, but it was our deeds, that made the difference.

At the same meeting we agreed practical help for our dear friends released from detention and we asked ourselves ‘how can we support these guys more?’ and we thought maybe it’s housing or financial support or a bike to get around. Like, yeah, we can say we are here for you, and we love you, but what does that look like in deeds not words?

And I feel like this is what Jesus is talking about in this morning’s gospel passage; deeds, not words. The importance of doing transformational things that lead to relationship and belonging. We can say ‘I love you’ and that’s really nice but it means nothing unless we show that love in deeds not words.

For the mummy and her baby, this week, she saw the provision of a home and knew she was no longer alone, but this group of strangers have reached out and helped her, made her feel complete (to use her phrase), not only because that is the right thing to do when someone is in need but because we follow the one who is Love and told us to love likewise.

The Jewish leaders said ‘tell us plainly’ but Jesus’ response was – and still is – don’t just hear what I say but see what I do – deeds not words. And I feel like the world, even now, is asking that same question and is watching and waiting; watching to see if our deeds match our words.

I feel like our community is also asking ‘tell us plainly, is this real?’ Is God real? You speak a good game but show me what it means, show me what difference it makes.

So, we need to ask ourselves, what have we seen and known of Christ?

And what will we do so that others might know Him too? Amen.