st pauls beaconsfield – Page 12

Come and See!

Isaiah 49:1-7 Psalm 40:1-11 1 Corinthians 1:1-9 John 1:29-42

Last week I told you about the epiphany I had, some years ago, about epiphany. Well, this week, the epiphanies continued….so I’m having epiphanies about the epiphany I had about epiphany. Are you keeping up?!

Two weeks ago, we had the epiphany of the wise men, as they encountered the baby Jesus and discovered him to be the Christ, the hope of the nations.

Last week we had the epiphany, I suppose, of John the Baptist and all who witnessed Jesus’ baptism, at the waters of the Jordan river, as Jesus was baptised; the heavens were torn open, God’s spirit descended like a dove and rested on him and that voice was heard proclaiming, ‘this is my son, the beloved, with whom I am well pleased’ and all who were there discovered this carpenter man was, indeed, God, the Christ, the Son of the Almighty.

Today we are still in epiphany season and we have a continuation of last week; it’s the day after, and John sees Jesus and says ‘here is the lamb of God’…this is the one I was telling you about – and, he says, ‘I saw the spirit descending from heaven like a dove, and it remained on him…this is the Son of God’. It’s like a precis of the plot. Those of you who missed last week, or yesterday in John’s case, this is what happened – I baptised him, the spirit came, this is God. He’s the one.

And what is the epiphany here? Well, John reveals and confirms that Jesus is God, but we had that epiphany last week.

He tells those gathered that he is the Lamb of God, and commentary writers and greater minds than mine can’t agree what that means, and they tie themselves up in all kinds of theological wranglings. Anyway, in whatever way he says it, and whatever it means to those with him that day, it results in two disciples hearing…and responding by following Jesus. Maybe John’s words are the epiphany. Maybe it’s the revelation that Jesus is the Lamb of God, the epiphany to me in these verses is this…

Every epiphany, every revelation, every discovery given to us, by God, through Jesus, is an invitation. A divine invitation, for all people, and we get to choose how we respond. Every epiphany – every unveiling or revealing of something amazing is an invitation, from God to us. Epiphany is invitation. It is always an invitation.

In the epiphany to the wise men, they were invited to stop their searching, kneel, and worship. All they had been looking for, maybe for generations, had been found. You don’t need to look any further! It is here, he is here, in this baby. Their invitation was to stop, bow down and worship.

In the epiphany of Christ’s baptism, where those gathered got to see the Spirit of God descending and hear the voice of God speaking, the epiphany was that this person is the messiah, the christ, the Son of God. But the invitation was to become one of God’s children; to know that same voice was speaking over them too; ‘you are my child too – you are beloved and with you I am so pleased’ – a divine invitation to join the family of Christ – and last week Kaius and Nathan and baby Gabriel said yes to that invitation, as many of us have before them. And many more will after them, too.

Epiphany is invitation. It’s not just a divine unveiling – a showing of something good – it is always an invitation to become part of the revelation.

And in today’s verses the invitation is explicit and clear.

‘What are you looking for?’ Jesus says…and then he says, ‘come and see’. Come and see! And they came and saw, and they remained with him, and then they went and told others ‘we have found the messiah’. They were invited to see where Jesus was staying and whatever it was they saw there revealed this incredible epiphany that Jesus is the Messiah, the saviour they have been waiting for…and they went and told others.

Epiphany is not just an event in history. It is a series of events, of happenings, that course through time and continue happening and revealing themselves, and every single one is a holy invitation. Every single one says ‘come and see’.

In the journey of the Magi, God was leading them on, saying ‘come and see’.

At the baptism of Christ, God was drawing people to that water’s edge, saying ‘come and see’.

When John’s disciples saw Jesus walking along, God, in Christ, said ‘come and see’.

And right here and now, that same God is saying to us, ‘come and see’. Come and see what I have in store for you. Come and see how much you are loved. Come and see how life can be when we journey together. Come and see.

And this holy invitation is for us individually, and it is also for us, collectively, as a church, as The Church, as God’s people who come together in this place.

What are you looking for, people of St Pauls?, Jesus asks.

What are you looking for, for the people of Beaconsfield, and for one another?

Come and see what I have for you. Come and see how and where I live. Come and see that I am the messiah. Come and see. And then go and tell others that you have met the Christ, that you know the Messiah and life can be different.

Come and see and then let others know that they can come and see too.

May God give us grace to see each epiphany as an invitation.

May we have the courage to say yes to every divine offer.

May we come and see and go and tell.

And may it all be for the glory of God. Amen.

An Epiphany about Epiphany

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

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

Imagine that…

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

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

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

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

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

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

An epiphany

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

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

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

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

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

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

BAPTISM

Sing the Story: a sermon for Christmas Eve, midnight

Isaiah 62: 6-12 Psalm 97 Titus 3: 4-7 Luke 2: 1-20

I started singing Christmas Carols early this year.

Each month I go into the local aged care facility at Hilton and hold a communion service for the residents. We often have half a dozen or more people who come, and we share the bible readings, the bread and wine, and we attempt to sing one old well-known hymn together, but mostly I land up singing a badly-pitched solo. Some doze off. Some snore. Some have no idea what is happening around them. And some just sit and smile at me, while I press on through. But not this time.

I went at the start of December – still in the early days of advent – but suggested we sang a carol. This ordinarily quiet, subdued group of octogenarians became animated as they called out the names of their favourites; away in a manger, while shepherds watched their flocks, once in royal David’s city, hark the herald…and so they kept coming. And they sang! Oh they sang! Heads back, smiles on faces, they sang the Christmas story over and over. And there was such joy!

This past week we sang carols again…this time a group of us sang, with protest banners in our hands, outside the prison at Perth airport, where our friend Ned is detained indefinitely for seeking asylum in this country. We sang outside the window, seeing him through the mesh that keeps him locked up. He has spent the last 10 Christmasses there and has no idea how many more will come and go before he is released. He is so often in despair and sad, but hearing those songs made him beam with joy. At the end we sang ‘we wish you a merry Christmas’, which brutally clashed with the surroundings, but I dared to believe that our being there, singing the greatest story of light, life and hope, had contributed some merriness to his day. And he said it did.

And then we sang more carols right here this afternoon and again tonight. And in each of these places the Christmas story rang out and reminded me, clear as day, the importance of singing the story.

Singing the story woke those old ladies up and reminded them of christmasses gone by, and the truth of the glorious incarnation; the saviour who is Christ the Lord. Singing the story at the detention centre brought light and life to that horrendous place and brought joy to those who feel forgotten. Singing the story reminded them that they are human and held in our thoughts. And I hope that on some level it connected within them the deepest truth that the first Christmas celebrated a middle eastern baby, homeless, state-less and looking for a safe place to live…just like them. Singing the story told them that.

And this afternoon we sang the story with people from our local community as they played. And again, tonight, as people wandered in.

And on the first Christmas the angels sang the story, and the shepherds sang the story too.

‘Glory to God’, the angels sang, ‘and on earth peace among those God favours’.

And when the shepherds met the baby Christ-child they went back to their town singing the story to everyone they met…and everyone was amazed.

Singing does something to us, doesn’t it? It does something beyond the physical.

I mean, the angels could have just said their message…but singing it somehow underlines it, makes it bigger…and it gets into your head. Having an ear-worm can be super annoying but imagine having the angel’s song ringing around your head all day, singing in your soul.

There’s an old proverb that I love, often attributed to St Augustine, way back in the first century, that says ‘he who sings prays twice’ and that’s the crux of it.

Words are good. Spoken words are great. But singing the story is the most important of all. It is prayer. More than that, it is prayer…twice over! The one who sings, prays twice.

Returning to those precious old people at Hilton care home; as they sang the story, as they woke up to those timeless beautiful truths of the incarnation – that God came down to be with us and among us and to change the world forever – their faces shone. They became alert in a way I’ve not seen before, and they chatted together and wished me a merry christmas and I set them a challenge. I challenged them to go back to their wing quietly humming the story we had sung; casually sing these truths, under their breath.

And I believed those 7 or 8 old people could start a gentle revolution in that place as they sung the story…subversively communicating that the Lord Jesus was near, that the angels had sung, that shepherds had gone running, that wise men had travelled from far away in search of this new-born king, that light had dawned and the weary world rejoices. By singing the story, a quiet revolution could break out…not unlike the birth of a baby who is God. Because it is very like God to choose the most unusual of people to share the story; thief-shepherds, teen mums, a choir of angels, star gazers, fishermen, old ladies who often don’t even know their own name or where they are. That sounds like God to me.

And maybe it could also be true that God could even choose and use you to share this crazy, world-changing, life and light bringing story with the world. Maybe you could join and continue this revolution of love, simply by singing the story wherever you are.

So, as I challenged my dear friends at Hilton, so I challenge you this Christmas; sing the story to everyone you meet. Sing it with all your heart. Sing it at the top of your voice. Sing, even if you’re not sure which bits you believe and which bits you don’t. Sing it if you know the tune, if you know the harmonies, and even if you are tone deaf and sound dreadful. Sing the story until others join in. Sing as a lone voice or as part of a choir. Sing unafraid and unashamed. Sing of the birth of the messiah, born this night, because he is Christ the Lord.

Glory to God in the highest and peace to God’s people on earth. Amen.

How is a baby made?

Isaiah 7: 10-16 Psalm 80: 1-8 Romans 1: 1-7 Matthew 1: 18-end

Virgin births are complicated.

We know how babies are made; it requires a sperm and egg. So, for some, the idea that the birth of Jesus the Messiah took place in this way…without sex but with a divine conception from the Holy Spirit…, this is where their encounter with Christianity ends. This is where they get off. This claim is too audacious, too crazy. It doesn’t make sense. And they’re right. You’re right. It doesn’t make sense. Babies aren’t made that way.

When I was about 3, my mum decided it was time my sister and I should learn these basic facts about life, so she bought an animated story book called ‘how a baby is made’. Not wanting to make too much of it, she casually sequestered it away on our bookcase, waiting for the time we might select *that* book for our bedtime story. So, imagine the scene…grandad comes over and offers to read to the cute little grandchildren sat on his knee. Little Gemma scurries off and selects a book. Ooh, a new book, let’s have this one! And grandad begins to read… ‘mummy and daddy love each other very much’… ‘sometimes, to show their love, they take their clothes off…’ and so it continued, resulting in the most toe curling experience grandad ever had. By age 3, I could tell you exactly how babies are made. And it wasn’t like this.

But, if we allow the unusual conception and remarkable pregnancy and birth to derail our faith journey; if we allow the questions and even the logic to distract us entirely, then we risk failing to encounter this wonderful truth: the son shall be named Emmanuel, which means God is with us.

God is with us.

And that is the beauty of the Christmas story, that is the outrageous claim of our faith – the fundamental truth – that God chose to leave heaven aside, put on flesh and come and be with us; no longer simply above us, but with us, alongside us, intimately connected with, and part of, humanity.

And what could be more intimate, more vulnerable, more ‘with’ than being right inside another human being, growing, moving, being nurtured and nourished, in the act of conception, pregnancy and childbirth. God was ‘with’ Mary. And Mary was with child, and that child was God.

Doesn’t that say something remarkable about the incarnation? That God’s intention was always to be with humanity – not doing things to us but actually being with us, in real intimacy, even depending upon us for God’s very birth.

And God didn’t just come to earth once, in that first nativity. Yes, God’s incarnation was absolutely sufficient for all time and eternity. That once was enough. But God keeps on incarnating, keeps being born, keeps showing up on earth, with all humanity – you’ll see the wonderful Meister Eckhart quote on page 10 in your service book, which explains it just perfectly, ‘we are all to be mothers of God, for God is always needing to be born’.

And that is the truth.

God is always needing to be born; every moment is a nativity; every moment is the incarnation. And God still relies on humankind for that birth.

Mary’s role was very clear – be a vessel, a carrier of the divine. Be the one to hold and nurture and intimately carry the Christ. And then, when the time came, when the world needed him most, present that Christ to the world – bring him forth and reveal him to others – bring his light to the places of darkness and then set him free, that his goodness might be free to grow and spread and multiply and be passed on exponentially. Mary’s job was to know her encounter with the divine, experience it in her very body and then share it with the world.

And Mary’s job is our job too.

We are also called and created to be vessels and carriers of the divine. We also need to hold and nurture and carry Christ and then take him to the darkest places of this world and share his light and life and love with others. Our role is to encounter the divine; not keep him to ourselves but share his goodness and joy with the world.

And that is why we meet together here, and keep on coming back to this place, over and over. In our gathering we see something of the Christ in one another, we have opportunities to encounter the Christ and know Emmanuel – that God is with us. And in the breaking of the bread; in the eating and the drinking, we get to carry the Christ, literally in our body – just as Mary did – and then we are sent from here to take the Christ into the world.

In that first Christmas, Mary became Theotokos – literally the God-bearer. Growing and carrying the Christ in her body must have assured her, beyond all doubt, that in this event God is with her, with us. In our own journey, and uniquely in this mass, we too become the carrier of the divine and have that same responsibility to make the world a different, better place – a place that is acutely aware that God is – as God always was – with us.

I will end with the beautiful words of a Roman catholic sister – Frances Croake Frank – who wrote the stunning words of the poem ‘Did the Woman Say’. She writes this…

Did the woman say
When she held him for the first time
in the dark dank of a stable,
After the pain and the bleeding and the crying,
“This is my body, this is my blood?”

So, as Mary encountered her Christ in that dark dank stable, may we encounter him here, in the faces and actions of one another and in the body and blood of the eucharist. May we, and in turn the world, be changed by our encounter. And may we always know that God is with us. Amen.

Advent 2: Peace like a shoot…

Isaiah 11: 1-10, Psalm 72: 1-7, 18-21, Romans 15: 4-13, Matthew 3: 1-12

Back in 2005 I was fortunate enough to take a group of young people to Hiroshima, for a conference marking the 60^th anniversary of the dreadful destruction caused by the first atomic bomb ever used in warfare. In that moment, 140,000 people died in a split second as they were vaporised in a flash of heat reaching 4000 degrees Celsius.

I remember as we walked through the city there was a small, insignificant plaque standing in front of an enormous tree. The plaque said the first green shoot appeared right there, just 3 days after the bomb wiped out the entire city. Three days – from death to the first signs of resurrection: the symbolism is impossible to ignore.

That green shoot grew into this tree; a tree of hope, a symbol of well-fought-for peace. A sign that nature would indeed be right back, and She would not be silenced forever. An indication that peace and hope will always eventually win.

A shoot will come up from the stump of Jesse; Isaiah prophesied; from his roots a branch will bear fruit.

A shoot will appear; a symbol of hope…and the prophecy goes on to say, its appearing will result in all good things – wisdom, knowledge and delight. Righteousness will flourish, there will be peace in abundance, and justice for the poor. Mountains laden with peace. Oppression crushed. Predators and their prey will live together. Children will play safely. And there will be rest.

And then John the Baptist tells us that Jesus is the one the prophet speaks of. And, through him, we will come to the day that is promised, when all these wonderful things will be restored, when the kingdom of heaven is fully and entirely established.

But we are not there yet, are we? We really aren’t.

And while there are signs of hope springing up like those wildflowers I spoke about last week…while there are glimpses of peace…and sometimes humanity does amaze us by doing some incredible acts of kindness…on the whole, this world still feels pretty broken, and we have to recognise that this is not what God intended God’s divine gift of creation to be. And the way humanity manages this gift is not what we were created for either.

And yet the prophecy remains. The promise was made. And God does not break them. So, it means it is still on its way, even when it is hard to imagine, impossible to see and difficult to believe. And, as people who are trying to follow Jesus – the root of Jesse, the hope of the nations – we have a role to play in spotting and nurturing those shoots as they appear.

It is God’s promise, not ours, and God will do all God needs to do to make it come to pass. It is not entirely down to us, but we are called and commissioned and entrusted to do all we can to partner with God – to be God’s hands and feet, here, where we are ‘planted’. To make Beaconsfield, Perth, WA, and beyond, a better place, in this generation.

So, the question is, what will we do to help to bring this about; to see hope, joy, and peace spring up around us? What can we do to prepare the way of the Lord and make his paths straight? Maybe we can’t change the whole world, but we can do our bit to change that which we are dissatisfied with in our own streets, in our town. We can do something in order to see those tiny shoots spring up in places of destruction, like that tree in Hiroshima. And it is essential, imperative, that the Church is the one leading the way in that, because we follow the one who promises it’s not just possible; it’s on its way.

But our theme for this second Sunday in advent is peace. Yet these words from Matthew’s gospel don’t say a great deal about peace; repent, John says! There is wrath to come! The axe is at the root of the tree…every tree that doesn’t bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire…there will be baptisms of fire…and unquenchable fire at that.

And yet, I keep returning to that shoot in the park in Japan. After so much destruction, such extreme temperatures, so much fire… a shoot appeared. And I wonder if sometimes the path to peace takes us through hard and testing times before we can see it. Sometimes the road to peace is hard-fought. Sometimes the way to peace involves uproar, hard work, self-examination, change.

Oftentimes, the concept of peace gets a bad rap – like its meek, passive, an absence of something – like a lack of conflict, a gap, rather than something fierce. But that little shoot said so much. It said ‘war thought it had won. Destruction seemed to be the end. But I’m here to say something different’.

And the shoot that comes out of the stump of Jesse – Jesus – says the same thing. Darkness threatened to win but I’m here to say something different – me and my kingdom, says the Lord, shall be glorious and peace will be abundant. And we will get there; the path to it might be strewn with rocks and stumbling blocks, but it’s not just possible – it’s on its way.

Today is the Sunday of peace. The day we commit again to being agents of peace – to taking up the weapons that lead to peace. But our weapons are different. They are the belts of righteousness and faithfulness. Our judgements are equitable and right. We rescue the child and the needy and crush the oppressor. Our language is love and right-speaking. Our actions bring blessing and hope and great rejoicing. And all that we do makes the paths straight for those who come after us who want to follow our Lord.

This advent every parish is being encouraged by our Archbishop to plant a tree, as a symbol of hope and peace and as a tangible commitment to caring for our planet. In the coming days we will be planting a eucalyptus tree in our gardens – a tree of peace. As we see it planted, may it be a reminder to us of our call to be agents of peace. May it remind us that sometimes the pathway to peace takes hard work and struggle but is always worth it. And as we see it shoot and grow, may we be reminded that peace will blossom until the earth is full of the knowledge of the Lord as the waters cover the sea. Amen.

Advent 1 – Hope is untameable!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

BAPTISM

Christ the King!

I wonder if there is a church in the 56 countries of the commonwealth where reference isn’t made to the new King Charles III today, on this day when we remember the Reign of our true King, Christ. It’s surely the case that there won’t be a single person preaching today who has preached on this Sunday in the church year while there is a king on the throne. It’s almost possible that there won’t even be anyone in church, across every country under the reign of the new monarch, who recalls a service celebrating Christ the King, while there is a living human king too. Isn’t that remarkable? So it feels impossible to observe this Sunday without drawing some kind of comparison between the two – even if the similarities begin and end with their title; King.

The coronation of the next King will be a grand affair; a religious service, conducted by the Archbishop of Canterbury. There will be a huge guest list of the great and the good, and crowds cheering, from all over the world. He will have his queen consort at his side and a weighty solid gold crown on this head and he will be seated on a royal throne. He will be anointed with holy oil, scented with orange, rose, cinnamon and musk, and in his hand will be the orb and sceptre. He will reign as King over 56 countries and 2.5 billion people, and the world will watch it all.

And when we hear all that, in light of this morning’s gospel reading, could the two kingships be more different?

Our King, Christ, was consecrated on a cross at the place called the Skull in a barbaric ceremony carried out by soldiers and guards. At his side were criminals – on his left and his right – and on his head was a crown made of thorns. His throne was a cross. His anointing was with a whip and sour wine. His robes were torn and gambled over and the crowds jeered and spat at him. His hands held no jewels because they were nailed to the cross and he was abandoned by those who promised to be there for him.

This man, this God-man, is beaten and whipped and tortured. He is spat at and stripped naked. He is wrongfully convicted, in a botched trial, deserted by his friends and taken out and killed. With criminals. And he is our King? This is the image of the invisible God? Really?

What are we supposed to do with a King whose throne is a cross and who’s jewels are a crown of thorns? How do we follow and worship a King who looks like he’s losing? And how do we know how to be citizens of this kingdom?

Clearly, Christ’s Kingship, is not like any other. And so, it follows that Christ’s kingdom is not like any other either.

King Charles inherits a kingdom that favours the rich at the cost of the poor. His kingdom puts first those who own much, and excludes those who have little. King Charles’ kingdom is based on merit and wealth – on who has and who has not. It speaks of rights…rights for those who shout the loudest…not righteousness. And as much as he might like to govern with justice, his kingdom seems rather to favour injustice, particularly for those who are most often marginalised and forgotten.

But, in Christ’s kingdom, all are welcome; none are outsiders – there are no borders or passports or walls or fences.

It is a Kingdom of love and mercy, re-creation and peace. It executes righteousness and justice and operates on a currency of redemption and forgiveness.

It is a kingdom that serves the needy and the poor and gives them places of honour. A kingdom that doesn’t dominate, or threaten, or rule by fear.

It is a kingdom where children are educated, and adults have work; where the sick are healed, and the prisoner is visited and set free.

It is a kingdom of life and light and love and freedom; a kingdom of good news, where the hungry are fed and the homeless are housed, where the naked are clothed and the lonely have friends; where prisons and hospitals are empty and the environment is clean and green.

It is a Kingdom whose ruler reigns with kindness and love and is utterly trustworthy.

And following this king is not like being subjects of any other ruler…

Life in the Kingdom of Christ is a powerful rejection of all that is dark and hate-filled.

As people who choose to live in this kingdom and under the rule of Christ the King, we commit to follow the example of our leader; being prepared to stand up for what is true, exercising righteousness and justice, redemption and forgiveness; serving, loving, honouring… And, it is hard, but it’s right. It’s the way of holiness. It is the way of our King and his Kingdom.

And it doesn’t look like royal thrones and glistening robes, crowds of supporters, public holidays, and faces on coins and notes; sometimes it looks like mockery, nakedness, being lifted up on a cross, with a thorn crown and a torrent of abuse, and it leads to death…and we are all invited. But what an invitation?!

It sounds like Charles has the right idea – his kingship sounds glamorous and victorious and way easier. It sounds like he got it right and our Lord got it wrong…except…the longest, the absolute longest that Charles can reign is until the day he dies. That is all. But Christ is king for ever and ever and his kingdom will never end. Charles’ kingdom leads to a definitive ending, but Jesus’ kingdom leads the way to unending paradise.

Christ’s kingdom is here…and it is coming…and you are invited to be citizens of it today and forever. And in this kingdom, the fullness of God is pleased to dwell.

So, having counted the cost, having seen it will demand of you all you have and all you are, having recognised that this road takes you through mockery, pain, and even death, will you take this invitation, because it leads to life; life everlasting for all people, now and forever. Amen.

Beauty in Brokenness

The most delicious mango juice I ever tasted was in a brothel in a slum in Mumbai. It was bought for me by 3 girls who paid for it with the money they had been paid for sex. This white woman had walked into their home and workplace with no other agenda than to say hi and to be there for a while and those visits were their lifeline. Men came and went as we sat together. One or other of them were chosen and taken away and brought back a few minutes later. And we laughed at my dreadful Hindi and their nervous attempts at English and we drank mango juice. And they taught me one of life’s essential lessons in an unforgettable way; there is always beauty to be found in brokenness…sometimes we just need to look for it, really hard.

I remembered that mango juice on Friday when I had the privilege of sharing a meal with two new friends who were released from Yongah Hill detention centre, after spending 10 years locked up for arriving in Australia, by boat (not Ned, yet). On Thursday afternoon, arbitrarily their names were selected and 30 minutes later they were free. Stunned, shell-shocked, excited and with nothing, they welcomed me into their temporary home and invited me to sit and eat with them. We had a satsuma and a strawberry as they talked about their very real joy and tried to hide their fears. And their bruised bodies and bashed teeth said many things that their words didn’t. And there too, there was pure beauty, right in the midst of real brokenness.

This Friday was remembrance day where many parts of the world paused and lamented over the atrocities that humanity can inflict on one another; where many people remember those who have died and commit to being part of the living who will pursue peace – to being those who will pursue beauty in the places of brokenness.

And then this morning we heard that awful gospel reading, predicting the destruction of the temple, and the desolation that humankind would inflict on itself and others for millennia to come and it stinks of brokenness, doesn’t it?

Not one stone will be left upon another – all will be thrown down – wars and insurrections – terror – nation will rise against nation and kingdom against kingdom – earthquakes, famines and plagues – you will be arrested and persecuted – you will be betrayed and hated – you will even be put to death. Wow.

And yet, I can’t get away from these 4 words in that first verse; ‘adorned with beautiful stones’. The temple was adorned with beautiful stones and even when it was destroyed, and lay in ruins, I wonder if those stones were still visible. I wonder if they still glinted, you know? In the middle of all that destruction, I wonder if their beauty was still evident.

And while that passage is about a historical moment in time, about an actual event that was going to happen, it was also deeply prophetic and sadly speaks about every generation since…and ever more, because was there ever a time where war and conflict and natural disasters and feuds and fear were not a thing?

One look at the ABC news homepage speaks of ‘friction’ in Taiwan, Ukraine, North Korea and Myanmar. It tells how global greenhouse gases are at an all-time high; how the Taliban have slapped new bans on women in their latest oppressive move; it reports on floods and drug trafficking and corrupt elections and nation rising against nation.

But, friends, we worship a creator and a redeemer and humanity is made in God’s image and we have the capacity – the God-given gift – to be those who create beauty and be beauty where there is brokenness, people who bring hope to despair and speak truth against falsehood. We have the ability – the calling – to be beautiful stones, even when the temple is being destroyed.

And just as Jesus had instructions for those first followers, so he has instructions for us too. He says, ‘I will give you words and wisdom that nobody will be able to withstand or contradict…and not a hair on your head will perish. By your endurance you will gain your souls’.

Those promises are amazing. And it’s hard to believe that not a hair on our heads will perish because war and persecution and destruction are abhorrent…and the anguish humans inflict on others is beyond comprehension – so I don’t know about that – but I think the message remains that we need to endure; when all is falling apart and raging around us, we need to press on, and endure…and yes, look out for that beauty that is sure to be found.

The thing is humanity can be really horrific to one another. We really can create the most horrendous situations and vast amounts of hurt BUT we can also be incredibly beautiful. We can show outrageous kindness, absolute grace, unconditional love and acceptance, care and concern, advocacy for those who can’t speak for themselves, shelter for those who are homeless. We can provide food for the hungry and lobby politicians to make choices that show humanity in its very best light. We can give time and money and resources and attention to those who are in need. We can be beautiful stones adorning a temple that is being destroyed. We can be sweet mango juice in brothels and tangerines in temporary housing.

Shining brightly in places of darkness, bringing love in place of hate, speaking peace in times of war, standing up for truth when all around us is falsehood and lies – this is counter cultural! This is radical living, radical discipleship and it is the call of the Jesus-follower. And if we keep on doing that, over and over again, when we feel strong and when we feel weak – when we have energy and when we have none – if we show that level of endurance we will gain (h)our souls…but not only that, perhaps we might even strengthen and enliven the lives and souls of others too.

So I urge and encourage you to look for the beauty wherever you find brokenness and if you can’t find it…be it.

Amen.

Muskrats and Men who are Short…

Have you ever had a eureka moment? A moment where something foggy suddenly becomes clear and you can see it, as if for the first time? I had a moment like that at bible study this week, while we were discussing this morning’s gospel reading so, apologies to you who were there, but you have to hear it again.

In my first week at theological college we had a lecture with the college principal; a wise old owl of a man – Fr Peter; a man who spoke in a gentle, slow and measured way and could wither you with a look. This aging saint had spent more than 50 years in the monastery where I trained and he dripped pearls of wisdom wherever he went. And he was a fabulous story-teller.

In that first week, he recounted a tale found in the 1975 Pulitzer Prize Winning book, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek. (I’ve since read the book and, if I may dare to say, Fr Peter’s retelling was even better than the original). This book tells the true story of a woman who encounters a floating muskrat, basking in the moonlight at her local creek. So entranced was she by this muskrat; so enamoured by the detail of his eyelashes and the way the light shone off his silky wet belly that she returned day after day, week after week, season after season, hoping beyond all hope that she might again see mister muskrat. And she never did[1].

The point was, the fact she glimpsed this beauty once was enough to make her return, over and over. And, Fr Peter said, that was what brought us to this place, to that college, to respond to the call of God in saying yes to ordination. He said that at one point we’d glimpsed the beauty of God and kept on returning, over and over and that one glimpse might have to be enough, because we might never see God again but we must keep showing up, just in case.

Something inside me broke and, forgetting myself, I threw my hand in the air and said ‘but that suggests God isn’t also seeking us out. That suggests God isn’t relentlessly pursuing us because God wants to see us too!’ And Fr Peter turned to me and said ‘is that what you think? That’s nice…’

And I thought I must have got it wrong because he was wiser and more devoted and more dedicated to God than I was, than I am. He had given up everything and committed every second of every day for many decades to prayer and bible study and silence and listening. Maybe God wasn’t relentlessly pursuing me after all. I must have it wrong. Right?

But then, this week, we meet Zacchaeus – ‘he was a chief tax collector and was rich’. And he was trying to see who Jesus was but he couldn’t, because he was ‘short in stature’. So this little man ran ahead and climbed a tree, knowing Jesus was going to pass that way. And then Jesus comes along and he doesn’t pass by at all. He doesn’t pass Zacchaeus by. He absolutely relentlessly pursues him! And when he finds him, he stops.

Zacchaeus was looking for Jesus and – would you look at that – Jesus was looking for Zacchaeus too! ‘When Jesus came to that place he looked up and said Zacchaeus! Hurry down because I must stay at your house today’.

And people didn’t like it, of course – ‘all who saw it began to grumble because Jesus was the guest of a sinner’ – but Zacchaeus didn’t care – he hurried down and was happy to welcome him.

Zacchaeus knew what his reputation was. He knew what everyone thought of him. But he also knew he wanted to see Jesus. I wonder if he also knew Jesus wanted to see him too? I wonder if he even dared to believe that was possible? Hurry and come down, Jesus said; I’m coming to your house today. And Zacchaeus was happy to welcome him.

And what about us? We come here, week after week, because something inside us is looking for Jesus, something within us wants to see something of the Divine – whether we know it or not, something inside us is seeking for something bigger – for God. And every single week, God passes this way. And every single week – every single minute of every single day actually – God is seeking us out. Even if we’re hiding. Especially if we’re hiding.

Zacchaeus was up a tree, but it didn’t stop him from being seen and found, because Jesus seeks out everyone, wherever they are; Jesus seeks out and saves the lost. So it doesn’t matter where we are hiding or where we have been. It doesn’t even matter where we are going – Jesus will pass that way too.

On our best days we are looking for the Divine. On our best days we notice him in creation. We hear her in the ocean. We see them in the sunset. On our best days we really still ourselves and maybe even utter some words to heaven. On our best days we do a lot of seeking, but even on our worst days God is still seeking after us.

So Fr Peter was wrong! We don’t have to keep returning to that proverbial riverbank in the vain hope of spotting the moonlit muskrat…and constantly risk being disappointed. God is seeking us out and will never stop.

God will delve into our guilt and shame and find us hiding there. She will find us on the mountaintop of happiness and the pit of despair and everywhere in between, and will always greet us with the same divine welcome; hurry up! I choose you! I’m coming to your house today and when we, like Zacchaeus, hurry happily from where we are and fall into step beside Jesus then salvation comes to our house too.

God is seeking you out. Will you let yourself be found? Amen.

[1] She did, actually, but Fr Peter’s retelling was that she didn’t…and that was essential to the point he was making…so he didn’t let the truth get in the way of a good story…

Pray!

By a series of divine accidents we find ourselves at this morning’s gospel passage, and it might sound familiar. It IS familiar – it is part of the same passage we heard last week! Perhaps the holy spirit has something she wants to convey in these verses, so let’s have a look.

The pharisee is standing by himself and praying aloud – God I thank you I am not like other people; thieves, rogues, adulterers, or this tax collector…I fast, I tithe… basically, I’m pretty great. The tax collector – who calls himself a sinner – stands far off and can’t even dare to look towards heaven and Jesus says he is the one who went home justified – all who exalt themselves will be humbled, he says, and all who humble themselves will be exalted.

A quick read of the text might lead us to think this parable is only about being humble. Be humble and you will be exalted. Be like the sinful tax collector. He is the goody and the pharisee is the baddy. But it’s not as simple as that.

In this story we have two of 1^st century society’s baddies; the pharisee knows his scriptures inside out – and he knows how to use his scriptures to oppress and corrupt and extort money…and all in the name of religion.

And the tax collector isn’t much better. He doesn’t earn enough to live on so he has learned to extort his customers. At the lower end of the elite he isn’t high enough to be high but he’s damn sure he won’t be counted among the low so he tricks and bullies and takes from those he looks down on.

So Jesus can’t be saying don’t be like the pharisee…be like the tax collector. He isn’t setting one man against the other because, if we wander too far down that line, we fall into the trap where we become the equal but opposite of the pharisee and we also find ourselves praying, Thank you God that I’m not like other people – those pompous, puffed up ones who pray aloud outside of temples about how great they are. Thank you God that I’m so humble! But that’s not humility, of course.

So, what might this parable mean?

You see, what the pharisee says is partly true – he probably does fast twice a week and give a tenth of his income. But the problem is his prayer is all about him. He’s addressing the most high God and telling God all about himself. He tells the almighty that he is so grateful – thank you God, that I am so great; He is the source of his own gratitude. How wrong his attention has become – he chose a path of righteousness out of devotion to God and his focus has slipped from heaven to himself. He believes his own goodness is enough and that is never true. Not then, not now. Not for him and not for us.

And equally, what the tax collector says is true too; God be merciful to me because I am a sinner. He’s right, he is. They both are! But here is the contrast; the first man makes his claim to righteousness based on what he has achieved and the second man relies entirely on the goodness, grace and mercy of God.

Rather than be grateful for his blessings, the Pharisee is grateful for his own greatness. He has become self-admiring to the point of despising others. In his mind there are two kinds of people: the righteous and the immoral, and he is smack bang in the middle of the righteous.

The tax collector, on the other hand, isn’t so much humble as desperate. He is overwhelmed by his own sin in the face of such holiness that he can’t even look up. All he recognizes as he stands near the Temple is his own great need. So he stakes his hopes and claims not on anything he has done but entirely on the mercy of God.*

At the end of this story, the tax collector went down to his home justified. How has this happened? The tax collector hasn’t made any of the temple sacrifices. He hasn’t even promised to change his ways! So how is he made righteous? Purely on the basis of God’s love and grace and mercy!

So the parable isn’t saying be more righteous. It’s not saying be like the tax collector. It’s telling us to recognise who and what we are and to pray.

Pray – but focus on the divine, not on yourself.

Pray – but don’t distinguish between us and them – whenever we concentrate on our own greatness over someone else’s lack of perceived greatness – or consider one group to be in and another group to be out – we fail to recognise the outrageous grace of God.

Pray – and never think that there is anything you’ve done, or anything you are that means God won’t be utterly delighted to hear from you.

Pray – and don’t worry if the only words you have are ‘have mercy on me’ – because that is enough.

Pray – and never worry about whether you’re far off or right here at the front.

Pray without fear that you are better or worse than anyone else. There is no such thing.

It’s not that the tax collector was more loved by God or that the Pharisee’s prayer was left unheard, or despised. Every prayer is heard. Every prayer is received. And every pray-er is loved. It’s just that the tax collector left changed and the pharisee’s heart got a little harder that day.

Prayer, in a really large part, is for the benefit of the one who prays. God doesn’t need us to pray in order for Him to feel bigger and better and more loved and more adored. God is not arrogant or needy. God invites us to speak with Her because of our own need – praying does something to us – it melts and breaks and changes our heart and helps us to see the world and others differently.

The pharisee left the temple that day just as he arrived; feeling righteous and full of contempt. The tax collector left, justified and exalted.

So throw yourself on the grace and mercy of God. Recognise that you are a sinner and God is pleased to hear from you. And, at all times, pray. Amen.

* at this point I abandoned my script and went off piste, talking about prayers in prisons and the floodgates of heaven being flung open. To hear the full version, you can click here… https://fb.watch/glNi-BHY_G/