st pauls beaconsfield – Page 6

God is God (not you)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tell me if you have understanding

Who determined its measurements – surely you know!

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

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

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

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

And I think these two passages say the same thing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Gospel Sandwich

Genesis 3:8-15 Psalm 130 2 Cor 4:13-5:1 Mark 3:20-35

What is your favourite sandwich filling? It’s a big question.

Before I went vegan mine was turkey with stuffing, cranberry sauce, maybe a pig in blanket, splash of gravy – the full Christmas dinner, in a sandwich. Where am I going with this, you might wonder. Well, if all else fails in the next ten minutes you can at least bliss out on your favourite sandwich filling.

But I got to thinking about this, this week, because so many of the commentators on this morning’s gospel reading describe it as a ‘typical Markan sandwich’; apparently something that this gospel writer is well known for… Mark’s sandwiches are less fun than my Christmas dinner bun, but probably far more nutritious.

So I wonder if you might look at the gospel text again, have it in front of you. It begins midway through a sentence with, ‘And the crowd came together again, so that they could not even eat’ and continues, ‘When his family heard it, they went out to restrain him, for people were saying, “He has gone out of his mind.”’

The bread of Mark’s sandwich is the mention of the crowd, and particularly Jesus’ family among them – Jesus’ family come, in a direct translation, to ‘arrest him’ or ‘take him away by force’ because people are saying he is crazy.

Then we have the scribes and their talk of beelzebul and demons and questions of satan casting out satan and Jesus’ parable of the strong man’s house being plundered – this is the filling of the sandwich.

And then we return to the bread – the talk of the crowd again, with Jesus’ family among them when his mother and brothers send for him and call him and Jesus replies ‘”Who are my mother and my brothers?” And looking at those who sat around him, he said, “Here are my mother and my brothers! Whoever does the will of God is my brother and sister and mother.”’

Bread – crowd and family
Filling – satan and beelzebul and demons and plundering and sin
Bread – crowd and family

This is not my favourite sandwich and, honestly, it takes some chewing, but the commentators tell me that the Markan Sandwich allows us to engage with the text and understand it more fully. So how might that be?

Well, I wonder if it points to something else one of the commentators wrote, in her book called Embodying Mark, where the author writes that this passage is ‘like most passages in the gospels’ the whole story of salvation in a nutshell.

That stopped me in my tracks. It feels like the sort of statement that might be true but that certainly needs applying to other passages to check. She says most stories in the gospels tell the entire overarching message of love, grace and salvation and contribute to the bigger picture…but can stand alone. That’s so interesting to me, and sounds feasible and something worth returning to when we read the stories of Jesus.

It’s like my original sandwich – it is the full Christmas dinner but it’s part of a bigger Christmas dinner. Yes? Anyway, let’s apply her theory to this passage and see if it works.

This centre of this text is about Jesus’ victory over all that is dark or evil – his subversion of the strong man, by the One who is stronger and the freedom this brings. The filling in the proverbial sandwich is the reason for the incarnation – light over darkness, goodness over evil, freedom over captivity – and this is framed within the context of people – humanity, community, particularly family.

Jesus came to be a part of humanity, to live as human, among humans, specifically within a family, and to extend that warm welcome, that unconditional welcome of being part of his family to all people – these are my mothers and my brothers – this isn’t at the exclusion of Mary and Joses and his other brothers but at the inclusion of everyone else. You’re all my family – all are welcome – there is no longer those who are counted as ‘in’ and those who are ‘out’ – now all are included. That sounds like gospel to me!

So, the sandwich analogy that was

Bread – crowd and family
Filling – beelzebul, satan, demons and sin
Bread – crowd and family

Now, in a more detailed way, reads…

Bread – there was this crowd of people, family, all the world – humanity – and Christ was born into it to make things different, to bring about change.
Filling – humanity was under the banner of darkness and evil but the arrival of the Light of the World meant that all that was dark got tied up, restrained, controlled and banished so that…
Bread – the crowd – humanity – can be free to be a part of the family of God, with that unconditional welcome.

And so, when we try to locate ourselves within this Markan Sandwich, as we take our place within this gospel narrative, perhaps we are the crowd – the top slice of bread – who are recipients of this gracious eternal invitation. Maybe we are sitting around Jesus, pressing in to touch him, straining to hear what he is saying, wondering if it might just apply to us, to me, and hearing that offer and realising that our deepest need is already being met. Maybe we are taking our place as siblings of Christ, maybe even his mother. Perhaps the invitation of this passage is that we and all humanity no longer need to watch from the doorway but can enter right in – just as we are – as full members of the family of God, fully caught up in God’s mystery and love.

This passage really is the gospel in a nutshell, isn’t it.

Because of the incarnation, darkness is tied up, defeated, light has triumphed and God’s family is an extended and open invitation to all.

This week I had a meeting with our fabulous new tenants from Cana Communities. They describe themselves as a ‘messy family that welcomes those with least options’. That sounds like gospel too. Or as we might say here, in our own attempt to live out the gospel, ‘St Paul’s where everyone is welcome’. God give us the grace for that to always be true. Amen.

Observe the Sabbath and keep it Holy…

Deut 5:12-15 Ps 81:1-10 2 Cor 4:5-12 Mark 2:23-3:6

Observe the Sabbath day and keep it holy as the Lord your God commanded you…

I’m often mistaken for being a bit of a rebel – someone who breaks rules, wilfully and on purpose. I don’t know where this reputation came from but it’s not true. The student who won ‘geek of the year’ in my last year at high school is still very present within me and, if I know what the rules are, I am pretty diligent at keeping them. And while there are definitely times I am more keen to ask for forgiveness than permission I just can’t seem to willingly break rules. (In fact, it’s one of the many reasons I am so grateful to be part of this community, because it’s knocking some of my good girl corners off, and I like it!)

Observe the Sabbath day and keep it holy as the Lord your God commanded you…

So, I wonder why this particular rule isn’t one I have been so quick to follow. And I wonder if it is because I have misunderstood it all these years. I have thought of it as doing nothing – the shops being shut, the television being off, that sort of thing. But the Jesus in this morning’s gospel reading from Mark seems to be saying something else entirely.

Then he said to them, ‘is It lawful to do good or to do harm in the sabbath, to save a life or to kill’…and he was angry at their hardness of heart.

I like this Jesus! I like him because he breaks the rules, yes, but I like him not just because of that. I like him because he chooses sense over sanctimony. He chooses kindness above what is perceived to be right. He chooses compassion and he follows that through into action, regardless of the consequences.

He and his disciples were hungry, so he fed them.

The man had a withered hand, so he healed him.

He did what was needed, when it was needed and isn’t that common sense and kindness? And he was vilified for it. The pharisees moaned about him behind his back; ‘look, why are they doing what is not lawful on the sabbath’. They watched him to catch him out, in order that they might accuse him of wrongdoing and then they ‘went out and immediately conspired with the Herodians against him, how to destroy him’.

He was accused of not keeping the sabbath, except what he was doing was holy work. Feeding the hungry, healing the sick. Some things are worth breaking the rules for.

Well… was he actually breaking what was the true essence of the rule, or was he challenging the legalistic letter of it??

Observe the Sabbath and keep it holy, God commanded. Feeding the hungry, healing the sick, challenging those who say it can’t or shouldn’t be done – that is keeping things holy, for sure.

Jesus knew what he was doing. He wasn’t stupid – he was a Jew who knew his scriptures, he knew what was good and right and he was committed to doing those things. And he knew his call and his purpose. And that came first, above all things.

Remember those beautiful verses in Luke 4 where he announced his mission; the spirit of the Lord is upon me and has anointed me to preach good news to the poor, release to the captives, sight for the blind, to set the oppressed free and proclaim the year of the Lord’s favour.

Jesus knew what he was here to do. He knew what his holy purpose was. And he was determined to fulfil it wherever he saw the opportunity.

Jesus chooses not to stick to rules that take him away from his true purpose. Instead he fulfils the greater rule of being engaged in holy work of loving God and loving others as fully as possible.

And what about us?

What is our true purpose?

What will we put before all things, so that we might love God and love others as fully as possible?

Jesus’ sabbath days weren’t full of silent space. They were full of grace and compassion and kindness. Imagine if even just for one day each week our time was spent fully engaged in grace and compassion and kindness. Fully engaged in loving God and loving others. What change could we bring about – especially if we did it together!

Rules that keep us away from doing that are not rules to keep – anything that takes us away from our primary purpose – the work God has for us to do – are rules to be looked at, weighed up and discarded.

But discarding rules and living this life of grace, compassion and kindness comes at a cost. For Jesus it was another nail in his hands and feet, literally – the pharisees went and conspired how to destroy him. For some people, radical kindness, outrageous love will always feel like a threat and will be judged harshly, maybe even to the point of death. But it is the way of Christ – it is our primary purpose.

Jesus broke the rules to feed the hungry and heal the sick. I want to be known for that too. I want that to be my legacy. I recognise that might be costly and some might not like it, but doing good, being kind, showing compassion, extending grace, all this is so much more important. These are the ways we observe the sabbath and keep it holy – by engaging always in holy work and making each day a day of worship to God and service to others.

What is your true purpose?

What will you discard the rules for, so that your purpose can be fulfilled?

And if the cost of that is death, will you do it anyway? Amen.

Ascension Day 2024

Acts 1:15-17, 21-26 Psalm 1 1 John 5:9-13 John 17:6-19

Before I trained for ordination, I did a school assembly on Ascension Day where we took a knitted Jesus, some balloons and a cannister of helium gas and the children had to guess how many balloons it would take to ascend the knitted Jesus. 16.

At college, Ascension Day was a big deal. The youngest ordinand would get up before dawn, and ring a large bell, enthusiastically, to wake the college. Bleary eyed ordinands would climb to the top of the tower, to watch the sunrise, hear the trumpet anthem and sing the hymn that ends, ‘risen, ascended, glorified’ and drink champagne. A very English sort of celebration that I’m sure our first century Palestinian jew would find a bit odd.

And these two things are my only truly memorable encounters with the ascension. That is, until this year. And while we didn’t have the Ascension Day readings today, our gospel passage prefixes it, in this way:

Jesus says, ‘now I am no longer in the world…and I am coming to you’. And then, ‘we are one, and now I am coming to you’. His ascension is very much in his mind that at some point in the near future he will return to God, from whom he came. And, if you cast your mind back 40 days to Easter Sunday, we had that glorious account of his resurrection appearance to Mary where he said to her, ‘do not cling to me because I have not yet ascended to the Father’.

The ascension is deeply significant. So significant that it is a day of holy obligation where a mass must be said. And yet, because it always falls on a Thursday, it is often lost, midweek, which is why I wanted to reflect on it a bit here, because if I’ve ever thought of it at all, I’ve thought of it as a going upwards, like his disciples would see him take off from the ground and disappear into the clouds, headfirst, feet last. That is how it is depicted in art and stained glass and even in a pilgrimage site in the UK where ornately painted feet are dangling through a chapel ceiling…

This year Ascension Day coincided with the fortnightly mini retreat that Peter runs and we discussed whether we could combine that with a mass. And we talked and read and shared, and I am so grateful for that time because the fruit that grew from it was rich. Between us, and the writings of greater minds than ours, we began to see Ascension not as a going up, but as a reuniting – a returning of Jesus from being fully human to becoming once more entwined in the divine. A reunion.

We read from Fr Rob Edwards, quoting Thomas Merton, who wrote: “This is the grace of Ascension Day: to be taken up into the heaven of our own souls, the point of immediate contact with God.” He went on to say ‘Heaven is where God is present. God is present within each of us, closer to us than any human being. So when we are looking for God, there is no need to look up into the sky, as we often do, but rather to turn our glance inward.”

Ascension became not just an upward movement of the bodily Jesus to the divine heavens but actually an entwining of Jesus into the Godhead, and one that can involve us too. Jesus went back to heaven, but heaven is where God is and that might just as easily be within and around us.

And from our own Sister Alma we heard her reflections on Richard Rohr’s teaching where she mused, ‘All of our time with God is linking heaven and earth, and we are sharers in his divinity as he is in our humanity.’ And that made me think of something else that until then had been unrelated. As I am filling the chalice at the altar for mass so I pray, ‘through the mystery of this water and wine, may we share in the divinity of Christ who humbled himself for our humanity’. And in that, the veil somehow becomes thin, and we might even dare to believe that our taking of the bread and wine, the body and blood of Christ, becomes our own ascension day. You see, as we come to this table – hands outstretched, bodies hungry, faith tentative – we take into our own bodies, the Christ. We are reunitied with him, entwined, he in us and we in him. Or as Thomas Merton might say, there is no need to look up into the sky to see him, but rather we can simply turn our glance inward.

Did Christ ascend to fully reintegrate into the godhead? Is that what happens to us in the mass, do we find our place once more in the godhead. Friends, I have not come anywhere near to the end of my musing on this, but these questions excite me and feel like they have the potential to change things.

They make me want to revisit each of those resurrection experiences where the risen Christ walked through walls and appeared on a dusty road, walked awhile, and disappeared again. They make me want to imaginatively occupy the BBQ on the beach or what it felt like to place my hand in the holes in his hands and side. If we can’t cling to him because he is not yet ascended, what would a touch feel like. I don’t know, but I feel like a tiny flame has been lit and I am keen to engage more. And I wonder if you have thought of this bit of the Jesus story before – in this way, or any way – and what you make of these musings.

To enable that, I encourage you to spend 10 minutes a day, until Pentecost next Sunday, or beyond, in silence with God. And maybe take some of these thoughts to God. As Richard Rohr’s says, ‘[the ten days] after the Ascension [gives ten] days of space and of absence, that ‘alone’ time, allowing the divine Spirit within, the room to stretch and act.

As you allow the Divine to stretch and act in you, and as you eat and drink in a few minutes, may we become less of what we are weighed down with and more of what we are soaring for. May we become who we truly are and may we know more of who Christ truly is too. Amen.

The Holy Trilogy

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

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

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

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

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

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

Simply this, just three words; love one another.

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

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

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

Love until it hurts, and then keep on loving.

Love, outrageously and indiscriminately.

Love, even when the world tells you to hate.

Love especially when the world tells you to hate.

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

Love one another as I have loved you…

And how had Jesus loved His disciples?

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

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

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

He loved the sinners and the untouchables.

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

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

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

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

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

Here we are in May.

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

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

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

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

Abide…

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

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

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

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

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

Abide in me as I abide in you.

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

Does it?!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jesus is the vine – the source of life.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Lord is my Shepherd

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

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

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

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

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

Let’s reflect on what these words promise…

The lord is my shepherd, I shall not want:

that speaks of relationship, intimacy, and provision

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

that is rest and refreshment

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

that is guidance and purpose

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

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

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

abundance, a sign that God is our supporter

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

provision, and certain safety

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

this speaks of blessing

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Let us love not in word but action.

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

The world needs the promise of the Good Shepherd.

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

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

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

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

Leading with Vulnerability

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You see these feet, that were pinned there too?

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

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

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

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

They were startled and terrified, the gospel writer says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Peace be with you…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Peace in place of war

Peace not conflict

Peace among world leaders and countries

Peace between classmates

Peace as universal language and currency

Peace for our planet as it struggles to breathe without choking

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Amen.

A sermon for Easter Sunday

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

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

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

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

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

Mary went

Mary wept

Mary worshipped

Mary witnessed

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

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

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

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

Mary went – to the garden

She wept – at the tomb

She worshipped – the risen Christ

And she witnessed – to everyone she met

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Alleluia Christ is risen!

He is risen indeed, alleluia!