Binding and loosing, forgiving and not forgiving

April 11, 2026

Easter 2 – 2026

John 20:19-31

 Marian Free

In the name of God our protector, Jesus our liberator and the Holy Spirit our enlivener. Amen.

There is so much to consider in this morning’s passage – the obvious fear of the disciples, the sudden appearance of Jesus, the absence of Thomas, the giving of the Holy Spirit and the forgiving or not forgiving of sins. This morning I’d like to focus on the last of these. 

First, a quick word about Thomas and the Holy Spirit. Even though nowhere in the text is Thomas called the doubter, this is the way which we have chosen to remember him. It is hardly fair. Thomas was not alone in his inability to believe without seeing, indeed even with seeing. According to Matthew there were some among the eleven who, despite having seen the risen Jesus, still doubted (28:16,17). Furthermore, according to John, the disciples already knew that Jesus had risen. Mary Magdalene had told them, and they had refused to believe her. Instead of rejoicing and seeking out the risen Jesus, they were locked away in fear. In failing to accept the word of the other disciples, Thomas is only responding in the same way that the other disciples responded to Mary’s news. 

Second, in this passage, we are told that Jesus breathes the Holy Spirit on the disciples. This is a far cry from the Acts account of the dramatic events of the Jewish Festival of Pentecost. John’s version of receiving the spirit is very different. Jesus simply breathes the Holy Spirit on the disciples. Clearly something life-changing did happen on the day of Pentecost, but the Holy Spirit was not a new phenomenon, he/she had co-existed with God and with Jesus from before the beginning of time. 

This morning as I’ve said, I’d like to focus on the much-misinterpreted phrase that accompanies Jesus’ giving of the Holy Spirit. Jesus says: “Receive the Holy Spirit. If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained.”  

This post-resurrection gift has often been misunderstood, and sometimes misused to reinforce the authority the church, to maintain control. These words can used to strike the fear of hell into those who are judged to have committed an unforgivable sin and in turn used to vilify and exclude those who don’t or who can’t conform to a certain way of being or behaving. Misunderstood, this gift can be taken to mean that the church, or individual members thereof, know the mind of God and therefore know what cannot be forgiven for eternity. 

John is not the first evangelist to use the expression or at least a similar expression. According to Matthew, when Jesus gives Peter the keys to the kingdom he says: “I will give you the keys of the kingdom of heaven, and whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven” (16:19). Later, the exact same commission is given to all the disciples: “Truly I tell you, whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven” (18:18).

These are weighty words, and if misinterpreted, allow people who are so inclined to exert enormous power over the vulnerable. 

In order to understand Jesus’ meaning here it is essential to consider its first century context.

In the ancient Jewish world, these or similar words were technical, legal expressions. To bind meant to restrict, to confine or to forbid. To loose meant to permit, or to relax existing rules. The expression gave the people the right to legislate and to make (and unmake) rules and norms[1] – in much the same way that we give our legislators the authority to make and to change laws. In the first century, it was primarily the Pharisees – those concerned with the law – to whom this instruction applied. In practical terms it meant that the Pharisees were empowered to interpret the scripture and to determine what it meant in their context. In real terms, what this meant was twofold. First, it recognised that there were (and are) laws appropriate for a particular time and place which have outgrown their usefulness. Second, it acknowledged that there might be times when new legislation was required to meet the changing needs of society. In the religious context, any changes, of course, had to be compatible with scripture.

Jesus himself modelled this practice when he redefined the meaning of the Sabbath. He recognised that a law which had been intended to provide relief and rest, had instead become a burden, that it was binding not liberating the poor. Jesus knew that God-given laws were intended to liberate and protect, not to restrict or to harm and that sometimes it was necessary to let them go or to reframe them. His teaching against divorce for example was a radical departure from the law of the day. Jesus’ teaching against divorce corrected a permissiveness that had meant that, without cause, men could simply discard women who relied on them for security and support. 

John, for reasons unknown has changed the language of this phrase to the forgiveness of sins, but the meaning is essentially the same – sin being the breaking of the law. Even though it implies that sins might not be forgiven, Jesus is relying on the disciple’s remembering his own propensity to forgive – even those who admitted wrong-doing.

The church, at least in certain times in its history, has taken the charge of binding and loosing very seriously. A century and a half ago, after much debate, the church in England conceded that slavery, while accepted and even condoned within the pages of scripture, was not in fact consistent with the scriptures’ insistence on the dignity of all who are created in the image of God. Last century, the Anglican church made life-changing decisions about divorce (despite Jesus’ injunction against divorce) having recognised that the injunction not to divorce condemned men and women to a lifetime of unhappiness, or worse, to a lifetime of abuse.

Binding and loosing law and/or sin, is not a mandate to hold on fiercely to outdated regulations and to harmful practices, or to impose draconian practices on the faithful, nor is it a license to libertinism. Rather it is God’s gracious recognition that little holds true forever and that rules and regulations are intended to liberate and protect, not to imprison and make vulnerable.

It is a huge responsibility, let us hope and pray that we will use it well and for the benefit of all.

[1] https://www.google.com/url?sa=t&source=web&rct=j&opi=89978449&url=https://www.youtube.com/watch%3Fv%3D6S_3DyzhUX4&ved=2ahUKEwjRlrDV0OSTAxVy1jgGHcoVFyAQ3aoNegQIVRAL&usg=AOvVaw0lWmMEk7s8j1tB9fQh_Vy8

A second, less frequent use, is the power to exclude or include. 

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Celebrating when there seems to be nothing to celebrate – Easter 2026

April 4, 2026

Easter Day – 2026

Matthew 28:1-10

Marian Free

In the name of God who wrought the universe from nothing, who brought life from death, and who, in Jesus, gives hope to all who suffer and are filled with despair. Amen.

I have to confess that I have never felt less like preaching on Easter Day. Easter this year does not feel triumphant or jubilant. The new life wrought from death by Jesus is barely visible in a world torn apart by conflict and marred by poverty. We will go home this morning to news of an escalation of the war in the Middle East or to reports of new lows perpetrated in the war in Ukraine. It is impossible for us to ignore the fact that throughout the world literally millions of people have been displaced from their homes or to close our eyes to the fact that families who were already struggling with the high cost of living are now facing increased petrol costs and who have no idea where it all will end. 

In the face of all that and more it is difficult to sound a note of victory, to celebrate new life, a new beginning. Indeed, such triumphalism would seem like a slap in the face to all those who this morning have woken not to joy or even to hope, but to despair, grief or terror or to all three together. Proclaiming the victory of Easter in today’s context today would feel like an affront to those who, years after war has ended, or natural disaster has come and gone still have not been able to rebuild their lives. 

And yet we (or at least humanity) have been here before, not once, not twice, but again and again and again as humankind demonstrates its propensity for violence, greed, injustice and indifference to the needs of others. We have been here before and have found reasons to celebrate.

We have been here before.

In the last century alone humanity has witnessed not one but two world wars, in which approximately 90 million people died and in which many millions more were permanently injured or displaced. In the last twenty years we have witnessed a tsunami which wiped the lives of nearly 230,000 people, and floods and other disasters which have destroyed the homes, communities and livelihoods of hundreds of thousands of people; and we have stood by helplessly as civil war and climate change wreaks havoc in the lives of many and still we believe and still we hope because Jesus has risen from the dead.

We have been here many, many times before. We will be here again and still we have found reasons to celebrate.

Today and every day we have reasons to celebrate, not because we have woken to a world restored and renewed but because we have woken to be reminded once again that there is always hope, because Jesus’ resurrection assures us that death does not have the final word, that sorrow and grief and pain can be transformed and that God, has not abandoned us, but in the risen Christ is alive and at work in the world.

It is important to recognise that Jesus’ resurrection was not some magical, instant, romantic fix. God didn’t simply wave a wand and make everything new, put an end to all conflict and pain. Jesus’ victory over death came at an enormous cost not least to Jesus himself. For there would have been no resurrection if there had not first been a crucifixion. Before Jesus could be restored to life he had to die. Before Jesus could die, he first had to experience life, to surrender his divine status and be fully immersed in the human condition – not the condition of the rich, the comfortable and the powerful, but the condition of the poor, the oppressed and the powerless. Before Jesus could be crucified he had to suffer betrayal and humiliation, and then to endure flogging, nailing, jeering and ultimately suffocation. Before Jesus could rise he had to truly die and to be sealed in a tomb. 

The world looked much the same that first Easter Day as it had on all the days that came before it. The poor were still poor, the embattled were still embattled, the defeated were still defeated. The world looked the same and yet nothing would be the same again. Jesus’ resurrection demonstrated beyond doubt that death is not the end – the dead do not remain dead. Jesus’ resurrection showed the world that love can conquer hate, good can defeat evil, and that the best of humanity will ultimately triumph over the worst. Jesus’ resurrection reminds us that even in the worst of circumstance there is always room for hope. Because Jesus rose from the dead we can be sure that a new day will dawn and the world will be restored. We can believe that there will come a time when all suffering will cease, when the bombs will stop falling, when the rich will no longer hoard their wealth, when the hungry will be full, when creation will be restored and the world will be whole once more. 

The resurrection may not have changed the world, but it should and must change us, so that through us the forces of death will not be able to rob people of dignity, identity and hope and that through us and in us life (not death) will have the final word.

In the words of one of our post communion prayers, let us pray:

Father of all, we give you thanks and praise, that when we were still far off you met us in your Son and brought us home. Dying and living, he declared your love, gave us grace, and opened the gate of glory. May we who share Christ’s body live his risen life; we who drink his cup bring life to others; we whom the Spirit lights give light to the world. Keep us in this hope that we have grasped; so we and all your children shall be free, and the whole earth live to praise your Name; through Christ our Lord. Amen.

Christ is risen. Alleluia. He is risen indeed. Alleluia.

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The power of the powerless

April 3, 2026

Good Friday – 2026

Marian Free

In the name of God who gave his back to the whip and his hands to the cross. 

Amen.

At a prayer service in the Pentagon on March 25, United State Defence Secretary Pete Hegseth prayed for American servicemen attacking Iran: “Let every round find its mark against the enemies of righteousness and our great nation, give them wisdom in every decision, endurance for the trial ahead, unbreakable unity, and overwhelming violence of action against those who deserve no mercy.” He also called on God to: “break the teeth of the ungodly” and concluded: “We ask these things with bold confidence in the mighty and powerful name of Jesus Christ, King over all kings.”

“Overwhelming violence, break the teeth of the ungodly.” It is difficult to reconcile these words and this image of Christ with the one whom we acknowledge today – a crucified Savior who lived and died as one who resisted the temptation to defeat evil with evil, to fight fire with fire, or to defeat hate with hate. The same Jesus who said: “You have heard that it was said, ‘An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.’  But I say to you, Do not resist an evildoer. But if anyone strikes you on the right cheek, turn the other also’” (Matthew 5:38,39).

This does not mean that Jesus was weak, submissive and ineffective, that he allowed himself to be treated as a doormat or that when necessary he didn’t call out evil. When the moment called for it, Jesus spoke out against those things that he perceived were wrong with his world and his church. He called out the hypocrisy among the leaders of the church, he refused to be bound by laws and conventions that excluded and condemned those who did not meet the exacting standards of his faith, and he ignored laws and conventions that would have prevented him from mixing with sinners, tax-collectors, prostitutes and yes even women. He told stories about the first being last and the last being first.

Interestingly, what Jesus did not do was challenge the Empire, he did not raise and train an army, he did not claim the power and authority to rule, he did not impose his will on anyone and he never, ever used his being god to get him out of a tight spot or to strike his enemies down (not even to escape death).

There is so much grief and pain in the world today. The balance of power is shifting and there is more uncertainty than many of us have known in our lifetime. It is tempting to think that the problems that face us can be solved by force, by imposing our will on those who obstruct us, by attacking those who threaten us, or by reinforcing our own security at the expense of others.

Jesus showed a different way – resisting silently and patiently, confident that God would have the final word. In so doing Jesus revealed a different sort of power, a inner strength that cannot be cowed, intimidated or destroyed by threats or cruelty; a power that enables him to stay true to himself and to his values even in the presence of death.

In a world filled with violence and fear, and with the lust for power and resources, may we follow a crucified Saviour, holding fast to Jesus’ teaching and example, resisting  silently, bravely, patiently, confident that these days will end and that we will emerge out on other side showing, as Jesus did, that we cannot be held prisoner to violence, oppression, injustice and greed and that the kingdom will be built on love, freedom, justice and the equal sharing of resources.

Jesus held firm to what he believed to be right and paid the ultimate price, may his example show us how to live, even when the world is shifting beneath our feet and when we want to fight to hold on to what we. have known and loved.

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God who kneels at our feet.

April 2, 2026

Maundy Thursday –  2026

Marian Free

In the name of God, who kneels at our feet. Amen.

In 1994 the movie, The Madness of King George III was released. I’m not sure how much of it is true, but I was particularly struck by the fact that, in the film, the King’s loyal servants – men who indulged him when his fits of madness struck – were dismissed from the court when the King became well. When the King was afflicted, these men had been the King’s constant companions, often woken in the middle of the night to romp in the gardens playing childish games with the king. They saw him at his weakest and yet continued to serve him. It seemed to me that the King might have rewarded their non-judgmental faithfulness and discretion. Instead, he effectively punished them.  Having had his mind and his dignity restored, the King (or the King’s court) obviously felt that any reminder of his aberrant behaviour would reflect badly on him. The King could not afford to have daily reminders of his vulnerability and his incapacity, so his servants expelled from the court.

True or not, that is an extreme example of the delicate nature of human relationships, of the fine balance that is often held between those with wealth and authority and those without, those with influence and those without. The respective positions of each have to be appreciated not only to enable the smooth running of society, of a business or even of a family, but also to ensure that neither party be too familiar or, conversely, too disrespectful. Today’s society, especially that in Australia, is more egalitarian, but it is still possible to overstep the mark in certain situations or to cause offense. A CEO may be so relaxed with his or her staff that it becomes awkward if he/she needs to pull them into line if needed. Conversely, a staff member might become so familiar with the CEO that they run the risk of being disrespectful.  

In the first century, as in some places today, roles were clearly defined and everyone knew their place and how to interact with diverse members of society. The culture of honour and shame ensured that every citizen knew just how far they could and could not go with another member of society – whether they ranked higher or lower than themselves.

This is what makes the story of the footwashing so confronting. As he has many times before, Jesus defied convention, and in so doing he risked causing discomfort and/or offense to everyone present. Everyone at the table knew that it was the role of a slave to perform the servile task of washing the feet of guests.  No one thought twice about a slave demeaning himself to kneel at the feet of visitor and to wash the dirt from their feet and to dry them. However grateful and polite the recipient was, they would have understood that this was the role of the slave, and they would not have offered to swap roles, nor would they have insulted the slave by being effusively grateful. The last thing on their mind would have been to offer to wash the feet of the slave in return.

Jesus, who refused to be bound by social norms effectively does just that. To be sure his disciples are not his slaves but the disciples, by choosing to follow him, have accepted him as their leader, their master, as someone whose place on the social ladder was different from their own.  So it is perhaps not surprising that Peter’s reaction is to refuse.  Perhaps what is more surprising is that the other disciples do not refuse! 

Over and over again, we have seen how Jesus confronts the norms of his society, how he overturns the expected roles and absolutely refuses to be bound be convention – and how that causes confusion and offense. We saw this when he insisted that John baptise him – “the one who is less powerful baptising the one who is more powerful” – a reversal of roles that Jesus does not properly explain. We saw this again when Jesus failed to castigate the woman who touched him in the crowd. We saw it yet again when he allowed a woman off the street (or Mary of Bethany) to anoint him with extravagant oil. And we see it one last time, when Jesus kneels and washes the feet of the disciples.

In a stratified and divided world, a world governed by conventions that confined and limited people of differing classes, occupations and genders. In a world in which power was protected by law and by force, Jesus demonstrated an entirely different way of being. Through his teaching and his actions, Jesus showed that vulnerability is not weakness, that one can give away one’s authority and yet not lose it, one can allow for expressions of intimacy and yet still hold the respect of one’s companions. 

We may want an authoritarian, judgement, distant God, but what we have is a humble, vulnerable, intimate God who will not judge even those who betray him. That God kneels at our feet, are we willing to let him wash them?

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Two donkeys? A donkey and a colt? Palm Sunday 2026

March 28, 2026

Palm Sunday – 2026

Matthew 26:14-27:66 (21:1-11)

Marian Free

In the name of God whom we label and misunderstand at our peril. Amen.

On this day, we have a surfeit of readings as we combine a Litany of the Palms with a reading of the passion – almost two chapters of Matthew’s gospel.  This was not the tradition of my childhood, when Passion Sunday (the fifth Sunday of Lent) marked the beginning of Passiontide and Palm Sunday (the sixth Sunday) focussed solely on Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem. It is only in more recent decades, that the church reverted to an ancient tradition in which the Passion was read on the Sunday before Easter, as something of an “overture” to the events of Holy Week[1] and as a way of tempering the elation associated with Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem with the shadow of the cross. 

My habit on Palm Sunday is to preach on Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem, in part because the Passion reading itself brings us down to earth and reminds us that the excitement of the crowd was short lived, and in part because we will hear the story all over again on Good Friday.

We are led to believe that Jesus riding a donkey into Jerusalem is a sign of humility, but in fact, Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem is quite deliberate. It is staged if you like. Jesus doesn’t walk with the crowds of pilgrims as would be expected. Instead, he rides a “borrowed” donkey, the owner of which appears to have no say in the matter. Jesus has simply sent two disciples into a village (unnamed) telling them to: “Go into the village ahead of you, and immediately you will find a donkey tied, and a colt with her; untie them and bring them to me. If anyone says anything to you, just say this, ‘The Lord needs them.’ And he will send them immediately.” The owner is expected to make no objection.

Then there is the matter of the donkey and the colt. Why both? and why/how would Jesus have managed to sit astride both together? Matthew’s text is quite clear – “the disciples brought the donkey and the colt, and put their cloaks on them, and he sat on them.” (Mt 21:6) According to Matthew Jesus sat on both animals, animals which were presumably of different heights, and which may well have walked at two different speeds, after all one is a colt that may never have been ridden before. It would have been extremely awkward, not only for Jesus, but surely for the animals as well.  

Of the four gospels, only Matthew has two animals. Mark and Luke have only a colt and John has a young donkey. Given the awkwardness of the situation this has to be a deliberate addition by Matthew. Yet, this is probably not an example of Matthew’s propensity to double up (two demoniacs, two blind men) but something else entirely. There is a reason why Matthew doesn’t follow Mark but adds a second beast of burden. 

I have been puzzled less by the fact that there are two animals, and more by the fact that Jesus rides them both. It was therefore with some relief that I read Catherine Sider Hamilton[2] this week. Like me, she finds the image of Jesus riding on them to be “impossible, even ridiculous.” The text in Zechariah, which is often read as part of the Litany of the Palms reads: “behold your king comes to you, humble and riding on a donkey, on a colt, the foal of a donkey” (Zech 9:9) and it is often assumed that this quote is behind Matthew’s doubling up, but it is clear from the text that there is only one animal in Zechariah[3].  

A key characteristic of Matthew’s gospel is his determination to demonstrate Jesus’ fulfilment of Old Testament texts. It should come as no surprise then, that in this instance, Matthew wants to make it absolutely clear that Jesus is the promised king (messiah). To do this Matthew takes us all the way back to God’s promises to the patriarchs – Genesis 49:10-11. In these verses, Jacob blesses his eldest son, Judah saying in part: “The sceptre shall not depart from Judah,” Jacob says. “Tying his foal to the vine and the colt of his donkey to the choice vine, he washes his garments in wine …” As Hamilton points out, the Genesis text refers to two animals in a text which promises that the sceptre (rule) will never pass from Judah. By the first century this text was an important part of the messianic expectation. There would always be a king of the tribe of Judah – David was of the line of Judah, and the messiah was to be of the line of David.

By including both the donkey and the colt, Matthew weaves the text from Genesis together with the text from Zechariah. The promised King arrives in Jerusalem riding a donkey and a colt. By combining the two texts Matthew makes it clear that the promised king announced by Zechariah, is in fact the messianic king – descended from David of the tribe of Judah. Indeed, it would appear that the crowd have made the connection because in Matthew (and only in Matthew) they greet Jesus as the Son of David .

This, the most Jewish of the gospels reaches back into the scriptures, to make it clear that Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem demonstrates that – whatever was to follow and no matter how unlikely the events of the Passion – Jesus was the one promised by God.

Ironically though, the crowds fail to fully see the significance of their declaration of Jesus as Son of David. Instead of proclaiming him as king they simply declare him to be: “the prophet, Jesus from Nazareth.” It is presumably this failure to recognise Jesus for who he really was that allowed them to turn their backs on him and to call for his death within a week.

With the benefit of hindsight we know who Jesus is or do we? May this Holy Week be for all of us a time for reflection and re-examination, a time to let go of our preconceptions and to open our hearts and minds that we might more fully know Jesus the Christ, so that we might share in his sufferings and participate in his glory.

[1] It is difficult to find a simple explanation of the traditions, but you might like to read further here: https://liturgy.co.nz/why-read-the-passion-on-palm-sunday

[2] https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/sunday-of-the-passion-palm-sunday/commentary-on-matthew-2711-54-7

[3] The doubling up is as Hamilton points out an example of Hebrew parallelism something that Matthew, given his familiarity with the Jewish text, would have known.

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Life from death creating something from nothing

March 21, 2026

Lent 5 – 2026

John 11:1-45

Marian Free

In the name of God who from nothing brought all things into being. Amen.

If asked, many of us would say that the fourth gospel is our favourite. The mystical nature of the gospel seems to draw us in and transform us. Yet even though we are aware that this is the most spiritual of the gospels we are not immune from the temptation to take the gospel literally and in so doing to miss the symbolism that makes John’s gospel so mysterious. 

The author of the fourth gospel does not simply report events but makes meaning out of them. For example, when Nicodemus visits Jesus, the author uses imagery of night/dark verses day/light to highlight not only to Nicodemus perceived need for secrecy, but also to allude both to Nicodemus’ failure to understand what Jesus is saying and his refusal (at this point in time) to believe in Jesus. When John tells us that Jesus opens the eyes of the man born blind, the language of seeing and not seeing exposes the “blindness” of the Pharisees. When Jesus feeds the 5,000, John’s focus is not so much on the miracle of the multiplication of the loaves, but on what it means for Jesus to be the bread from heaven. 

This is a gospel that needs to be mined for its deeper meaning – a meaning that is obscured – at least to Jesus’ opponents and dialogue partners. The Jesus of the fourth gospel speaks in riddles.  In the case of would-be followers, the riddles are intended to make his dialogue partners think and to change their way of thinking. So in this gospel Jesus tells Nicodemus that he must be born from above. (Nicodemus doesn’t understand but does engage in conversation.) Jesus tells the woman at the well that he can give her living water.  She is confused but engages Jesus in debate and comes to faith. The blind man receives the ability to see, but also the inner sight which enables him to recognise who Jesus is when no one else has the courage to admit to the possibility that Jesus has been sent by God.

Some see and believe, some see and come to a partial understanding, but the Pharisees are both blind and deaf to Jesus’ presence. They refuse to “see” the miracle of sight. They refuse to grasp what Jesus’ actions and words say about who he is. The Pharisees close themselves off both from miracle and teaching. Instead of trying to understand, they confront Jesus and challenge both his actions and his teaching. Claiming superior knowledge and wisdom they seem to be convinced that there is only one way to see the world and only one way to relate to God – their way. The symbolism and deeper meaning behind Jesus’ actions is completely lost on them.  

John’s gospel records only seven miracles, each more dramatic than the last. Water is turned into wine, the son of a royal official is healed, a lame man walks, bread is multiplied, Jesus walks on water, and a blind man sees. Today we encounter the last, the climactic miracle – the raising of Lazarus.

Like so many of the stories John records, this too is filled with riddles. Lazarus’ sisters send a message to let Jesus know that their brother (Jesus’ friend) is unwell. There is only one reason to tell Jesus and that is that the sisters fear that Lazarus will not recover. However, instead of making his way to Bethany at once, Jesus delays for two days saying: “This illness does not lead to death; rather it is for God’s glory, so that the Son of God may be glorified through it.” The problem is, Lazarus does die. 

We are not told how Jesus finds out about the death of Lazarus (maybe he simply intuits it). Regardless, it appears that when Jesus finally makes up his mind to go to Bethany (which is only two miles away from Jerusalem where Jesus’ life is in danger), Lazarus is already dead. Jesus speaks in riddles telling the disciples that Lazarus is asleep before finally telling them plainly, “Lazarus is dead. For your sake I am glad I was not there, so that you may believe. But let us go to him.”

This account is puzzling on so many levels. It is possible to read in such a way as to conclude that Jesus deliberately delays his journey so that Lazarus will die, that Jesus plans the death of Lazarus so that he can reveal his most powerful party trick, one that will ensure his disciples will believe. “This illness is for God’s glory.” “I am glad I was not there, so that you may believe.”

Just as last week we saw that we would be mistaken to attribute to God  a kind of callous disregard that makes unborn children blind just so that Jesus can give them (or one of them) sight, so it is a mistake to conclude that Jesus allows Lazarus to die just so that Jesus can demonstrate that he has the power to bring someone back from the dead. What sort of capricious God would deliberately deprive someone of life in order to show people just what God can do? What sort of cruel and arrogant God would cause Mary and Martha so much grief just to show how powerful God is? Certainly not the God who would take on human form and share human existence. Not the God who, in Jesus would allow himself to be nailed to a cross.

The raising of Lazarus is not a simple miracle story revealing what God can and cannot do (after all God doesn’t raise all people from the dead or give sight to every person born blind). We have to be careful not to take Jesus’ language too literally for to do so causes a great deal of damage to the image of God and leads us to miss the deeper meaning of what is going on here. 

As with so many of the Johannine accounts of Jesus’ life it is the symbolism that is important. The raising of Lazarus is a reminder to those who might need it that God can bring life from death (whatever that looks like). God can transform life-denying circumstances into life-giving circumstances. God can wring things that are from things that are not. When we are locked in a tomb of grief or despair or when it seems that health or security or joy are beyond our reach, the raising of Lazarus, the giving of life to dead bones (Ezekiel 37) are a reason for hope an encouragement to hold on when holding on seems impossible.

Faith doesn’t protect us from suffering, but God does not capriciously inflict suffering on anyone. Faith is an anchor in the storm, a hope for the future and a confidence that whether we live or die, we are God’s.

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Opening our eyes to possibility

March 17, 2026

Lent 5 – 2026

John 9:1-41

Marian Free

In the name of God Source of all Being, Living Word, Giver of Life. Amen.

“Who sinned? This man or his parents?” In the face of inexplicable or unbearable loss it is easy to come up with trite, seemingly pious explanations. (“They are in a better place.” “God must have wanted another angel.”) In our effort to make sense of the senseless, we attribute to God characteristics that have little to do with God and more to do with our own need to understand. In so doing, we not only trivialise the pain and the grief of another, we also diminish and trivialise God. 

When someone dies after a long and painful struggle, it might be appropriate to express the view that they are now at peace or with God, but when a young person is tragically killed in an accident or slowly dies from cancer, it is tempting, but irrational to attribute to God a reason for the death, or to try to minimize the pain. To assume that God allows a person to die because heaven does not yet have enough angels is a gross presumption that we know what God needs – or even to assume God has needs. 

Human life is precarious and what happens to one or another person is often completely random – natural disaster, reckless driving, genetics – are all things which (with the possible exception of the last) cannot be predicted or protected against. God certainly doesn’t visit suffering on the unsuspecting for some bizarre self-seeking motive.

The question of human suffering, especially in relation to accidents of birth, was a matter of concern to people who did not have our medical knowledge. Why someone might give birth to a child with epilepsy, or a child without sight, and another might not was a complete mystery to our forebears. In the absence of understanding people looked for someone to blame. God was not exempt from this desire to attribute a cause for suffering. Indeed, a refrain that runs through the Old Testament is that “the iniquity of the fathers will be visited on the children.” In their their original context these words referred specifically to the consequences that idolatry and the disobedience of the whole nation would have on future generations. In fact, sin generally referred to the nation and their propensity to abandon God. It did not refer to individual wrongdoing.

In today’s account of the man born blind, Jesus points out that there is a flaw in the kind of thinking that blames a parent, or grandparent for the suffering of a descendant (no matter how distant). God does not and will not inflict suffering on the innocent as a consequence of the actions of the guilty. 

Unfortunately, Jesus does not go on to undo the false thinking that has grown up around unexplained suffering and inexplicable impairment. Having dismissed the misconception, Jesus goes on to attribute an alternative meaning to the man’s blindness. He suggests that in this instance the man’s condition of blindness provides an opportunity, not only for Jesus to give the man the gift of sight, but also for him to reflect on what it means to be blind and what it is to really see[1]. To really see Jesus claims, would be to know that he was sent by God and that all that he says and does comes from God.

Jesus’ healing of the blind man is disruptive on many levels. As a consequence of receiving his sight, the life of the blind man and his family is irrevocably changed. The man has to decide what to do with his sight. He only knows what it is to beg and to be dependent on others. What can he do now? He has no skills, but presumably he cannot continue to beg. His family have to adjust to living with someone who no longer needs the sort of support the man has needed his whole life. Hopefully a family’s love will find a way to rejoice and move forward, even so the future is unknown and will have to be navigated in a new way. 

If the family are confused, the Pharisees are more so. Not only are they confused, but they are also threatened. who have more to lose. Who is this man who heals on the Sabbath, who doesn’t follow the rules, and who gains the attention and loyalty of the crowds? They do all they can do discredit Jesus, and to dissuade the crowds from taking him seriously. 

As we have seen throughout the gospel, the Pharisees simply cannot allow their imaginations to be stretched. They have found a way to limit and contain their relationship with God. They have made it manageable. If Jesus is who he says he is, then what becomes of the structures and rules that they have built up? What happens to all their preconceptions about God and about the Messiah? Unlike the man born blind, they simply cannot allow a crack to form in their carefully constructed system of belief. Jesus does not fit their preconceived image, so he cannot possibly be who he claims to be. 

In the face of such dissonance, the refuse to allow their eyes (minds) to be opened, and they hold even more firmly to their cherished beliefs.

The account of the man born blind is more about understanding who Jesus is, than it is about the miracle of sight, more about seeing with our hearts than with our eyes. It challenges us to ask what cherished beliefs and practices have we allowed to come between ourselves and God? What beliefs and practices have we set in stone as if we already know all there is to know about God? What is it about God that makes us so uncomfortable that we have blinded ourselves to the possibility that God is more than we can ever know and will reveal more than we are ready for?

If God were to open our eyes, would we be grateful or terrified?

[1] It is a mistake to assume that God made the man blind just so that Jesus would have an entry point for his discussion, for that would not move the debate any further forward.

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International Women’s Day – voices of women in John

March 7, 2026

Lent 3 – 2026

John 4:5-42

Marian Free

In the name of God whose choice of disciples is not limited to gender, nor is it constrained by stereotype or social norms. Amen.

Those who prepare our lectionary will not have planned this, but what a wonderful gospel reading for International Women’s Day! In the account of the woman whom Jesus meets at the well, we are presented with an illustration of an intelligent woman with an enquiring mind, a woman who has the confidence to engage a stranger in a conversation about theology, a woman who is the first to whom Jesus reveals his identity,  and one of the first evangelists. The story of the woman of Samaria also tells us about the role of women as leaders in the community for whom the fourth gospel was written. 

One of the distinctive features of the fourth gospel is the significant role played by women. Indeed, the prominence of women suggests that in the latter part of the first century women continued to exercise leadership in the community behind the formation of this gospel. Unlike the Synoptic gospels in which the accounts of women are few and are often retold in such a way as to limit their authority and to emphasise their passivity, John’s gospel features many women who confidently engage with Jesus and who are empowered to share the good news with others. At a time when women were beginning to be written out of the story of the Jesus’ movement, the author of John’s gospel continues to recognise the roles women played, their conversations and confrontations with Jesus as well as their capacity to share the gospel with others and to bring them to faith.

The gospel begins with the wedding at Cana in which we meet the mother of Jesus. Here Mary takes it upon herself to let Jesus know that the wine has run out and tells the servants to do whatever Jesus asks them to do. Though Jesus’ initial reaction suggests he will ignore his mother, he responds by turning water into wine. Later, when the author of the gospel is recounting the story of the raising of Lazarus, it is Lazarus’ sisters, Mary and Martha, who exercise key roles. This suggests that they hold positions of leadership within that community. It is significant that neither Martha nor Mary are afraid to berate Jesus for his tardiness and that they have no hesitation in blaming Jesus for the death of their brother. Martha even questions Jesus’ wisdom in opening the tomb. In this gospel it is Martha, not Peter, who identifies Jesus as the Christ: “you are the Christ”, she says: “the Son of God, the one coming into the world.” 

A few days later the same Mary, takes expensive oil and anoints Jesus’ feet, modelling a form of servanthood that Jesus himself will adopt when he washes the feet of the disciples. Martha and Mary are not silenced as they are in the gospel of Luke. In John’s gospel they are revealed as women of significance in the community who are at the centre of Jesus’ circle and who are confident in themselves and in their relationship with Jesus.

In John the women at the foot of the cross are named –  the three Marys – and finally, to cap off a gospel in which the intelligence, insight, wisdom and confidence of women are celebrated, it is Mary Magdalene who not only sees the risen Christ, but who is commissioned to tell the disciples that she has seen him. Magdalene then is the apostle to the apostles, the first among the apostles. 

The women of John’s are not passive, compliant or anxious women who are worried about social norms or about what others might think. They are women who are confident of their own worth, of their right to engage with and even to challenge Jesus and of their commission to share the gospel with others.

From the way in which stories of women are recorded, it is possible to surmise that the communities which gave birth to the Synoptic gospels had begun to limit the roles that women were able to play (listeners and housekeepers) and that as a result the Jesus’ story is told in such a way that diminishes their contribution to the Jesus’ movement. In the same way, it possible to conclude that the community behind the fourth gospel continued to celebrate (and even elevate) the women who followed Jesus. This observation leads to the conclusion that women continued to have leadership roles in the Johannine community well into the late first century.  (That is, they couldn’t be written out of the story because they were part of the continuing story.) 

In this morning’s gospel Jesus is returning to Galilee from Jerusalem and has chosen to take the direct route through Samaria. On reaching the outskirts Sychar he sends his disciples to buy food while he rests at a well. When a woman comes to draw water, Jesus initiates a conversation and, even though social norms dictate that the two should not speak to each other (or share utensils), the woman responds. As with his encounter with Nicodemus, Jesus uses imagery that has a double meaning, but in contrast to Nicodemus who goes away confused, the woman of Samaria enters into a discussion, a discussion that moves beyond the initial misunderstanding into a debate about the practice of faith and the coming of the Christ. 

Unfortunately, an obsession on the number of husbands and the fact that the woman came to the well at noon have led to assumptions about her morality and about her status within her community. As a result, we have tended to lose sight of her wit, her intelligence, her confidence, her agency. Seen without our blinkers, we can see that her influence in her community meant that rather than being ostracized, she was considered sufficiently trustworthy by her fellow townspeople that they did not question her report but accepted that she may have seen the Messiah and they immediately left the city to see Jesus for themselves.  

On this International Women’s Day, let us celebrate the women who refused to be defined and limited by cultural norms and whose confidence, intelligence and wisdom have continued to inform, encourage and to inspire us in our own journeys of faith.

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Being reborn – with Nicodemus

February 28, 2026

Lent 2 – 2026

John 3:1-17

Marian Free

In the name of God who calls us out of darkness into light. Amen.

“He dunks me. He leans me back into the darkening water and I go under.

I feel like I’m drowning but I know I’ve got breath. There’s something choking me, something’s trying to get out. I start to panic, and with the water flowing over me, I cough up this ball of darkness and pain and regret– this wad of sorrow and sadness, that holds every dumb thing I ever did and more – and I spit it into the water with the last of the air in my lungs. And I know I’m gonna die. The water’s gone black and I don’t know where the surface is. I got nothing left and I just want to drift away like a leaf in the current.

Then he lifts me out of the water, and I’m hacking for breath and wondering why I’m alive and I just laugh. Laugh like I’ve never laughed in my life – or not since I was a kid. Like a dam breaking. Like a chain snapping. Like a kid who’s just heard the words he’s been longing to hear all his life. 

Stephen Daughtry, in his Lenten Study Holiday – Stories of Jesus set in an Australian Landscape, imagines what it might feel like to have been baptised by John the Baptist.  For his character, baptism was a dramatic, wrenching, life-changing experience – a movement from dark to light, from death to life, a form of rebirth which changes him forever[1].

For some people, meeting Jesus or experiencing the Holy Spirit for the first time is like being hit by a train. It is an overwhelming experience – like having one’s eyes opened, seeing oneself clearly (the bad and the good) and, most importantly, knowing for certain that God’s love overlooks all their faults and that they are held, now and forever in God’s loving arms. No wonder such people talk about being born again. They have left behind the person they once were and have stepped forward into a new life in which God (Father, Son and Spirit) is the centre and the guiding force.

Not all of us have such a powerful beginning to our faith. Those of us who were born into Christian families and who were baptised as infants (without our knowledge or consent) may not have a sensational conversion experience or be able to point to a specific time and place when we knew for sure that we believed and that we were loved, it may have come upon us gradually or it may be that there was never a time when you did not believe.

For all of us though, those who have a sudden conviction that they are loved by God, those who come to that belief over time and those who always knew, faith is not a one-off event, but a journey, a growing into the fulness of Christ which involves a series of rebirths as we constantly shed our old selves, allowing ourselves to be renewed so that we might become more truly children of God.

Abram is a good example of this step-by-step growth in faith. Abraham was minding his own business in Ur, almost certainly worshiping the gods of his own people. Out of nowhere God, Yahweh, asks him to pick up everything – his wife, his servants, his animals and all his goods – and to leave behind everything that he knew and loved – his family, his friends, the customs of his people – and to travel to God knew where. Without question (at least as the story tells it), Abram does just that – a form of re-birth.

Over time Abram’s confidence wavers. He fathers a child with Hagar instead of trusting that God will bless Sarai with a child. God appears to Abram and makes a covenant with him, giving him a new name – if you like, a second re-birth. There are many twists in the story, but a constant is Abraham’s faith and his continual dying and rebirth.

Another character who illustrates the idea of faith as a journey, or as a gradual unfolding, is Nicodemus whom we meet in John’s gospel today. Even at this early stage in the gospel Nicodemus recognises that Jesus comes from God, but he is not willing to commit. He has yet to understand that faith in Jesus must be wholehearted. It means letting go of his past ways of thinking and allowing himself to be guided by the Spirit. In other words, as Jesus says, he must be born again. 

Thankfully, that is not the end of the story, Jesus has made an impression. Nicodemus might be puzzled, but he can’t dismiss Jesus. We meet him again in chapter 7. Jesus is in Jerusalem. His influence on the crowds and the content of his teaching is causing the Chief Priests and Pharisees a great deal of anxiety (it contradicts what they teach, and the enthusiasm of the crowds might capture the attention of the Romans). He must be stopped! So they send soldiers to arrest him. Only Nicodemus speaks for Jesus, reminding his peers that the law does not judge people without giving them a trial. (Nicodemus has moved from secretly meeting Jesus at night, to publicly defending him – a form of rebirth.)

We meet Nicodemus for the last time on the evening of the crucifixion. Joseph of Arimathea has received permission to take Jesus’ body away. He is met by Nicodemus who brings with him about a hundred pounds of myrrh and aloes – in today’s terms $150-200,000 worth of spices! By now he is fully committed – another rebirth. No doubt Nicodemus experiences many more rebirths before his final birth into eternal life, but we do not know the end of the story.

One way of looking at Lent is to see it as a preparation for rebirth, as a letting go of the things that hold us back so that we can restart our relationship with God, released from the burdens that have kept us apart. Whatever discipline we have taken up for Lent we have done so in the hope that we will emerge at Easter as a people who have been changed and renewed. Whether we have chosen to give something up, to let something go, to expand our minds through reading, or to deepen our understand through prayer; we will come to Easter with new insights about ourselves and about our relationship with God that will enable us to embrace more fully the life that God gives us and to be formed more completely into the image of Christ.

On Good Friday we can say ‘goodbye’ to the person we were when Lent began so that on Easter Day, we can be born again into resurrection life. And we will do this again and again, every Lent, every Good Friday, every Easter Day as day by day, year by year, we are reborn, transformed into children of God. 

[1] Daughtry, Stephen. 2025. Holiday Stories of Jesus set in an Australian Landscape. Sydney: A Mission Australia publication. The Anglican Board of Mission.

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Lent 1 – competing with God

February 21, 2026

Lent 1 – 2026

Matthew 4:1-11

Marian Free

In the name of God, Source of all being, Word of life, Enlivening Spirit. Amen.

All around the world scientists and other professionals are doing research and offering advice to third world countries in the belief that they can help reduce food-scarcity, increase access to clean water and provide cheap, easy to construct housing that will withstand cyclones. One such programme developed bananas that contained a vitamin that was lacking in the diets of some populations in East Africa. Another produced amazing results simply by delivering salt to an isolated population in the Himalayas. The absence of salt in their diet had led to stunted growth and the early loss of teeth.  When salt was added to the diet the effect was phenomenal.

Such achievements are all well and good, but it is not always easy to predict all the consequences of these sorts of interventions. Many years ago, I watched a documentary on the effects of aid in third world countries and in particular on the unintended results. I no longer remember the country involved, but I clearly remember that the crop that was genetically enhanced was rice – the staple food of the local people. Scientists were able to develop a rice that produced a much higher yield than the rice that was traditionally grown and they were very successful in encouraging farmers to grow it. Unfortunately, while the rice produced abundantly in good years, in bad years it produced barely any grain. Before the introduction of the “new improved” rice farmers had sown a variety of rice seeds with the result that at least some of them produced a crop even in bad years. Now they no longer had those native seeds they were, at times, even worse off.

Human curiosity and the desire to push the limits of what we learn and what we can do knows no bounds, but humans have their limitations and we cannot always see the end result of what at first seems like a lifesaving, world-changing discovery.

No matter how clever or wise we think we are, only God has access to the full picture. Only God really knows what will really work long term and what will not. Only God can see the unintended domino effect that an action in one place might have in another place and time. Only God can see the length and breadth of human history and the impact of humans on the world and its peoples.

Two of this morning’s reading address the issue of the arrogance of humans who, in their desire to know and their longing to make a difference live in constant competition with God.

In both Genesis and Matthew, the devil (serpent, Satan, tempter) (1) offers human beings what appears to be a really good idea (or ideas).  In Genesis the serpent encourages the woman to eat from the forbidden tree so that she, like God will have the knowledge of good and evil. Surely it would be useful to be able to distinguish good from bad? Thousands of years later, in the desert, the devil makes a number of suggestions to Jesus, all of which have the potential for good, the potential to solve the problems of the world – bread to feed the hungry of world, power to govern justly and wisely, authority to eliminate poverty, violence and oppression and fantastic displays of God’s intervention so that the world might have absolute certainty in the identity of Jesus.  

The reactions of the humans in the two stories are polar opposites. In Genesis, Adam and Eve are seduced by the serpent.  Surely the knowledge of good and evil is just what they need to create a safe and secure community on earth? If they have the wisdom of God, what on earth could go wrong?  God’s reaction in the story indicates that God thinks that things could go very wrong indeed. God knows, as most of us do not, that knowledge in the wrong hands is a very dangerous thing. God knows too well the limitations of humankind and that humanity, represented by Adam and Eve is not ready to know all there is to know.  Indeed, there are few, if any, who have the foreknowledge, the insight and selflessness to see clearly the end results of even good intentions, few who have the maturity to understand that sometimes holding back is of more value than rushing headlong to solve a problem, or to condemn a person who does not conform and few who have the wisdom to know that power, even if used benignly has the potential to oppress and confine.

Jesus’ interaction with the devil is the exact opposite of that of Adam and Eve because Jesus, understands too well the dangers of believing that only good can come from the devil’s suggestions.  He knows that good intentions are not enough, that the issues at hand are much more complex than giving the hungry food (think of the rice), or taking it upon oneself to make changes for the better rather than empowering others to create the change they need, and that dramatic and showy interventions are more convincing than faithful, steady actions that prove one is who they say they are.

Faced with the temptation to take up the devil’s offer of short cuts to recognition, power and a world in which no one is hungry, Jesus responds with the wisdom that demonstrates that he understands that there is no magic wand. He knows that what to the devil, look like obvious solutions may create more problems than they solve.

There is only one way to bring about heaven on earth and that is to follow the example of Jesus, to entrust ourselves and the future to God and to encourage others to do the same. It is only when (like Jesus) we submit ourselves to the greater wisdom, power and foresight of God, and only when we stop trying to compete with God that God’s kingdom will come and God’s will be done.

Lent is not simply about whether or not we can spend forty days going without, it is more about what we learn about ourselves when we give up trying to be in control.

May this Lent be a time, when we see ourselves for who we really are and let go of those things that put us in competition with God.

 

  • I have used the words used in scripture, but I believe these are just ways of expressing the human desire for power, independence and control which prevent us from being in relationship with God. It is a sign of our unwillingness to take responsibility for our behaviour that we attribute our failings to an external source.

 

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