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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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Ash Wednesday – Lent

February 17, 2026

As I write this, I am conscious that my calendar announces that today is the beginning of Ramadan, the time of fasting observed by Muslims. From today practicing Muslims will not consume food or drink between sunrise and sunset. This may mean rising at 4am for breakfast and then eating and drinking nothing until 8pm. I know this because my visit to Israel in 2015 coincided with Ramadan. In Old Jerusalem a canon was fired to indicate the beginning of and the end of the fast and the empty streets in the Palestinian districts filled with food carts only. after 8pm. Ramadan and its concluding celebration of Eid are now well-known in the Western world. The ABC news site has even published recipes for Ramadan. In my childhood, newspapers and magazines would. have featured recipes for Lent. Today Ash Wednesday and Lent do not even warrant a mention on my calendar!

Image of smoke from canon. Jerusalem 2015

Culturally Lent has become irrelevant and in the churches we seem to have lost the sense of solidarity that came with giving something up for Lent. This is due in part to the increasing secularisation of our society, but also relates to a more relaxed attitude in the church and the trivialising of the practice by making it a test of will-power rather than a freedom to focus on God and not on oneself.

I don’t have a solution, just a sense of grief that the traditions which enriched our faith and which were evident to the culture around us seem to have lost their place and we haven’t yet found something which unites us as followers of Christ.

The purpose of fasting is to pare down our lives to what is essential such that we can pay attention to God’s provision and can fully appreciate what we do have. We try to give up those things that prevent us from focussing on God. This might include meal plans that are less extravagant and easier to prepare – freeing us from the distraction that food can be in our lives. Equally, it might be useful to give up the self-absorption that reveals itself in resentment, self-pity, envy, ingratitude. If instead we practice gratitude and forgiveness, joy in other’s successes, we will (over time), rid ourselves of the negativity and bitterness that cause us to look inward rather than outward into the world and into God’s creation. We will make room for God and the fruits of the Spirit – love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control – will be evident in our lives and be visible to the world.

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Humble and riding on a donkey – Palm Sunday

April 14, 2025

Palm Sunday – 2025

Luke 22:14 – 23:56, Phil 2:5-11

Marian Free

In the name of God who calls us and empowers us and who shows us our true worth. Amen.

Paul writes: Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus, 

                  who, though he was in the form of God,

                                    did not regard equality with God

                                    as something to be exploited, 

                  but emptied himself,

                                    taking the form of a slave,

                                    being born in human likeness.

                  And being found in human form, 

                                    he humbled himself

                                    and became obedient to the point of death—

                                    even death on a cross.

To conclude from this that Jesus had no agency, or that he allowed himself to be put upon would be a mistake.

Humility can one of the most difficult virtues to grasp and to practice. It requires a great deal of balance. Humility is often mistaken for weakness[1], submission or meekness whereas it is in humility that true strength lies. One of the problems in coming to grips with humility is that it can appear to be contradictory in nature, and it is often easier to define in terms of what it is not rather than what it is. So, for example while humility involves not thinking more highly of oneself than is warranted, it also means not thinking less of oneself than one deserves. Misunderstanding humility leads to false modesty and to self-deprecation, both of which suggest a focus on oneself which leads of pride, the opposite of humility. Worse, false modesty is a denial of the unique gifts and talents bestowed on us by God. 

To be humble is to have a realistic view of oneself – one’s weaknesses and one’s strengths. Humility means having a willingness to learn, from others and from one’s mistakes but it does not mean underestimating or denying our gifts, hiding our light under bushel, being silent in the face of injustice, or allowing ourselves to be treated as a door mat.

The readings for this morning highlight the contradictory nature of humility – or the balance between what appears to be pride and the total trust in and reliance on God. In Isaiah, the speaker boasts of his strengths at the same time as acknowledging that these come from the Lord. The Christ hymn of Philippians celebrates Jesus’ humble self-emptying, and his giving up his divinity to fully inhabit his humanity. Yet Jesus’ behaviour as he enters Jerusalem – his willingness to accept the adulation and praise of the people and their acknowledgement of his kingship, his overturning of the tables in the temple and his confident responses to the challenges of the leaders and teachers of the church suggest a Jesus who is anything but humble in the usual sense of the word. 

In the account of the Passion, Jesus’ insistence that God has given him a kingdom, his allowing his disciples to be armed, his composure when faced with Judas’ betrayal and the secrecy which surrounded his arrest and his refusal to be drawn into a defence of his messiahship indicate his clear understanding of who he is – not a weak submission to fate. Jesus’ insistence that the Son of Man will be seated at the right hand of God, his insistence that the women not feel sorry for him, his offering of forgiveness from the cross and his assurance to the contrite criminal that he would enter Paradise all demonstrate a healthy ego, a quiet strength, and a confidence in his role which could be mistaken for pride.

It is these apparent contradictions that give us a sense of what it truly means to be humble. Jesus’ determination, self-belief and self-awareness are anything but the weakness and mildness that are often associated with humility. Jesus accepted his God-given role, which was to submit to God’s will for his life, but he absolutely refused to deny the gifts that came with the role. He didn’t exploit his divinity, but neither did he deny the strengths associated with it. He allowed the soldiers to demean and torture him, but he maintained a steely resolve to see his task through to the end[2].

Jesus’ humility was born out of a confidence in himself, his clear understanding of his role and his place before God, and a determination to follow the path set before him wherever it led. Jesus’ certainty with regard to his role and his assurance that he was following God’s will, gave him the courage to stay true to himself rather than be tempted to use his godliness to avoid what lay ahead.

As we enter into Holy Week and walk with Jesus to the cross may we have a true sense of our own worth, recognise our strengths and our limitations and know our place in God’s plan for the world and have the courage to be true to our God-given selves.

[1] One of the on-line dictionary definitions suggested that submissiveness, meekness and lowliness are synonyms which surely is misleading. and leads to an understanding of humility as self-abnegation, rather than a true sense of one’s worth.

[2] In the desert Jesus had already demonstrated an ability to withstand temptation to grasp power, or to use the power that he did have to gain followers, wealth and governance of the world.  At any point could have, as he could in the wilderness, laid claim to his godliness – called down angels to fight for him, spoken in his defence (not that that would have worked), shown anger or given in to despair.

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Wild, extravagant love – Mary anoints Jesus

April 7, 2025

Lent 5 – 2025

John 12:1-8

Marian Free

In the name of God who draws us into relationship and who does not pull back when we demonstrate affection wildly, extravagantly and passionately. Amen.

In the 1960’s Harry Harlow carried out a number of experiments in to determine if the mother-child relationship was solely a consequence of the role a mother played in providing food and protection or whether affection and touch played a role.  Of these the most well-known (if unethical) experiment involved removing young monkeys from their mothers just a few hours after birth. The young monkeys were placed in cages with two “mothers” one of which was made of wire and dispensed milk through a baby bottle. The other was made of soft cloth but provided no food. What Harlow discovered was that the monkeys spent a majority of their time clinging to the relative comfort of the cloth mother and went to the wire “mother’ only for food.  In other words, the babies drew more comfort from physical contact than nourishment.  

Thank goodness experiments such as this could not be carried out today but this, and other research demonstrates how important touch is to human development and well-being.  

We don’t need experiments with monkeys to prove this. In recent decades we have come face-to-face with the long-term trauma experienced by those who were removed from their families and placed into orphanages, group homes or foster care in which many experienced abuse and neglect. Many victims of such actions will tell of their continuing inability to feel secure, to form relationships and to trust anyone. 

We live in a society in which touch is carefully regulated – by law, but also by social norms. Touch can be used to demonstrate care, support and intimacy, but it can also be used to abuse, to control and to isolate. Touch is important but it can be misused and misunderstood. The appropriate use of touch differs from country to country and changes over time.  It is only recently (in my lifetime) that it has become widely acceptable for women to shake hands. And it is important to note that while many people welcome a comforting hand on the arm, but there are some who will recoil from physical contact.

While it has proven necessary to legally regulate the use of touch, this in itself has problems. Children and the elderly can often be starved of physical signs of affection. Children who experience neglect at home, can no longer hope for a quick hug from a teacher or sports coach. Older persons in aged care facilities likewise miss out on daily, or even occasional hugs.

Social norms around touch is one of the things that makes today’s reading so extraordinary. In the culture of Jesus’ time and place, the behaviour of women and men was tightly regulated. Women were the property of their father and then their husband. In public a woman would have been forbidden from speaking to a male who was not a member of her family. A woman who physically touched a man to whom she was not related would not only have been seriously castigated, but her behaviour would have sent shock waves through her community. In any other circumstance she would have been labelled as a harlot, as a woman with no morals and no self-respect.

Yet here, as if it were something completely ordinary, we have a scene in which Mary does a number of things which are socially inappropriate – she lets down her hair, she places herself at Jesus’ feet, and using extravagantly costly ointment, proceeds to wipe Jesus’ feet with her hair. It is a wonder that it is only Judas who expresses horror at the events unfolding before him.  In a room which is presumably filled with men, in which Mary’s role would have been to join Martha in serving the meal, Mary breaks not one but several social conventions and Jesus instead of condemning her, commends her!

This scene tells us a great deal about Mary’s relationship with Jesus. She obviously felt a very deep affection for him, but it is perhaps more significant to note that she had complete trust in him. She did not feel that she had to stint in her outpouring of love or to keep a distance (physical or emotional) between them. She had no fear that Jesus would reject her expression of the depth of her care and affection. She was confident not only that he would not recoil from her or from her outpouring of love, but that he would protect her from the censure and negativity that her actions would almost certainly engender.

It is too easy to focus on the extravagance of Mary’s gesture (and the meanness of Judas’ response) and to avoid focussing on an action that might make us feel deeply uncomfortable. But Mary’s action is clearly a description of intimacy, service and abundant and extravagant love, the love of a woman for one whom her sister only days before had identified as the Christ. It is an account of intimacy between a believer and God.

By weeks end, Jesus will have been touched by strange and cruel hands. He will have been arrested, roughly handled, whipped and crucified. During these moments of humiliation and torment, will he have remembered the gentle hands of Mary, the caress of her hair and the smoothness of the ointment? Will her wild and extravagant outpouring of love be one of the things that sustains him?

Mary’s actions throw into sharp relief our own elationship with God. How many of us respond to God’s love for us with such wild, extravagant abandon? How many of us truly believe that all God seeks from us is not – as we would believe – mindless obedience, but a selfless, humbling outpouring of our love for God, a love that reveals our understanding of how much God loves us, a love that is utterly confident that God will accept our expression of love, no matter how wild, extravagant and unconventional it may be? God’s love for us is boundless, and unconditional, yet many of us find it hard to trust that God loves us that much, and equally as hard to love God in kind. Many of us portion out our love, tentatively offering God some but not all of us, anxious perhaps that God may not welcome our gift. 

Mary has no such hesitation but throws herself (literally) at God’s (Jesus’) feet, lavishly and liberally covering them with an ointment worth a year’s wages and wiping up the excess with her own hair.

What proof do we need of God’s love for us? What will it take for us to love God in return?

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A son who brings shame and dishonour and a father who couldn’t care less

March 29, 2025

Lent 4 – 2025

Luke 15:11-32

Marian Free

In the name of God who, on our part endures humiliation and shame in order to show love to and to welcome home the worst of us. Amen.

(You might like to watch the Anglican Archbishop of Brisbane’s one minute reflection on today’s gospel.)

There are two parables (only found in Luke) that have become part of common parlance.  These are known as the parable of the Good Samaritan and the parable of the Prodigal Son. Unfortunately, our over familiarisation with these parables (and with parables in general) is that they have lost their capacity to shock, to pull us up short. In the first instance, Jesus’ parable about the Samaritan is not a call to do good works, but a critique of those – good Christians all– who think that in some way superior to those whom they consider as somehow lesser than themselves. In the second instance, Jesus is challenging the view of those who thought that Jesus should only eat with/associate with those who kept the law and those who observed the niceties of social expectations (Luke 15:1).

In the case of the Prodigal son, as the name suggests, the focus tends to be on the son. When we read the parable, we put ourselves in the place of the son and feel immense gratitude that God overlooks our faults when and if we repent. What we fail to see, is what the parable tells us about the Father – by implication what it tells us about God and Jesus. In fact, scholars today call the parable the forgiving father, because that more accurately represents Jesus’ meaning.

The focus in this parable is not the repentance (if it was repentance) of the son, but on the father, who, ignoring ridicule and having no regard to his position in society, not only indulges the son, but who watches day and night for the son’s return and who runs to greet him on the road. In this parable, Jesus turns the honour/shame culture of the Middle East on its head. 

At that time (and in some places today) the concept of honour/shame was central to all relationships in the Middle East. There were complex protocols governing all human behaviour because honour was a finite resource and if you wanted to increase your own honour you could only do it at the expense of someone else’s honour. In an interaction between people of differing status, there were quite specific codes to follow so that each person, whether of higher or lower status, was not in danger of threatening the honour of the other.  

A loss of honour was equally the loss of respect and status in the community. This is the reason why Herod felt that he had to honour the request of his step daughter to behead John the Baptist. To have failed to do so would have meant that he would have lost face (respect, status) before his guests.  If a person lost their honour, it was lost for good. Had Herod not fulfilled his promise, he might have been able to maintain his power by force, but not through his status in the community. (He would have become an object of ridicule, someone who could not be expected to keep his word.)

In a collective (not individualistic) society, honour was collective. A man’s honour was dependent on the behaviour of his family – so much so that homes were often open to the street to demonstrate that the head of the household had nothing to fear. In this case the actions of the son reflect badly on and diminish the father’s honour.

This is what makes Jesus’ parable of the forgiving father all the more surprising, even shocking to his audience. From beginning to end the story is about a father whose honour is challenged and diminished and about a father who doesn’t care less about honour, his dignity or the regard in which he is held by his neighbours.  He cares only for the well-being of the son.

According to the parable the younger son asks for his share of the inheritance. Not only is this son greedy, selfish and impatient he is, by asking for his inheritance, implying that wished his father dead. Jesus’ audience would have understood that the son’s request was in clear violation of the fourth commandment to honour your father and mother. Further, anyone dependent on making a living from the land would be well aware of the financial burden that paying out the son would put on the father (and the remaining brother). The son has brought shame on the family, possibly impoverished the family and has thought only of himself and his short-term pleasure.

You might say, “yes, but he did come to his senses’. But did he? Was he really repentant or was he still putting his own needs first. Peter Hawkins (among others) observes that there is something quite calculating in the son’s thought process[1]. His speech is even rehearsed: “I will say to him.” There is no mention in the account that he is sorry, only that returning home would be a solution to his state of starvation. 

If anyone has/had any doubt that God was not a God of judgement and condemnation, but a God of compassion and second chances, this parable (and the two that precede it) puts paid to any questions on that score.

The father (probably representing God) has asked nothing of the son but has freely given him what he wanted, released him from all responsibility and let him go. Then, day after day, it appears, he has kept a lookout for this lost boy – forgoing pride and any sense of social respectability (the son has made it clear that he doesn’t want to be part of the family and has brought dishonour on his family name). 

Finally, the father sees the son and, without thought for his personal dignity and paying no regard to the diminished esteem in which he will be held by his neighbours, he runs (runs not walks) to take his son in his arms before son has any opportunity to give his well-thought out and well-rehearsed speech. If that were not enough to indicate to his neighbours his lack of self-respect, he then calls for the best robe, a ring for the finger, sandals for his feet AND a feast with the fatted calf, any one of which would be shocking and incomprehensible to his community.  A member of the family who had brought them into such disrepute and brought such shame upon them, should at the very least be shunned if not severely punished.

By turning upside down the social conventions of the time, Jesus wants his audience to let go of an idea that God only welcomes those self-righteous people who keep the law and set themselves apart from the sinner and tax-collector. Just the opposite, God’s primary concern is for the sheep who has wandered from the fold, the coin that has found its way into a hidden corner, and the son or daughter who has cut themselves off from God’s love. 

God of the lost, giver of second chances – is not a God who wants to condemn and exclude, but a God whose open embrace welcomes all who would turn to him – without question, without recrimination and certainly without judgement.

[1] Christian Century. Sunday’s Coming. 25/3/25

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The word of the Lord? Luke 13:1-9

March 24, 2025

Lent 3 -2025

Luke 13:1-9

Marian Free

In the name of God who alone is perfect and who overlooks our imperfections. Amen.

If you are like me, there will be times during a service, whether it be the Daily Office or the Eucharist, when a reader concludes the lesson with the words: “Hear the Word of the Lord” and you think to yourself, “No!  not really!” Many of our biblical stories, particularly those in the Old Testament are unedifying, and yet, following the rubric, we dutifully affirm them as the word of the Lord. On occasions it might be more truthful to assert: “Here we see an example of human frailty” or even for the reader to say: “This is the word of the Lord???” Have you ever hesitated to respond: “Thanks be to God”?  Are you, for example, anxious that you are affirming the rape of Bathsheba when you thank God for that story? 

While the Old Testament has many stories that seem to tell us more about the nature of humanity than of God, the New Testament has its share of apparently shocking and unedifying passages. Take this morning’s gospel for example. It is difficult to understand why Luke would feel a need to refer to such a violent and gruesome event as the killing of Galileans and mixing their blood with sacrifices. It is even more difficult to understand this account when not even Josephus can point to a specific event to which this might be referring.

Even more confusing is Luke’s change of tone. As Luke has recorded the story Jesus, has until now, been focused on healing and wholeness, but in this passage Jesus’ attitude appears to change from encouraging to threatening, from healing to judging. At first glance Jesus seems to be justifying the bloody death of the Galileans and those crushed by a tower. as a warning to his listeners. “Unless you repent, you will all perish as they did.” Are we all to suffer an unexpected and gruesome fate “unless we repent”?

The reality is just the opposite. Using these examples of unexpected and violent death, Jesus is making it clear that the external circumstances of a person’s life (success or failure, wealth or poverty) and the circumstances of their deaths (violent or peaceful) are not evidence of their sinfulness or not. Indeed, making comparisons is futile, because not only does it pit people against each other, but comparisons of this kind allow one to feel superior, self-righteous and proud which are themselves sin.

In the end, sin, is sin is sin. There is no scale against which sin is measured – a little bit of sin, or a vast quantity of sin. A person has either sinned or they have not, and few, if any could claim to never have sinned. Everyone of us needs to turn our lives toward God and godliness over and over again. It is the honest acknowledgement of who we are that establishes a right relationship with God, not a belief that because we are better than Sarah Jane or Billy Joe, we will get off more lightly or that we will scale an imaginary ladder of righteousness OR that our good deeds are in some way balanced against our bad deeds.

Pilate’s violent suppression of opposition was well-known, and the Galileans had a reputation for being rebellious. We only have a snippet of what was certainly a much longer conversation, but Jesus has clearly discerned that what lies behind the report is a desire on the part of ‘those present’ to be reassured that the suffering of the Galileans was not meaningless but was in some way a consequence of their behaviour – that God allowed it, or worse orchestrated their death because their sin warranted it.

Jesus is challenging a widely held contemporary view that a person’s situation in life was a sign of their righteousness (or lack of it). He is pointing to the reality that life is unpredictable, and that suffering is random – good people are just as prone to die in road accidents as are sinners, good people are just as likely to lose homes and livelihoods in natural disasters as are bad, good and evil people alike may be struck down with life-threatening diseases.  Life’s circumstances are not external signs of God’s approval.

What is more as Jesus goes on to suggest, there is no one who is perfect. Everyone has to repent; everyone is called to turn their hearts and lives over to God. We may smugly think that we do not break the 10 commandments, but that very smugness is a demonstration of a pride that indicates dependence on our self, not on God. We may pat ourselves on the back because we have never told a lie, but that very fact may hide a failure to have been truly honest about how we really feel and think. Sin is usually much more subtle than we give it credit for and whether we own it or not, we are all sinners, in that our lives do not fully reflect the divinity that lies within.

BUT – do not despair. Jesus, having brought his listeners back to reality, tells a parable reminding them of God’s forbearance and of second chances. A non-productive fig tree is taking up space in the garden that could be used for a fruit-bearing tree. It serves no other purpose. It should be cut down and replaced. But no, it is given another chance. The gardener will do all that is possible to ensure that it bears fruit.  Only if, after the tree has been given every opportunity to bear fruit, it remains barren, will it be chopped down.

So it is with us, God is endlessly patient, forever giving us a second chance, always believing in the goodness in us and overlooking the rottenness and God will keep on giving us a second chance unless we absolutely refuse to take advantage of it.

The Season of Lent provides an opportunity for us to acknowledge the frailty of our human nature (which we share with all humanity), to submit ourselves to the gardener’s care and to allow ourselves to be transformed.

********************************

This quote doesn’t quite speak to the point, but it does serve as a reminder that sin can be more dangerous when it is subtle than when it if blatant.

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