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Who is my neighbour?

July 12, 2025

Pentecost 5 – 2025

Luke 10:25-37

Marian Free

In the name of God whose love knows no constraints. Amen.

I don’t know about you, but at the moment I am overwhelmed by the state of the world, and I feel utterly powerless to intervene or to make any difference at all. Gaza, of course, is the most demanding of our attention, but not us let forget Ukraine, South Sudan and all the other nations involved in on-going conflict or civil war. Then there is the changing geopolitical situation and the potential economic consequence of the US tariffs and aid cuts. All over the world innocent people are suffering the effects of climate change and the increasing unpredictability of the weather. Here in Australia the people of Northern Rivers have experienced once in a lifetime flood twice in two years. They barely have time to recover before they have to begin again. (And that in a wealthy first world country. Imagine trying to re-build one’s life and livelihood in a nation without the resources to which we have access.) I find myself paralysed with indecision. What difference can I make? Will my small contributions help at all? 

I’m not even sure how to pray. In the first instance, I do not have the words to use. Secondly, I am not at all sure that my prayers, however fervent, have made a difference.

It is tempting to throw up my hands and leave it all to God. It is equally tempting to narrow my focus, to decide who and what is most deserving of my help or to justify inaction because not being able to do it all I find myself not doing enough.

In order to rationalise my inaction, I find myself thinking about how different the world today is from Jesus’ world and wonder if some of Jesus’ instructions simply don’t translate into the  21st century. In the first century, there was no social service, there were (at least for those of Jesus’ faith) clear guidelines about responsibility for family, for widows and orphans. Smaller communities meant that people were more aware of other people’s business, and they would probably have known the background of the person who begged them for a small coin or two. Without modern forms of communication very few would have known the state of the world beyond their village or region.

In contrast, today in Australia we have social welfare (even if it is inadequate), six-foot fences separate us from our neighbours and in cities that number millions there is a limit to how much we can know about the circumstances of others. The internet and social media mean that we know about disasters all over the world almost as soon as they happen. 

The question: ‘Who is my neighbour?’ is even more pressing than it was two thousand years ago. I see my physical neighbours only when I make an effort or pass them on the street. It is generally impossible to know how I can be a neighbour to them.

Jesus’ answer to the lawyer’s question is important, but so too is the question, and the intent of the one asking. We are told that the lawyer is seeking to justify himself. He knows the answer to his first question “What must I do?” – he is a lawyer after all. He asks the second question because he wants to limit and confine the extent to which he has to follow the law. He wants to narrow down what it means ‘to love his neighbour as himself.’ 

No doubt the lawyer, and no doubt those who have gathered around fully expect Jesus to limit neighbourliness to fellow Jews. After all, they are the chosen.

Jesus however does at least two unexpected things in his story of the man who was a neighbour. Instead of giving a definition of neighbour, Jesus tells a story of neighbourliness. He subverts the expectation that it will be the good, pious Jews on their way to Jerusalem who will offer assistance to the wounded man, and he gives the starring role to a rank outsider, an enemy, a person considered unclean according to Jewish law! The example of neighbourliness is the person least expected.

The Samaritan did not consider political or social implications of helping a Jew, he did not withhold his help because of the deep enmity between his people and theirs, and he did not stop to consider his capacity to help. (What would he do if the inn keeper charged him more than he could afford?)

Jesus doesn’t directly answer the lawyer’s question. He doesn’t say that the Samaritan is the neighbour who should be loved. What Jesus does is to confront the lawyer with what it means to be a neighbour. Using the despised Samaritan as the example, Jesus makes it clear that there are no boundaries to “neighbour”. Shocking as it might be to Jesus’ audience, it is the outsider who demonstrates that being a neighbour doesn’t consider the race, religion, or economic status of the other. 

Love of neighbour cannot be limited or reduced to a simple formula because the definition of ‘neighbour’ has no bounds. God’s love, and therefore our love does not discriminate between worthy and unworthy, insider or outsider, but is extended to all humanity. 

The problems in the world are overwhelming, but we are not to be discouraged. We will do well if remain open-minded and open-hearted, sympathetic towards the suffering of the good, the bad and the deserving and the undeserving, the familiar and the unfamiliar and if we do all we can to alleviate that suffering through direct support, through volunteering, through political and social action and through prayer.

In this increasingly divided and fractious world. Who is my neighbour? might be the question most demanding of an answer.

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Discipleship – foxes have holes

July 1, 2025

Pentecost 3 – 2025

Luke 9:51-62

Marian Free

In the name of God who asks that follow whole-heartedly, that we know what we are and what we are not. Amen.

“Jesus set his face towards Jerusalem.” (Luke 9:51) This verse marks a significant change of direction for Jesus. By and large his ministry in Galilee is over and he and his disciples embark on what will be Jesus’ final journey, his journey towards Jerusalem.  That Jesus knows what lies ahead – his arrest, trial and crucifixion – is clear in the terminology – he set his face. This is a journey that will take all of Jesus’ courage and determination. It is not simply a pilgrimage to Jerusalem for the festival of the Passover, but an essential part of his mission and purpose. “He set his face” suggests an action of will not desire. From now on, with some exceptions, Jesus’ teaching will be directed primarily towards his disciples. 

It is perhaps not surprising that this section of the gospel begins with two – albeit very different – reflections on discipleship. 

For reasons unknown to us, Jesus chooses to travel through the territory of the Samaritans on his way to Jerusalem. Given the antagonism between Jew and Samaritan, most Jews would avoid this, the most direct route from Galilee. It is no surprise that the Samaritans refuse hospitality. However, the disciples, perhaps still flushed with the success of their first mission, their ability to heal the sick and to cast out demons, presume to know what it is that Jesus wants. James and John ask if Jesus wants them to call down fire from heaven to consume those who have refused to offer them a welcome. 

These two – the Sons of Thunder – have completely misunderstood Jesus’ mission and their part in it. Jesus has not come to impose his will on those who are not ready for or not receptive to his message.  Nor has Jesus come to destroy all opposition to the good news he has brought. Despite Jesus’ example, James and John have mistakenly let power go to their heads. They have come to know what they can do, but have yet to understand what they cannot and must not do. They are behaving as though they know and can execute God’s will. They have failed to understand that any power that they have has been given to them by God and is to be used in service of God’s will.  James and John have yet to comprehend that following means submitting, that loving includes love of enemies and that it is God, not they, who is the final arbiter and judge.

The next reflection on discipleship deals with those who are not yet followers of Jesus. Jesus’ apparently stern responses to them suggests that he discerns that they may be wanting to follow for the wrong reasons. Like James and John, they do not seem to fully comprehend what it means to be a disciple. James and John may have left homes and incomes to follow Jesus, but as we have seen, despite the fact that Jesus has empowered them as disciples they have a long way to go in their understanding of the role. 

When others ask if they can be followers Jesus needs to be sure that they understand the costs and consequences of following him. Following Jesus does not offer security or power. Being a disciple means recognising that life does not have to be lived according to cultural norms but can be lived according to the standards of the kingdom. Those who want to follow Jesus need to understand that he cannot offer security (foxes have holes, the Son of Man has nowhere), that he expects them to realign their values to those of the kingdom and not to be held back by societal expectations (let the dead bury the dead) and to be clear about their decision not half-hearted (don’t look back).

Each of these sound like stark impossible demands if taken literally – living rough, abandoning familial duties, never looking behind – but the meaning is plain. Being a disciple of Jesus has to be a decision, a decision to put one’s trust completely in Jesus, to refuse to be distracted from the primary goal and to have no regrets. In the first century, this would have been a much harder decision than it is for us. Followers of Jesus would have to make definitive breaks with their families and society; a consequence of their decision might have meant loss of income and home. It would have been tempting to look back with longing for the relationships lost. 

The reasons Jesus demands look so harsh to us is that modern day discipleship does not look so different from citizenship in a notionally Christian nation and the costs of faith are minimal. That is not a reason to take a decision of faith lightly. There will be times when we are called to be counter-cultural, times when others do not understand what we do and why we do it and we will be tempted to fit in – with the values of our families and our culture. There will be times when we have to remember that Jesus didn’t promise us comfort and ease and times when we will have to stand up and be counted. There will be times when we are called to step out in faith without having the security of a fixed direction or safety on the journey.  If such times and trials come, is our faith strong enough to keep us looking forward (rather than looking back with longing at the past).

Put together the readings remind us that discipleship is a decision to follow one whose life of obedience led to death on a cross (not power over nations), discipleship empowers us to bring healing to others, but it does not make us God.

When we give lives to Jesus, we give everything we have and we trust God to give us all that we need.

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Finding God in the still, small things

June 21, 2025

Pentecost 2 – 2025

Luke 8:26-39 (1 Kings 19:1-4, 18-15a)

Marian Free

In the name of God whose surprises and little miracles are a part of every day. Amen.

Sometimes I wonder if we are so interested in the dramatic and extraordinary that we miss the important details that are contained in the quiet and seemingly mundane. This can be as true of our everyday lives as it can of world events. The small and not so small miracles occur unremarked because we are so absorbed in the bigger,  more exciting picture. This is equally true when it comes to reading and teaching the Bible. We all know about Moses and the burning bush because of the miracle of a bush burning without being consumed and because God spoke the bush, but it takes someone who is really paying attention to notice that ‘Moses turned aside’. A burning bush has no impact if it is not noticed. If Moses had not paid attention, there would have been no story – no plagues, no Exodus, no promised land. The small details are important.

Of necessity our lectionary has to be selective. In order to read through the gospels in three years, we omit passages that are repeated in the gospels, for example, this year we will not hear the parable of the sower during a Sunday service. The lectionary writers have also judiciously omitted some of the more controversial or offensive passages. A consequence of such decision-making is that small details (connecting sentences, off-hand comments) can be overlooked.

Whether it is our focus on the more dramatic aspects of Scripture, or omissions in the lectionary, our view of scripture can be skewed. 

Such is the case with our journey through Luke’s gospel. At the end of Epiphany, we had read up until the end of chapter 6. Today we have leapt straight to the end of chapter 8. Of course, some of chapters 7 and 8 will be covered in other years, but the omission of these verses mean that we never hear the first few verses of chapter 8 which are unique to Luke and which give us quite a different picture of Jesus’ travelling companions. Luke tells us that: “The twelve were with him, as well as some women who had been cured of evil spirits and infirmities: Mary, called Magdalene, from whom seven demons had gone out, and Joanna, the wife of Herod’s steward Chuza, and Susanna, and many others, who provided for them out of their resources.”

Jesus is accompanied, it seems, not only by the 12, but also by a substantial number of women – many others. Notably, these were women of some significance – the wife of Herod’s steward for one. They were also women of some means. Luke tells us that they provided for them out of their own resources. “Them” in this instance appears to refer to Jesus and the 12 – not an insubstantial number to feed and to accommodate. Luke drops this snippet of information into his story as a matter of fact so even were we to hear these lines in church we might be tempted to pass them by and not pay attention to the fact that Jesus’ followers (counted alongside the twelve) were women. We take Luk’es statement for granted, forgetting that in the first century Mediterranean world it was socially unacceptable for women who were not accompanied by male relatives to interact with men.

The story of the Gerasene demoniac is another example of our tendency to focus on the dramatic and to miss the small details. The account of Jesus’ casting the demons from the Gerasene into the pigs is vivid and detailed and includes so much that is amazing and unbelievable that it is these that catch our attention. We are fascinated by the state of the man who had demons – he is naked, lives among the tombs and at times becomes so wild that he is guarded and bound with chains and shackles. Indeed, he becomes so violent at times that he is able to break the chains and disappear into the “wilds”. We are struck by the fact that the poor man has been possessed not by one but by a legion of demons. It is little wonder that we focus on the man’s miraculous recovery and Jesus’ divine power.

Then there are the pigs. What did they do to deserve being possessed by demons that thrust them headlong into the lake? And what of the pig herders whose responsibility it was to tend the pigs?  What punishment will be inflicted on the herders as a consequence of the loss? And so on.

Demon possession and the sorry pigs become front and centre. There is nothing wrong with that, but if we only look at the big picture, we risk missing an important but significant detail. When the people came out to see what had happened, “they found the man from whom the demons had gone sitting at the feet of Jesus, clothed and in his right mind.” Jesus has not only set the man free, but he has also restored his dignity, his personhood and his freedom. The man is clothed, unbound and has adopted the position of a disciple. Yes, Jesus performed a miracle, but the miracle was only a means to an end – recognising and affirming the humanity of the afflicted man.

When it comes to evangelism, it is easy to try to get people’s attention by focussing on the miraculous, on Jesus’ godly powers. In fact, this is how some people sell the gospel. Believe in Jesus and this can happen to you. (Even believe in Jesus and you will be able to perform miracles.) The reality is often much more down to earth – being seen, being heard, being accepted for who you are. God sees us and, no matter our faults and failings, no matter the things that bind us, God loves us and sets us free to be who we are.

The dramatic and miraculous are only one part of the story. If we pay attention, if we look for the detail, if pay heed to the omissions, we will discover – as did Elijah – that God is not in the wind, not in the earthquake, not in the fire, but in the “sheer silence”.

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A matter of touch (or not) – Christ is risen

April 19, 2025

Easter Day – 2025

Luke 24:1-12

Marian Free

In the name of God whom death could not defeat and whom the tomb could not contain. Amen.

There is a beautiful movie made in Japan titled “Departures”. It is not, as I imagined, about a travel agency, but about a funeral company. A cellist, Daigo, is forced to take a job with a funeral company when his contract with an orchestra is terminated. At first he will not even share the news of his new job with his wife because those who handle the dead were considered “unclean” and by virtue of their “uncleanness” were prevented from mixing with other people. By association, the Daigo’s wife would also have been treated as a pariah. What Daigo learns by observation and practice, is that it is a privilege to prepare the bodies of the dead for burial. Through the film, we are given an insight into the gentleness, care and reverence that it taken with the deceased and with Daigo (and then his wife) understand that really it is an honourable profession – a gift to the provider of the service as well as to the beneficiary.

The practice of preparing bodies for death has become the province of funeral directors in Western nations, but there are still people who insist on performing this last intimate, and personal ritual for a loved one.

Our readings for the past week have highlighted intimacy and touch. We began two weeks ago with the account of Mary anointing Jesus’ feet with costly oil and then wiping his feet with her hair. Maundy Thursday recounts Jesus’ kneeling before the disciples and washing and drying their feet. Then in contrast to the gentle intimacy of these acts, Good Friday reminds us how Jesus’ body was handled roughly, and brutally by men who did not know him, whose touch was not a sign of intimacy, but of domination and indifference. Finally, the feet that were anointed by Mary and the hands that washed the feet of the disciples were fixed to a cross with nails. To add insult to injury Jesus’ broken, bloodied body was hurried wrapped and placed in a tomb – denied the reverent washing and anointing that was the custom[1].

In a culture in which the body is washed, anointed and wrapped shortly following death – a final act of love – it must have been awful for the women to watch Jesus’ torn and shattered body placed in a tomb without ceremony and to have known that it would be at least thirty-six hours before the ritual cleansing and anointing could begin – by which time the blood would have dried and the bones forever out of shape. For the women, women who had followed him all the way from Galilee and who had supported him from their own pockets, the grief experienced by Jesus’ death would have been compounded by the abruptness of his burial, a burial with no ceremony and little preparation. As he was torn away from them by his arrest and crucifixion, so now he is quickly removed from their reach.

It is no surprise that, at early dawn, as soon as the day of rest had ended, the women found themselves at the tomb, ready to say their final ‘goodbyes”, to do what had been denied them two nights ago. They have come to wash his body, to massage it with oils, and to touch Jesus one last time.

BUT in this week in which touch has been so important, touch is now denied the women who followed him to the cross and stood by while he died. The tomb is open and the body, the precious body gone; gone. The tomb is empty because Jesus is not dead, and not being dead, does not require the ministration of the women. Were they still bereft? Were they further traumatised? We do not know. We do not even know if the women ever see Jesus, let alone touch him again. Their part in the story ends here. 

The emphasis on touch in the weeks leading up to Jesus’ resurrection warns us not to lose sight of the fact that Jesus fully embodied our physical, fleshly form, that he was able to touch and be touched in ways that demonstrated his love for and his desire to be close to us. As we rejoice in the resurrection, and in the imperishability of Jesus’ risen body, let us not abandon the earthly reality of the Jesus that sought (and seeks) intimacy with us. The tension between the physical Jesus and the risen Christ reminds us that the risen Christ is not aloof and remote, but that the risen, ascended Jesus is the Jesus who was totally present, totally engaged and who wants to be in relationship with us.

We cannot touch, but we can remember that once he was touched and that he could touch.

Christ is risen.

He is risen indeed!

[1] At least Jesus’ body was claimed for burial. Most victims of crucifixion were unceremoniously tossed into a pit.

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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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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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Of foxes and hens – Luke 13:31-35

March 15, 2025

Lent 2 -2025

Luke 13:31-35

Marian Free

In the name of God who has “yet more light and truth to break forth from God’s word[1].” Amen.

As part of my Lenten discipline, I am reading Healing Wounds: the 2025 Lent Book by Norwegian Bishop and author Erik Varden. Varden is a Trappist monk, so I should not have been surprised that his approach to the study is that of a Roman Catholic.  While I understand his imagery, I find some of it jarring. That said, the book is providing much food for thought. Varden takes as his starting point an ancient poem authored by one Arnulf of Leuven (1200-48), a Cistercian and an author. The poem is a meditation on the cross, specifically on Christ’s body on the cross – his feet, his knees, his hands. Varden suggests that the poem asks the question: “How do I appropriate the passion narrative with due proportion and without presumption?” or “How do I experience Christ’s wounds as the living source of a remedy by which sin is cured and humanity’s wounds, my wounds are healed?”[2]

It is not only Varden’s theology that is somewhat different from my own, but his use of scripture. In particular, given this week’s gospel, I have found my self pondering his reference to Luke 13:34b. “How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing!” Varden is commenting on the poet’s reflection on Jesus’ hands – “your sacred hands extended”.  The poet continues: “You show yourself broad, ready to receive both good and bad; attracting the indolent, calling the devout, holding them in your embrace, freely open to all.” Influenced by the language of the poet Varden writes: “He (Jesus) desired to gather Jerusalem’s children ‘together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings.’”

I will leave you to ponder what to make of the image. It may be that you, like Arnulf and Varden, see Christ’s outstretched arms on the cross as a welcoming embrace, and that for you too Jesus’ arms nailed to the cross recall to mind Jesus’ words as he contemplates Jerusalem in today’s gospel.

Varden has, it seems to me, used scripture quite creatively, and this is just one example. That said, it is only in the last few hundred years that we have expected scripture to make literal sense. Until quite recently scholars and preachers alike understood that scripture was to be understood allegorically and that it did not have to be entirely logical or linear.

This historical understanding of scripture comes in handy when we examine today’s gospel which, read as a piece, does not seem to be particularly coherent. (In fact, as I am discovering during Morning Prayer, much of Luke’s gospel reads as a list of unrelated sayings or comments.)

In the five verses that comprise this morning’s gospel there appear to be at least four unconnected themes – warnings, determination, concern and prediction – each of which warrant more than the one or two lines allotted.  There are foxes and hens, Pharisees who warn rather than attack Jesus, a city that kills prophets, a Saviour who is also a mother hen, and a saying that could refer to Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem or to his post-resurrection return. 

In these verses we see Jesus at his most discerning, his most assertive and his most maternal.

Trying to construct a sermon on any one of those themes means neglecting the others. There is a temptation, into which I may have fallen, to speak of foxes and hens, even though there is no direct connection between them in the text. 

Sometimes, I believe, it is important not to try to make literal sense of the text but allow it to speak to us in whatever way is appropriate for the time – ours or the world’s. It is important not to force the text into some form of coherence – to make the Pharisees’ warning relate to Jesus’ passionate outburst of love, to conflate Jesus’ discussion with the Pharisees with his reflection on Jerusalem.  Likewise, as familiar and heart-warming as they are, we should not take Jesus’ words about gathering the chicks out of context.

It is important to try to make sense of our scriptures, to place them in their context, and to understand the author’s literary skills and intention.  There are times though when sitting with the complexities and contradictions that we find in scripture, accepting that no amount of research, no amount of manipulation of the text will translate into something that makes absolute sense is just what is needed. 

Sometimes, as I have certainly said before, there seems to be some wisdom, if not intention here – the very incoherence of a text serves a purpose. Texts that seem to make little sense serve as a warning that we are not to rely on an earthly capacity for understanding, or to believe that earthly values are a reflection of heavenly values. Complex, contradictory scriptures force us to accept that we can never truly know the mind of God and that we must let go of our desire for certainty, simply sit with the text, and retain an openness to the movement of the Spirit – in the text, in ourselves and in others.

In the words of the hymn:

We limit not the truth of God

to our poor reach of mind,

by notion of our day and sect,

crude, partial and confined:

no let a new and better hope

within our hearts be stirred:

                  the Lord has yet more truth and life

to break forth from his word

O Father, Son, and Spirit, send

us increase from above;

enlarge expand all living souls

to comprehend your love;

and make us all go on to know

 with nobler power conferred:

                  that you have yet more light and truth

to break forth from your word.[3]

Sometimes all we can do is to let the words wash over us and make such sense as they will.

[1] George Rawson, hymn writer,1807-89.

[2] Varden,  p20. The book is available on Kindle as well as in hard copy.

[3] George Rawson, Togetther in Song, 453.

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Lent 1 – Not what we can do for God but what God can do for us.

March 8, 2025

Lent 1 – 2025

Luke 4:1-13

Marian Free

In the name of God, who asks only that we seek and serve God alone. Amen.

Over the past week the following meme has been posted several times on Facebook.

“This Lent keep the chocolate and give up bigotry, judgement, legalism and hatred in all forms.”

I find it helpful as it serves as a reminder that Lent is less about willpower and more about facing our humanity in all its ugliness. If, for example, we spend the entirety of Lent battling to go without chocolate, wine or some other pleasure, and emerge triumphant at Easter because we have resisted the temptation to indulge in the forbidden treat, but if in the process we have in essence remained unchanged, then we have missed the point. Worse, in giving up something superficial like chocolate, we have only made Lent self-focussed, rather than God focussed. In fact, rather than learning how much we need to depend on God, we have, by our dependence on willpower, demonstrated that we don’t need God – we can overcome temptation all on our own! Instead of learning to trust in God, all we have done is proven how little we trust in God!

It is useful to look at Jesus’ time in the wilderness which mirrors that of the Israelites who, having been delivered by God from their Egyptian oppressors spent 40 years in the wilderness. Both the Israelites and Jesus are named as God’s Son before they are thrust into the wilderness, but whereas the desert experience only revealed the Israelites complete lack of faith in God, Jesus time in the wilderness demonstrated his complete and utter trust – this despite facing many of the same obstacles as faced by the Israelites – testing in the form of hunger, thirst, and the apparent absence of God. Whereas the Israelites complained, put God to the test and worshipped other gods, Jesus steadfastly refuses to do anything that would compromise his integrity, demonstrate self-reliance or evidence a lack of trust in God. 

Each of the tests that Jesus faces mirrors one that the Israelites faced (and failed). 

For generations the Israelites had suffered increasing privations under the Egyptians. They had been enslaved, made to work increasingly hard and the latest Pharoah had demanded that their male children be killed at birth. Finally, God intervened to set them free. God not only delivered them from the hands of Pharoah, God also ensured that they did not leave Egypt empty-handed. (They were able to take with them all their flocks (Exodus 12:38) and they left enriched having demanded and received from their neighbours silver and gold jewellery and clothes (Exodus 12:35,36). Yet despite all the evidence that their escape from Egypt was God’s doing (plagues, crossing of the Red Sea), the people had barely left their oppressors behind when they began to complain.  First it was the lack water, then, within two months of leaving Egypt they were complaining again: “If only we had died by the hand of the LORD in the land of Egypt, when we sat by the fleshpots and ate our fill of bread; for you have brought us out into this wilderness to kill this whole assembly with hunger.” (Exodus 16:3)

In response, God provided the manna and the quail. Deuteronomy interprets this 

as a lesson that will help them to understand “that one does not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of the Lord” (8;3).

Later when water is short, the Israelites again complain: “Why did you bring us out of Egypt, to kill us and our children and livestock with thirst?” and Moses accuses them of putting God to the test (Exodus 17:2,3). This event is referred to in Deuteronomy which teaches: “Do not put the LORD your God to the test, as you tested him at Massah” (6:16).

Worst of all, when Moses was communing with God on Mount Sinai, the Israelites felt abandoned – by him, but most of all by God.  They gathered all their gold, fashioned a golden calf – a god that was no god – and worshipped it – breaking the first and most significant commandment. When the Israelites prepare to enter the promised land Moses warns them: “you shall not bow down to their gods, or worship them. You shall worship the LORD your God, and I will bless your bread and your water; and I will take sickness away from among you (6:24, 13).

Both the Israelites and Jesus face other tests (Luke 4:13), but these are the those that the evangelists see fit to record. Jesus responds: One shall not live by bread alone, worship the Lord your God and serve only him, and do not put the Lord your God to the test. By his reactions to the tests he faced in the desert, Jesus models that there is a different way to respond to testing situations, a way that demonstrates confidence in God and an understanding that it is through trust in God, not trust in humankind or in one’s own power that one finds true strength.

The season of Lent is not an opportunity to test our own strength, but a time to test the strength of our confidence in God, to show our willingness to let God direct our way and to determine not to be governed by possessions, by a desire for comfort or by a need for security. 

If we give something during Lent it is to see how we react when we are denied some of life’s comforts, to observe our weaknesses and to learn to trust that God will see us through.

Perhaps the most important thing to note is that Jesus’ time in the wilderness is not of his own choosing. He is led into the wilderness by the Holy Spirit. We observe the season of Lent as a reminder of Jesus’ experience, but that does not mean that our practice at this time should be of our choosing, but rather it should be our response to the prompting of the Holy Spirit revealing what we should give up, what aspects of our behaviour most need examining and what aspects of our relationship with God most need improving.

Perhaps we should emerge at Easter – not stronger but weaker, more vulnerable, more aware of our shortcomings, and more willing to rely on God (not ourselves) to put things right.  

We should ask ourselves is our Lenten practice about what we can do for God or what God can do for us?

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Are you awake? Transfiguration

March 1, 2025

Transfiguration – 2025

Luke 9:28-38

Marian Free

In the name of God who reveals Godself to us in many and varied ways. Amen.

I am sure that you, like me, heard this morning’s gospel in a stereotypical way – after all, we are all familiar with the story of Jesus’ transfiguration. We know that Jesus went up the mountain with Peter, John and James, that Jesus spoke with Elijah and Moses, that he was transfigured, that God spoke from the cloud using language much like that that was used at Jesus’ baptism, that Peter offered to build three tents, and that Jesus told them to say nothing. 

Our familiarity with the story of the Transfiguration can make us lazy readers/listeners. We see and hear what we expect to see and hear which means that we often miss the subtle but significant differences in Luke’s version of the story. For example, if you look again you will notice that Luke does not even use the language of transfiguration (from the Greek word metamorphosis). According to Luke it is only Jesus’ face that was changed. Later we discover that the disciples saw his glory, but there is nothing to suggest he underwent a complete transformation. If we had access only to Luke’s gospel, we would interpret this event as something like the revealing of Jesus’ true nature to his inner circle.  This suggests that Luke felt that Jesus had no need to be changed or transfigured, but that the disciples’ needed to see Jesus for who he really was before they continued on their journey.

There are a number of other curious differences in Luke’s retelling of this event. 

Luke tells us why Jesus went up the mountain – to pray. Prayer is an integral aspect of Jesus’ ministry in Luke.  Jesus prays before all the major events of his ministry. It is in the context of prayer, communion with God, that Jesus’ face is changed, and the disciples see his glory. Only Luke tells us the content of the discussion between Jesus, Moses and Elijah. They are talking about “Jesus’ departure, which he was about to accomplish at Jerusalem.” Specifically, the topic of conversation is Jesus’ departure or death, the high point or fulfillment of his mission – something that Jesus has already revealed to the disciples, but which probably needed reinforcing.

Some context is important here. The event on the mountain top occurs at a pivotal point in Luke’s account of Jesus’ life.  In the previous verses we have learnt that Jesus has equipped the twelve with power over demons and the ability to cure diseases and that he has sent them out to proclaim the kingdom – in other words Jesus has begun the process of handing over his ministry to the disciples. What is more, Jesus’ true identity has been revealed to the disciples when Peter declared: “You are the Christ”. Jesus has followed up Peter’s statement by announcing for the first time that he, Jesus, is to die and rise again. Then, in Luke 9:52 we read that Jesus set his face towards Jerusalem – the place where death awaits him. The strong language “set his face” suggests that going to Jerusalem was for Jesus a matter of will – he knew what lay before him, but he knew too that to fulfil his purpose he had to go. 

We can see then Jesus has begun to prepare his disciples for their future ministry, he has revealed his true nature and told the disciples what the future holds. From now on, his teaching which previously had been addressed to everyone will be focused on his disciples. 

It is in this context of transition – leaving Galilee and going to Jerusalem, teaching everyone and teaching the disciples – that Luke places his account of Jesus’ on the mountain top. Jesus goes up the mountain to pray.  While he is praying Jesus’ face is changed and Elijah and Moses, icons of Israel’s past appear and talk to Jesus about what is to happen – whether they give him advice or courage, we will never know.

While all this is happening, Peter, John and James – Jesus’ inner circle – are “weighed down with or heavy with sleep”. The expression is ambiguous. It is not clear if the disciples are struggling to keep awake or if they are groggy because they have woken from sleep.  Either way, these privileged three appear to have nearly missed seeing the change in Jesus’ face, eavesdropping on the conversation with Elijah and Moses, observing his glory and hearing the voice from the cloud. 

What a close call! How much poorer would our understanding of Jesus’ life and ministry have been had the disciples drifted off!

We miss so much if we are not paying attention to what we hear and read. We fail to notice the subtle ways in which the gospel writers put their own slant on the Jesus’ story.  We blend the four gospel accounts into one and miss seeing details that are intended to enrich our understanding or to challenge our complacency. We overlook the very obvious flaws in Jesus’ followers, even those who are closest to him. We soften the edges of Jesus’ challenging and confrontational teachings.

What else do we miss? Are we like the disciples so “weighed down” with sleepiness or complacency that important revelations of God come and go while our attention is elsewhere?

The sleepiness of the Peter, John and James is a warning to us all. They so nearly missed out on one of the most extraordinary events of Jesus’ ministry because, despite being specially chosen by Jesus for this one event, instead of being alert and expectant, they allowed their focus to slip. 

The sleepiness of Peter, John and James confronts us with our own lack of attention, our own failure to believe that the out of the ordinary can occur at any time and in any place – whether we are at prayer or engaged in the business of our day, whether we are alone on a mountain top or in the midst of a crowd of people, whether we are wide awake or drifting off to sleep. 

As we enter the season of Lent, it is timely to ask ourselves: What are the distractions that prevent us from being aware of God’s presence – busyness, ambition, complacency, tiredness, or anxiety. 

Let us pray that our Lenten practice will increase our awareness of Gods’ presence in our lives and of the ways in which we allow ourselves to be “weighed down” by distractions.  

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