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Proclaiming Welcome

December 2, 2022

Advent 2 – 2022
Matthew 3:1-12
Marian Free

In the name of God whose children we all are. Amen.

I am currently in the UK. One of the advantages of being in another country is that you can see how the other half lives – at least to some extent. It is difficult to really get a sense of how people are coping with the increased cost of living but easy to observe that on the whole people here have decided to live with COVID. What is most obvious to me is the differences in the Anglican Church. On the one hand the church in this nation is struggling to live with difference (particularly in relation to the ordination of women). On the other hand, the churches which I have attended and visited openly proclaim a greater degree of inclusivity than I am used to.

In a prominent place near the entrance of many churches is a statement something like this (taken from the website of the church in Whythenshawe):

We believe in inclusive Church – church which does not discriminate, on any level, on grounds of economic power, gender, mental health, physical ability, race or sexuality. We believe in Church which welcomes and serves all people in the name of Jesus Christ; which is scripturally faithful; which seeks to proclaim the Gospel afresh for each generation; and which, in the power of the Holy Spirit, allows all people to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Jesus Christ.

It is not that I have not worshipped and served in churches that hold and live out such values, but there are few churches in my experience that are as explicit and open – declaring as this does, that there is no cause whatsoever to exclude anyone from the compass of God’s love.

The notion that God’s love was limited to a specific race and within that race to those who observed particular codes of behaviour, extends into the Old Testament. It is based on the idea that God chose Abraham and Abraham’s descendants to be God’s people. This notion was reinforced when the people called out of Egypt were named as God’s children, given their own unique law and forbidden to intermarry with those of a different nationality and god. The Temple, when it was built made it clear that there were some who were ‘in’ and others who were ‘out. There was a separate court for the Gentiles who were excluded from the inner court. A desire to further demonstrate difference and to maintain purity and proper observance of the law lies behind the apparent rigidity of the Pharisees.

Indeed it is easy to read the history of Israel as a story of maintaining racial and religious purity and of the Israelites setting themselves apart from the world as God’s chosen people. That would, however be to miss all the clues the point to an inclusive God. Naaman the Syrian is healed (if indirectly) by the prophet Elisha, Ruth (a Gentile) becomes the forbear of Jesus, God spares the Gentile city of Nineveh, Cyrus (the King of Persia) is called God’s anointed or Messiah and the prophets proclaim a time when the Gentiles will stream into Jerusalem to worship in the Temple. In other words, the exclusivity that is often associated with the people of Israel is not truly representative of the Old Testament accounts.

The New Testament further brings into the foreground the inclusivity of God’s love. We observe this in Jesus’ determination to eat with sinners and prostitutes, his inclusion of women among his followers and supporters, his refusal to deny healing to Gentiles, his encounters with the people of Samaria and his use of the Samaritan as an example of love of neighbour. While it was not without its difficulties, the early church quickly recognised that Gentiles, as well as Jews, were coming to faith in Jesus and that any community that formed in Jesus’ name would need to find a way to accommodate both groups.

Interestingly the message of inclusivity is proclaimed from the very start. As John proclaims the coming of one who is more powerful than he is, so he indirectly declares the inclusive nature of the God who has sent him and who will send the ‘more powerful one.” A message that could be seen to be directed exclusively to the people of Israel is actually a declaration of inclusivity and an omen of what is to come. To those who would hold themselves apart from others, who would claim that they have the characteristics (birth and behaviour) that qualifies them to be children of God – the Sadducees and the Pharisees – John says: “Do not presume to say to yourselves, ‘We have Abraham as our ancestor’; for I tell you, God is able from these stones to raise up children to Abraham.”

“God is able from these stones to raise up children to Abraham.” Here, even before the ministry of Jesus has begun, his forerunner is warning those who by ritual or law have set themselves apart
from those who are different that the God whom they claim to worship is not a God who sets boundaries, but a God whose love is capable of embracing all and that it is God, not they who decides who belongs and who does not. John is making it clear that depending on race or on adherence to codes of behaviour or liturgical observances is not a guarantee of belonging. Belonging is a matter of ‘repenting’ of turning towards God – and that this is something that anyone, of any background, race, class, gender or sexuality can do.

For a great many of us, it is self-evident that God’s love does not exclude anyone whose seeks to be loved, but perhaps that needs to be made more explicit on our doors, on our websites and in our welcome. As we announce the advent of Jesus, let us commit ourselves to making it abundantly clear that God’s love embraces all and that all are welcome.

Advent 2 – 2022

Matthew 3:1-12

Marian Free

 

In the name of God whose children we all are. Amen.

I am currently in the UK. One of the advantages of being in another country is that you can see how the other half lives – at least to some extent. It is difficult to really get a sense of how people are coping with the increased cost of living but easy to observe that on the whole people here have decided to live with COVID. What is most obvious to me is the differences in the Anglican Church. On the one hand the church in this nation is struggling to live with difference (particularly in relation to the ordination of women). On the other hand, the churches which I have attended and visited openly proclaim a greater degree of inclusivity than I am used to.

 

In a prominent place near the entrance of many churches is a statement something like this (taken from the website of the church in Whythenshawe):

 

We believe in inclusive Church – church which does not discriminate, on any level, on grounds of economic power, gender, mental health, physical ability, race or sexuality. We believe in Church which welcomes and serves all people in the name of Jesus Christ; which is scripturally faithful; which seeks to proclaim the Gospel afresh for each generation; and which, in the power of the Holy Spirit, allows all people to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Jesus Christ.

 

It is not that I have not worshipped and served in churches that hold and live out such values, but there are few churches in my experience that are as explicit and open – declaring as this does, that there is no cause whatsoever to exclude anyone from the compass of  God’s love.

 

The notion that God’s love was limited to a specific race and within that race to those who observed particular codes of behaviour, extends into the Old Testament. It is based on the idea that God chose Abraham and Abraham’s descendants to be God’s people. This notion was reinforced when the people called out of Egypt were named as God’s children, given their own unique law and forbidden to intermarry with those of a different nationality and god. The Temple, when it was built made it clear that there were some who were ‘in’ and others who were ‘out. There was a separate court for the Gentiles who were excluded from the inner court. A desire to further demonstrate difference and to maintain purity and proper observance of the law lies behind the apparent rigidity of the Pharisees.

 

Indeed it is easy to read the history of Israel as a story of maintaining racial and religious purity and of the Israelites setting themselves apart from the world as God’s chosen people. That would, however be to miss all the clues the point to an inclusive God. Naaman the Syrian is healed (if indirectly)  by the prophet Elisha, Ruth (a Gentile) becomes the forbear of Jesus, God spares the Gentile city of Nineveh,  Cyrus (the King of Persia) is called God’s anointed or Messiah and the  prophets proclaim a time when the Gentiles will stream into Jerusalem to worship in the Temple. In other words, the exclusivity that is often associated with the people of Israel is not truly representative of the Old Testament accounts.

 

The New Testament further brings into the foreground the inclusivity of God’s love. We observe this in Jesus’ determination to eat with sinners and prostitutes, his inclusion of women among his followers and supporters, his refusal to deny healing to Gentiles, his encounters with the people of Samaria and his use of the Samaritan as an example of love of neighbour. While it was not without its difficulties, the early church quickly recognised that Gentiles, as well as Jews, were coming to faith in Jesus and that any community that formed in Jesus’ name would need to find a way to accommodate both groups.

 

Interestingly the message of inclusivity is proclaimed from the very start. As John proclaims the coming of one who is more powerful than he is, so he indirectly declares the inclusive nature of the God who has sent him and who will send the ‘more powerful one.” A message that could be seen to be directed exclusively to the people of Israel is actually a declaration of inclusivity and an omen of what is to come. To those who would hold themselves apart from others, who would claim that they have the characteristics (birth and behaviour) that qualifies them to be children of God – the Sadducees and the Pharisees – John says: “Do not presume to say to yourselves, ‘We have Abraham as our ancestor’; for I tell you, God is able from these stones to raise up children to Abraham.

“God is able from these stones to raise up children to Abraham.” Here, even before the ministry of Jesus has begun, his forerunner is warning those who by ritual or law have set themselves apart from those who are different that the God whom they claim to worship is not a God who sets boundaries, but a God whose love is capable of embracing all and that it is God, not they who decides who belongs and who does not. John is making it clear that depending on race or on adherence to codes of behaviour or liturgical observances is not a guarantee of belonging. Belonging is a matter of ‘repenting’ of turning towards God – and that this is something that anyone, of any background, race, class, gender or sexuality can do.

 

For a great many of us, it is self-evident that God’s love does not exclude anyone whose seeks to be loved, but perhaps that needs to be made more explicit on our doors, on our websites and in our welcome. As we announce the advent of Jesus, let us commit ourselves to making it abundantly clear that God’s love embraces all and that all are welcome.

For a great many of us, it is self-evident that God’s love does not exclude anyone whose seeks to be loved, but perhaps that needs to be made more explicit on our doors, on our websites and in our welcome. As we announce the advent of Jesus, let us commit ourselves to making it abundantly clear that God’s love embraces all and that all are welcome.

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A sovereign like not other

November 16, 2022

The Reign of Christ
Luke 23:33-43
Marian Free

In the name of Christ, whose reign is like nothing we might have imagined. Amen.

Two sovereigns, two very different deaths.

We have witnessed in recent times all the pomp and ceremony that is attached to royalty – at least as it is known in the United Kingdom and the Commonwealth. The passage of the Queen Elizabeth II’s body from Scotland to Westminster, the lying-in state, the respectful crowds, the funeral attended by dignitaries from all over the world and the procession that preceded and followed the funeral were the most amazing spectacle in the best sense of the word. It is difficult to begin to imagine the amount of organisation required for the whole affair to run seamlessly and impossible to imagine how much it all cost.

How different from the death of Jesus – a sham trial, a brutal whipping, mocking guards and jeering crowds, a humiliating procession to the cross and a disgraceful, drawn-out death. As it was the Passover, Jesus’ body was not even afforded the dignity of anointing. The only solemnity afforded this king was the removal of his body from the cross and its burial in a new tomb. A shocking scenario, that seems as far from a royal death as possible. Yet it is here, during Jesus’ trial and subsequent execution, that Jesus is identified as king, and if only in order that charges might be brought against him and the presumed threat that he poses to the church and empire might be eliminated.

The Israelites had hoped for a time in which God would send a king who would restore the splendour and might of David. Such a king would indeed be a threat to the Empire. A king of David’s stature and power would not hesitate (empowered by God) to take on the might of Caesar. Jesus, however, is not that king, which is why the religious leaders do not recognise him for who he is but see him simply as a nuisance. Jesus was born in humble circumstances to very ordinary parents, he lived the life of an itinerant preacher. His choice of followers and his behaviour were not what might be expected of someone who would lead the people of God and who would break the yoke of the oppressor. Jesus is so unlike the expected king, that few recognise that he is indeed the anointed one, the one promised by God.

To most of his contemporaries, and. especially. to the leadership of the church – the Sadducees and Pharisees, Jesus is at best an irritation and at worst a threat. Jesus directly challenges their authority, questions their interpretation of scripture, and refuses to observe purity laws and to disassociate himself from sinners. It is the fact that he bests them in argument and undermines their position that most gets under the skin of the religious leaders. Almost from the beginning of the gospel account, they have been looking for a means to discredit him and to diminish his influence on the crowds. Worse, almost from the start they (the religious leaders) have been looking for an excuse to kill him.

The religious leaders certainly do not believe Jesus to be a king , but when they bring Jesus to Pilate it suits their purpose to accuse Jesus of insurrection – of claiming to be a king when he is not. They know that Pilate will have to take their complaint seriously if they suggest. that Jesus is a threat to Rome. “We found this man perverting our nation, forbidding us to pay taxes to the emperor, and saying that he himself is the anointed one, a king.” Pilate resists condemning Jesus, and finds no evidence against him, yet he succumbs sufficiently to the pressure from the crowds that, according to the inscription above Jesus’ cross, Pilate has Jesus crucified on the basis that he is “King of the Jews.” (Presumably, the religious leaders and the crowds who have bayed for Jesus’ death don’t see the not-so-subtle slur implied by that inscription. Pilate has taken their words and turned them against the crowd. Indeed, Pilate has given the Jews a king – a king who is degraded, powerless, beaten, and naked.)

The irony is that it is here, on the cross, that we learn what sort of king Jesus is – a king who so identified with our condition that he became one of us and one with us. A king who did not seek power and glory but who allowed himself to be crucified rather than raise an army to defeat the Empire. A king who offered forgiveness to those who so barbarously nailed him to the cross and whose compassion compelled him to promise Paradise to the thief who was crucified with him. A king, who above all placed his trust in God and not in himself.

As we enter Advent and begin to focus on the Christ who comes in glory to judge, it is important to remember that the Christ who will come in glory is the Jesus on the cross, and that one who now reigns from heaven is the Christ who still bears the scars of the nails and the mark of the spear.

A crucified king is a contradiction, one that constantly reminds us that Jesus chose our existence and that, however exalted, continues to be intimately aware of our joys and sorrows, our triumphs and failures, our hopes and our fears. A crucified king reminds us that following Jesus does not shield us from heartache, persecution and isolation. A crucified king is a paradox topples our certainties, prevents us from confining Jesus to either to the exalted one or to the humble one and keeps us open to the endless possibilities of who Jesus is.

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Nothing is permanent

November 12, 2022

Pentecost 23 – 2022
Luke 21:5-19
Marian Free

In the name of God in whom we place our trust. Amen.

The past few years have been very unsettling to say the least. We have witnessed extreme and destructive weather events and a shifting international landscape as the influence of the US declines and that of China rise. COVID further exacerbated the uneasiness with closed borders, shortages of food and manufacturing products and the enormous stresses experienced by business trying to keep going during lockdowns. The war in Ukraine has further created havoc on the world stage. Unprecedented fuel and food shortages are impacting first world economies and interruptions to shipping are threatening starvation in third world nations dependent on wheat from Ukraine. A real or impending economic recession is further adding to a sense of gloom and doom. Add to this Putin’s threats to unleash nuclear warheads and it is not too difficult to imagine that we are approaching a cataclysmic end of the world such as that described in today’s gospel.

At the time that the gospels were written, the Jewish uprising had been completely squashed, the Temple destroyed, and Jerusalem razed to the ground. For those who believed that Jesus was the Christ and for those who did not, this was a foundational event. The Temple, which had been magnificently restored by Herod the Great was a visible sign of God’s presence among the people, a symbol of national identity and the only place in which sacrifices could be offered and rituals performed. Without Jerusalem and without the Temple, both Jews and those who would become Christians, had to rethink their identity and their relationship with God. If there was no Temple, there was nowhere in which to celebrate the major Jewish festivals, nowhere for those who lived in Jerusalem to worship on a daily basis and there was certainly no place or role for the priests who served in the Temple.

The Jewish uprising also caused an irreparable split between those who believed Jesus to be the Christ and those who did not. Until this time, Christ-followers (who became known as Christians) were tolerated as a Jewish sect. They worshipped in the Temple and were permitted to attend synagogues. After the destruction of Jerusalem however, Christians were excluded from the synagogues because they had refused to fight in the war. Thereafter they had to forge their own identity – separate from the faith which gave them birth. At the same time, they lost the protection afforded to Jews by the Roman Empire which in turn made them vulnerable to exclusion and persecution. As a “new” religion, Christians were viewed with suspicion and their beliefs regarded as superstition.

Jews had to redefine the way they related to God now that the Temple no longer existed. Forced out of Jerusalem, they turned to the law and Rabbinic Judaism was born.

The readers of Luke’s gospel must have found the times at least as uncertain and threatening as we find our own. While as yet they were not experiencing officially sanctioned persecution, their decision to follow Jesus isolated them from their family and friends, made it difficult to earn and income and, because they refused to worship the Emperor and the local gods they risked being harassed by citizens who believed that they were placing their cities in danger.

How reassuring, in such circumstances, to know that Jesus had understood that this would be a likely consequence of following him – that they might be arrested and persecuted, handed over to synagogues. and prisons and brought before kings and governors.

Whether or not Jesus was a soothsayer, he understood too the nature of the physical world. There would always be natural disasters – earthquakes, floods and famines – events that would be outside anyone’s ability to control. Further, Jesus knew and understood the nature of human beings – their propensity to greed, to lust for power, their desire to control others and in Israel’s case, their desire to overthrow the oppressor. There would, he knew, always be wars and insurrections and that his followers would not be exempt from fallout. He knew too, that in times of disaster and calamity people would seek comfort and hope wherever they could that that sometimes they would find it through the false promises offered by charlatans and false prophets. So, using the example of the Temple which appears to be solid and permanent, Jesus in effect warns the disciples that nothing stays the same.

In speaking to the disciples, Jesus not only has an eye on the immediate future and the dangers and perils it contains, but he also has an eye on the distant future – the future that will be a reality for his disciples in every time and place. His words to the disciples are as relevant to our age as they were to theirs. There will be wars and insurrections, earthquakes and famines and those who resist evil will risk arrest and. imprisonment

Having faith in him, will not protect or shield his followers from harm or from the difficulties that are attendant on living in an uncertain world. Disciples need to expect but should not be surprised if suffering comes their way, but in the face of uncertainty those who follow Jesus can be certain of a number of things – they will never be abandoned, they will always have the words to say, that not a hair of their head will perish and that through their endurance they will gain their souls.

If the Temple – that magnificent symbol of power, protection wealth – could be destroyed, then nothing is certain and nothing is permanent. To place our trust in earthly things is to be disappointed. To place our hope in Jesus is to be given strength to endure.

In whom or what do you trust?

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Blessed are YOU

November 5, 2022

All Saints – 2022
Luke 6:20-25
Marian Free

In the name of God, Creator of the Universe, Sharer of our earthly existence, and Giver of life and love. Amen.

Some decades ago, in experiments that would now be considered to be unethical, infant rhesus monkeys were removed from their mothers at birth and put in cages. with so-called “surrogate mothers”. These “surrogates” were very basic inanimate structures. One consisted of wire and wood and the second was covered in foam over which was a soft cloth. There were two experimental conditions. In one the wire structure had a milk bottle and the cloth one did not and in the other the situation was reversed. In both cases, the infants spent more time with the cloth mother. In both cases the infants were, needless to say, traumatised by the experience.

Touch is an essential component of human well-being, the sense we missed most during COVID. It not only indicates love and compassion, but it is essential to a child’s development – the growth of physical activities, of language and cognitive skills and of social-emotional competency. In adults, touch signifies safety and trust, reduces stress, and allows the immune system to function effectively. Without touch a person can become stressed, depressed, or anxious.

Indeed, the power of touch is such that it is seen to have the ability to heal or to transfer energy from one person to another. Physical touch gives a sense of connection, as if by association, the essence or charism of the other passes to the recipient and they share, for a moment at least, something of the other. (We see this when crowds reach out to touch, albeit briefly – a member of royalty, a rock-star, or say the Dalai Lama. Their desperation to touch suggests that they believe that the contact will mean that something of the status of the other will brush off on them and that their lives will be changed as a result.)

When Jesus begins his “Sermon on the Plain”, he is surrounded by a “great crowd of his disciples and a great multitude of people from all Judea, Jerusalem, and the coast of Tyre and Sidon. They had come to hear him and to be healed of their diseases; and those who were troubled with unclean spirits were cured. All in the crowd were trying to touch him, for power came out from him and healed all of them.”

“Power came out of him and healed all of them.” Everyone wants something from Jesus – they want to touch him, or to be touched by him. They want to be healed by him or they want to feel distinguished from the crowd by virtue of association with him. In other words, they want what Jesus has to give them – whether it is wholeness or a sense of importance.

When we read the Beatitudes in this context, we can see that they are not so much a comforting set of sayings but much more a form of rebuff, a corrective to the crowds’ way of thinking. Jesus is not commending the poor etc as much as he is challenging the crowds to consider what he really means to be one of his disciples and whether they are truly prepared to follow where discipleship will lead.

Luke tells us that the crowds have come to Jesus to hear his teaching and to be healed. They are drawn to him for what they can get out of the relationship. Jesus needs them to know that it is not so simple –something of him may rub off on them – but it will not be what they expect.

Perhaps this is why, when Jesus begins to speak, he focuses his attention his attention on his disciples – those in the crowd who identify themselves as his followers. What he has to say relates directly to them. When Jesus says: “Blessed are you who are poor”, he is not referring to the poor and hungry in general, but to those who are in right front of him – “you”.

His words then are a stark description of what it means to be a disciple, to be one of his followers. Jesus is saying that if some of his charism has flowed from him to them, it is a charism that leads not to glory, but to the cross, not to wealth and distinction, but to deprivation and obscurity. Being a disciple of Jesus will not spare them poverty, hunger, grief, or persecution. It will require resilience, fortitude, being willing to follow Jesus wherever that takes them, and understanding that the fate of the master will be the fate of the follower. But – and this is important – it is this dependence on God, this trusting in God to see one through, that will lead to the blessedness of being able to take life as it comes, to being content with one’s current situation and being able to cope with grief and loss.

In contrast, Jesus warns, those would-be disciples who are seeking notoriety, wealth, or entertainment will not, in the end, be satisfied. They will always be striving for what they do not have, and such striving will, in fact, take them away from the satisfaction, joy, and security that they are seeking. They will be cursed by dissatisfaction, discontent, and disappointment.

Jesus is telling his would-be disciples, and by inference us, that if we want to touch and be touched by him and if we want to share his charism and to be made whole, then we must understand that blessings will be found in suffering as well as joy, in emptiness as well as in satiation, in deprivation as well as in richness and that seeking to escape poverty, sorrow and obscurity will only lead to the very things that we seek to avoid.

Blessed are you if you seek Jesus above all else, for then you will know that you already have all that you need.

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Being seen

October 29, 2022

Pentecost 21 -2022
Luke 19:1-10
Marian Free
In the name of God, Earthmaker, Painbearer, Lifegiver. Amen

When we read the Bible in small portions, as we do on a Sunday morning, we often miss the crucial connections and the patterns that are carefully constructed by the authors. For example, each gospel is a beautifully crafted piece of literature in which the life and teaching of Jesus is presented according to the message that the author wants the listener to hear. So, you might notice that Matthew gathers the sayings of Jesus into the Sermon on the mount. In Luke’s gospel the same material is divided. Half can be found in the Sermon on the Plain. The remaining sayings are reserved for Jesus’ journey to Jerusalem and for Jesus privately teaching his disciples. Matthew and Luke use the same material in different ways because they have different purposes in writing.

When, for reasons of convenience or time, we separate the gospels into smaller parts, we often miss the context of what we are reading and therefore the author’s intention in placing the saying, story or parable where he does. Breaking the gospels into easily digestible pieces often begins in our Sunday Schools in which stories that are deemed suitable for children are over-simplified and stripped of the wealth of meaning that they contain. Whether for consumption during our Sunday liturgies, or for the children in our midst, many of the best-known stories from our gospels are often reduced to catch phrases – the prodigal son, the rich young man, the good Samaritan – which are not only easy to remember but which become short-hand for what is believed to be the essence of Jesus’ teaching in these accounts/parables.

We become so used to these short-hand ways of referring to biblical stories that it can be difficult to undo their long-held truisms. Such was the case when I came to the story of Zacchaeus this week. Is there anything new to be said, I wondered. I was caught by surprise then, when the commentary by Chelsea Harmon, provided a new perspective and helped me to see that the story of Zacchaeus was intricately connected to the stories in last week’s gospel and that the conclusion that I reached in last week’s blog was as relevant for this Sunday as it was for last Sunday. Indeed Luke 18:9-26 seems to form a unit with Luke 19:10. In the former, Jesus tells the parable about the two who go to the Temple to pray – one a self-righteous Pharisee who congratulates himself on his good behaviour and shows contempt for those who are not like him; the other a tax collector who beats his breast and asks for mercy. Jesus then warns his listeners that: “whoever does not receive the kingdom of God as a little child will never enter it” (18:17). Finally, Luke records Jesus’ encounter with the rich ruler who wants Jesus to reassure him that he is doing all that is required to inherit eternal life.

At first glance this parable, teaching and encounter seem to have nothing in common, but, when combined with Jesus’ encounter with Zacchaeus, a common thread becomes obvious. Salvation, inheriting eternal life has nothing to do with what we do (or who we are), and everything to do with what God does (or who God is). Salvation/inheriting eternal life is not dependent on how good we are (and certainly has nothing to do with how good we think we are) but on our willingness to rely – not on ourselves but on God. The Pharisee smugly thought that he had achieved what it took to inherit eternal life because he was not a thief, a rogue or an adulterer. The rich ruler thought that obeying the commandments was all that he needed to do to gain eternal life. Neither realized or accepted their need for God.

In comparison, the tax-collector, aware of his short-comings threw himself on the mercy of God and children who do not over-think things take it for granted that they are loved and that they belong. The tax-collector consciously places his trust in God (not himself). Sub-consciously, children do the same.

As if to make it clear that salvation is dependent on God and not on ourselves, Luke adds to this collection the account of Jesus’ meeting with Zacchaeus. Zacchaeus the tax-collector. Zacchaeus who has thrown in his lot with the Roman oppressors. Zacchaeus who may well have enriched himself at the expense of his fellow countrymen and women. Zacchaeus with whom Jesus must stay that very day!

We are told that Zacchaeus has heard that Jesus is passing through Jericho and, for reasons that are not clear, is determined to see him. This is not as easy as it seems. Zacchaeus is short, there is a crowd, and he is a person not deserving of respect. The crowd is unlikely to make space for him. His solution is undignified, but he is too eager to care. He runs ahead and climbs a tree. He does not expect to be seen. (Indeed, he may wish to remain unseen given the unseemly nature of his being in a tree). Zacchaeus simply wants to see Jesus. Yet, Jesus does see him. Jesus sees, stops, and demands that Zacchaeus come down. Jesus insists that he must stay with Zacchaeus. Indeed, as the Greek says, it is necessary that Jesus stay at Zacchaeus’ house that day.

Zacchaeus did not need to be “perfect, or sinless, or holy or righteous first.” There was no standard or ideal that Zacchaeus had to reach in order for Jesus to invite himself in. (Zacchaeus’ generosity was in response to Jesus’ acceptance, it did not earn him Jesus’ respect.) Zacchaeus was anything but perfect, but he was seen.

God sees us. God sees us all. God sees us for who we are, with all our failings and imperfections, with all our insecurities and fears. God sees us and God invites Godself in. God sees us, it is necessary for God to stay with us today. All we have to do is to make space and to welcome God into our lives.

We don’t have to be perfect. There is no gold standard that is the requirement for eternal life. We don’t have to do anything except come down from our trees of self-sufficiency, self-interest, and self-doubt. God has done and will do all the rest.

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Insecurity

October 22, 2022

Pentecost 20 – 2022
Luke 18:15-30
Marian Free

In the name of God who loves each one of us unreservedly. Amen.

In my university days I once volunteered to help out at a YMCA camp. The children were of primary school age and my task was to improve the adult/child ratio. It was an exhausting week but mostly it was fun as I enjoy being with and encouraging young people. One thing did disturb me though. When the children arrived, one young boy was pointed out to me: “Keep an eye on him. He’s an attention seeker,” I was told. Over the course of the camp, I was able to spend time with this boy – I’ll call him James – because he was often left on his own by the other children. On more than one occasion, James and I sat next to each other on the bus, and we had some great conversations. I never saw James acting out. Indeed, it seemed to me that James was a polite, well-behaved young person who had a degree of maturity for his age.

James was the son of busy parents and I think he was glad to have an adult take notice of him. I came to understand that if he was, as the other leaders said, “an attention seeker” then it was because he desperately needed attention. My observation was that his so-called “attention-seeking” was a reasonable response to not having had enough attention paid to him. He needed, or so it seemed to me, to be reassured that he was of value, that he was worth something to others. Any sort of attention – positive or negative – told him that he was seen, reassured him that he was not invisible. The fact that I took notice of him meant that he didn’t feel that he had to do anything to be of value to me. He could relax and be the well-behaved, pleasant child that he really was.

I have always been child-focussed, but meeting James was a great eye-opener for me. James was not, as I had been led to believe, a disruptive child. He was a good child who had been deprived of attention and therefore would do anything to ensure that he was noticed even if that being noticed was to be punished. In his mind, any attention was good attention.

It must be awful to be so unsure of one’s place in the world that one feels a constant need to be affirmed. This sort of insecurity can be observed not only in children, but in adults who try to fill the void inside themselves by making others focus on themselves or on their achievements. The overachievers, the playboys, those who affect shyness – I’m sure you can add to the list – are all driven by a need to feel that they are of value, that they have a place in the world.

In today’s gospel a certain ruler approaches Jesus with a question. “What must I do to inherit eternal life?” As I pondered this encounter I began to wonder why the ruler needed Jesus to reassure, to affirm him. As the gospel tells us, the ruler already knew what he must do: ‘not commit adultery; not murder; not steal; not bear false witness; and honour his father and mother.’ It is simple enough – or so we would think. Most of us would feel that we had ticked all these boxes. The ruler certainly has. Why then does he need reassurance from Jesus? What deep well of emptiness does he need to fill by having Jesus affirm his worth? Who has taught him that God will not welcome him unless he meets some exacting standard? What insecurities is his wealth papering over?

Of course, we will never know why the ruler felt so insecure or why he felt that, even though he fulfilled as the requirements, he was not confident of his place before God. What the story tells us though is that his wealth played a significant role in his life. Indeed, his possessions were so important for his sense of well-being that he could not let them go. It seems that he needed the comfort that they gave him in the present as much as he needed assurance about the future.

It is one thing to be unsure of our place in the world, but how much worse must it be to be unsure of our place before God?

Yet the church, or parts of the church, have created an image of God who only welcomes those who behave in a particular way, who meet certain standards and who never stray from the straight and narrow. There are people – good, churchgoing, faithful people – – who are uncertain of God’s love for them. There are people – good, churchgoing, faithful people – who are convinced that they don’t meet the conditions that God expects. There are people – good, churchgoing, faithful people – whose self-esteem is so low that they cannot believe that God could love them. And there are people – good, churchgoing, faithful people – who have not heard, or who have never been assured of God’s unconditional, boundless love.

I hope that you are not one of those people. I hope that you do not feel that there are certain criteria that you have to meet in order for you to inherit eternal life. I hope that this story (or any other) hasn’t been used to make you feel guilty about what you own , what you do or what you don’t do.

God who in Jesus came to an undeserving people as a vulnerable child, God who in Jesus’ demonstrated unconditional love to sinners and to the marginalised, and God, who in Jesus willingly went to the cross, is a God who will do absolutely anything to prove how much God loves us. All God wants in return is that we allow ourselves to be loved, that we believe in God’s love for us and believing in that love that we become whole.

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Persistence or trust?

October 15, 2022

Pentecost 19 – 2022
Luke 18:1-14
Marian Free

In the name of God Earth-maker, Pain-bearer, Life-giver. Amen.

Allow me to read the first parable again.

And he said a parable to them. Concerning their necessity always to pray and not to become discouraged, saying,
“Some judge was in some city; God was he not fearing, and people was he not respecting. And a widow was in that city. And she kept coming to him, saying, ‘Avenge/grant me justice against my adversary.’
“And not did he wish at that time. But after these things he said to himself, ‘if even God I do not fear no people do I respect, yet on account of the trouble this widow causes, I will avenge her, so that not into the end, coming, she will give me a black eye.’”
And said the Lord, “Hear what the unjust judge says. And will not God make vengeance to his elect, those who cry to him day and night, and will he be patient upon them? I say to you that he will avenge them swiftly. Nevertheless, when the Son of Man comes, then will he find faith upon the earth?

Now I imagine that translation might have taken you aback. It is awkward because it is a literal translation, and it is confronting because it forces us to see the parable in a different light. It is however a more translation and as such helps to give us a clearer sense of the parable’s meaning.

Collectively, we have a tendency to be complacent, if not lazy, when it comes to matters of faith. For example, when it comes to the bible, if or when we read it, we presume to know and understand it. Very often, we see what we expect to see rather than approaching the text afresh and asking questions and exploring it more deeply to see what else it might reveal. Familiarity does not so much breed contempt as it encourages complacency. It is easy to assume that what we have been told – at Sunday School or in a sermon – remains true for all time. This is especially true of the parables. We know the parables so well, they. Have been explained to us so often, that we can sum them up in a single phrase. The prodigal son, the good Samaritan, the barn builder and the persistent widow all bring up images not only of the parable, but of the meaning of the parable.

It is comforting and reassuring to have at our disposal stories that encapsulate what it is to be a neighbour, that illustrate how much God loves us or show the foolishness of storing up one’s wealth. Every now and again though it doesn’t hurt to be challenged, to have our traditional interpretations thrown into question or to see a saying or a parable in a new light because nothing is set in stone no one alive today was present to hear Jesus teach and even our gospel writers are the second or third generation of followers.

Before our gospels were written in their current form, Jesus’ teachings were conveyed orally. Over time different leaders will have given them different emphases depending on the needs of their audiences. When the gospel writers finally gathered Jesus’ sayings into a form of biography, they made decisions about the order in which they would present Jesus’ teaching and life. In the process they also included their own editorial comments – creating a narrative and sometimes interpreting Jesus’ words for the readers. The story didn’t end there. During the course of history, the bible was translated – first into Latin and then into the common language of the people. Translation led to another layer of interpretation. No matter how dispassionate they tried to be, each translator came to the scripture with a pre-existing bias which imposed itself on the text.

Few of us are aware of such biases and of what we bring to the text.

The literal translation of today’s parable of the widow and the judge is a good illustration of the problem. Even though the word εδικεω (edikeo) means to avenge, our translators have chosen (for whatever reason) to translate it as justice. Vengeance is a strong and uncomfortable word, and it certainly doesn’t fit with our received learning that the widow has no agency, that she needs someone to take her side. Yet there is no suggestion in the parable that our widow is powerless OR that she is meek and vulnerable. Indeed, she is arguing her case before the judge, without anyone to support her. She wants revenge and she will get it by wearing the judge down. When the judge finally gives in, it is less because of the widow’s persistence and more because he is afraid that she will resort to violence if he doesn’t give her what she wants.

This is a much more likely scenario than the one we usually associate with this parable. Jesus’ parables are intended to shock us, to challenge our conventional way of thinking. If we domesticate them (have the widow seek justice not mercy) we take away their sting – the point that Jesus is making to force us to re-think the way we see the world. Luke’s addition to the parable does just that. The parable proper is the story of the widow and the judge (verses 2 through 5). By adding an introduction and conclusion, Luke uses Jesus’ parable for a specific different purpose. Luke’s introduction and conclusion – Jesus told them a parable about the need to: “pray always and do not lose heart” and concludes that God will give justice to those who: “cry to him day and night” suggest that he uses it to encourage Jesus’ followers to pray – even when the circumstances seem to mitigate against prayer. (Luke’s additions and the translators’ preference for justice rather than vengeance contribute to a picture of a widow who is vulnerable and praiseworthy.)

But, as Amy-Jill Levine points out – in this parable neither the judge, nor the widow are ‘moral exemplars’. The widow seeks vengeance and will not stop until she is satisfied, and the judge allows himself to be corrupted or at least compromised – by giving in to the widow, even though he presumably did not think she had just cause.

The point is precisely that God is not like the judge, and we are not to be like the widow. God does not need to be worn down by our consistent pressing and cannot be forced into acting against God’s nature. We are not to be like the widow – taking things into our own hands, battering God into submission, or trying to bend God to our will. God can be trusted and God will grant justice to God’s elect. Our task is not to persist, but to trust, to believe that it is in God’s nature to bring about justice and that God will hear the cries of the broken-hearted and oppressed.

“Vengeance is mine” says the Lord in Deuteronomy (32:35)
If there is vengeance to be taken, God will take it. So we can leave it to God.

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“Socks or the Cinema?”

October 8, 2022

Pentecost 18 – 2022
Luke 17:11-19
Marian Free

In the name of God, Creator, Redeemer, and Sanctifier. Amen.

When we downsized, I gave away most of my library knowing that should I need to refer to any of my books, they would almost certainly be easily accessible in digital form. Failing that I would find them at the College Library. There are some books though, that I find impossible to give away. These are usually books with deep wisdom or insight, books that have enriched my life and to which I return again and again. I am particularly careful with such books and if I lose them I will search everywhere until I can replace them. One such book was recommended to me when I was still in theological college. Poor in Spirit – Modern Parables of the Reign of God by Charles Lepetit . It is probably irreplaceable.

Poor in Spirit contains fifty stories which recall encounters that have changed the lives of their writers. Some are set in a western urban setting, but most tell of experiences in third world countries, of people who according to Lepetit : “are hungry, marginalised, handicapped. They make a living by working too hard. They all have one thing in common: that of the heart.” The stories tell of generosity to a stranger, being blessed by a beggar and of receiving a gift from another, of praising God with an empty stomach and nothing to feed the children. Above all the stories tell of joy and gratitude and of the grace and hope that can coexist with the most dire poverty and in the most desperate of situations.

One story, “Socks or the Cinema?” comes from North Africa and was shared by Lisa. She begins: “They found him one morning lying by his bike under a leaden August sky. Death must have come suddenly. It was him alright in his usual blue work trousers, shirt, grey woollen cap and orthopaedic shoes. He had been struck by leprosy and cruelly. Most of each foot and all ten fingers were gone. It was torture for him to walk. His face was disfigured, but an extraordinary smile transfigured it. Yet those same eyes had stared at leprosy face to face. At the most terrible moment of the disease our friend had tried to drown himself. ‘But even the sea didn’t want me, and I was washed up on the beach.’

“Our friend would wear stumps of his hands raw, filling his customer’s bags with charcoal. He said: ‘Hunger is a terrible thing. Once I had no work, and nothing to eat. At last I said to myself: ‘I will just have to start begging.’ I had never learned how. I sat by someone’s door and tried to think what to call out, but all that came out was a cry because I began to weep aloud. I left in a hurry and walked all night. Then I saw a freshly baked loaf of bread that someone had forgotten on top of a little wall. I understood that God was watching over me.”

“One day he announced that he had a guest, someone with the same disease who cuts grass for sheep and sells it at the market. ‘Yesterday he returned with three beautiful coins. He had found them on the pavement.’ ‘What shall we do with them he asked?’ We thought about it. Then I said to him, ‘It is true that you need new socks. But this money here, we haven’t earned it. God has given it to us. Why don’t we go to the cinema? One needs a change of scene sometimes.’
“’So we went to the cinema, and we had a very nice evening.’”

My heart is always warmed by the extravagance and simple joy of the visit to the cinema – of the ability, from a position of desperation, to be able to show gratitude for an unexpected gift and to use that gift to bring joy and to be lifted out of one’s situation even for a few hours.

Luke’s account of the ten lepers provides few details, but those that are included are tantalising. Jesus is between Galilee and Samaria – in a sort of no man’s land. The ten leprous men also exist in an in-between place. They are separated from home, family, and community and from any means of earning an income. Their presence causes fear, even revulsion and if, like the man in our story they have leprosy proper, not another skin disease, their bodies may be slowly rotting, and their lives may be lives of constant pain.

One imagines that the situation may be even worse for the Samaritan – why else would he find himself among a group of Jews here on the edge of nowhere? Unlike the Jews he would not be welcome in the Temple in Jerusalem. Is it because he is the most marginalised of the ten that he returns? Is it because his people have no Temple that he must worship God where he finds him – in Jesus? We will never know. What we do know is that nine did what Jesus said, and went to the Temple and one, the outsider, came back gave thanks.

Much as we don’t like to admit it, typically, we are the insiders. For most of us everyday life is not a constant struggle and while the system is far from perfect, we at least know that there is some sort of safety net if the ground is pulled from under us.

I imagine that few of us know the sort of poverty experienced by those who comb through the refuse dumps outside of Manilla, those who are forced to beg on the streets of India, or those who are so desperate to feed their families that they will sell their daughters (or indenture themselves) into slavery. Many of us take for granted that we are housed, clothed and fed. In this country we are rarely confronted by the horrific conditions in which a majority of this earth’s population lives.
I suspect that if we had even the smallest idea of how the other half lives that nearly every moment of everyday, we would, like the leper, want to praise God with a loud voice and to prostrate ourselves at the feet of Jesus.

For what are you grateful and how often have you thanked God today?

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Get over yourselves – be as a mustard seed

October 1, 2022

Pentecost 17 – 2022
Luke 17:5-10
Marian Free

In the name of God – Source of all being, Word of Life, Holy Spirit. Amen.

Apparently the Danish theologian Soren Kierkegaard said that “we need to forget all Christian language for 100 years”. It is a radical statement, but one that deserves to be taken seriously. There are so many “givens” that we now take for granted – especially when it comes to our biblical texts – that we are in danger of losing the original meaning of a text or of reading into a text what we expect to be there, rather than being open to what is actually there. Starting with a clean slate (abandoning inherited interpretations) would provide an opportunity to see our faith and our texts with fresh eyes and to glean a new – more accurate – understanding.

Today’s gospel provides one such example of the way in which we have read things into the text or used a text for our own purposes. This is because a) we approach the text from a particular viewpoint and b) because the literal translation of the Greek doesn’t immediately make sense.

The gospel this evening consists of two apparently unrelated texts – a demand for faith on the part of the disciples followed by Jesus’ example of the relationship between slaves and masters. Examining these texts anew and without the baggage of our existing understanding shows them to be closely related and makes it clear that they are less about the amount of faith one has and more about a life of faith as servants of God.

A traditional interpretation of our text is that if only we had enough faith, we could do astonishing – if extremely odd – feats. Doing the extraordinary – uprooting and re-planting mulberry trees, healing the sick or turning water into wine – has become, at least for some, a benchmark of the degree of faith that one has. Behind this is an assumption that faith is somehow quantifiable, something that we can measure, a benchmark that we should aim to reach. The implication is that it is possible to have too little faith, or that faith and the performing of miracles are intimately related.

Three things argue against this interpretation.

First is the context. The disciples’ demand to have their faith added to follows Jesus’ instruction to forgive. (Forgiveness might be miraculous, but it has nothing to do with the moving of mulberry trees.)

A second argument against the idea that Jesus’ saying has to do with the amount of faith one has is revealed by an examination of Greek text. When we do that, we discover that the translators have done what they often do – they have added words. This is because it seems to them that the original text needs additional words in order to make sense. The presumption seems to be – if the disciples have asked Jesus to add to their faith, Jesus response must be related to the size of their faith – which is what the NRSV English translation suggests. “If you had faith the size of a mustard seed, you could say to this mulberry tree, ‘Be uprooted and planted in the sea,’ and it would obey you.” The Greek however says nothing about the size of a mustard seed. A literal translation of the sentence is: “If you had faith as a mustard seed.” Our translators have replaced “as” with “the size of” probably because the idea of a mustard seed having faith presents its own difficulties!

Finally, the fact that the author of the gospel has paired Jesus’ saying about the mustard with the example of the master and slave, suggests that his intention was that we read the two sayings together. Jesus’ example is image from everyday life with which Luke’s readers would have been familiar. In the highly structured culture of the first century, each person fulfilled their assigned role with no expectation that they would be singled out for praise simply for doing what they were meant to do. This interpretation is further strengthened when our attention is drawn to another translation issue.

The final line of Jesus’ example is translated as: “So you also, when you have done all that you were ordered to do, say, ‘We are worthless slaves; we have done only what we ought to have done!’” Behind this assumption is the view that slaves would be self-deprecating, or worse that the early Christians (whom we assume to be the slaves) think of themselves as having little value in God’s (the master’s) eyes. We see Jesus’ example quite differently when it is pointed out that the word translated as “worthless” is actually the negative of the word “need”. The sentence could just as easily read: “we are slaves without need.” In other words, the slaves do not need to be thanked for carrying out their role because fulfilling their role is sufficient reward.

In the light of these three points – context, translation, and pairing – it becomes clear that Jesus is not childing the disciples for their lack of faith, rather he is chastising
them for imagining that faith is a commodity – something that can be owned, measured and used. A mustard seed has no choice except to fulfill the purpose for which it was created. A slave has little choice but to do what their master requires. Jesus seems to be encouraging the disciples to be satisfied with fulfilling the purpose for which they were created and with living out their God-given vocation.

He might just as well be saying: “Get over yourselves! Faith is not something to possess but a state of being – in relationship with God and in relationship with others. Be happy with who you are. Live out your vocation faithfully. Trust God to work in and through you and get on with living.”

Jesus says: “Have faith as a mustard seed.” “Be content with the person that you were created to be.”
Our response might be: “We are slaves without need.” “We will live our lives faithfully, allowing ourselves to be used for God’s purpose rather than striving to be what we are not.”

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No wriggle room – Supporting systemic injustice

September 24, 2022

Pentecost 16 – 2022

Luke 16:19-31

Marian Free

In the name of God who gives some of us more than we deserve or desire.  Amen.

 I am not an economist, but it is clear to me that the world economy has vastly changed over the course of my lifetime. Small, local businesses have been overtaken by huge multi-national companies which, by all accounts, care more about the profit margin than they do about those workers who produce the profits. They are more interested in the return that they can give to their shareholders and the enormous salaries that they can offer their executives than about the workers upon whom they depend for their income.

While huge (even obscene) bonuses are given to those at the top of the corporate ladder, and healthy dividends are given to shareholders, those who generate the income rarely see any benefits from their contribution to the revenue. Global corporations are sometimes so profit-driven that their employees endure terrible (often dangerous) conditions in order that their company might reap the reward and that others might wear cheap clothing and their need for on-line shopping might be satisfied.

Today, few executives – even if they do live in the same country as their employees – would not know them by name, let alone know anything about their families or living conditions. We are far removed from the days of small businesses in which the boss knew those who worked for him (her) and who, when times were good, would share the results with those upon whom the business relied, and who, when labour was in short supply, would offer higher wages to attract staff.

While many of us may lament the current situation of globalisation and the emphasis on profit over care (for the labourer, the environment, or indeed anything beyond the desire to increase the corporation’s income), we find ourselves complicit in a system in which the majority support the lifestyle of a few. We are happy to pay less for consumer goods produced by vulnerable, underpaid people in third world countries and to indirectly support global corporations who meet our need for convenient on-line shopping. Many of us, particularly those of us who are now retired, are dependent on our investments (personal or through superannuation funds) for an income and are therefore reluctant to act in such a way that would result in a lower standard of living for ourselves.

So, if ever there was a parable that hit you straight between the eyes it would be the one retold in this morning’s gospel – the parable of the rich man and Lazarus. Nowhere else does Jesus speak so directly about the afterlife or about the consequences of our lifestyle in the present. As we listen/read to the description of the place in which the rich man and Lazarus find themselves, we are filled with a level of dis-ease. We feel ourselves condemned along with the rich man, and realise that if, like the rich man we find ourselves on the wrong side of the chasm, there is no escape, no way to cross to the other side and no means to get any relief from our suffering.

Our discomfort can mean that our immediate reaction to the parable is to distance ourselves, to look for a way out. We reassure ourselves that we are not like the rich man. For starters, we are nowhere near as rich, and we are generous with what we have – donating to charities that support the poor and homeless and paying our taxes so that the government can make social welfare payments and build housing. We comfort ourselves with the knowledge that the image of Hades presented here is unique and does not match other images of the afterlife. (Of course, we expect to be judged, but to be honest most of us are confident that God’s mercy will see us spend eternity in a place of peace and light, where our every need is met and in which we need not even think about there being an alternate destiny (let alone have such a place within our field of vision)).

What is striking, and what causes the best of us to squirm, is the implication in the parable that our eternal fate depends not on whether we are “good” or “bad” in conventional terms but on our relative wealth. Jesus is deliberately sparse on detail. Indeed, we know nothing about the two men except that one is fabulously rich and the other so desperately poor that he would settle for crumbs that fall from the table. It is our imagination that makes the rich man callous and thoughtless, but his crime seems to be only that he is fabulously rich. As far as we know, he may well have been law-abiding and generous – paying the Temple tax, supporting widows and orphans, and insisting that anyone who came to his door be fed and clothed. Likewise, there is no evidence that Lazarus is “good”. The parable leaves open the possibility that he is not, that he brought his poverty on himself – through loose living, being caught out stealing, or by over-imbibing in alcohol.

Our imaginations see the rich man going in and out of his gate and ignoring Lazarus’ suffering, but again there is nothing in the parable to suggest that the rich man even notices Lazarus. (Equally, there is nothing to suggest that he doesn’t see and doesn’t offer some relief – however small.) Whatever the rich man does or doesn’t do or see in regard to Lazarus, what is clear is that he does nothing to address the situation that allows him to be so rich and Lazarus so poor.

According to the parable, what matters is that the rich man had received good things during his life and Lazarus had received evil things (16:25). In Hades the situation is reversed and just as there was a chasm between the two in life, so there is in death. It was not their behaviour (good or bad) in life that determined their fate but their collusion (or not) in the systemic inequities that resulted in some people living in relative comfort while others existed in dire poverty. The situation is possibly exacerbated by the rich man’s inability to recognise that his lifestyle (not to mention his apathy, greed and selfishness) contributed to and reinforced the differences between himself and Lazarus.

In the end, the parable suggests, there is no wriggle room.  We might have worked hard for what we have, lived a good and righteous life and have been generous with this world’s goods, but if, at the end of the day we have failed to recognise that the system has benefitted us and disadvantaged others, and, if we have done nothing to rectify that state of affairs, we will be found wanting.

The solution begins by seeing – seeing the poor at our gate, identifying the ways in which we support a system which puts (and keeps) them there and doing what we can to build a more just and equitable world.

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