Swallowsrest

Epiphany 2 – 2010
John 2:1- 11
Marian Free

In the name of God whose generosity knows no bounds. Amen.

Many of you will have read the book The Da Vinci Code by Dan Brown. It is basically a detective story in which the author has used a few obscure and not so obscure details from Christian scholarship to create a conspiracy theory in relation to Jesus and to the church. When it was first published, the novel caused a deal of fuss, especially among some Christians who found the story offensive – they having made the mistake of confusing fantasy with fact and literary license with scholarship. As it happens, the so-called ‘facts’ which Brown adapted to his purpose contained no surprises for any who had kept abreast of  biblical scholarship or who knew something of church history.

The conjecture which was most designed to shock was the possible – if unlikely – scenario that Jesus had married and had had children. In the context of Brown’s story, the truth of this would throw into chaos the Christians faith and the church which proclaims that faith, for, if it were true, the story argues, it would somehow undermine the belief that Jesus is God. In the novel, the church knows Jesus’ marriage to be a fact, and so will go to any lengths to prevent the secret from getting out and thereby destroying its credibility.

My faith is based on other things than Jesus’ marital status, but I can understand that many people would be disturbed by the notion that Jesus might have been married. However, it is important to note is that Brown was not writing a text book. Brown was using biblical scholarship – albeit loosely – in order to develop a mystery novel and to create tension. He is anything but innovative. For example, numerous scholars have speculated on the nature of the relationship between Mary Magdalene and Jesus. They base their speculation on such facts as can be found in early Christian texts.

In John’s gospel, Mary is the first at the tomb and when Jesus speaks her name, she goes to hold him, indicating a closeness not usually found between an unrelated Jewish woman and a man. The Gospel of Philip – which is not included in the canon – states: “And the companion of the Saviour is Mary Magdalene. But Christ loved her more than all the disciples and used to kiss her often on the mouth. The rest of the disciples were offended by it and expressed disapproval. They said to him Why do you love her more than all of us?” Furthermore early documents, including our gospels, indicate that there was a tension between Mary Magdalene and Peter in the early days of the church suggesting that Mary played a leadership role – perhaps as a result of her closeness to Jesus.

Perhaps the greatest cause for speculation is today’s gospel. We don’t often think to ask questions about the text, but if you think about it, it is curious that Mary (the mother of Jesus) should be so interested in the amount of wine, and that she should be in such a position of authority at the wedding, that she could tell the steward what to do. For this reason, some scholars have argued that such a scenario would only be possible if Mary were the householder and if this were Jesus’ own wedding. If it is Jesus’ wedding, then who did Jesus marry? On the basis of the evidence already mentioned, Jesus’ wife could have been Mary Magdalene.

Of course, all of this is only conjecture. The gospel itself implies that Jesus and the bridegroom are different people and there are, of course, other possible explanations for Mary’s significant role in the account. While we are told that Jesus and the disciples were invited, Mary is simply said to be there as if by right. This suggests that the wedding is that of a family member or at least of close family friends. Mary’s interest in the proceedings may stem from her relationship to, or friendship with, the family, in much the same way that close friends and family today will make themselves useful at any social function.

Interestingly, up until now, Mary has had no role in John‘s gospel  – there is no birth narrative in John. Barraclough suggests that at the wedding at Cana opens the way for Mary (Jesus’ mother) to enter the story and to exercise authority. (That Jesus’ mother has a significant role in the Johannine community is affirmed at the crucifixion where Jesus commands John to regard her as his – John’s – mother.) Mary exercises her authority in three ways. In the first instance, she notices that the wine is running out and takes the initiative in informing Jesus. Secondly, she exercises authority over the stewards by telling them to do whatever Jesus asks them to do. Lastly, in a culture in which honour and shame play an important role, Mary exercises pastoral authority in preventing a situation which would cause the hosts considerable embarrassment and loss of face. Mary’s authority is further evidenced in her recognition of Jesus’ ability to perform a miracle – something which Jesus has not demonstrated until now.

Jesus’ use of the expression “woman” rather than “mother” in addressing her is not intended to be as abrupt and disrespectful as it appears in the English. Mary certainly doesn’t take offense – she simply defers to his authority by telling the stewards to take notice of him. Jesus’ use of “woman” may be a way of indicating a new relationship between himself and his mother. From now on their roles will be reversed. Jesus is no longer a child. He will no longer defer to his mother, but she to him. Further, as the use of “woman” elsewhere in the gospel informs us – particularly in the account of the woman at the well, the relationship between Jesus and is mother is now defined as that of teacher and disciple rather than as mother and child. In this story then, Mary is thus identified as one having the authority of a disciple.

Unfortunately, we cannot go back in time and be a fly on the wall. We cannot tell who is getting married or what really is going on between Mary and the stewards, Jesus and his mother.

One thing we can tell for certain is the extent of the miracle. Each of the stone jars held between 20 – 30 gallons of water that is, between 75 to 125 litres. That translates to something like 600 to 1000 bottles of the best wine in today’s language. As with the feeding of the 5,000 Jesus has provided more than enough.  Through this miracle, Jesus reveals that the nature of God is to give and to give abundantly. In the face of such overwhelming generosity, we cannot help but know ourselves loved and cherished by the Creator of all things.

Knowing ourselves loved, we should extend that love to others. Knowing that we are cherished we in our turn should value those around us. Understanding the boundless generosity of God, we should find it in our hearts to demonstrate such generosity in our own lives.

Baptism of Jesus 2010
Luke 3:15-22
Marian Free

In the name of God who is revealed to us through Jesus his son. Amen.

A few weeks ago, I pointed out that in Luke’s gospel, the stories of Jesus and John the Baptist are closely intertwined, albeit in such a way that it is clear that of the two men Jesus is the superior. This pattern continues in chapter three until Luke neatly ties up John’s role in the story and begins to deal in earnest with Jesus’ ministry.
Luke’s new goal – to differentiate Jesus and John – means that his account is awkward chronologically. He records John’s arrest and imprisonment before introducing Jesus’ baptism – an order of events which could not be possible if John baptizes Jesus. However, his intention is to conclude John’s story before he begins that of Jesus’ ministry and thus give John no role in Jesus’ ministry.  In Luke’s mind, Jesus’ baptism belongs to the account of Jesus’ life, not to the story of the Baptist and so Jesus’ story begins where John’s ends: “Now when all the people were baptized, and when Jesus also had been baptized.”
By doing this, Luke emphasises the fact that John is only the precursor – the last of the OT prophets, the one who makes way for Jesus. John himself points out that Jesus is the more powerful of the two. He claims that he is unworthy to untie the thong of Jesus’ sandals – an act no disciple would dare to perform. He attributes to Jesus the function of the eschatological judge – “His winnowing fork is in his hand” and he suggests that to be baptized by Jesus will be of greater significance that John’s baptism: “He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire.”
Clarifying the Baptist’s role is important as Luke shares with the other gospel writers a certain embarrassment with regard to Jesus’ baptism. Why does the one anointed by God need to be baptized for the forgiveness of sins? The problem is dealt with somewhat differently by each gospel writer. In Matthew, John the Baptist himself expresses confusion as to why Jesus should come to him, to which Jesus replies that everything should be done in an orderly way, so making it clear that Jesus is baptized for forms sake, not because he needs to be forgiven. John’s gospel manages not to mention Jesus’ baptism specifically and instead has the Baptist report the descent of the spirit on Jesus. Luke, as I have said, disposes of John’s ministry before turning to Jesus’ baptism and the focus on Jesus’ ministry.
For the same reason the gospel writers seem to distance the descent of the dove and the voice from heaven, from the act of baptism. In John’s gospel, the Baptist reports the signs as evidence of who Jesus is. In the Synoptic gospels, the dove and the voice appear to be for Jesus’ alone, though it is not entirely clear whether anyone else sees or hears. In Matthew and Mark these signs occur as Jesus comes up out of the water. Luke completely separates these events from the actual baptism by reporting that they appear in response to Jesus’ prayer after he has been baptised.

Luke’s account of the baptism is quite abrupt. The adult Jesus appears from nowhere and without introduction. He is baptized simply as one of the crowd. There is no record of any discussion between Jesus and John, nor of any interaction with the crowds. The report of the baptism is not elaborate – in fact, Luke dispenses with it in two words: Jesus had been baptized – in Greek “ Jesou baptisthento”. Luke is anxious to move on to what happens after the baptism – the voice from heaven affirming Jesus as God’s son.

The birth narratives have made it clear that Jesus will be the Son of the Most high who will inherit the throne of his ancestor David and the Holy Spirit has played a significant role in the story. Now, however, Jesus is addressed directly: “You are my beloved Son” – the dove and the voice are for him affirming what he already knows.
The voice from heaven, using allusions to Psalm 2 and Isaiah 42, identifies Jesus’ relationship to God as that between a father and a son. The idea of a filial relationship to God is not new to Judaism. In the OT Israel is referred to as God’s son and the kings of Israel, specifically David are sometimes referred to in this way. Psalm 2 was used in the enthronement liturgy and contains ideology in relation to God’s choice of the line of kings, so it is a fitting Psalm to use to identify the anointed one, who is of David’s line. In the OT also, divine sonship was associated with commissioning and authorization. The son represents the father and to some extent acts with the authority of the father.
Jesus’ sonship is important for a number of reasons. Firstly, it indentifies the nature of the relationship between Jesus and God as one of deep affection and intimacy – such as that between a father and a son. Secondly, it indicates a legal relationship. The son and heir acts as the father, with the father’s authority. Thirdly, as we will discover, the relationship between God as father and Jesus as son is such that to know one is to know the other: “no one knows who the Son is except the Father, or who the Father is except the Son and anyone to whom the Son chooses to reveal him” (Luke 10:21-22). Jesus’ authority as son is further affirmed during the Transfiguration when the voice from the cloud says: ‘This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!’
In Luke this divine sonship is grounded in the activity of the spirit. It is present at Jesus’ baptism and is the driving force when Jesus is driven into the wilderness, when he returns to Galilee and when he reads from the scroll of Isaiah in the synagogue in Nazareth.
John’s ministry comes to an end with a proclamation of the one who is greater than him. Jesus’ ministry begins as God affirms his nature and purpose.
In our own baptism the promises of God are visibly signed and sealed for us, we are filled with the Holy Spirit and commissioned for ministry in the world around us. May our lives be directed by the Spirit as we seek to do God’s will and may the presence of the Spirit is our lives make God known is the world.

Epiphany 2010

Matthew 2:1-12

Marian Free

In the name of God who leads us to the Christ so that we might worship him. Amen.

The story of the appearance of the magi is well-known to us. If asked, I imagine that we could confidently retell it. Whether or not we could tell it without elaboration is a different matter. Many of us might say that there were three kings or wise men, we might even be able to name them (Caspar, Melchior and Balthasar) and to elaborate the meaning of their gifts. Were we to draw the scene, we would almost certainly depict a stable and include the shepherds. In fact, the story does not mention a number – in some traditions there are twelve – the visitors are not named and the meaning of the gifts is not given by Matthew. According to Matthew, the magi are the only visitors Jesus receives. The extra details which we take for granted, belong to later traditions which assumed that only kings could afford such extravagance and later generations may have been uncomfortable with the notion that magi or magicians could take such a prominent, positive role in the gospel. Over time the story changes and is transmitted in different forms despite the evidence of the gospel.

The magi appear only here in the New Testament. They leave the story as abruptly as they appear and we learn nothing of their origin or skill. Luz suggests that magi were originally members of the Persian priestly class – having much the same role as the priests and scribes whom Herod consults and that their study, while it included astrology (the study of the skies), also extended to Eastern theology, philosophy and natural science.

Unlike Luke, Matthew is not particularly concerned with the circumstances of Jesus’ birth. There is no census, no stable, no heavenly host and no shepherds. Mary and Joseph are already in Bethlehem and Jesus is simply born. Their residence in Nazareth only occurs after the brief exile in Egypt. It is the story of the magi which will reveal the significance of Jesus’ birth and which will set the scene for the development of a number of themes in Matthew’s gospel in particular the culpability of Jerusalem and the ruling class for the death of Jesus and the recognition and worship of Jesus by those are on the outer edge not only of Jewish society, but of Judaism itself.

The account of the visit of the magi is closely linked to the second half of chapter two by the repetition of a number of catchwords – star, worship. The two parts of chapter two – the coming of the magi and the slaughter of the innocents do not make sense on their own. The children would not have been killed had the magi not made their visit to Herod and made known the birth of the Christ.

Verse 1 sets the scene – Jesus is born, in Bethlehem of Judea (which affirms his Davidic descent) . Herod is king and magi come to Jerusalem (the centre of religious and political power). Verse two reveals the purpose of the visit and introduces the star and the “king of the Jews”. At this point the narrative divides into two parallel parts which contrast the meeting in the palace with the false King who is appointed by and dependent on Rome – Herod – with that of the meeting in an ordinary home with the genuine, God appointed king – the infant Jesus, who cannot yet act on his own, but who is authorised by God himself. The contrast is not just legitimacy or age, Herod will prove to be hypocritical and evil, Jesus to be God’s anointed representative. Herod appears to have the power and authority, but history will demonstrate that it is fleeting.
The contrasts between Herod and the magi are drawn out by the parallelisms in the two sections – the meeting with Herod in Jerusalem and the discovery of Jesus in Bethlehem. The star which appears in verse 2 reappears in verse 9, Herod and Jerusalem’s dismay at the news of Jesus’ birth is contrasted with the great joy of the magi when they find him. Herod’s plan to discover and destroy Jesus is frustrated by God’s plan to protect and save him. Structurally, both sections begin with a question about the king and end with a desire to worship him.

Matthew introduces in this section themes which will be expanded later in the gospel. The most significant of these is the culpability of Jerusalem in Jesus’ death. Herod, the ranking priests and the scribes are all associated with Jerusalem and Judaism, yet they do not observe the birth of the Christ and when they hear of it, instead of being pleased, they are dismayed. In contrast, the Gentile magi see the signs, recognise the significance and come to worship the child. Matthew alerts the readers to the fact that those who should have welcomed Jesus are the very ones who will either fail to recognise him, or who will reject and kill him.

Matthew’s readers who will have known that Herod was not respected or liked by the people will not have been surprised that Herod felt that his position was threatened by the possibility of a new king, but they will have been taken aback by the apparent complicity of the priests and scribes who assist Herod and by their failure to be joyful at the birth of the Christ. They will have been further surprised to learn that it is the magi, not the religious leaders who are open to God’s direction and who are seeking to bow down before his anointed.

There are many puzzles in Matthew’s account – is it historical, from where do the magi come, what is the nature of the star, why is it so different from Luke’s story of Jesus’ birth? However, what is significant is for the gospel story is that the magi who are obviously people of note because they have been guests in Herod’s palace – recognise Jesus and worship him. That is despite the fact that the child displays no obvious signs of his future significance, the magi fall on their faces before him – an act that would normally be reserved for gods or kings. After their departure, Matthew has no further use of them. Jesus has been revealed and Jerusalem has revealed its true colours. Through the magi Jesus has been identified as the Christ, expected by the people, sent by God, rejected by his own people and yet recognised as Lord by those who are willing to allow themselves to be guided by God. At the same time Matthew foreshadows what is to happen – Jesus will be perceived as a threat both to the political and religious leaders and the story will end where it began at the centre of power Jerusalem.

Matthew’s readers will understand that despite appearances, they are to identify with the magi, to allow themselves to be led by God, to discover Christ in ordinary circumstances and taking no notice of appearances to fall on their faces and worship him.

We too are asked to allow God to surprise us, to be willing to find Jesus where we least expect him, and having found him to acknowledge him as Lord.

Christmas 2009

Marian Free

In the name of God whose contradictions keep us alert, awake and expectant. Amen.

When you think about it, it was not a very auspicious start – the Creator of the Universe entering his own creation as a tiny, vulnerable baby. There were so many other options – a football star, a famous singer, a mighty warrior – if God had come as any of these people might have sat up and taken notice. Or even if God had used some tried and true method of appearing – in a burning bush, as a pillar of cloud or as a pillar of fire. If God had come as someone instantly recognizable, or in a familiar form, he might have had a better start, a greater chance of radically changing the world.

So why a baby – tiny, powerless, unable to exert any influence on world affairs?

It’s an interesting question because if we are honest, even though we know the story, we don’t always think about the baby being God. We all like the wonder and joy that the nativity scene brings. There is something about the sentimentalism of Christmas that attracts us, that makes us feel good about ourselves and the world. In reality however, the baby is very confronting. If Jesus is God, then the baby is God. And if the baby is God, we have to rethink all our pre-conceptions about who and what God is. If God is a baby, then God cannot be an old man in the sky. If God is powerless and vulnerable, then God cannot be a vindictive judge. If God chooses to be so intimately related to human beings, then God cannot be remote and distant.

It’s a nonsense really – believing in a God who is vulnerable, powerless, intimately close. And that is the point. The baby – the contradiction – is the message. If we allow ourselves to believe in God the infant, we discover that all our preconceptions about God are thrown into disarray. We are left wondering what it is we can hold onto. If God is dependent on us for survival, then perhaps God is not simply a miracle worker to be manipulated by our demands. If God puts himself into a position in which he might experience human suffering, then perhaps he is not indifferent to or unaware of our human experience. If God allows himself to be subject to the ups and downs of life, then we cannot expect God to wave a magic wand to make our lives run smoothly.

The baby confronts all our stereotypes and expectations and asks us to re-evaluate our understanding of the nature of God. At the same time, God in a cradle challenges us to develop an open-ness to God, that doesn’t confine or restrict God to the narrowness of our imagination. It demands a willingness to be expectant, excited and willing to see God wherever and however God appears to us.

The infant Jesus inspires us with a child-like sense of wonder and awe which in turn creates an open-ness, a suspension of the rational and a willingness to believe. The baby is an invitation from God to allow ourselves to be set free to be surprised, astonished and overwhelmed by the many and varied ways in which God is present in the world.

Advent 4
Luke 1:36-45
Marian Free

In the name of God who surprises and disturbs so that our hearts and minds might always be open to the new things which God is about to do. Amen.

Luke begins his narrative about Jesus with the account of two extraordinary pregnancies– one to a woman who is barren and now is well past menopause, and the other to a young woman who has never had intercourse. The stories are closely intertwined as Luke compares the two women and their offspring and introduces themes which will be elaborated further later in the gospel. Luke’s story telling techniques are also in evidence in the first chapter of the gospel.

The birth narratives are for Luke, not just an obvious place to begin, but they form a bridge between the promises of the Old Testament and the new story which is beginning. The key characters – Elizabeth, Zechariah, Mary, Anna and Simeon – are all steeped in the promises and thus form a solid platform on which to introduce the new directions God is taking.

Our gospel reading today gives only a small part of a much larger story. Zechariah, the husband of the barren Elizabeth is performing his duties in the sanctuary of the Temple when an angel announces that his wife will bear a son. Zechariah is so astonished by this news that he is struck dumb until the birth of his son. The whole community is involved with his vision, because the Temple is filled with people at prayer who, when he emerges, cannot help but notice that something significant has occurred.

Mary is also visited by an angel, but while like Zechariah, she is puzzled, she accepts that God is able to do what the angel has announced and instead of remaining silent visits Elizabeth to give voice to what has happened.  Mary’s vision is private and persona but she chooses to make it known. Zechariah returns to Elizabeth who does indeed become pregnant and sees in her pregnancy the hand of God. Mary has no husband and becomes pregnant through the power of the Holy Spirit.

The two stories come together when Mary arrives at Elizabeth’s home. In this pericope, Elizabeth’s role is to be a prophet. Perhaps inspired by the baby in her own womb, she pronounces Mary to be the “mother of her Lord” and herself to be blessed by Mary’s presence. Mary stays with Elizabeth for some time, but apparently has gone before the birth.

In the tradition of the heroes of the Old Testament, both Mary and Zechariah burst into song which reveals the deeper significance of the events – Mary’s pregnancy, John’s birth. The world has changed for the better, it is a more balanced, fairer place thanks to the intervention of God.

Luke’s story-telling techniques become obvious in this first chapter. Luke tends to pair stories to reinforce the point that he is making – the story of the lost sheep paired with the story of the lost coin, the man healed on the Sabbath paired with the story of the woman healed on the Sabbath and so on. He tends to bring together the stories of two people, both of whom have had a religious experience which they only partially understand. When the two come together they are able to see and understand the full picture. So for example, Peter’s vision only becomes clear when he sees Cornelius and Ananias’ instruction to receive Paul, only makes sense when Ananias sees that Paul has been transformed by his encounter with the living God.

Here, when Elizabeth recognises Mary as the mother of her Lord, the role of her own child becomes clearer. At the same time, what Mary knew by faith, she now knows for certain, because of Elizabeth’s affirmation.

The way in which the two stories are related, tell us that of the two children, Jesus is to play the more significant role – John’s birth, while extraordinary is not without precedent, and it is John who leaps in the womb at the presence of Jesus and Mary is identified as the mother of “the Lord”. The stories are not evenly balanced for instance John’s birth is mentioned only briefly, but there is a detailed account of his naming and circumcision. Jesus’ birth is described in great detail, but his naming and circumcision are only mentioned in passing.

Not only does Luke emphasise the generous response of the marginalized to God but he also demonstrates God’s preference for the poor and oppressed.  Both Elizabeth and Zechariah are members of a long line of priests. They are also described as “righteous”.  In Jewish terms they are part of the religious aristocracy – obvious choices to carry out God’s will. Mary on the other hand is a peasant girl from a remote village who has no known lineage, yet it is Mary who trusts what the angel says to her and it is Mary who is given the more prominent place in the unfolding of God’s will.

God’s actions in this situation are both familiar and unfamiliar. The Old Testament is peopled with barren women who conceive as a result of God’s intervention – Sarah, Rachel and Hannah. All however conceived children with their husband as does Elizabeth. It is not difficult to see God’s hand here. Mary’s situation is very different – she is an unknown AND unmarried. That God should choose her, and use such an unorthodox approach is as shocking and challenging as it is unexpected. The element of surprise indicates for Luke the hand of God. God’s new thing will be a break from what has gone before – it will be both expected and unexpected, in line with the promise and pointing to a new direction.

Throughout this Advent, a theme has been developing. Not only has the presence of God drawn near, but there seems to have been a movement from the external presence of God to God’s presence within us. During Advent, we have been asked to take note of God in the people and things around us, to remove the barriers which prevent us from seeing God, to allow our lives to be transformed by an openness to God and finally to join with Mary in saying “yes” to God’s presence dwelling within us. Christ comes to birth only because Mary responds to God’s request. Christ continues to be born in the world in and through those of us who say “yes” to God, who allow God to take up residence in their lives, and to grow and come to life in them.

Every year at this time, we celebrate God’s coming in Jesus Christ, we acknowledge that Christ is always present in the world and in our lives, we allow Jesus into our hearts and make him known through our lives and as we do, we prepare both ourselves and the world for his coming again in glory.

Mary said “yes”, so that we would say “yes”. Let us say “yes” to God’s presence dwelling within us.

Advent 3 2009
Luke 3:7-18

Marian Free

In the name of God, whose love for us is never withdrawn. Amen.

You may remember that last week I argued that John the Baptist urged us to be ready by accepting God’s forgiveness and therefore God’s salvation. The quotation from Isaiah provided a very positive and affirming view of God’s coming. According to Isaiah, the task of the one who prepares the way is to give to God’s people: “knowledge of salvation, by the forgiveness of their sins”. Today’s reading from Zephaniah continues this theme – “The Lord has taken away the judgments against you, he has turned away your enemies. The king of Israel, the Lord, is in your midst; you shall fear disaster no more.” These two quotes indicate that the prophet’s understanding was that God’s intention was not to come in wrath and judgement but with healing and peace.

This vision and expectation is in direct contradiction with John’s words in this morning’s gospel. Today John preaches judgement and damnation. The crowds who have come out to hear him and to be baptized by him are greeted with: “You brood of vipers! Who told you to flee from the wrath to come?” and “Even now the axe is lying at the root of the trees.”  They almost certainly were not expecting that sort of reception and it is not the language which might encourage the people to trust in the mercy of God or to look forward with joy to God’s coming.

What are we to make of the apparent contradiction? Is God coming in peace or in judgement? Is God going to welcome us with open arms or accuse us of hypocrisy? Should we look forward to God’s coming with joy and anticipation, or should we live our lives fearful that God is going to punish us if we do not come up to standard? Should our prophets and priests fill us with terror or with confidence? Tensions such as this exist throughout scripture. On the one hand the prophets threaten all kinds of dire consequences for the people who turn their backs on God, on the other they assure the people of God’s compassion.

The contradictions are not accidental. In the first place they tell us something about the nature of God. A righteous God cannot help but to be dismayed at the waywardness of God’s people. A God who allowed or condoned wicked and evil behaviour would not be a God in whom we could trust. So God’s wrath and frustration must be expressed against the disobedient and the unjust. God’s righteousness must expose and denounce unrighteousness. The contradiction lies in the fact that this righteous God is also a loving God, a God who called a people to be his own. So the prophets declare God’s anger towards those who have turned their backs on God, while at the same time reminding the people that God never turns his back on them.

The contradictions created by God’s righteousness and God’s love not only reveal aspects of God, but they also carry a warning. While God never turns his back on us, scripture records that time after time, the people of God have turned their back on God – by trusting in other gods, by behaving in unjust ways and by failing to believe in God’s goodness. Turning away from God, we are told, can result in all kinds of trouble because ultimately, God’s love cannot save us from ourselves. If we choose to trust in the things of this world, if we place our confidence in ourselves instead of relying on God, then we must face the consequences of going our own way – depending on our own resources instead of allowing God to do all that is necessary for our salvation.

When we are determined to go it alone, we turn our back on God and therefore on God’s ability to save us from ourselves. In the end it is what we do, not what God does, which leads to trouble and strife. God’s allowing us to go our own way is a form of judgement – we have to accept the consequences of a life directed by ourselves and not by God. John, in the tradition of the prophets warns against this sort of independence or failure to trust in God which is based on an over-confidence in our selves. John’s anger seems to be particularly addressed to those who, instead of relying on God, rely on their descent from Abraham. They don’t need God, because they believe that their descent provides all that they need for salvation.

John knows that the problem with this sort of self-reliance is that it creates a false sense of security. Worse than that, a belief in our selves and our place in the world builds a barrier between our selves and God which God’s love may not be able to penetrate. If we are over-confident of who we are and what we can achieve then we have no need of God. We squeeze God out of the picture. In other words, when we place our trust in the things our own abilities, we turn our back on God and on what God can and does do for us

The tensions between God’s love and God’s righteousness as recorded in scripture help to keep us on our toes. The prophetic expressions of God’s anger remind us of our dependence on God’s love and goodness. On our own we simply cannot live up to the principles of a righteous God. We cannot earn salvation on our own merits, by our own endeavours. We will always fall short of the righteousness of God.  However, the reminders of God’s love (which is also demonstrated in the life of Jesus) ensure that we do not fall into despondency and hopelessness, but instead place our hope and our trust in God’s mercy.

John calls the people to “repent” to turn around, to re-turn to God. He attacks those whose self-confidence prevents them from understanding their need for and dependence on God.  John knows that if we think that we are on the right track, if we depend on what we can do rather than what God does for us then, whether we know it or not, we make the decision to turn away from God.

It is not that God turns his back on us, but that we turn our backs on God. John’s words are a warning against the arrogant independence which separates us from God, and a challenge to turn to God, to place our confidence entirely in God’s love for us – a love which may be disappointed, frustrated and even angry, a love, which should we chose, will let us go our own way and yet a love which ultimately will not abandon us if only we will turn our faces to God and allow ourselves to be loved.

Advent 2, 2009
Luke 3:1-6
Marian Free

In the name of God who draws near with love and compassion. Amen.

It may or may not surprise you that I have spent considerable time this week reflecting on the gospel. In particular, I have been wondering what it means that the “valleys shall be filled, and every mountain and hill shall be made low.” Why is such a radical rearrangement of the natural world required? God surely can make his presence known to us without completely smoothing out the roughness of the earth.  In fact, does God really need any sort of help from us? Surely if God wants to come, God will simply come? God doesn’t need straight paths, and if God did need them to be straightened, God wouldn’t need our help to do it.

We are called to prepare the way of the Lord, and make his paths straight, but it is possible that the tearing down of mountains and raising up of valleys will happen without our help.

To understand what John is saying, we need to look at his role in the story. Luke tells us at the beginning of his gospel that John’s task is “to turn the people of Israel to the Lord their God” (16, 17). Then in the second chapter, we are told that his father, Zechariah says that he “will be called the prophet of the Most High;
for you will go before the Lord to prepare his ways,
to give knowledge of salvation to his people
by the forgiveness of their sins.
By the tender mercy of our God,
the dawn from on high will break upon us,
to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death,
to guide our feet into the way of peace.”

What preparation is required? The usual interpretation is that to prepare for God’s coming we have to be good, that we have to live lives without blemish. The implication being that God is coming in judgement. yet in both Luke and Isaiah, we can see that John is to prepare us, by encouraging us to turn to God, to let us know that we are forgiven and thereby that we are saved.  We will see the glory of the Lord not his wrath. In this context, God’s coming is a blessing not a terror, the smoothing of the path is to make it easier for us to see God’s goodness, not to make it easier for God to come to us!

This means then that any barriers that need leveling are of our own creation and that the preparation of which John speaks, is the removing of the obstacles which we place between ourselves and our acceptance of God’s love for us. Figuratively speaking, we create mountains and dig valleys that prevent us from knowing God’s forgiveness and blind us to the salvation offered by God. Zechariah tells us that we already have both these things, but that we need someone like John to tell us about them and to turn our lives around so that we know that we have them.

The mountains and valleys which prevent us from seeing God and accepting that we are saved and forgiven result from a failure to trust in God, a determination to rely on our own view of reality. And so we build mountains of insecurity and dig valleys of despair. We create hills of hatred and holes of self-pity.  We erect walls of greed, anger, frustration and self-absorption all of which prevent us from seeing the glory of God and discovering the salvation which God offers.

This means that in order to prepare ourselves for God’s coming we must remove all the obstacles which get in the way of our knowing and accepting God’s love for us and taking off the blinkers which blind us to the blessings which God so richly bestows on us. Figuratively speaking, we are to cast down the heights or arrogance and self justification and raise ourselves out of the pits of self indulgence. We must tear down mountains of hatred to expose the love that lies beneath. We must fill the valleys of despair with joy, replace greed with generosity, self-centredness with self-confidence, irritability with peace, frustration with patience, cruelty with kindness, falsehood with faithfulness, self-indulgence with self-control, and harshness with gentleness.

In order to create a straight path or to level the ground between ourselves and God means depending on God, and not on the things of this world, for our peace and happiness.

According to Luke, John comes to assure us that God comes with forgiveness and not judgement; that God comes to shine a light in the midst of our darkness and that God comes with an assurance of our salvation.

We are to prepare ourselves by placing our confidence in God and not in ourselves, by trusting in God and not in our own resources, by accepting that we are forgiven and that thereby we are saved.

It is the hardest thing in the world to let go of our sense of control over our own lives, yet if we can do that, we will find it is the easiest thing in the world to be saved.

Advent 1 – 2009
Luke 21:25-38
Marian Free

In the name of God, always present and yet always out of reach. Amen.

There is a wonderfully telling episode in the Vicar of Dibley in which the stained glass window behind the altar is destroyed in a storm. As the villagers think about its replacement, it becomes clear that no one remembers what was depicted – or at least they all remember, but no two people remember the same thing. It seems amazing. Week after week, this congregation would have sat facing the window, without taking any real notice of it. At first it seems impossible, an exaggeration for the sake of getting a laugh. However, my own experience tells me that there is some truth to it. I have spent time in a Parish in which a similar situation occurred. After a window was destroyed by would-be intruders, it took something like 20 years to discover the name of the person to whom it had been dedicated. Her name had been lost to memory and faithful worshippers had passed the window on a regular basis without really seeing it.

Stories such as this give us pause for thought. How much do we miss because it has become all too familiar? Are there things which we simply don’t see because we are too busy or too pre-occupied. How much of life passes us by because we are too obsessed with the past or too worried about the future? How much of God’s creation simply escapes our notice because we are so focused on other things? Worse still, are we so worried about the coming of God in the future that we fail to notice God’s presence now or so concerned with eternity that we don’t realize that we are living eternity now?

In today’s gospel, Jesus challenges us to be aware of God’s presence in everything around us – both the dramatic and alarming as well as the simple and the everyday. In fact, throughout the gospel, Jesus encourages believers to develop a practice of awareness, openness and expectation, so that unlike his contemporaries, we do not miss what God is saying to us now, or fail to be a part of God’s continuing revelation.

It is easy to simply get on with our lives and push God off into some distant future or place and to either ignore God or to spend our lives worrying what will happen when he comes. It is easy to become so sure that we know who God is and what God wants, that we close our eyes and ears to what God is saying and doing right now. It is easy to become so intent on asking God to give us things that we think we want that we are unable to see how God is continually pouring his blessing on us now.

Jesus calls us back to the present, asks us to live in the moment, to notice what is going on around us and to find God there. He does this by trying to expand our way of thinking and seeing. He shows us that the kingdom is limited to one thing or another: “The kingdom of God is like a mustard seed, the kingdom of God is like a bridegroom, the kingdom of God is like a merchant, the kingdom of God is like a mother .. and so on”.

Neither is the kingdom confined by time and place: ‘The kingdom of God is not coming with things that can be observed; nor will they say, “Look, here it is!” or “There it is!” For, in fact, the kingdom of God is among you.’ ‘There will be signs in the sun, the moon, and the stars, and on the earth distress among nations confused by the roaring of the sea and the waves.’ and ‘‘Look at the fig tree and all the trees; 30as soon as they sprout leaves you can see for yourselves and know that summer is already near. 31So also, when you see these things taking place, you know that the kingdom of God is near.’ It is here and not here. It is imminent and yet its coming cannot be foretold. There will be signs and there will be no signs. The signs will be obvious and they will be subtle.

By leaving open the question, Jesus encourages us to be open and alive to possiblity, to be aware of and present to everything that is happening around us instead of being so convinced that we know that we stop looking and close our eyes and ears to God’s continuing revelation. Jesus delights in contradictions, they force us to be open to new ideas and new experiences. So Jesus’ teaching and his unconventional life attempt to shake us out of our limited world view, to open our hearts and minds to a bigger picture, to help us to see what is, rather than what we want to see, to encourage us to be alert to the possibilities of the present and of the future, instead of being bound by reality as we see it.

By freeing us from our sense of confidence and by creating a sense of uncertainty, Jesus is challenging us to be present in every moment, to be aware of what is happening around us, to notice the budding of the fig tree and so not miss a moment of this life which God has given us nor fail to see the presence of God in catastrophe and triumph, in beauty and in ugliness, in the ordinary and in the extraordinary. Jesus does not allow us to become comfortable or complacent, but demands of us a state of openness and expectancy, alertness and watchfulness so that we see and know God now.

What then of Advent? Advent is the church’s gift to us. By focusing our minds on what God has done in Jesus, we are reminded of what God is continuing to do and open to what God will do in the future. Advent is a time of anticipation, of expectation, a time of heightened awareness to the nearness of God’s presence and excitement about Jesus’ return. Advent is a time to stop, look and listen – to the signs of world shattering catastrophe but also to the subtle, simple signs – a child’s smile, an opening bud, a new job, an old friend. It is a time to remind ourselves once again that God is present in all things – the ordinary and extraordinary, the sacred and the mundane.

Advent is an invitation to open ourselves to God’s presence in and around us; it is an invitation to live in God’s present, to see God in all things. Above all, Advent is an invitation to be part of God’s ongoing adventure – an invitation to allow our hearts and minds to be opened and our lives to be transformed by the God who created us, who came to live among us and who continues to enliven us.

Christ the King 2009

John 18:33-37

Marian Free

In the name of God who invites us to journey into the great unknown. Amen.

I have been reading a book by a Catholic Franciscan, Richard Rohr, called “The Naked Now”. His thesis is that Christians have in general, lost the art of seeing the big picture, that we have in effect, reduced Christianity to a rule book, instead of the gateway to a great and wonderful mystery. He suggests that for centuries, believers have been told “what to know rather than how to know, what to see rather than how to see” that we have made our primary goal “sin management” rather than transformation.

The consequences of this approach have, Rohr says, been deleterious. Among other things, living according to doctrinal principles leads to a tendency to dualistic thinking, to a belief that we ourselves can judge between right and wrong, between good and evil. Dualistic thinking can lead us to believe that we have the wisdom to determine who is in and who is out and to impose conditions on those whom we deem fit to belong. At its worst, dualist thinking leads to the sort of arrogance and self-righteousness which creates oppositions and the need to be right and which seeks to impose one’s beliefs on another. It pits one idea against another and creates divisions so great that sometimes violence is the only possible result. At the same time trying to understand or to contain our faith leads to an emaciated, barren set of beliefs measured by what we do rather than who we are.

This is a regrettable state of affairs given that the primary purpose of faith is not to dictate morality or to create labels for people who are different from ourselves, but to provide a window to the unknown. Faith does not provide the answer to all life’s questions nor does it give us the keys to universal certainty. It invites us into a relationship with the totally other, a relationship with God who has never claimed to be accessible or even comprehensible. That we stand before a mysterious unknown was made clear to Moses who, when he asked for the name of God, was told simply “I am who I am, I will be who I will be”. Instead of being giving clarity and definition, we are offered ambiguity and open-endedness.

This paradox is expressed in the contradictions that we find in Jesus. Jesus, the son of God, is indistinguishable from the people around him. He doesn’t behave in the way we might expect God to behave and he is critical of the very church which proclaims faith in him. With few exceptions, Jesus refuses to be defined or to conform to the expectations which people might have had of him.

Today, the feast day of Christ the King, the contradiction is glaringly obvious. The gospel depicts Jesus standing before Pilate – friendless, vulnerable and humiliated, without dignity or status. There are no armies to back him up, no angels to protect him. The judge of humankind is being judged, the creator of the universe is powerless, the giver of life is risking death, the warrior God is confronting defeat.

Instead of reigning as King, Jesus is being tried as a criminal and, as we know, will be condemned and will die as a criminal. We have to admit that, by our criteria, this is hardly a credible candidate to be the son of God, or even the longed for King.

To some extent, Jesus himself provides the answer to this conundrum when he responds to Pilate’s question “Are you a king?” Jesus turns the question back to Pilate and suggests that those who handed him over, and even Pilate himself have the wrong idea about the notion of kingship. In fact, one would have thought this was obvious if they had only really observed what he did and noticed who His followers were. Jesus’ kingship is of a different kind and his purpose is not to win the world by force. “For this I was born, and for this I came into the world, to testify to the truth. Everyone who belongs to the truth listens to my voice.”

Jesus’ mission has been to confront the very self assurance and arrogance of which Rohr accuses the church. It appears that scribes and the Pharisees had created certainties; they were telling people what to know and how to see. Instead of living with an openness to God and to God’s revelation, they had developed a closed system of belief which provided certainty, but which closed their eyes to mystery and vision. They were good at teaching the people how to follow their teaching, but had lost the art of drawing people into a relationship with God.

Jesus’ hope was to re-open their hearts and minds to the infinite possibilities of faith in the living God. In order to do this, not only did Jesus challenge their teaching, but in his life he created space for relationship by pulling down the walls of certitude and security, by breaking the rules which limited and defined, by separating rigid obedience from grateful response to God and by creating opportunities instead of limiting potential. Among other things, Jesus’ willingness to trust in God exposed the Pharisees determination to depend on themselves, his openness to God’s future revealed their limited vision and his humility before God highlighted their arrogance.

In response to Jesus’ statement, Pilate asks: “What is truth?” If Jesus provides and answer, John has not recorded it. Truth cannot so easily be defined, nor is it something that can be imposed on another. Jesus’ goal is to open our eyes to a bigger truth, by demonstrating that our hold on truth is at best tenuous and at worst a terrible falsehood.

It is the paradox of Jesus’ existence and the contradiction of his passion which opens for us a way into the mystery he proclaims. For the contradictions in his life and teaching force us to abandon our pre-conceptions, to ditch our certainties and to discover the sort of humility which allows us to admit our ignorance, to recognise the limits of our knowledge and to be liberated to enter the limitless, undefined and unrestrained wonder that is God.

Living with uncertainty and being open to possibility is the goal of faith. If we allow ourselves to enter into the paradox then somewhere in the tension between our expectations and the reality, we just might catch a glimpse of God.

Pentecost 23

Mark 12:38-44

Marian Free

In the name of God who calls us, Jesus who leads us and the Spirit who inspires us. Amen.

Most of us are familiar with the story of the widow and with Jesus’ implication that her small contribution to the Temple treasury puts to shame that of the Pharisees. The story is often used in the context of stewardship campaigns to challenge us to consider our own commitment. That is certainly one way to interpret the story however, if we hear it in its wider context, we may discover that, for Mark, it has quite a different meaning.

According to Mark, Jesus’ dispute with the authorities has been escalating since his arrival in Jerusalem. In fact, from the beginning of the gospel, Mark has skillfully built up the friction between Jesus and the scribes and the Pharisees. It begins in the second chapter when, to the horror of the authorities, Jesus claims the authority to forgive – something which is God’s prerogative. The tension builds as Jesus breaks the Sabbath, first to pluck grain and then to heal – and the Pharisees plot to put him to death. Later, Jesus accuses the Pharisees and the scribes of hypocrisy and, in a statement which foreshadows today’s gospel. He accuses them of using their obligations to God to excuse them from their obligations to the people around them.

When Jesus enters Jerusalem the conflict escalates to a point from which there is no retreat. Even when he enters the city, he antagonizes the authorities by inciting the crowds and appearing as the king predicted by Zechariah. As if this is not enough, his first action in the city is to drive out the money changers from the Temple and to overturn the seats of those who sell doves. He then tells the parable of the wicked tenants which implicates the Pharisees and scribes in the murder of the prophets and predicts their part in his own death. He defeats the Pharisees in theological arguments and, to add insult to injury, Jesus directly accuses the scribes of self-seeking behaviour and of the oppression of the poor (represented here by widows).

At first glance, the story of the widow does not seem to fit Mark’s purpose of describing the growing hostility between Jesus and the authorities. However, the positioning of the story indicates its significance. Mark places it between Jesus’ denunciation of the scribes and his prediction of the destruction of the Temple – a statement which causes so much offense that it is quoted as testimony in the trial against him. This suggests that the story is not just a story of generosity, but that it belongs to Jesus’ criticism of the Temple cult and those who support it.

A number of unusual features in the story support this view. For example, unlike other characters in the gospel, the widow does not interact with Jesus, she is not in need of healing, nor is she commended for her faith. She is not, and does not become a follower of Jesus and her life is not changed by the event which Mark recounts. In fact the widow appears to be quite independent of, and oblivious to Jesus. Further, Jewish law was quite clear about the protection of and support for the widow and orphan. The Temple should have been supporting the widow, not the widow it.

As Jesus and others saw it, the practice of religion had replaced a relationship with God. Outward form had taken precedence over inner holiness. Religious observance had become an end in itself, replacing faith and obligation to others. One result of this was that those who could least afford it were exploited by the cult which had developed around the Temple. Instead of supporting them, the cult demanded that they support it. Wealthy widows were particularly vulnerable. Having no other protectors they were dependent on the scribes to manage their affairs and were not always able to see when they are being taken advantage of.

So Jesus denounces the scribes whose desire for wealth and status meant that they were using their position to take advantage of those for whom they had a duty of care. Long prayers, he says, are not evidence of their piety but are designed to encourage the unsuspecting to believe in their sincerity. The mention of widows in Jesus’ attack leads into the story of a widow who gives the last of her money to the Temple. The widow is exploited not by the direct action of the scribes, but by a cultic system which insists that her gift is necessary even though she cannot afford it.

A common understanding of the story is that Jesus is commending the widow for her action. Yet, there are no words of commendation – simply a statement of fact. In the light of his critique of the Temple cult, it seems unlikely that Jesus would be praising someone for supporting it. For Jesus the widow represents all that is false and corrupt in the Temple cult – the exploitation of the poor and the use of false piety to avoid responsibility. Rather than commending the woman, Jesus is drawing attention to the way in which the system is abusing her – she will have nothing to live on.

In this story Jesus, for once, is not a participant but an observer. The widow is unaware that she is being watched and Jesus does not engage her in conversation. She may not know who Jesus is, or that he is observing the Temple. Yet it appears that her actions have a profound effect on him. This is demonstrated by the fact that Jesus utters words that elsewhere he reserves for statements about the future: “Truly, I say.”

In her study of the passage, Kinukawa suggests that the action of the widow goes straight to the heart of Jesus’ self definition. The widow is not to be changed by Jesus, but Jesus by her. The widow, who has nothing, gives what little she has and trusts God with her future. Jesus, sitting at a distance, observes her willingness to place her trust God despite the failure of the Temple cult. Her action provokes him to commit his life to God as she has hers. Her experience of exploitation compels him to continue his collision course with the authorities. Injustice must be challenged, oppression confronted and false piety exposed. Whatever the cost to himself, Jesus will continue his mission and place his trust entirely in God no matter what the future may bring.

A woman gives everything she has, and Jesus, watching her, knows that for him, there is no going back.