Living Bread – are our expectations of God based on what we think God can do for us?

August 10, 2024

Pentecost 12 – 2024

John 6:35, 41-51

Marian Free

In the name of God, whose ways are not our ways and whose thoughts are not our thoughts. Amen.

I don’t know about you but every now and then I find that I am a little disappointed in God, or at least in the simplistic idea of a ‘fix-it’ God that has somehow remains in my brain – despite all attempts to remove that image.

 I am guilty, for example, of wondering why, if we had to have COVID, God didn’t allow some truly awful people to die from it? And there are times, I confess, when I ask myself how God can continue to remain aloof when for example, a powerful nation invades and overrules another weaker nation? Why doesn’t God jump in, boots and all, and end the conflicts and all the suffering in the world? Surely that would be a piece of cake for the ruler of the universe. A dictator could die of COVID, the tanks of an aggressor could become mired in mud, poverty and oppression could be alleviated. Any number of solutions come into my mind – especially when I am feeling powerless to make a difference in the world.

Of course, I can answer my own questions. I do know that God cannot be manipulated by me or be answerable to my concerns alone. I am also aware that I do not see the whole picture and that I cannot envision all the consequences of actions that I think will fix the problems of the world. In my heart if not in my head, I understand that if God did intervene in the course of history, by manipulating the death of a dictator or disabling the weapons of a perceived aggressor, the consequences might be far worse than the present reality. I am also aware that, sadly, many of the world’s ills are of our own making (a result of human greed and selfishness, and desire for power and wealth). I know too that issues like war, and poverty are not always black and white but are usually a complex shade of grey and that a mere mortal like myself doesn’t always have all the facts at my fingertips.

If I am disappointed in God then, it means that my expectations of God have, at least temporarily, been allowed to get out of hand, or that I have imprinted my image of God on to a God who is ultimately beyond comprehension and certainly beyond description.

Perhaps you too have expectations about God that God does not live up to. What is your image of God? How do you expect God to respond to what is going on in the world or in your own lives? Do you imagine that if only you pray hard enough or long enough that God will do what you want (maybe at the expense of what someone else wants)?

One of the issues today’s gospel addresses is that of expectations – the expectations of the people and the reality that is Jesus.

You might remember that last week we learned that the people followed Jesus across the lake because he had satisfied their physical hunger. They were not really interested in Jesus, or in who Jesus represented, but only in what he could do. So, when Jesus makes the outrageous claim that he is the bread that came down from heaven they are uncomprehending. Jesus simply doesn’t fit their expectations of a heavenly figure. Apart from anything else, they know his earthly reality. They know that he didn’t come down from heaven – his parents are known to them. He is no different from them – just the son of Joseph. Sure, he could feed a crowd with a small amount of food, but the living bread that came down from heaven? Impossible.

The crowds are not interested in who Jesus is, but in what he can do for them here and now. They want him to alleviate their hunger in the present. Jesus wants to satisfy a hunger for things that last. The crowds are focused solely on their earthly needs. Jesus wants to meet their spiritual needs. The crowds want to fit Jesus into some sort of stereotype with which they are familiar – Moses for example, who fed them in the wilderness. Jesus wants them to know who he really is, where he comes from and who he represents. 

Jesus and the people are at cross purposes, they want different things. The crowd want what can be seen and felt and, in this case, eaten.  Jesus wants to give them something intangible and permanent, something that will satisfy their deepest longings for eternity not just their superficial, present needs. Jesus can give them, something that will sustain them forever, in every circumstance, not something that will last for a moment and need to be replenished on a daily basis. 

The crowd want Jesus to give them what they want – in this case food. Jesus wants to give them what they need, spiritual sustenance that will enable them to face any difficulty, to endure any trials, to be at peace with themselves and with the world. The crowd wants something that they can see and feel and touch. Jesus offers living bread.  He wants them to rely totally on him, not just for their immediate physical needs but for their spiritual and eternal needs. 

Which brings me back to my starting point – expectations. How realistic our expectations of God? Do we expect a short-term miracle worker, a ‘fix-it’ God, or a God who can see into the distant future?  Do we expect God to work with us in a superficial way or do we understand that God can meet our deepest needs in the present and forever?  Have. our longings been satisfied by Jesus the living bread or are we still restless, searching out what we do not yet have?

Our expectations will of course determine the outcome. If we expect God to wave magic wand to solve all the problems of the world, we have failed to understand that our self-absorption and our desire to have God do what we want makes us part of the problem. If on the other hand, we have grasped that in Jesus God has come as close as God can to changing the world for the better then our expectations of what God can do will be tempered by an understanding of what we have failed to do. We have failed to trust God, to depend on God to satisfy all our needs, to accept from God the living bread which in turn will free us from the self-interest which makes demands of God, and will fill us with a deep sense of contentment, which will make us at peace with the world and in turn will ultimately make peace in the world.

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Bread from heaven – satisfying our deepest needs

August 4, 2024

Pentecost 11 – 2024

John 6:24-35

Marian Free

In the name of God, who gives us more than we could ever need. Amen.

Last week I concluded that if nothing else, the account of Jesus’ feeding of the five thousand was a reminder that Jesus cared about the whole person. He didn’t try to address issues of faith and spirituality when he knew that people were starving – he simply satisfied their hunger.  He didn’t talk to the terrified disciples about having faith before he calmed the storm, he stilled the wind and waves and then asked why they were so worried. In other words, over and over again, we see that Jesus cared for people as and where they were. He didn’t demand that they sign up as card-carrying believers before he addressed what they require, he met them where they were and responded to their needs. 

That does not mean that Jesus let the crowds (or the disciples) off the hook, or that he didn’t challenge those who followed him to think about the ways in which their lives could be transformed through his presence in and with them. Caring about the whole person meant that Jesus did address their spiritual needs as well as their spiritual needs, he did confront deeper issues of meaning as well as the superficial needs of existence.  Afterhe calmed the storm he questioned the disciples’ lack of faith (their inability to ride the storms of life), after he fed them he accused them of seeking him out not because of the signs but because they ate their fill and were satisfied. Jesus showed that he cares for the body and the soul – the whole person.

So it is that when those who have been fed sought Jesus out, he tried to move them beyond their superficial understanding of the miracle of the loaves to its deeper meaning. In other words, he attempted to help them to see what it meant that he, Jesus, has fed them. He tried to lift their gaze from their earthly needs to the spiritual benefits that are available to those who were willing to see in the miracle a God reaching out to them with gifts that are beyond price. 

Jesus discerned that the crowds who had followed him from Tiberius to Capernaum were fixated on being fed, on having their physical needs met. They were hoping that if they found Jesus, that he would continue to perform miracles – like feeding crowds and that they would be able to (at worst) exploit and (at best) to take advantage of his ability to perform miracles.  Of course, it was within Jesus’ power to be a worker of miracles, but he knew that if the people were to be truly whole they would need to find a way to fill not just the emptiness of their stomachs but the emptiness of their lives. They would need to address the deeper issues that confronted them in ways that were not dependent on external factors, but which drew on a source of strength that was greater than them. They would need to rely on the spiritual (not physical substance) with which Jesus feeds them – bread which would last not just for a day, but which would endure for eternity. In the process they will need to adjust their expectations regarding Jesus and learn who he really is – the presence of the divine in their midst. 

Jesus makes his point by using a technique that he has used since his encounter with Nicodemus. He turns a question back on the one or ones who have asked and uses the misunderstanding to open their minds to the deeper spiritual truth. In this instance the crowds who have followed Jesus begin by asking: “How did you get here”?  Jesus ignores their question, choosing instead to confront their focus on their physical needs – they have followed him, not because of who he is but because they have had their fill of bread – but they understand bread in only one way as food for the stomach. Jesus wants them to recognise another hunger – a hunger for wholeness and life.  He points out that bread, such as that with which he fed them with the previous day, satisfies only for a short time, but the bread that is his presence among them can feed for eternity.

Of course, this doesn’t make sense to the he crowds who can’t shift their focus from the physical bread to the spiritual and they can’t comprehend that they could be given something for nothing. “What must we do?”  they ask. Jesus informs them that all they have to do is to believe in him as one sent by God and they will be satisfied for eternity. It is impossible for the crowd to believe that anything could be so simple. They demand another sign, proof that Jesus comes from God, does represent God. After all, they contend, Moses gave them food from heaven!

Their misunderstanding provides another opportunity for Jesus to try to open their minds to a new way of seeing. He corrects their misunderstanding. It was not Moses, but God who sent the bread – the true bread from heaven. Moses was the prophet who interceded, not the agent who sent the bread. The logical conclusion is that if he, Jesus, has fed the crowds with bread in the wilderness, then he, Jesus, is God (provider of the true bread). Jesus takes the claim even further – he is the bread from heaven, the food that sustains body and soul. He is “the bread of God”, the bread that will last, the bread that gives life to the world”.

Finally, at least for now, Jesus claims – “I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.” Believing in him, Jesus asserts will satisfy the crowds deepest longings, will take away their trivial anxieties, will calm their troubled souls and will put everything into its proper perspective.

Over and over again in John’s gospel Jesus claims to be all that we need – the light of the world, living water, the true vine, the good shepherd, the bread of life. If we place our trust in Jesus, if we believe that Jesus will light our way and sustain us, we will not be spared those things that affect the rest of humankind, but we will be given the strength and courage to face them, the assurance that we are not alone and the confidence that whatever trials this life offers, we have the certainty of an eternity in the presence of God.

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So much grass – feeding 5,000

July 29, 2024

Pentecost 10 – 2024

John 6:1-21

Marian Free

In the name of God who delights in the ordinary and who feeds us – body, mind and soul. Amen.

Sometimes I wonder if we take ourselves (and therefore our faith) too seriously. Jesus’ feeding of the 5,000 is one such example.  Much ink has been spilled in the attempt to explain just what happened. Was it a miracle in the sense that Jesus was able to turn five small loaves into enough bread to feed such an enormous crowd? OR was the miracle the small boy’s offering – which in turn exposed the selfishness of the crowd who then produced the food that they had brought with them?  If wondering about the miracle were not enough, others (like myself last week) focus on what the author’s intention was in re-telling the story. For example, as I said, Mark seems to be deliberately contrasting Jesus’ selflessness and humility with Herod’s self-centredness and pride. John, as we shall see, uses the miracle as a stepping off point for a long discourse on bread and possibly on Eucharistic theology.

Knowing the scholarship adds depth and breadth to our understanding, but it doesn’t hurt to have a more playful look at the text, to wonder at the detail and to try to put ourselves into the story. Instead of asking about meaning, we can take the story at face value and imagine it being related to a congregation of believers who might be trying to get a sense of what it was like to be in the presence of Jesus. Sometimes little details stand out and bring a smile to our face reminding us that Jesus was real, that he was human just like us, that the disciples didn’t completely understand or trust Jesus (a bit like us) that the people who followed Jesus were interested in him because of what he could do (at least a little bit like us).

So, Jesus – who if we read back – has just finished a long dispute with the Jewish authorities randomly decides to go to the other side of the Sea of Galilee. We are not told how he gets there! A large crowd continues to follow him either because they are interested in his showmanship or because they believe he has the power to heal. When Jesus gets to the other side of the Sea, he goes up the mountain and sits down with his disciples – only then does he appear to notice the crowd coming up behind. 

He doesn’t teach (as in Mark and Luke) or heal (as in Matthew and Luke) but turns to Philip and poses a “teaser[1]”: “Where are we to buy enough bread for these people to eat?” We can imagine Jesus’ lips curling slightly and his eyes twinkling as he tries to suppress a smile. He knows ahead of time that Philip will take him seriously and misunderstand him. Perhaps Jesus even imagines Philip doing the maths in his head. Indeed, Philip doesn’t even answer Jesus’ question which was “where” not “how” will we buy bread.

Then “miraculously’ the bread appears in the form of a small boy who has brought his lunch to Andrew and in Andrew who, even though he thinks the offering much too small, still brings the boy to Jesus. Jesus makes no comment about the bread but tells Andrew to make the peoples sit down and, as if it is an important detail, the gospel writer tells us that there was a “great deal of grass in the place”. (Mark and Matthew mention the grass, or the green grass, but not how much there is.) This comment about the grass, adds nothing to the miracle story, but it does situate the story and allows us to picture the scene and to put ourselves in it.

I draw out these details rather than the number fed, or the baskets left over, to demonstrate the ways in which the author has tried to make the text come alive for his listeners. Through this retelling, we are shown Jesus’ initial indifference (not that he doesn’t care, but that he is so focussed on what he is doing that he doesn’t at first notice the crowd). We can also see something of Jesus’ playfulness – life doesn’t have to be taken too seriously!  At the same time through Philip, we can see the consequences of taking things too seriously – we get the wrong end of the stick, we look for the wrong solution, we don’t listen carefully to the question! In Andrew, we observe the faith that is tentative, but not afraid of being disparaged or put down. Lastly, the plentiful grass is evidence that however we understand it, and however it actually happened, there was a time and a place when a great crowd gathered around Jesus, sat on the grass, and were fed.

If we pay attention to the detail, it is easier to see what is going on, and to put ourselves into the picture – are we part of the crowd, or do we relate to the pragmatic Philip or to the hesitant Andrew? How do we feel about Jesus’ gentle teasing of Philip? What do we make of the “great deal of grass”?

The Ignatians have a method of reading the bible which might be called imaginative contemplation. This method invites us to approach the bible with all our senses, to see, hear, feel and smell what is happening, to put ourselves into the story as one of the characters and to imagine what they are thinking[2]. To do this, you first open oneself to the presence of God, before reading the passage slowly once or twice so as to become familiar with it. Then you try to put yourself in the story as one of the people or simply as an observer (perhaps a maid from the inn peaking in on the Nativity). Finally, you turn to Jesus and speak to him. If you’d like to try. This method, John 6:1-21 would be a good place to start.

Who knows what really happened and what the miracle of the feeding really was, but from this story we learn that Jesus was real, that he had a sense of humour and that he cared, about the whole person – body, mind and soul, and that the people needed full stomachs as much as they needed to hear him or to be cured of their illnesses.

[1] A much better word than ‘test”.

[2] Christina Miller gives a simple explanation here https://blog.bible/bible-engagers-blog/entry/ignatian-contemplation-how-to-read-the-bible-with-your-imagination

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Another way – Herod vs Jesus

July 20, 2024

Pentecost 9 – 2024

Mark 6:30-34, 53-56

Marian Free

In the name of God who shows us another way, a better away. Amen.

There have been times I admit when, exhausted from a day of minding children or simply bored with an inane children’s story, that I have skipped a page that I determined was not essential to the plot. I rarely got away with the omission – it was usually met with: “you missed a page!” For the child each page was integral to the plot and to the pleasure of having the story read to them. 

Most stories have a trajectory and are carefully constructed so as to take the reader along with them. This is why it can be frustrating when the lectionary writers leave out sections of the readings as is the case this morning. The missing verses in this instance are Mark’s account of the feeding of the 5000 and the rationale for omitting them is that for the next five weeks we will be focussing on John’s version of the same event. Wisely, the lectionary writers try to avoid too much repetition, but what that means is that we lose Mark’s voice, when it comes to this story and his voice is important.  

As might be expected, the author of John’s gospel takes a very different approach to the re-telling of this miracle. John uses the feeding of the 5,000 to introduce a very long discourse on the theme of bread. Here, Jesus compares himself to the manna in the wilderness, he claims to be the Bread of Life and he states that those who do not eat his flesh and drink his blood have no life in them. The Jesus of John’s gospel appears to be at least a little confrontational here – “if you don’t do this then this will happen”. Jesus’ language and assertiveness mean that some disciples find his teaching too difficult, and they turn away from him.

Mark’s account of the same event is very different. In Mark’ recounting, the emphasis is placed on Jesus’ compassion; on Jesus as shepherd of a people who are lost and who are looking for someone to lead them. Jesus does teach the crowd, but the content of that teaching is not considered worth reporting.  What is important to Mark is Jesus’ response to the crowds who have sought him out – the very crowds he was trying to escape. Though Jesus is desperately tired (and possibly wanting to grieve the death of John the Baptist and to process what that might mean for him) he doesn’t turn the people away. Jesus knows that he needs silence and solitude, and he has taken his disciples to a desolate place. But when he sees the crowd instead of being frustrated, he sees their need and puts aside his own. He teaches and heals the crowd and then, instead of sending them away as would make sense, he feeds them. Jesus draws on an inner strength which enables him to put his own needs last and the needs of the people first.  

Whereas in John’s gospel Jesus gives the crowds a metaphor – “I am the Bread of Life”, in Mark’s gospel, Jesus gives himself, all that he is.  

By leaving Mark’s version of the story out of our Sunday readings, we are prevented from comparing the two accounts, but the real damage caused by the omission of Mark. verses 35-52, is that it does not give us an opportunity to see the way in which Mark is constructing his gospel and the way in which the positioning of this story is significant for the gospel as a whole.

As we will see over the course of the next five weeks, John places the story of the feeding of the 5,000 in the context of the growing tension between Jesus and the authorities and the discourse which follows highlights the misunderstanding and the. tension. Mark uses the story very differently – to make clear the contradiction between the ways of the world and the way of God (as exemplified by Jesus).

In Mark’s gospel the feeding of the 5,000 follows the gruesome account of Herod’s banquet[1].

As you will remember, last week I concluded that there was no good news in the account of the beheading of John which reminds us that the world can be an ugly place in which brutal events occur, in which those who are innocent suffer and God has no magic wand to make everything right. But by juxtaposing John’s beheading with the feeding of the 5,000 Mark makes it clear that it doesn’t have to be this way. There is another way – a way that is not prideful, self-serving and destructive, but is humble, self-sacrificial and life-giving. 

As Donahue and Harrington point out, Herod’s banquet takes place in a palace. It is a birthday and only those who will enhance Herod’s honour will have been invited. The food is not mentioned but is surely fitting for such an occasion. Jesus’ banquet takes place somewhere desolate, it is not planned, the attendees (ordinary people, who have nothing to offer) have invited themselves, and the food is only that which is available – a paltry two fish and five loaves. Herod’s banquet is overshadowed by Herod’s immoral behaviour, Jesus’ banquet is characterised by his compassion. Jesus responds to the crowd by offering them food, Herod’s response (to the expectation of) his guests is to have John the Baptist beheaded. Herod’s concern was to hold on to his power and to his position at all costs. Jesus was willing to relinquish his own needs to serve the needs of others.

Herod’s hubris, self-centredness and his focus on what he can gain lead to division, brutality, violence. 

Jesus’ humility, his self-effacement and his willingness to put others first create unity, tenderness and peace. 

Herod and Jesus – two different ways. of living and being.

Whose example will we follow? What sort of world do we want to create?

[1] I am grateful to Donahue and Harrington for this insight. Donahue, S.J, John R, and Harrington, Daniel J, S.J. The Gospel of Mark. Collegeville, Minnesota: The Liturgical Press, 2002, 209.

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‘There’s a crack where the light gets in’ – the beheading of John the Baptist

July 13, 2024

Pentecost 8 – 2024

Mark 6:14-29

Marian Free

In the name of God whose light shines in the darkness and whose strength holds us in the midst of our pain. Amen.

I confess that I am a great fan of Leonard Cohen and while I can’t claim to fully understand the lyrics of his songs, I think I get the gist of what he is saying. By and large he presents a bleak view of the world and the people in it. For example, in what I believe was the last song he wrote before he died, ‘You want it Darker’, Cohen wrote: 

‘If you are the dealer, I’m out of the game
If you are the healer, it means I’m broken and lame
If thine is the glory, then mine must be the shame
You want it darker
We kill the flame.’

Later he repeats a line: ‘A million candles burning
For the help that never came’, replacing the word help with love the second time around. ‘A million candles burning for the love that never came.’ (https://www.google.com/search?client=safari&rls=en&q=you+want+it+darker+lyrics&ie=UTF-8&oe=UTF-8)

Cohen’s lyrics could be a song for our time. We live in a world which appears to be fracturing along many different fault lines. The Russia/Ukraine war has divided nations along much the same lines as the Cold War. Across the globe countries which are proudly refusing to become directly involved in the war are not so reluctant to supply one side or the other with arms and military equipment thereby deepening the rifts between them. The Israel/Gaza conflict is threatening to split once harmonious communities in all corners of the world. Natural disasters are wreaking havoc on a scale not witnessed before and the gap between rich and poor are increasing at an alarming rate.  

These and other events are enough to drive the most hopeful among us to despair – to sing with Cohen that there are a million candles burning for the help that never came. We live in a time when we cannot ignore the very real presence of evil, the impact that human greed and selfishness are having on the planet and the capacity of human beings to inflict horrendous suffering on others.

Cohen is not afraid to name the darkness that hovers over us.

In the same way, the Bible refuses to paper over the ugliness of human existence, to sugar coat the terrors that human beings inflict on each other or to pretend that God can once and for all miraculously sweep away all that is wrong with the world. From the beginning to the end of our scriptures we are confronted with the capacity for evil that resides in each one of us. Cain kills Abel, the Israelites destroy the inhabitants of Canaan, Athaliah, the mother of Ahaziah murders anyone who stands between herself and the crown and on it goes. The story of the death of John the Baptist is just one story in a litany of accounts of the frailty and insecurity of human beings. 

There is no way to gloss over or to find good news in the story of the beheading of John the Baptist. Here, Mark, who is known more for his brevity than his attention to detail, does not spare us. In his account the worst of humanity is exposed – Herod’s pride and insecurity, and his need to keep face (honour and power) at whatever cost.  Herodias’ spite at the Baptist’s moral stance and the supposedly innocent pawn – the daughter – who refuses to trust her own judgement but defers to her mother and who not only willingly enters into the unfolding drama but who adds her own particularly gruesome detail in asking that the head of John the Baptist be brought to her on a platter.

In placing the story here, Mark does two things (apart from reporting on the event itself). Firstly, he is making it clear that it is not only demons and evil spirits who cannot bear their wickedness to be exposed by Jesus’ goodness. Evil is not external to but integral to the human condition. Herodias wants John gone because he makes her feel uncomfortable (just as Jesus unsettled the demons). John has pointed out what Herodias already knows – that her divorce and remarriage are against the law – something she does not want to be reminded of.  

Secondly the account of John’s beheading acts as a sort of corrective to any misunderstanding about Jesus – his role and his powers. For the readers of the gospel who have been caught up by the miraculous events of the story – Jesus’ ability to cast out demons, heal the sick and even to calm a storm, Mark, through this story makes it clear that there is no magic wand or miracle cure for the ills of the world. The world and all its wickedness will not suddenly be transformed by the presence of Jesus. There will always be Herod’s – the immoral, the volatile, the power hungry, and the selfish. The evil that resides in the human heart will have to be confronted one person at a time.

That said, the story ends on a hopeful note. Mark tells us that John’s disciples came and took his body and laid it in a tomb. John’s life and ministry have not come to an abrupt halt. Herodias has not won. In the midst of darkness and despair God’s goodness and love has broken-in.

To return to Leonard Cohen. Another of his songs include the line: “There’s a crack in everything that’s where the light gets in.” Rabbi David Sachs tells us that this image comes a story in Jewish mysticism, known as: “The breaking of vessels”. According to the story, when God created the world and filled it with light the world was simply not strong enough to hold that light, so the vessels containing the light broke and everywhere there are broken vessels and within those vessels is divine light.” (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2s3kQSZ_Qxk)

The death of John the Baptist is a stark reminder of humanity’s ability to defy God, and to desecrate goodness, but just as John’s disciples faithfully took and buried his body, so there are in every generation those who, despite the consequences will be the presence of goodness and holiness in the world. Despair, horror and evil will never hold sway because wherever there is an act of courage, of kindness or selflessness, we are reminded that there is a crack in everything and that’s where the light gets in.

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Boxed in – Jesus in Nazareth

July 6, 2024

Pentecost 7 – 2024

Mark 6:1-13

Marian Free

In the name of God who always surprises us and who always breaks through our narrow limitations. Amen.

There was a time, not so long ago, when parents of children with Down’s Syndrome were advised to put them in an institution and forget about them. Indeed, such was the case as recently as 1997 when Queenslander Rosanne Stuart gave birth to her daughter Madeline. According to an article in Vogue magazine, “before she could even see her, the baby was whisked away to another room. The doctor told her to leave the baby at the hospital and start over; pointing out the child would never amount to anything and would only mature to the mental age of a seven year old”.[1] Thankfully Rosanne ignored the doctor’s advice, and like many parents of her generation, refused to be bound by societal (and sometimes medical) expectations. She brought up her daughter, Madeline, to believe that she was beautiful and could do anything. Madeline is now an international model (perhaps the first person with Down Syndrome to take to the catwalk). She has participated in New York fashion week and taken to the runway in such places as Paris, London, Runway Dubai and Mercedes-Benz Fashion Week China.

Madeline is just one example of the ways in which the world in general is refusing to be bound by stereotypes, and in which parents are refusing to limit children who do not fit the norm. The examples are too numerous to mention, but one other Australian who has refused to be boxed and limited by labels is Michael Theo.  Michael is the neurodivergent star of the ABC series Austin. He has participated in the TV programme Love on the Spectrum, is an animal rights advocate, podcaster and much more.   

For too long we have classified people according to their looks, their athletic ability, their shape and size, and by whether their body or their mind fits the so-called norm. Society as a whole has refused to recognise that those who do not fit the stereotype might in fact have talents just waiting to be identified and nurtured. Thankfully, in recent decades, we have begun to value people for who they are, rather than try to force them to fit a particular mould. Today we have the Para-Olympics to showcase the talents of those born without limbs, those permanently altered by injury and anyone else who would be disadvantaged by competing against athletes whose bodies fit the norm. We are less and less likely to decide who can represent us – in film, in sport, and in any other endeavour – according to how much like ourselves they are.

Today’s gospel has to do with expectations, about boxing people in so that they fit our image of them. Having wandered around Galilee teaching and healing, Jesus has returned to his home town. On the Sabbath, he teaches in their synagogue. Those who hear him are initially astounded, but immediately they begin to question themselves: “Where did this man get all this? What is this wisdom that has been given to him?” they ask with a certain amount of scepticism.  This is Jesus, they know who he is – one of them.  It seems that they cannot allow Jesus to be anything other than the person whom they believe him to be. They have known Jesus for most, if not all, of his life, and it appears that they simply cannot let go of the image of the Jesus whom they knew before this transformation. He is the child of questionable birth – the child of Mary (not Joseph). He is the young boy who played with their children, the brother of young men whom they know – James and Joses and Judas and Simon. His sisters still live among them – ordinary women living ordinary lives. He is a carpenter, not a prophet or miracle worker.

The people of Nazareth have boxed Jesus in. They can’t imagine that he can really be anyone other than the Jesus they have always known. Their limited imaginations cannot allow for him to have changed so radically – to have become one who is well-versed in scripture and who has power to heal. None of this was evident when he lived among them, or, if it was, they were blind to his potential. Their lack of belief makes it impossible for Jesus to do much for them. They have put up imperviable barriers between themselves and him, that even divinity cannot cross.

The response of the Nazoreans to Jesus is an example of our own response to God. How often do we limit God, Jesus, or the Spirit as a consequence of our expectations being either too grand, or too narrow? How often is God the Trinity prevented from acting in our lives because we are disappointed that the Triune God does not live up to our expectations or because our expectations are simply too low? We, like Jesus’ neighbours have formed an image of God – who God is and what God can do. We expect extraordinary miracles and are disappointed when God acts differently. Alternatively, we expect very little and so give God little opportunity to do anything for us. We hope for grand signs and fail to see the presence of God all around us. We try to define God when God is simply unable to be defined. We box God in, try to make God conform to our idea of God and in so doing miss God’s mystery and grandeur. 

The very nature of God should continually surprise, astound and astonish us. Our relationship with God should be not one of familiarity but one of expectation and uncertainty. God may be present in the ordinary as well as the extraordinary. God may reveal Godself in mighty acts or quiet whispers. God may heal broken bodies, but more often will mend broken souls. God will never, ever be what we perceive God to be, for then God would not be God.

Our task is to suspend our need to understand, to categorise, and to define, and to retain a joyful openness to God’s presence such that when God catches us by surprise, instead of saying: “That can’t be God,”  we will be able to say wholeheartedly:  “Ah, yes, there God is.”

[1] https://www.vogue.com.au/fashion/news/meet-australian-madeline-stuart-the-worlds-first-professional-model-with-down-syndrome/news-story/c90e9224d9586e7840362a9ea0a4bf8a

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Who infects who? Woman with a haemorrhage.

July 2, 2024

Pentecost 6 – 2024

Mark 5:21-43

Marian Free

In the name of God who sees our deepest needs and sets us free. Amen.

Thanks to Reginald and Catherine Hamlin, the prevalence of obstetric fistula in Ethiopia became known and, more importantly, addressed. Their story is well known. The medical couple responded to an advertisement for a medico to establish a midwifery school in the hospital in Addis Adiba. Once there, it was not long before they observed the huge number of untreated injuries caused by childbirth. Instead of returning to New Zealand when their contract was completed, the couple founded the Addis Adiba Fistula Hospital. It is the only hospital of its kind and has treated over 60,000 women.

The tearing of the fistula during childbirth can have devastating consequences. It is especially prevalent in places where there is inadequate access to pre-and peri-natal care and where there are no midwives to assist with birth. In countries where child marriage is allowed and in which female circumcision is practiced the situation is even more dire. Girls whose bodies are not ready for childbirth become pregnant and genital mutilation can make the birthing process even more difficult. In Ethiopia something like 100,000 women and girls live with a fistula and around 9,000 new cases occur every year (this in 2022).

An obstetric fistula is a hole or tear that is created during a long or obstructed labour.  The tear creates a hole between the bladder and/or rectum which leads to leakage of urine or faeces over which the woman has no control. This in turn results not only in physical discomfort, psychological distress and infertility but also in rejection by the spouses and families of these women and social isolation. Rejected by their communities, young women who suffer from this condition become homeless and impoverished.

The medical situation of the woman with a haemorrhage in today’s gospel is different but the resulting situation is similar – rejection, isolation and penury. In the ancient world, blood, especially menstrual blood, rendered a woman unclean, a source of contamination and therefore as someone to be avoided. The woman with a haemorrhage would not only have been unclean, but also infertile. She would have been socially isolated and her value as a woman (able to bear children) would have been seriously compromised. The woman would have been an object of fear, isolated, destitute and desperate.

No wonder she takes her chance with Jesus. No wonder that she is driven to break the law, to cause offence and to risk the wrath of the crowds.  Jesus is her last and only hope of restoration – to health and to the community.

We know nothing of the woman, but we can imagine that she had been a person of some means, because she has, over the course of twelve years, been able to seek the help of doctors. Now she has spent all that she has on doctors – to no avail. 

Jesus’ reputation has reached the woman, and while the woman dare not appeal to him openly for fear of the crowd’s reaction, she presumably knows that that Jesus has not demonstrated an unwillingness to engage with those deemed unclean. After all, he has healed lepers who, like her are considered impure and forced to separate themselves from family and community. 

So when she learns that Jesus is near the woman somehow slips into the crowd, makes her way to Jesus and touches, not him, but his cloak.  Two things happen simultaneously – the woman knows that she is healed, and Jesus feels power flow from him to another. 

In Jesus, the process of contamination is reversed. His purity is not polluted by her impurity, her uncleanness does not taint him but rather her impurity is sanitised by his purity. His ‘power’, his pureness, moves from him to her, cleansing and restoring her. In healing the woman, Jesus not only sets her free from her suffering, but restores her to her family: “Daughter” he says.

It is easy to fool ourselves into believing that notions of purity and impurity belong to another time and age, but I challenge you  to think of the ways  in which we limit and exclude those who do not fit the norms of our own time, the ways in which we judge those with health issues that we do not understand, the barriers we place between ourselves and those who are different, the ways in which we exclude people from participation in things we take for granted. 

The examples are manifold so I shall only list a few – women with endometriosis who spend years and fortunes convincing doctors that they are unwell and are made to feel that the problem lies with them, the rough sleepers who endure our discomfort rather than our compassion and who feel our discomfort, fear and revulsion, our physical environments that make it impossible for the differently abled to fully participate in the lives we take for granted and which tell them of our indifference. Consciously or unconsciously, we isolate and protect ourselves from the suffering of others. 

Consciously or unconsciously, we send the message that we are repulsed or affronted by those whose situations we do not fully understand.

Time and again, Jesus demonstrates that compassion for and engagement with the despised and rejected takes nothing from himself and gives everything to them – restoring them physically, psychologically and socially. If we are willing to learn from his example, we will create a society in which everyone is valued, included and made whole, a world infected and transformed by kingdom of God.

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A storm tossed boat – relinquishing control

June 22, 2024

Pentecost 5 -2024

Mark 4:35-41 (thoughts while on leave)

Marian Free

In the name of God who knows our deepest fears, who holds us in the palm of God’s hands and who knows the number of hairs on on head. Amen.

One of my favourite hymns is ‘Abide with me.’ I have always loved it but knowing the role the hymn played in the life (or rather death) of Edith Cavell has given it new power and meaning.

 Abide with me, fast falls the eventide
The darkness deepens Lord, with me abide
When other helpers fail and comforts flee
Help of the helpless, oh, abide with me

Swift to its close ebbs out life’s little day
Earth’s joys grow dim, its glories pass away
Change and decay in all around I see
O Thou who changest not, abide with me

I fear no foe, with Thee at hand to bless
Ills have no weight, and tears no bitterness
Where is death’s sting?
Where, grave, thy victory?
I triumph still, if Thou abide with me

Hold Thou Thy cross before my closing eyes
Shine through the gloom and point me to the skies
Heaven’s morning breaks, and earth’s vain shadows flee
In life, in death, o Lord, abide with me
Abide with me, abide with me. (Henry Francis Lyte and Will Henry Monk)

Edith Cavell was a nurse, and an extremely competent and brave woman. During the First World War, Cavell was based in Brussels. Her hospital was taken over by the Red Cross. Working for the Red Cross, Cavell treated all injured soldiers without distinction – friend and foe – and she assisted some 200 hundred Allied soldiers escape German occupied Belgium. For this, she was captured, accused of aiding a hostile power and sentenced to be executed for treason. The daughter of a priest, Cavell had a strong faith. The night before she was to face the firing squad, she was visited by an Anglican priest who was based in Brussels. After she received the Eucharist, she and the Rev’d Gahan sang together ‘Abide with me.’

I don’t know the history of this hymn, but the lyrics express a complete and utter faith in God, especially at the time of death. That Cavell could sing this when the firing squad awaited her fills me with awe as does the fact that she was able to ask the priest to tell her loved ones later on “that my soul, as I believe, is safe, and that I am glad to die for my country”.

To face such a gruesome death with such calm and confidence is surely something all Christians are capable of, but how many of us along the way allow ourselves to be bothered and weighed down by trivial and unimportant anxieties. When it comes down to it, how many of us trust God with every aspect of our existence.

This, I think is what today’s gospel is getting at – the ability (or not) to place our lives, with all their minor irritations and major setbacks, completely in the hands of God.

Mark’s account of the stormy sea crossing has a number of interesting features. In the first instance, according to Mark (and only Mark), the disciples venture on to the sea in the evening – a time when, as anyone knew, the waters could be rough and difficult to manoeuvre. We are not told why they took the risk, but it is clear that Mark places the responsibility for the dangerous journey on them. Secondly, we are told that they took Jesus ‘just as he was’ which supports the notion that not a lot of thought or preparation was put into the journey. Again, the blame for the situation seems to be being laid at the feet of the disciples.

 Despite the lack of preparation and the failure of the disciples to take the conditions into account, Jesus is completely relaxed. Indeed, he is so relaxed that he falls asleep on a cushion.

 As might be expected, a storm blew up in the evening. The boat was tossed about and swamped. Unable to control the boat, and in fear of their lives, the disciples wake Jesus, accusing him of not caring about them: ‘Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?’ they shout.

 Jesus wakes, rebukes the wind and chides the disciples. It is important to note that Jesus doesn’t berate the disciples for not believing in his ability to control the elements. He doesn’t ask them: ‘didn’t you believe that I could do this?’  His question to the disciples is: ‘why are you afraid?‘ why are you afraid?

 It is fear not faith in Jesus’ power that is at issue here.

 Jesus, who probably knows the lake as well as any other Galilean, got into the boat and promptly fell asleep. He will have known that the wind was likely to come up. He will have known too, that if he so chose, he could command the wind to stop but he chooses to sleep instead of take control. Unlike the disciples, Jesus trusts in God so completely that he has no fear. Having placed himself in God’s hands Jesus trusts that whatever the outcome of the storm, he is with God and God with him. Sleep is possible because he has chosen not to worry – living or dying he knows that his life is God’s.

 When we read this story, we are often so focussed on the storm and Jesus’ power over the natural elements that we lose sight of what may be the central point of the story – the sleeping Jesus’ utter trust in God, his lack of fear in the face of possible death and his knowledge that God is with him in every circumstance of his life – be it good or evil.

 Like the disciples- who are foolish and uncomprehending in Mark’s gospel we don’t always get it. The disciple’s response says it all. ‘Who then is this that the wind and the sea obey him?’ It has nothing to do with faith and everything to with the miracle – which, when you think about it, completely negates the need for the sort faith that Jesus is modelling and which he will continue to model until the end. Faith that is dependent on miracles, faith that relies on God to get us out of tight corners, faith that believes God will always intervene to protect us from harm, is not the faith that Jesus lives and proclaims.

 The faith that allows Jesus to sleep through the storm, is a faith that trusts the God of the universe to get us through (not avoid) life’s difficulties. The faith that Jesus lives is a faith that gives God control over our destiny (rather than trying to control every aspect of our lives by ourselves.) The faith that allowed Jesus to face the cross is a faith that understands that in life, in death, God abides with us.

 This is a story not about Jesus’ taking control, but about Jesus’ willingness to relinquish control.

 When we are tossed and turned about, do we seek to control our circumstances and rage that God doesn’t care? Or, can we like Jesus, remain asleep in a storm tossed boat?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Whose kingdom is it anyway? Mustard seeds and seeds growing secretly.

June 15, 2024

Pentecost 4 -2024

Mark 4:26-34 (some thoughts)

Marian Free

 

In the name of God whose creative energy brings all things into being. Amen.

‘Patience is a virtue’ the saying goes. Yet as parents and educators many of us are impatient. We have a tendency (fuelled by parenting books) to expect children to reach certain ‘milestones’ at particular times and worry (about them and/or our parenting) if they do not. Such a scenario makes no allowances for different temperaments or different interests, let alone differing times of maturity. Yet I can think of a number of children who at school were considered to be under-achievers and who went on to pursue higher degrees and/or challenging careers. When the time was right or when their interest was peaked, these children found the drive to grow and to achieve, a drive which no amount of coercion or threat could have achieved. Nothing good is gained by pushing a child who is not ready developmentally or emotionally. Excessive worrying will only lead to self doubt and low self esteem n the part of the child. There are times when we have to sit back and let things take their course.

It is not just children who need the right time and conditions to flourish. Nature is filled with examples of fauna and flora that will not reproduce unless the environment is right (for themselves and their offspring). An example is the desert spadefoot toad that is native to the Australian desert. These creatures have adapted to an arid environment by burrowing underground to escape the heat which would dry them out and kill them. When the drought breaks, they emerge to engage in a frenzied period of breeding. In order to take advantage to the short-lived pools of water, the tadpoles of this species develop remarkably quickly. If the conditions are not right the toads will patiently wait until they are.

Some plants and animals will wait for the rain before they reproduce or germinate, others, like the banksia, will only release their seeds in the fierce heat of a bushfire. Nothing we can do will make them germinate or reproduce if the situation is not conducive to flourishing.

Many of us find it hard to be patient, we want to see results – results that affirm we are doing/have done the right thing – prepared our children for school, given the radish seeds just the right amount of water, fed our pets the food that will keep them healthy, provided advice that eases someone’s burden.

The problem is that the world does not work that way. Our actions, however well meaning, will not speed up a process that needs a time.

I wonder if impatience is at the heart of today’s parables. I wonder if the disciples (or the hearers of Mark’ gospel) are chaffing at the bit to see the results of Jesus’ mission or their teaching. I wonder if they are impatient to see change in the world as evidence that the way that they are going about things is the right way to go.

Why else would Jesus urge patience? Why else would he tell parables about a kingdom that has small beginnings and grows in secret?

Behind both these parables is a reminder that the kingdom of God is in God’s hands and the kingdom will come in God’s time (not ours). We cannot force the kingdom, nor can we bring about GOD’S kingdom (not our kingdom), the kingdom of HEAVEN (not the kingdom here on earth) by our own efforts. Jesus’ language says it all – the kingdom of heaven doesn’t need our help. We cannot force its growth or bring it into existence by our own efforts. We have to place our trust in God, to remember that God is always working and that God who made the universe from nothing can certainly bring about the kingdom from the smallest beginning, even if we cannot see the growth.

In a world of declining congregations, we tend to take too much on ourselves, as if the existence of God, or the coming of the kingdom were down to us.

The message of the parables is that we must exercise patience and await with eager expectation to see what God has in store for us next and leave the kingdom in God’s capable hands.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Sinning against the Holy Spirit

June 8, 2024

Pentecost 3 – 2024

Mark 3:20-35 (thoughts from Sorrento)

Marian Free

In the name of God from whom all goodness comes. Amen.

As is often the case, today’s gospel is complex. Two related stories are separated by a third, apparently unrelated story. This technique of sandwiching (intercalation to be technical) is typical of Mark, though it is used by the other gospel writers. By placing the stories in such a way the author allows them to play on each other in such a way that the meaning of both is elucidated. Perhaps the best example is the story of the the woman with a haemorrhage. In that account, Jesus is on his way to a dying girl when he allows himself to be interrupted by a woman who has been bleeding for 12 years. In that instance the parallels are obvious – the girl is twelve, on the verge of womanhood and fertility, the woman has been bleeding for 12 years and has been made infertile as a result.

In the gospel reading that we have before us today, Mark seems to be drawing our attention to the identity of Jesus, and in so doing is redrawing the definition of family and of the religious establishment. Jesus’ natural family are concerned that he is ‘out of his mind’. As such he is an embarrassment to them, and they are anxious to get him away from the crowds. After the interruption by the scribes, Jesus responds to his family’s anxieties – not by reassuring them, but by sidelining them! He expands the definition of family to include every who does the will of God. In so doing Jesus has completely re-defined the base structure of his society. It is his purpose to disrupt, not to maintain the equilibrium.

The scribes, perhaps emboldened by the concerned of Jesus’ family, take advantage to the moment to claim that Jesus is possessed. Their misguided logic tells them that anyone who is destabilizing the society of the day, must be in the grip of evil. Someone who breaks the Sabbath and challenges the institution cannot in their mind, be on the side of good/God. Jesus does not fit their model of a good observant Jew and so, by deduction he must be something other. (He is redefining the religious institution of their time and this makes them deeply uncomfortable.)

The attack by the scribes draws from Jesus his harshest, and for some most confusing critique: “Truly I tell you, people will be forgiven for their sins and whatever blasphemies they utter; but whoever blasphemes against the Holy Spirit can never have forgiveness, but is guilty of an eternal sin”.

There is, according to Jesus, only one sin that cannot be forgiven- that of blaspheming the Holy Spirit – of seeing evil where there is good, of accusing God’s representative of representing the devil, of being so threatened by change that we resist it, of being so anxious that things stay the same that we vilify the changemakers, or of being so sure that right is on our side that we perpetuate evil in order to maintain the status quo.

In today’s gospel it is the scribes who confuse good/godliness for evil, but this is a pattern that has been repeated throughout history, whenever someone has the courage to challenge injustice or to confront an oppressive government. But it is not just rulers or leaders who react when their status or their actions are questioned. The sin against the Holy Spirit is just as evident when good, churchgoing people fail to recognise the prophets among them, or when they feel uncomfortable when someone speaks truth to power.

The recent referendum in Australia revealed the deepest fears of some who from their place of fear made outrageous claims about the consequences of voting for a Voice to Parliament. More than one person claimed it was a communist plot and others were certain that if we voted ‘yes’ our backyards would be taken away the very next day. What to many was a simple, innocuous request from a generous, patient people, became a source of fear. Supporters of a ‘yes’ vote were painted as evil, devious and self seeking.

It is too easy to let our fear of change dominate our reaction to new ways, new teachings, or new expressions of God’s love, but over and over again the gospels challenge us to have open hearts and minds and to humbly accept that what we know of God is but a fraction of the whole and that there may be much more to be revealed than we can possibly imagine.

 

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