Wholly whole, holy whole

March 5, 2022

Lent 1 – 2022a
Luke 4:1-13
Marian Free

In the name of God in whose image we are made and in whose eyes we are beloved. Amen.

Just when you think that a section of scripture has nothing more to reveal, the Holy Spirit opens your eyes to new insights. So it was as I prepared once again to find some words to say about Jesus’ time in the wilderness and about his battle with the devil.

In the course of my reading around the subject, it occurred to me that the heart of the account of Jesus’s temptations is less an example of the strength and more an exploration of the Incarnation – what it means for Jesus to be both fully divine and fully human. That Jesus is both human and divine is hinted at in the verse immediately prior to this account. Unlike Matthew, who begins his gospel with Jesus’ genealogy, Luke places it after his baptism and before his temptation. Further, whereas Matthew goes back to Abraham – the father of the Israelites, Luke takes Jesus’ origins all the way back to God. In 3:38 we read: “son of Enos, son of Seth, son of Adam, son of God”. In other words, Luke is making it quite clear that Jesus is the offspring of the first human and of God.

As such, the account of Jesus in the wilderness is as much a lesson on the nature of Jesus as it is about temptation. If we avoid the temptation to see that Jesus’ encounter with the devil is only about temptation, we can allow ourselves to consider what it is about Jesus’ nature that informs our understanding of human nature. That is if, as we believe, Jesus was fully human, filled with the Holy Spirit what can we do in the power of the Holy Spirit – with which we have all been gifted at our baptism? Instead of talking about will power, about resisting temptation what if we,Iike Jesus were willing and able to dig deeply into the divine power that dwells within us. If, rather than trying to ‘be strong’ in the face of temptation we were to rely on a deep knowledge of scripture that was informed by a deep trust in and an intimate relationship with God? What if, instead of trying to face the world alone, we faced the world and all its attendant difficulties in the power of our godly nature.

As Athanasius tells us: “Jesus became human that we might become gods.” Jesus’ Incarnation is intended to reveal to us our true selves – bearers of the divine in human flesh. What distinguishes Jesus from us is that in Jesus the divine and the human are fully integrated. His human nature did not make him less divine and his divine nature did not make him less human. One aspect of his nature does not negate or overshadow the other and neither does one despise and distrust the other, but both – human and divine -are integral to Jesus’ wholeness/holiness. Jesus the human was really hungry and after 40 days without food or company was probably weak and vulnerable, if not a tad grumpy. Jesus did not abandon or suppress his humanity in the desert. He accepted the frailty associated with being human but he didn’t allow that frailty to overwhelm him or to disappoint him. He holds his dual nature together in a way that many of us do not.

Jesus’ response to the devil is one of confidence and strength. He has not rejected and nor does he despise his physical needs or his earthly desires. He feels no shame at being hungry enough to want to make bread from stones. He is not weighed down by guilt at the thought that he has considered taking a short cut to glory. He is does not want to hide the fact that for a moment he wanted to test God’s love for him. And because he has not created a division between the two aspects of his being he can draw on the spiritual at the same time as he is recognising and accepting the human.

Jesus’ victory, if we can call it that, in the desert is not the final word. It is not as if having overcome these temptations he has subdued his human nature once and for all allowing his divine nature to be the face that the world sees. Luke makes it clear that Jesus’ humanity has not been “overcome” or “abandoned”. Not only does he not have the last word but the devil has only : “left him till an opportune time.” It is not over. Jesus is still human and there will be times when that is more obvious than at others (when he overturns the tables in the temple, when he gets tired or exasperated, when he weeps at the tomb of Lazarus, when he relaxes and allows Mary to wipe his feet with her hair). Jesus will agonize in the garden and cry out in despair from the cross. His humanity is evident until the very end.

Our problem is that we have difficulty acknowledging the divinity that is our birth right and, if we do, we waste a. great deal of time trying to separate the two parts of ourselves – suppressing and rejecting the human while not really believing in the divine. We tend to idealise the spiritual and demonize the physical to the extent that we simply cannot accept that both are equally a part of us, that both reveal something about our God-given nature. Temptation, we believe, is something that happens to our unholy human selves and therefore it is our unholy selves that we enlist to resist and fight temptation. We try to subdue what comes naturally and when we fail we further demonise our human nature thereby driving an even bigger wedge between our two natures. In rejecting one part of who we are, we unwittingly reject both.

What Jesus demonstrates both in his encounter with the devil and in his life as a whole is that our divine nature does not have to be split off from our human nature. We don’t have to reject our fleshly, messy humanness in order to be spiritual, holy or divine. We don’t have to change ourselves or mold ourselves the sort of ideal person we have convinced ourselves that God wants or expects us to be. There is no need to sever or, at the very least bury those parts of ourselves that we are afraid that God will find unacceptable for when we do we demonstrate that we despise and reject what God has created, we reveal our lack of faith in God’s boundless love for us and we make it impossible for us to be fully integrated human beings created in the image of God.

In Jesus, God became one of us, demonstrating once and for all, that God does not despise human nature, reject its frailties or feel the need to suppress its physical, emotional and psychological desires and that being human does not make one any less godly. In Jesus, God shows us how the holy and “unholy” can be one as indeed they were intended to be. Through Jesus God challenges us to connect with the ground of our being, the source of life and love and to become wholly whole, holy whole.

This Lent, can we do this – free ourselves from fear, accept who we are and allow the divine within us to make us whole and holy?

“Pearls” when we need them most

February 26, 2022

Transfiguration – 2022
Luke 9:28-39
Marian Free

In the name of God who is present at the best and the worst moments of our lives. Amen.

There are times in most people’s lives when we feel overwhelmed and when a future without stress or worry seems a distant dream. At such times – times when we long for a break in the traffic, any sort of relief that might allow time for oneself, time to take a breath, time to process what is happening or just time to finish one of the tasks at hand – God sends us “pearls”. If we are paying attention and if we haven’t allowed ourselves to become totally inward looking, we will notice an insight, a smile, an affirmation or a word of thanks that, for a moment at least, creates a moment of joy and is a reminder of why we are doing what we are doing. Such moments, however brief, seem to lighten the load and encourage us to continue. They are a reminder that the present won’t last forever and that even if it does, God will be with us through it all.

Is this the purpose of Jesus’ Transfiguration? Is Jesus’ mountaintop experience for him – rather than for the disciples as we are generally led to believe? This is the view of Scott Hoezee . If we take a look at the wider context rather than focussing on the actual event, we will see the pressures that Jesus is facing and conclude that this moment in time might be just what Jesus needed to strengthen his resolve and to give him the courage to continue his journey.

From the mid-point in chapter 9 the whole mood of the gospel changes – Jesus has announced to his disciples that he is to undergo great suffering, that he will be rejected by the elders, chief priests and the scribes and be killed (9:21). Then towards the end of the chapter, we hear that “when the days drew near for him to be taken up” Jesus “set” his face to go to Jerusalem. Knowing what lay ahead of him, it seems that it took all of Jesus resolve to begin his journey. (This is the meaning of ‘starizo’, ‘to make firm, to strengthen’). Jesus is not going to Jerusalem because he wants to, but because he knows that he has to.

The Transfiguration provides a fulcrum between Jesus’ ministry in Galilee and his journey to Jerusalem, to suffering and death. He will need all the strength and all the support that he can muster for what lies ahead. Sadly, it does not seem that he will find the latter among his disciples. As Hoezee points out, “the disciples seem lost in a fog of cluelessness”. When Jesus tells them that he will suffer and die, they have nothing to say. Indeed, as Luke tells the story, eight days later they have still not mentioned or discussed his momentous announcement! How unsupported and isolated Jesus must have felt – a feeling that would only have been exacerbated when, having healed the boy who was suffering from convulsion, Jesus announced once more that he was to be handed over, only to be met by incomprehension on the part of the disciples. It must have seemed to Jesus that he could not look to his friends for understanding, let alone encouragement when they bickered about who was the greatest, sought to rain down fire on villages that did not receive them and failed to grasp the nature of discipleship (9:44-end).

Just when Jesus might have been feeling overwhelmed and discouraged, God stepped in – providing support in the form of Moses and Elijah and affirming Jesus’ status as chosen, as Son. If this does not convince you that the Transfiguration was for Jesus and not for the disciples, there are other details that support this position. Moses and Elijah, both of whom know the cost of following God, speak exclusively to Jesus. What is more they speak about his departure – ‘which he was to accomplish at Jerusalem’. This can only mean that the two figures from the past were enlisted by God to reinforce the direction in which Jesus was to go and to give him encouragement to continue. (There is no other reason for this discussion.)

The disciples are not privy to the conversation (otherwise we might know more details). Indeed, the disciples nearly miss the event altogether, because despite the fact that Jesus’ clothes had become as bright as lightening they are barely awake. Again, they misunderstand the nature of the event (wanting to build dwellings) and again, not only do they not discuss what has happened with Jesus, they do not mention what they have seen to anyone.

It is only the voice from heaven that is directed to the disciples: ‘This is my Son, my Chosen, listen to him!’ The voice that spoke to Jesus at his baptism, now speaks to the disciples, urging them to pay attention, to take note, to listen. The voice may have had a dual purpose – reminding Jesus at this crucial point in his journey that he is beloved and chosen and encouraging the disciples to wake up and to fulfill their role as Jesus’ support crew.

Though intended specifically for Jesus, this event speaks to us in our own journeys through the world and especially to those times when the present threatens to crush us and when the future seems bleak. Instead of falling into despair, Jesus found time to pray, sought support from his friends and paid attention to presence of God. We too should seek solace in prayer, share our difficulties with those closest to us and be alert to the ways in which God might be encouraging us and lightening our load.

Let us pray that we are never so caught up in our own trials and tribulations that we fail to notice God’s breaking in with those momentary reprieves that enable us to continue with our journeys. Let us not miss the ‘pearls’ that God so generously gives us.

Above and beyond

February 19, 2022

Epiphany 7 – 2022
Luke 6:27-38
Marian Free

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

An area of study for theological students is homiletics which, according to Wikipedia, is ‘the application of the general principles of rhetoric to the specific art of preaching’. Rhetoric is the art of persuasive speech that was developed long ago in Ancient Greece. There were schools that taught rhetoric and there are books and books by a variety of these ancient scholars who taught techniques like diatribe (an argument with an imaginary opponent), false conclusions, and the use of series ( 3, 5 and more ) and of rhetorical questions. Many of these tools are so ingrained in our language that we use them unwittingly and certainly many of our politicians and public speakers use them to persuade us to their way of thinking. Paul was a master of rhetoric and he used every technique available to decimate the arguments of his detractors and to convince the recipients of his letters that his understanding of the gospel was the only possible view.

Jesus on the other hand, was skilled at the rabbinic forms of argument as can be seen in his debates with the Jewish leaders.

But back to homiletics – the art of preaching. It will be clear to most congregations that not every preacher has studied (or mastered) the art of preaching – some of us speak too long or don’t have a consistent argument. Whether or not I am successful at the art is of course up for debate. Homiletics was not taught when I attended theological college but along the way I have learned that it is important to gain the audience’s attention (with a story or example) and to try to have just one take away message.

According to these basic principles, Jesus (or Luke as his recorder) has completely failed in what we have labelled as the ‘Sermon on the Plain’. As can be seen from today’s gospel, what biblical scholars have labeled as a ‘sermon’ is in fact a collection of loosely related sayings. Indeed they almost certainly began as a collection of Jesus’ sayings which were gathered together according to some theme or other known only to the original compiler. It is highly unlikely that Jesus, faced with a large and attentive crowd, felt that the best that he had to offer was a series of unconnected sayings . Even with the best memories in the world Jesus’ audience would have found it harder to remember a list of sayings than to have remembered stories or parables. I don’t imagine that after Jesus’ death his followers sat around and recited lists of sayings. More likely than not they would have remembered them one by one, possibly discussing what they meant before remembering something similar that Jesus said.

In whatever context Jesus delivered the sayings attributed to him, they were memorable. This I suggest is because they were and are so counter intuitive and counter cultural that they make an audience sit up straight and ask: “‘love your enemies.’ Did Jesus really say that?” “‘Give without expecting something in return.’ Who does that?” and “surely we can’t be compared with sinners – can we?”

The drive for self-preservation is at the core of every living being. In humankind it reveals itself in competitiveness – for land, for resources, for power – competitiveness that spills over into aggression when we feel that our access to land, resources or power is threatened. We see this in the build up of troops on the border between Russia and Ukraine, the take-over of Afghanistan by the Taliban, the violence against the Rohingya in Myanmar, the on-going conflicts in Ethiopia and Sudan and the far too many other struggles for ascendancy between nations and races all over the world. We have witnessed this need to look after number one most clearly during the pandemic. The emptying of supermarket shelves as people took more than they needed at the expense of those who did not have the resources – physical or financial – to obtain the bare minimum; the hoarding of vaccines by nations that could afford them, and the sometimes inhumane closing of borders to protect those within them.

How Jesus’ sayings must have rankled Jesus’ audience! There was nothing in Jewish teaching that encouraged love of enemies and as for being compared with sinners our gospel records make it quite clear that the ethic of the day was to separate oneself from sinners, tax collectors and prostitutes. How could Jesus possibly imply that they were equal – in loving, doing good and lending – with those who were so obviously outside the definition of ‘good’.

Jesus’ challenge in these sayings (which are loosely connected by the theme of love) is that we who believe should not be self-absorbed and self-satisfied, that we go over and above what is expected – in love, in generosity and is forgiveness, that we should confront (suppress even) our human nature and that we should behave in ways that reflect the presence of the divine in us – the divine that is kind to the ungrateful and the wicked. In other words we should not only love our neighbour, but also our enemy, that instead of taking advantage of others we should allow them to take advantage of us , that when asked to do help we go over and beyond and, that we give generously without expecting anything in return.

How slow, how resistant we, as Christians, have been to take these teachings to heart! How far short have we fallen from these ideals! How little are we distinguishable from the society around us!

It is only by taking Jesus’ words to heart and acting on them that our lives will become more and more like that of his and that we will stand out from the world in which we find ourselves and ultimately be among those who will lead the transformation of the world.

True blessedness

February 12, 2022

Epiphany 6 – 2022
Luke 6:17-26
Marian Free

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

At the end of last year, at a time when there was a great panic about Rapid Antigen Tests, I bought a pack online. Later, when it seemed as though such things were going to be impossible to obtain I thought that as the first purchase had been so straight forward I should buy some more. After all, I was going to be responsible for babysitting all the grandchildren whose parents might be comforted in the knowledge that their children were unlikely to contract the Omicron variant of COVID as a result of being in my care. If I had any symptoms I could simply do a test! Now that the peak of infections has passed, children are eligible for vaccinations and restrictions are being eased I find myself in the embarrassing possession of unused RATS.

Today’s gospel has given me a great deal of cause for thought about my behaviour and its significance. I find myself asking whether my need was really so great that I needed to purchase so many tests? As it turns out, I haven’t benefitted from having them. In retrospect I now understand that it is possible that someone missed out because I was in a position – financially and otherwise – to ensure that I was covered. In my anxiety to protect myself and my family I had failed to consider the consequences to others if I had more than necessary and what I might do with more than enough.

One of the problems in managing the pandemic world-wide has been this sort of self-centred, nationalistic approach to the situation. In January 2020, the WHO made it clear to an anxious world that a universal rather than local tactic would bring the pandemic to an early end. WHO urged first world nations to ensure that all nations have equal access to vaccines so that we could knock the virus on its head and avoid the long-drawn out consequences of new variants emerging. Yet, while the situation has been made more complex by a number of other issues, by and large, those nations who could afford to purchase the vaccines have ensured that their nations have had enough (more than enough) to go around, while third-world nations have gone without.

In today’s gospel, Jesus speaks directly to this problem – the problem of who we are, on what do we base our identity and where do we fit in the world? In essence, Jesus is encouraging his listeners to ask themselves who they are and on what basis have they come to that conclusion? Against whom and against what do the disciples measure themselves and with and to whom are they connected?

The Beatitudes, whether pronounced on the mountain as in Matthew, or on the plain, as here in Luke, are in direct contradiction with what is normal human nature – the drive to survive at all costs, to avoid pain and suffering and to compare our situation against that of others. Jesus confronts our idea of is what “normal” and insists that an individualist focus and individualist behaviours will take us down the path of woe and not of blessing. In other words, he is suggesting that focussing on ourselves and on our own well-being is harmful not only to those around us, but also to ourselves. If we are driven by our own need for satisfaction and comfort, if we spend our lives trying to avoid suffering and pain and if we amass more than we really need, the consequences will not be blessedness, but will be isolation from others, indifference to the experiences of others and, ultimately, the cause of hurt to others. Furthermore, self-reliance, the belief that we can shield ourselves from harm, is futile. None of us, no matter how rich or privileged can escape the traumas and accidents that life throws at us.

In naming who is and is not blessed Jesus is challenging those things that collectively we have accepted as identity markers and has shown how ineffectual and self-centred they are and how they disconnect us from our fellow human beings. It is only when we truly understand the interconnectedness between ourselves and every other person (dare I say every other living thing), that we will begin to understand that our contentedness and sense of well-being is tied to the well-being of others. We will never be truly blessed if our blessedness comes at the expense of someone else’s blessedness and we will never be truly at peace if our idea of peace comes at the cost of competition – for resources or for security.

Jesus’ words are not easy to hear, let alone act upon. Most of us find it hard to let go of the need to quantify his words/our situation. How poor do we really need to be? we wonder. Does Jesus really intend us to be destitute, starving, and grief-stricken and if so what sort of life would that be? In asking such questions, we fail to see is that Jesus is not suggesting that we develop a scale against which to measure ourselves, but that we enlarge our thinking such that our concept of blessedness embraces the totality of our experiences (good, bad and indifferent) – all of which enrich and enhance our lives. At the same time, Jesus knows that once we are able to dispense with a scale of “blessedness”, we will be open to see how our blessedness is tied up with the blessedness of every other person in the world.

The Beatitudes are anything but comfortable words – especially for those of us privileged enough to live in a nation such as ours. Jesus’ words are designed to stretch and challenge us and – God forbid! – change us. We do not have to make ourselves poor, hungry or sad, but neither should we shy away from such experiences for it is they that form us and humble us and unite us to every living person and ultimately to the one who created us all.

Holy fear

February 5, 2022

Epiphany 5 – 2022
Luke 5:1-11
Marian Free
In the name of God who is both immanent and transcendent, as close as breath and as distant as heaven, as demanding as forgiving. Amen.
In the wake of the death of Archbishop Desmond Tutu many people from many walks of life uploaded their memories online. Among them was journalist Giles Brandenreth who posted what (at the time) he thought might be the last ever interview with Tutu who was being treated for prostate cancer. (That was 2005!) It was in that context that Brandenreth asked: ‘When you get to Heaven what do you think will happen when you come face to face with God?’ In response the Archbishop shrieked. ‘Will I survive? You remember Gerontius? He longs to be in the presence of God and his guardian angel takes him to God and the moment he comes into the divine presence he cries out in anguish, “Take me away.” In the blinding presence of holiness, who would survive?’
Gerontius is a character in a poem written by John Henry Newman who, having converted to Roman Catholicism from Anglicanism, pens a verse to help explain the doctrine of purgatory. Newman uses Gerontius (who had died) as the means through which the reader might be drawn to consider their own death and their feeling of unworthiness before God. Towards the end of the poem the soul of Gerontius asks his guide if he will see God. He is told that for a moment, he will see the face of God, but that the sight will open a wound and heal the wound and widen the wound all at the same time. Acutely aware of how pitiful he is, Gerontius begs that rather than come into the presence of God he might be allowed to undergo purgatorial cleansing so that his sinfulness might not sully the perfection of God and the courts of heaven.
The notion of purgatory (which has no support in scripture) was one of the doctrines rejected by the English church at the time of the Reformation, but Newman’s understanding that being in the presence of God would leave a person feeling exposed is not his alone. Geoffrey Studdart Kennedy uses the same imagery in his poem ‘Well’ in which a person (finding himself before God) sees himself and his imperfect life through God’s eyes. When God finally says, ‘Well?’ the person responds, ‘Please can I go to ‘Ell.’ (He cannot in all conscience believe that he belongs in the presence of God.)
This sense of sinfulness or unworthiness in God’s presence has its roots in scripture. Many of the prophets respond to God’s call with a declaration of their unworthiness and here, in today’s gospel, Peter falls at Jesus’ knees and begs him ‘to get away from him’ because in Jesus’ presence he recognises himself as a sinful man. It seems that God’s very goodness has the propensity to make us aware of our lack goodness. In the presence of God’s infinite holiness we, like Peter, want to hide ourselves from sight, at least until we have been cleansed and made ready for the encounter, or so that we are in no danger of contaminating holiness itself.
This is similar to, but different from, the reaction that demons have to Jesus. They too want Jesus to go away but, in the case of the demons, Jesus’ presence is like a blinding light or burning fire that threatens to consume them. Unlike Peter they are satisfied with themselves and want to be left alone to their wickedness. In asking Jesus to go away, the demons are protecting themselves, whereas Peter mistakenly believes that Jesus needs protecting from him.
Jesus’ response is to reassure Peter. He does not pretend that Peter is perfect, but he makes it clear that Peter can serve him, and serve God, just as he is.
God is something of a contradiction. On the one hand God is transcendent, omnipotent, and unreachable, demanding of humanity the perfection/godliness for which we were created. On the other hand, God is immanent, relatable, and intimate, loving and accepting, constantly overlooking our foibles, and always drawing us back into relationship. This, of course, is what is perfectly revealed in the Incarnation (Jesus coming among us as one of us). The transcendence of God is balanced by the presence of God, the need to be accountable to God the creator is beautifully balanced by the saving love of the Redeemer.
In our relationship with God who is both transcendent and immanent it is essential to understand the tension between God’s expectations of us and God’s refusal to give up on us, to find a healthy balance between fear of God and over-familiarity with God. On the one hand we must acknowledge God’s holiness and our comparative lack of holiness. On the other hand, we must not assume that God simply ‘one of us’ with little to no expectations of us.
While it is important – essential even – to understand that we are completely and utterly and unconditionally loved by God, it is also important to remember that we have a responsibility to try to be the best that we can be and that we will one day be called to account. God loves us, but that doesn’t mean that God demands nothing of us. In other words, knowing ourselves loved does not mean that we should treat that love lightly. Knowing ourselves loved, leads us to want to be worthy of such love.
Approaching God with a true sense of holy awe (and an awareness of our unworthiness) is very different from the sort of terror experienced by demons or a sense of deep shame that prevents God’s love from reaching us. In every encounter between the created and the creator the first words spoken are always ‘Do not be afraid’ – the very words that Jesus utters to Peter in our gospel today. In the face of our alarm, awkwardness and embarrassment, God/Jesus reassures us that we. belong, we need not fear.
In the interview with Brandenreth, Archbishop Tutu questions whether he/anyone could survive in the presence of God yet elsewhere he writes that being in heaven is to encounter the unutterable beauty of God. In the presence of such beauty he argues, even an Idi Amin or Adolf Hitler would be compelled to fall down and worship and thus would gain eternity. Kennedy’s poem ‘Well’ concludes with the voice of God refusing the penitent entrance to ‘‘Ell’ on the basis is that hell is ‘for the blind, and not for those that see.’
So do not be afraid. Do not take God for granted but take it for granted that God’s love is constant and unwavering and, no matter the state of our lives or our hearts, God’s love will never, ever be withdrawn.

Defying expectations

January 29, 2022

Epiphany 4 – 2022
Luke 4:21-30
Marian Free

In the name of God who shakes us out of our complacency into a new way of seeing, a new way of being. Amen.

Today’s gospel presents something of a conundrum. The Nazarenes who begin by claiming him and being amazed, very quickly turn on him.

As Luke tells the story, Jesus, who by all accounts has begun to make a name for himself, returns to the place in which he grew up. On the Sabbath he attends the synagogue and is given the scroll from which to read. As we know from last week’s gospel, he opens the scroll at a point towards the end of the prophet Isaiah and reads from what we know as the Servant Song in which the liberating power of God is announced. When he sits down after closing the scroll, Jesus announces that the words spoken by the writer of Isaiah have been fulfilled in the hearing of those present.

These are bold words and yet – possibly because word of his healing powers have reached his home – no one takes offence. Just the opposite. Even though his audience know his family of origin (and therefore possibly the circumstances of his birth), no one is affronted. In fact Luke tells us that ‘all spoke well of him’ and reminded themselves that this was Joseph’s son. He is one of their own, someone of whom they can be justly proud and of whom they might rightly have high expectations. If Jesus can perform miracles elsewhere, how much more so among his family and for those among whom he grew up?! Surely he owes them that much.

One can imagine the air of anticipation – that is until Jesus, without any adequate warning or explanation completely dispels their hopes. He cuts short their excitement and breaks into their hopeful dreams by abruptly quoting back to them what he imagines they are thinking. “Do here also in your hometown the things that we have heard you did at Capernaum,” he says, before going on to explain why this is simply impossible. “A prophet is not without honour except in his own town.”

In order to illustrate his point, Jesus reminds his audience of examples of God’s reaching out to those who do not belong the the family of Israel and of the prophets who found themselves performing miracles beyond the boundaries. In other words, Jesus appears to be reminding his audience that God’s purpose has always extended to those who do not belong to ‘the people of God’ and that he too cannot be limited by their narrow expectations.

It is no wonder that the mood of the people abruptly changes. They move from being enchanted by Jesus to being enraged. He has shattered their dreams and their hopes and pointed to a much wider vision of God’s intentions than they seem to be able to encompass.

Their disappointment and frustration can be better understood if we can picture the setting in which the people of Nazareth find themselves. Historians and archeologists believe that Nazareth was no more than a village in our terms, having a population of between 3-600 people. Pottery from that era has been identified as having come from Jerusalem leading to speculation that the population consisted of a group of practicing Jews who had been sent from Jerusalem to be a Jewish presence in what was primarily a gentile region. No doubt they felt somewhat embattled and isolated. It is small wonder that they had hoped that Jesus would remain with them, performing miracles, drawing crowds, bringing people to faith, re-judaising the population. How much easier would their task be if only Jesus were to remain, to base his mission among them.

From Jesus’ point of view however, their apparent desire to hold on to him, to contain him and perhaps even to direct him, is evidence of their narrowness of vision, of their desire to build the future on their terms, not God’s. The very fact that they cannot see that the kingdom of heaven will include those outside their religious and racial boundaries is proof that they have read the scriptures in a narrow and self-centred way – one that focuses on them and on their desire to return to the glory days of the past rather than on a willingness to expand their vision and to move into the future.

The problem then, as now, is that God/Jesus will not and cannot be contained by the limits of our imagination. God/Jesus has always operated on the fringes, has always (as Jesus points out) demonstrated an interest in and concern for those on the margins and for the outsider. God/Jesus has always bent the rules and done the unexpected. Yet, we as do the people of Nazareth, continue to believe that we know and understand God and that we know how God will act in any given situation.

Like the people of Nazareth, most of us are guilty at some time or another of believing that our understanding of God (and of how God behaves) is the ‘right’ understanding. There are probably more times than we would like to remember that we have have imposed our own hopes and desires on to our images of God/Jesus. We, as much as Jesus’ contemporaries, are guilty of wanting to think that we know God well enough to know how God does/will act in any given situation.

Jesus’ intention, now as then, is to ask us to think outside the box, to let go of our cherished ideas about God and about faith and to be constantly open to the ways in which God might act in our present.

Today’s gospel challenges us to rethink our relationship with God and to ask ourselves whether our image of God makes us feel comfortable, self-confident and self-assured, or whether our idea of God constantly unsettles us, challenges our pre-conceptions and allows us to be alert, expectant and excited and open to what God might do and how God might reveal Godself next.

A radical realignment of the world

January 22, 2022

Epiphany 3 – 2022
Luke 4:14-21
Marian Free

In the name of God who asks that we do justice, love mercy and walk humbly with our God. Amen.

I grew up within sight of the University of Queensland, not far from the main road that ran between the University and the city. My father was an academic, so I was very aware of the student activism of the 1960’s and 1970’s – especially around the issues of conscription and apartheid. The protest marches passed by the end of our street. My father signed a petition objecting to the suggestion that the then Premier allow the military on to the University grounds. Students who were members of our Parish shared their experiences with us (and worried about whether their landlady would terminate their lease if she saw their images on the evening news. It was a time of activism and of engagement with political issues both at home and abroad and though I was not old enough to be involved, I was very aware of what was going on in the world around me.

In the conservative State of Queensland, public opinion was divided. The protesters were labelled as firebrands, troublemakers and radicals and legislation was introduced that forbade marches and public gatherings. Indeed, the then Premier declared a month-long state of emergency in reaction to the unrest.

A popular refrain at the time was that sport and politics had no relationship to each other. Those who supported the 1971 Springbok tour could not understand that by welcoming an all-white football team to this nation we were in fact condoning (indeed supporting) the policies of a government that excluded the majority of its citizens from playing rugby at a national level and whose policy of apartheid was oppressive and unjust.

When the church makes its voice heard on social issues such as climate change or the current policies on refugees we are told that the church should keep out of politics and that religion and politics should not mix. Churches/Christians that take this position to heart risk finding themselves in the company of the majority of churches in Germany who by choosing to remain silent allowed Hitter to send six million Jews to their deaths believing that the church had no place in politics or public affairs.

Such an attitude or way of thinking that is not supported by our scriptures as our gospel today reminds us.

From the time of Leviticus, through to the arrival in the promised land, to the urging of the prophets, the themes of caring for the widows, the orphans and the aliens in the land have been pronounced loudly and clearly in the Hebrew Scriptures. In the gospels, Jesus’ harshest words were addressed to the priests and Pharisees who neglected their responsibilities to the poor and disenfranchised and to those who put a narrow interpretation of the law above compassion and generosity. Jesus told the comfortable, the do-gooders and the self-satisfied that prostitutes, tax-collectors and sinners would enter heaven before them.

Of all the gospel writers it is Luke who is most concerned with the theme of social justice. Mary’s song (based on the song of Hannah) blatantly claims that in choosing her to bear God’s son, God has ‘has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts. He has brought down the powerful from their thrones and lifted up the lowly; he has filled the hungry with good things and sent the rich away empty.’ God’s programme, as announced by Mary, is quite clearly one that will address the inequities and injustices of the world. According to her, God is not just concerned with piety and goodness, but with radically addressing the structures that favour some people over others.

As we have heard today, Jesus’ first and only recorded sermon does not speak of morality or obedience or even of faith. Jesus doesn’t call the people to repentance or even to prayer or spirituality (even those these are evident in his life). His mission as he understands it is one of setting the world to rights. Quoting Isaiah Jesus reads: ‘the Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free.” Then, controversially, he proclaims that these words have come to fruition in his life and ministry.

If our faith is a matter of pious sentimentality or if we are under the illusion that access to the kingdom has to do with keeping the Ten Commandments and doing good works, we will be unsettled, if not outright offended by Jesus’ words. For most of us, a radical realignment of society through the redistribution of power, status, and wealth would impact negatively on our comfortable lifestyles and a rearrangement of the way in which the world is ordered would necessitate a fundamental change in our attitudes and values. (Imagine, for example, if the prisoners really were set free.)

Christians are not called to uphold the status quo, to behave in ways that do not rock the boat, to accept the decisions of their governments without demur or to observe the thoughtlessness, unkindness or cruelty that enshrine such things without challenging the people and institutions that encourage such behaviour and who enshrine it in law. Jesus calls us to challenge and to confront the structures and systems that hold people captive, and which diminish or destroy their capacity to live lives that are rich and meaningful.

We are not truly free until everyone is free. So long as some live in poverty, the lives of us all are impoverished. If we do not critique the nature of the society in which we live, we are guilty of condoning and supporting its inequities.

What does it truly mean to follow Christ, and what changes do we need to make in our own lives in order to be part of a process that builds and more just and equitable world?

A trivial miracle?

January 15, 2022

Epiphany- 2022
John 2:1-11
Marian Free

In the name of God who can be found in the ordinary as well as the extraordinary. Amen.

A hymn that I had not heard or sung for over twenty years has been doing the rounds of Facebook this year. Jim Strathdee adapted a poem by Howard Thurman. The first verse reads:

‘When the song of the angels is stilled,
When the star in the sky is gone,
When the kings and the shepherds have found their way home
The work of Christmas is begun.’

‘When the kings and the shepherds have found their way home, the work of Christmas is begun.’

The miracle of Jesus’ birth and the wonders that attended it are only a small part of the story of the Incarnation. It is important to realise that if we remain fixated on the extraordinariness of the event, if our attention is focussed only on signs and wonders then we miss the unexceptional presence of God in the everyday. The very ordinariness of the Incarnation – a child born to an unexceptional couple in an obscure part of the world, a boy like any other boy and an adult with needs and fears common to every human being – can get lost if we are more interested in the dramatic and the showy – in the stars, the angels, the wise ones and the gifts. Indeed, the Incarnation is robbed of its meaning unless we understand that Jesus’ life was filled with the mundane, everyday business of living that is common to all human beings.

Our gospels are written ‘in order that we might believe’ but even so they cannot entirely obscure the fact that God in Jesus became fully human. There was no pretense. Jesus/God ate and drank, slept and worked like the rest of us. He had the same bodily needs and functions as all of humankind. Perhaps the greatest miracle of all is not Jesus’ birth, or dare I say it, Jesus’ resurrection, not Jesus’ teaching or his healing power, but the very fact of God’s becoming human – God’s extraordingary decision to enter into the earthy, fleshy, ordinariness of being part of the created world.

Perhaps this is why John begins his account of Jesus’ life with a wedding – a festive gathering of friends – rather than the more dramatic, showy and more obviously divine action of healing or exorcism with which Mark begins. John doesn’t surround Jesus with crowds of people whom he can impress – just the opposite. The action of this miracle not only takes place behind closed doors as it were, but in the presence of a few (servants who may not have been believed had they told their story). Having begun the gospel with the Christ hymn in which John proclaims an exalted Jesus who is pre-existent with God, the author of the fourth gospel brings us right back down to earth, setting Jesus’ first miracle in a private domestic scene – a family wedding.

The Word made flesh begins his ministry with a very fleshy deed – turning water into wine – meeting a very basic human need. One might go so far as to say that this first miracle is a superficial extravagance. How can turning water into wine – albeit to save the pride of the host family – compare with giving sight to the blind, freeing an enslaved person from their demons, healing the lame or raising the dead? What does such an action achieve in the wider scheme of bringing the community to faith? Indeed, what is the point if no one knows about the miracle except the servants who fill the water jars. (No one but Mary appears to know that the wine has run out. Even the steward is unaware that there is a problem and Jesus does not know until his mother tells him.) From the point of view of making Jesus’ presence and ministry known to the world at large, the changing of water into wine is something of a non-event. It will not draw the crowds or make his powers known and it seems too trivial a miracle to be repeated over and over again as some sort of party trick when there is no end to the more serious needs for healing and exorcism.

John, it appears, wishes to begin by demonstrating that Jesus is firmly embedded within the community in which he finds himself and that the Incarnation – God’s dwelling among us – is absolutely authentic not simply a matter of God’s lauding it over us, or of God’s trying to make us feel insignificant. Rather the Incarnation, the Word made flesh is God’s fully engaging with our experience, and this includes enjoying a good party.

That this might be the case becomes even more evident when we consider that the Gospel of John consists of what is known as a book of signs or miracle stories to which the Passion narrative has been added . These ‘signs’ are designed to convince people to believe that Jesus is the Christ. As the gospel is written the signs become more and more astounding until we come to the last – the raising of Lazarus – which presages Jesus’ own resurrection, but which also heralds his crucifixion. In this context, turning water into wine seems out of place especially when it it not accompanied with a discourse or a dialogue to explain it as are the others.

In juxtaposition with the Christ hymn, the wedding at Cana brings us back down to earth. Before we can become too wound up in the divine Logos we are confronted with the Word made flesh engaging in a very fleshy activity and performing a very fleshy miracle.

The wedding at Cana, serves as a reminder to us not to exalt Jesus to the point at which we can no longer see his humanity and so deprive the Incarnation of its true power and meaning.

Why baptism?

January 8, 2022

The Baptism of Jesus – 2022
Luke 3:15-22
Marian Free

In the name of God who calls us to be the people we were created to be. Amen.

I believe that I have mentioned previously that Jesus’ baptism was problematic for the gospel writers. Matthew and Luke both provide additions/alterations to Mark’s text in order to try to explain why Jesus – who was sinless – would need baptism for the forgiveness of sins and both Luke and John go to the trouble of distancing Jesus and John the Baptist .

One of the problems for us, as for the gospel writers is, that with the exception of the account of Jesus in the Temple, recorded only by Luke, we have no details from the time of Jesus’ birth until he bursts on the scene in connection with John the Baptist. Later, non-canonical, writers tried to fill in the gap. They provided us with extraordinary (if not always edifying) stories of Jesus’ childhood in writings like Proto-James and the Infancy Gospel of Thomas in order to demonstrate that the trajectory hinted at in Jesus’ birth, continued throughout his childhood – that the divinity that became evident in Jesus’ ministry was obvious from his childhood. For example, the Infancy Gospel of Thomas depicts the child Jesus as someone who not only heals and raises from the dead, but who also strikes down (dead) those who disagree with or provoke him!

Such stories only serve to emphasise the difficulty of Jesus suddenly appearing as an adult and beginning his public ministry after his baptism “of repentance for the forgiveness of sins” by John the Baptist. Why, we wonder, would Jesus need forgiveness? Of what would he need to repent? These are questioned that taxed Matthew, Luke and John and which continue to puzzle us.

In Luke’s account, Jesus only appears after questions have been raised as to whether or not John is the anointed one, and after John has been imprisoned. In this way, Jesus is neatly removed from John (perhaps to dispel any idea that Jesus was John’s disciple or a part of the movement surrounding John the Baptist). Jesus has been baptised (we are not told by whom) and is praying when the Spirit descends on him in a bodily form like a dove. Luke omits the dramatic tearing of the heavens that characterise Mark and Matthew though the words from heaven are the same as in Mark: “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased .” These words are a composite quote from the Old Testament: Psalm 2:7 in which a voice from heaven was seen as a reference to messianic sonship; three references from the Book of Genesis in which “beloved son” occurs in relation to the binding of Isaac (Gen 22:2,12,16); and Isaiah 42:1, the beginning of the first Servant Song in which God says: “with you I am well pleased”. The presence of the Spirit and the words from heaven announce – at the beginning of Jesus’ public ministry – his relationship with God and God’s affirmation of his status and mission.

But why baptism? In particular, why baptism for the “forgiveness of sins”? John Kavanagh SJ provides a compelling explanation. He reminds us that Jesus came, not just to reveal God to us, but to reveal to us what it really means to be human. In order to do this, Kavanagh argues Jesus had to fully identify with the human condition including its tendency to sin. Kavanagh states that: “We misunderstand this because we misunderstand our humanity as well as our sin .” He continues: “Not only is he (Jesus) truly God. He is truly human. And he is truly human precisely because he does not sin. All of our sin is nothing other than the rejection of the truth of our humanity.”

This is the critical point and one which is overlooked. “All of our sin is nothing other than the rejection of the truth of our humanity” – our God-created, God-given humanity. Only taking on the human form – with all its frailty, its propensity to go its own way – only by fully identifying with humankind, is Jesus able to “reverse our sinful rejection of our creatureliness”; to redeem and restore humanity to what it was created to be.

You see, even though we know that we are created by God in the image of God too many of us reject or resist our humanity. We don’t like our bodies, our actions, or our thoughts. We build up barriers between ourselves and others (even God) to protect ourselves from exposure or hurt. We continually split ourselves in two – that which we like (the good?) and that which we do not like (the bad?). We separate our human nature from our divine nature and in so doing we not only become riven in two, but worse, we demonstrate our complete lack of faith in our creator who, having made humankind in God’s own image, looked at what God had made and declared that: “indeed, it was very good” (Gen 1:31). Our rejection of ourselves is our rejection of God – of our God given humanity. Our rejection of our humanity leads to our rejection of our divinity and this, Kavanagh argues is sin. In identifying with our “sin” – that is in fully taking on our humanity – in “repenting” (and not rejecting) -and by being baptised, Jesus in his own person reunites our divided humanity and restores our divinity.
So much damage has been done to the Christian faith by our failure to understand the true nature of sin and therefor the true nature of our redemption. If only we could allow ourselves to see ourselves as God sees us and allow God through Jesus to make us whole, then perhaps we would all hear the words from heaven: “You are my beloved child, with you I am well-pleased.”

Jesus has done the hard work, we need only to apply to ourselves the results of his repentance and baptism.

Are the wise ones excluded from heaven?

January 6, 2022

Epiphany – 2022
Matthew 2:1-12
Marian Free

In the name of God whose boundless love excludes no one. Amen.

Many years ago, I attended a funeral for a former parishioner in the Parish in which I was serving. The officiant was the nephew of the deceased. All was going well (from my point of view) until the sermon. As I recall, the priest began by saying: “Now we come to the difficult part of the service where we tell the family that their loved one hasn’t made it.” He went on to clarify that of course his uncle had made it. I was horrified and it was all that I could do to remain in my seat. The thought that anyone would be so insensitive to make such an announcement when a grieving family were saying their last goodbyes seemed appalling to me. In retrospect, the thought that any human could put themselves in the position of God and determine whether or not another person was fit for heaven was/is pure arrogance.

I realised very quickly that not many of the congregation shared my misgivings. One after another members of that parish expressed their support for the preachers’ point of view. They said things like: “He was telling it like it is.”

More recently I attended a funeral at which the partner of the deceased used the eulogy to warn those present that now was the time to “accept the Lord” and not to leave it too late as the deceased had done! This was a very different Parish and, on this occasion, only those from outside nodded their heads in agreement. Parishioners were as bemused as myself at such sentiments.

Now, of course, I am in danger of being just as judgmental as those whose faith leads them to hold these views so let me clarify. Many such believers are warm and loving – even inclusive. Where they largely differ from myself is their firm belief that there are clear guidelines that determine entrance to heaven and that deviance from same is a ticket to hell (however they understand hell). So sure are they of their belief that they are determined to keep others from eternal punishment and apparently the captive audience at a funeral is seen as a good opportunity to spread the message and protect their friends from harm.

It is clear from my remarks that I am not among those Christians who firmly believe that unless a person explicitly accepts Jesus as “their Lord and Saviour” that they will go to hell. I cannot associate a God who dared to enter an imperfect and undeserving world, and who mixed with sinners and outcasts with a God who then draws a rigid line between those whom God loves and those deemed not worthy of God’s love. How, I wonder, could a God who endured the agony of the cross not love all those for whom God died? How could a God who shared human frailty and wretchedness devise eternal punishment for those who do not live up to a particular standard, or who had the misfortune never to have come within the embrace of God’s inclusive love?

True there is conflicting evidence – in both Testaments. It is relatively easy to find texts to support view of a God who judges, punishes and condemns, but it is just as easy to find evidence of a God who loves and loves and loves and forgives and forgives and forgives. In the first creation story God creates humankind and declares it to be very good. When Israel turns to other gods, God, in the prophet Hosea declares: “How can I give you up?” Over and over again in the First Testament, God relents and refuses to abandon an Israel that continually strays from the worship of the one true God. In the gospels we have so many examples of God’s forgiving love. The parable of lost sheep tells us of a shepherd who goes after the sheep who has strayed and holds a party when the miscreant is found. Jesus tells us that sinners will enter heaven before us, assures the thief on the cross of his place in paradise and from the cross forgives those who have put him there. Jesus’ refusal to exclude anyone from his circle is surely evidence that neither does God exclude anyone.

These thoughts came to me as I was pondering Epiphany which falls today. It occurred to me that the story of the wise ones is one of the most telling examples of God’s inclusivity – whether or not one has “accepted Jesus as Lord and Saviour”. Matthew tells us of strangers from the east whose origin and faith (if they have one) we do not know. To be sure they bow before the infant Jesus (the King of the Jews), but then they return home to their own ways and their own faiths. There is no indication that they recognise Jesus as the Saviour of the world, and no possibility that they could have been converted by the teachings of Jesus (Jesus having not yet uttered more than a cry). Are these wise ones, so central to our Nativity story forever condemned to hell because they did not identify Jesus as Lord? I’d like to think not.

In my lifetime I have come to realise that there are many ways in which to know and encounter Christ (God Incarnate) in the world. I firmly believe that anyone who has truly experienced the all-embracing, all-forgiving, ever-loving God, will find it hard to turn away. I am also convinced that the Good Shepherd who searches out the sheep will continue to search until we are all embraced and held by God’s unconditional (albeit underserved love).

Before we determine what God does and does not demand and whom God does and does not love, let us all look to ourselves and our own unworthiness to receive God’s love and having done that, never begrudge the extension of that love to others – deserving or not.