Only when we are at peace will there be peace in the world

May 21, 2022

Easter 6 – 2022
John 14:23-29
Marian Free

In the name of God in whom we find true peace. Amen.

Maya Angelou was a multi-talented, black, American civil-rights activist who was raised by her grandmother Annie in the American South. In the first of her seven autobiographies, “I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings,” Maya tells the following story. Her grandmother, who owned a successful general store, was sitting on a rocking chair in front of the store when a group of young white girls began jeering her and making offensive, racist comments. One of the girls actually stood on her hands so that her skirt fell down and exposed her bare buttocks. While this was going on Annie simply sat there, apparently unperturbed. The young Maya was furious and couldn’t understand why her grandmother wasn’t reacting to the girls’ insulting behaviour. It was only when she moved closer to her grandmother that Maya heard her singing quietly: “Bread of heaven, bread of heaven, feed me till I want no more.” Annie continued singing to herself as she got up and returned to the store .

Secure of her place in God’s love and of God’s presence in her life, Annie refused to allow her peace and sense of self and worth to be disturbed by something that was beyond her control. Nothing those girls said or did could ruffle or upset her.

It is hard for many of us to imagine being so caught up in the presence of God and so sure that Jesus has made a home with us, that the daily irritations of life are unable penetrate the deep sense of peace that comes from having faith in Jesus! Yet this is the peace that Jesus offers his disciples – not peace in a worldly sense (for that would be impossible) – a peace that is not dependent on what is going on in the world around us, but a peace that derives from a relationship with God – a peace that is nothing less than “a profound and holistic sense of well-being” .

Such peace is not just for the monastics as Annie’s story demonstrates. It is a peace that is promised to anyone that calls themselves a disciple of Jesus.

“Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid.”

“Do not let your hearts be troubled.” This is the second time that Jesus has uttered these words in this chapter. How can he say such a thing and at such a time? Jesus must have known, as he was preparing the disciples for his departure, what lay ahead – what he would have to face and what the disciples would have to experience. In the next few hours, days and weeks, the disciples would be exposed to situations that would pull the ground from under them and would fill them with trauma and terror. Jesus’ arrest, trial and crucifixion would leave them confused and shocked, fearful for their own lives. On that very night their hopes and dreams would be crushed, and they would feel lost and abandoned by the one whom they had thought would change the world. Yet, instead of giving the disciples advice about how to cope when their world falls apart, Jesus is telling them not to worry! It is rather like telling passengers on an airplane not to panic when they look out of the plane window and see that an engine is on fire!

Don’t panic! As if that we even possible!

Don’t panic when the storms of life rage about you. Don’t panic when your children leave home. Don’t panic when the doctor gives you bad news. Don’t panic when things are not going as you planned. Don’t panic when the bombs are falling. Don’t panic because Jesus has promised to come and live with you. Don’t panic because you are utterly loved and never alone.

The night before he died, Jesus knew the horrors in front of him – the betrayal, the ignominy, the excruciating agony. Despite this, he managed to keep his composure. He found the grace to put his own concerns behind him and to minister to his confused companions. Jesus was able do this not because he had some mistaken notion that God would ensure that he wouldn’t suffer but because, having placed his confidence in God, he refused to let the unfolding events determine how he felt and, more particularly, how he reacted. Throughout his passion Jesus, he calmly, silently accepted the events as they unfolded – no matter how cruel, how unjust or how soul-destroying they were.

Jesus didn’t panic when he was falsely accused and arrested. He didn’t panic when all his friends abandoned him. He didn’t panic when he faced a kangaroo court or when people bayed for his blood. He didn’t panic when he was handed the death sentence. Jesus’ absolute trust in God and in God’s purpose for him gave him the strength to remain calm and to hold his peace.

Today, more than at any time since the Second World War, peace on a world scale appears to be an elusive, even an impossible goal. So long as individuals and nations are driven by greed, anger, fear, insecurity, competitiveness, or a sense of incompleteness, there can be no peace. And until we – you and I and all who claim to believe in Jesus – can truly grasp and integrate into our lives Jesus’ promise of peace, there can be no peace in the world.

If only we could all be like Annie, like our Saviour. If only we could learn to so trust in God that we could be calm and self-contained when the storms of life rage around us, when others deride and revile us or when we see that others have more than us.

There will be no peace in the world, until we are at peace with ourselves, until we – who claim to believe – take up Jesus’ promise of peace.

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We see God through the cross or not at all

May 13, 2022

Easter 5 – 2022
John 13:31-35
Marian Free

In the name of God who confronts and overturns the values and expectations of the world and opens our eyes to new possibilities, new ways of being. Amen.

A couple of weeks ago I shared the reflections of Scott Hoetze that there are really very few accounts of the resurrection – hardly enough to account for the forty days between Easter Day and Ascension Day. That may be why our Lectionary only spends three of the seven Sundays of Easter focussed on the gospel accounts of the resurrection – there are simply not very many! Last week, Easter 4, used the gospel reading from John chapter 10 which took us back to the middle of Jesus’ earthly ministry. The next two weeks will begin to focus on the Holy Spirit which leads us to Pentecost. This morning we are looking at a small section of chapter 13 which, in turn, is a very small part of Jesus’ discourse during the Last Supper.

I’m not entirely sure if it is still the case but when I began to study the gospel of John scholars were in general agreement that Jesus’ farewell speech – the five chapters from John 13-17 represented Jesus’ post-resurrection teaching. That is, these chapters refer to what Jesus revealed to the disciples after he was raised from the dead which would mean that today’s gospel, and that of the next two weeks do fit neatly into the post-Easter resurrection experiences. Certainly, this view would appear to make sense of Jesus’ use of the past tense in today’s gospel in which he declares: “Now the Son of Man has been glorified, and God has been glorified in him”. A post-resurrection Jesus would indeed have been glorified.

However, seen in context, Jesus makes that statement after Judas has “gone out” to betray him. Associating Jesus’ glorification with Judas’ betrayal does not immediately make sense unless we understand John’s use of the word “glory” and the way in which it subverts both the honour/shame culture of the 1st century Mediterranean and the power structures of the Roman Empire. Like Paul in the first letter to the Corinthians, John makes it clear that the cross is central to redemption – not so much as sacrifice, but as a deliberate act – challenging conventional wisdom and forcing believers to re-evaluate their ideas about God. According to Paul, the cross undermines smugness and self-satisfaction. It is a reminder of the unfathomable nature of God and of our limited ability to understand God. Both John and Paul face head on the apparent absurdity of worshipping a crucified man, demonstrating how something – apparently shameful and senseless – is in fact God’s way of redeeming the world.

John doesn’t focus on the contradiction of the cross as does Paul. Instead, he shows how the cross is the pivotal event in the story, the moment at which Jesus is glorified and at which his purpose is accomplished (19:30). The significance of the cross in this gospel is evident almost from the beginning when, in conversation with Nicodemus, Jesus makes the claim that: “the Son of Man must be lifted up” (code in John for the crucifixion), “(so) that whoever believes in him may have eternal life” (3:14). (This is in contrast to Moses’ lifting up the snake in the desert which gave life to those who looked at it, but which did not give eternal life.) Jesus further asserts that the Jews will “realise that I am he” when they have lifted up the Son of Man (8:28) and that when he (Jesus) is lifted up he will “draw all people to himself” (12:32). Finally, when Jesus is praying in the garden before his arrest, he prays that the Father may glorify him that he in turn may glorify God (17:1-5). Glory and cross are inextricably linked in this gospel.

From the outset, the author of John makes it clear that Jesus’ glorification – the point at which people will recognise him for who he is, and the point at which all people will be drawn to him – occurs on the cross and not at the resurrection. The act of self-sacrifice and shame is given more weight here than is the triumphalism of the resurrection. It is the unexpected that is important. God does not behave in the way that we expect God to behave. God’s anointed (Jesus) did not enter the world to the sound of trumpets and his early life was so insignificant that it was not considered worth recording. Jesus did not impose his will on others or lord it over them, but acted as a servant to them, he didn’t lead nations or armies but unobtrusively shared the message of God’s love.

In John’s gospel, Jesus’ glorification occurs on the cross not in the resurrection because it is here that Jesus shows most clearly what God’s love for the world looks like and it is through the cross that the blinkers will be removed from our eyes so that we may be freed to see God – unfettered by our preconceptions.

Over the centuries we have sanitised the scandal of the cross – to the point where it has almost lost its meaning. We have become so used to it as a symbol that adorns our churches and hangs around our necks that we can overlook the horror and shame, the ugliness and the brutality, and the violence and bloodiness that it represents. In so doing we deny its power to undermine our preconceived notions of who and what God is and how it is that God acts in the world. We refuse to allow the cross to defy our cosy and comfortable relationship with God and we reject its purpose which is to confound and startle us.

Jesus can announce his glorification in connection with Judas’ betrayal precisely because he is clear sighted about his role, about his relationship with God and about God’s action in the world.

Jesus, through John, wants us to know that we see God through the cross or not at all.

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Christ active in the world

May 7, 2022

Easter 4 – 2022 (Good Shepherd Sunday)
John 10:22-30
Marian Free

In the name of God, Earth-Maker, Pain-Bearer, Life-Giver. Amen.

During the week I came across an interesting article titled: “Local carpenter spreads disinformation”. The piece imagined a newspaper article written around the time of Jesus that was seeking to discredit him and to stem the damage created by the misinformation that he was spreading. It suggested that readers head to their local synagogues to check their facts. While the article was written ‘tongue in cheek’ it does address a significant question – If a radical, disreputable person begins (convincingly) to teach things that are contradictory to the current position of the church how can the ordinary person determine what is true? This is a particularly difficult issue when the boundaries between synagogue/church and society are blurred, and when societal conventions get confused with church tradition and vice versa. It can be hard in such circumstances to determine what is culturally determined and what is determined by religious tradition.

A case in point is the debate around the ordination of women. As long ago as 1917 the Lambeth Conference affirmed that there were no theological objections to the ordination of women (which implies that there were discussions around this issue well before that time). It took another sixty years of fiercely argued debate before the first women were ordained (illegally in the United States) and legally in New Zealand and elsewhere. In Australia it was to take more than seventy years before women were made priests in 1992. People do not like change, and they certainly do not like their long-cherished ideas to be challenged. A great deal of the argument against ordaining women was irrational, based as much on societal norms as it was on theological or biblical teaching.

Congregations who had only recently allowed women to be on Parish Council, or even to act as Sides people, simply could not envisage a woman in the Sanctuary, let alone a woman as a Presider and Preacher. Faithful churchgoers were afraid that the church that they loved would be irrevocably changed if women were ordained and they resisted fiercely. (A live and contemporary issue that will be debated at this General Synod is the place of LGBTQI+ community within our churches, and in particular whether blessings of civl marriages can be conducted by our clergy.)

We can sympathise then, with the people in today’s gospel. To them Jesus was unsettling and unconventional. He was challenging accepted ways of interpreting the scriptures and he was questioning the religious establishment. He was suggesting that just because something had always been done in a particular way, it did not need to be that way forever. He demonstrated in word and deed that some things – intended to be liberating – had, over time become restrictive and even destructive.

If it took the Anglican Church 60-100 years to make up its mind about the ordination of women, it is hardly surprising that three years were not nearly enough time for Jesus’ contemporaries to adjust to his teaching! For all his miraculous acts Jesus was, to all intents and purposes, a troublemaker and a lawbreaker. He might have given sight to the man born blind, but he did so on the Sabbath showing no regard for the law or scriptures! That Jesus was divisive is indicated by the verses just prior to today’s gospel. “The Jews were divided because of these words. Many of them were saying, ‘He has a demon and is out of his mind. Why listen to him?’ Others were saying, ‘These are not the words of one who has a demon. Can a demon open the eyes of the blind?’”

Jesus has truly put the cat among the pigeons. Some among the crowds have a sense that he is someone out of the ordinary, but others find him disturbing – dangerous even. It is no wonder that they plead with him to put them out of their misery, to give them some certainty. “How long will you keep us in suspense? If you are the Christ, tell us plainly,” they beg.

It is human nature to want certainty, just as it is human nature to resist change. It is relatively easy to believe static things like scriptures, history and tradition. It is much more difficult to discern if and how God is working in the present. If only we could be sure that God was speaking, that God was endorsing change!

The crowds in today’s gospel want assurance. Despite everything they have seen and heard, they cannot allow themselves to submit to belief. They want Jesus to lay to rest all their questions and fears. But this is something that Jesus cannot do. He can’t force them to believe; a word from him will not automatically quell all their anxieties and doubts. They need to come halfway, they need to be sufficiently open to God’s presence in the world that they identify Jesus. Faith (knowing) is as much a choice, an act of will as it is a passive capitulation.

As Chelsea Harmon points out “belonging” in this passage is an action. Jesus’ sheep do not belong simply because they are somehow special, predestined to belong; “their belonging is an active belonging: hearing, following, being known (i.e., having experiences of Jesus), and being given eternal life.” Faith is not one-sided – as if God’s almighty power captures and pens the gullible and easily led. Faith is an active engagement with the living Christ who continues to erupt into our lives and expects that we will be able to discern the signs by hearing, following and allowing ourselves to experience the risen Jesus now.

This short but obscure gospel is filled with meaning. It is not about who is in and who is out as some might assume, rather it is about being open to God’s working in the present even if it is strange and new, even if the one preaching change doesn’t fit our expectations and asks us to change what we think and how we behave.

Christ is risen! Christ is active in the world today. May our belonging to the shepherd be an active belonging so that habit, suspicion, and tradition do not keep us from seeing what new thing Christ is doing in the world today. May our active belonging and openness to the risen Christ give us a willingness to follow wherever Christ is leading us however new and strange that may seem.

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Looking for God in all the wrong places

April 30, 2022

Easter 3 – 2022
John 21:1-19
Marian Free

In the name of God who is made known as much in the still, small voice as in the mighty thunderclap. Amen.

It is so easy to overlook the little things.

It is easy to measure how much someone loves us by the grand gestures – extravagant gifts, beautiful flowers, heroic acts, romantic dinners, and overt displays of affection – rather than by the little, everyday signs of love – the washing of dishes, the cup of tea at just the right time, the taking over the childcare when one is frazzled. Some young people brought up on fairy stories (in the good old days) or on TV soap operas (more likely today) tend to get a very distorted view of love and of relationships. To create the right amount of drama and to heighten the tension in TV shows, displays of love and of disappointing behaviours are vastly exaggerated. This can lead the less worldly and more vulnerable to develop very unrealistic views about what it means to be loved and what constitutes an ideal relationship. Partners who do not match what is an impossible ideal are nagged and criticized in the hope that they can be molded into shape. Alternately they are discarded for not meeting expectations. The problem with this quest for a perfect lover is the failure to see is what is in front of them, the treasure that they already have – loyalty, acceptance, consideration and dependability.

As the song says: “They are looking in all the wrong places.”

It could be said that the same is true of our relationship with God. There are so many instances of God’s dramatic intervention in the world, or God’s appearances to the prophets and other historical figures of faith, that we come to expect that this is how we will know God’s presence. God appeared to Moses in a burning bush, spoke to the people of Israel from the cloud, provided Isaiah with a heavenly vision and spoke to Jesus in a voice that sounded like thunder. It is easy to draw the conclusion that is how we will recognise God in the world. So too with Jesus. Jesus healed the sick, raised the dead, spoke with such authority that crowds followed him everywhere. If only Jesus’ presence could be so obvious in our lives!

Indeed, given the extraordinary character of Jesus’ life and the attention that he attracted, it is puzzling that Jesus’ continued presence is not more dramatic. From the start, the encounters between the risen Christ and the disciples (not to mention the wider public) were disappointing. Surely the resurrection was an event that Jesus could (and should) have capitalized on! Jerusalem was filled with pilgrims who had gathered for the Passover and who would have heard of the events surrounding Jesus’ arrest and crucifixion. This would seem to be Jesus’ opportunity to prove once and for all that he was sent by God and that his message came from God. Jesus could perhaps have indulged in a little: “I told you so” to all the sceptics. He could have confronted the religious and political leaders with both the futility of their actions but also with their ignorance and blindness. Could he not at least have appeared to the crowds so that they would not need to be convinced that he was alive? If nothing else, surely Jesus could have continued the good work of healing and preaching.

What a waste of an opportunity! How much simpler everything would have been if only there was more evidence that Jesus had been raised from the dead, if the religious and political leaders had come to faith, if those who howled for his crucifixion had been convinced of their error! Then again, perhaps this is what the resurrection appearances are all about. Jesus did not make a song and dance about the resurrection, because as in life, so in life after death, Jesus was not a stunt man. Jesus never was looking for millions of followers (his response to the tempter in the desert tells us that). Jesus’ goal was to open the eyes of the people of Israel. His role was to confront and undermine false theologies of the church leaders and to challenge the institution that seemed to be separating the people from a personal relationship with God and demanding that they adhere to codes of behaviour that did not reflect the unconditional love of God.

It is perhaps for this reason that Jesus did not make a song and dance about the resurrection and the gospel writers, who could have embellished the story, do not do so.

In Mark Jesus appears to the women at the tomb, but they say nothing to anyone because they are afraid, and we are left with silence. Matthew has a little more detail. Again, the women meet Jesus, but this time they do tell the disciples. Jesus also appears to the disciples. As instructed, the disciples go to Galilee where Jesus meets them and commissions them to make disciples and to baptise. Luke’s account includes a meeting with two disciples on their way home from Jerusalem. In this gospel, Jesus takes the two through the scriptures so that they are able to understand all that has happened. Then appears to the disciples gathered in Jerusalem (to whom he also explains the scriptures). Finally, the disciples are present when Jesus ascends into heaven.

If, as Luke tells us, Jesus hangs around for 40 days before his ascension, then there is very little evidence that he did anything at all during that time.

This is what makes the events in today’s gospel so distinctive. It gives us a glimpse into what Jesus might have been doing and why no one thought to record it. Breakfast on the beach is so mundane and so ordinary that it barely rates a mention. Is this what Jesus has been up to? enjoying simple, everyday moments with the disciples while he still can?

Perhaps this is the point. The risen Christ, the Christ whom we know, is to be found in the everyday. We, you and I, will come across Jesus in unexpected places and at unexpected times. We may meet Jesus in dramatic and momentous times in our lives, but mostly we will find Jesus in the everyday – inviting us to breakfast, supporting us through grief and trauma and bringing joy through the love of a spouse, a friend or a child. Miracles may and will burst through into our lives, but what we need to know is that day in, day out, Jesus is with us. All we need to do is pay attention and recognise his presence here and now in the mundane incidents of our existence.

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God whispers our name

April 16, 2022

Easter Day -2022
John 20:1-18
Marian Free

In the name of God who meets us where we are and who whispers our name. Amen.

I usually embrace Easter with great enthusiasm and confidence. ‘Christ is risen! He is risen indeed!’ I joyfully proclaim with all the Church. Powerful stories of that call and response fuel my assurance in the power of the resurrection.

This year I find myself more hesitant. How to proclaim that new life starts now when atrocities are being perpetrated in and against Ukraine (an endeavour encouraged by the Patriarch of the Russian Orthodox Church), when the people of Sri Lanka are facing unprecedented shortages of food, fuel and medical supplies, when the people who can least afford it have been devastated by flood – here, in South Africa and in South Sudan, when there is a housing crisis in this nation because no one government (of any political party) has the will to fix it and when, on a daily basis, we are squandering the opportunity to save our planet before it is too, too late. Is there even a glimmer of hope in the world today that points to the resurrection?

Of course there is or I would not be here today. Against all evidence to the contrary, I continue to believe that God does shine a light in the darkness and can turn death to life. I see it in the extraordinary generosity of ordinary people of Poland and elsewhere who are welcoming Ukrainian refugees into their homes : ‘for as long as it takes”; in the selfless work of volunteers, churches and charitable organisations who have rallied to bring some relief to the victims of the floods, in the voices that continue to call for a more humane response to the refugees who reach our shores, in the companies that are investing in clean energy and in the countless ‘ordinary’ people who, in a variety of ways make a difference in the world around them.

I am impatient though. I am exhausted by the suffering that I see in the world, frustrated by the unwillingness of people to live in peace and harmony, angry that voters – here and elsewhere – want largely to protect their interests and wealth, rather than to create a society that ensures that all have access to housing, education, and healthcare.

I want the tomb of grief and anguish to burst open to reveal a more just and compassionate world. I want God to step in and push the Russian forces back. I want politicians who seek to create an equitable future (which might be more popular than they seem to think). I want to see a humankind that reflects its creation in the image of God. More than ever, I want this year, to proclaim that “Christ is risen!” that there are signs of new life in the world, that there is evidence that God, working through us, is bringing about change here and now.

So it was that I found the following reflection by Miriam-Rose Ungunmerr-Baumann helpful. She speaks about Dadirri – Inner Deep Listening and Quiet Still Awareness and writes:

“What I want to talk about is a…special quality of my people. I believe it is the most important. It is our most unique gift. It is perhaps the greatest gift we can give to our fellow Australians. In our language this quality is called dadirri. It is inner, deep listening and quiet, still awareness. Dadirri recognises the deep spring that is inside us. We call on it and it calls to us. This is the gift that Australia is thirsting for. It is something like … “contemplation”… We cannot hurry the river. We have to move with its current and understand its ways… We wait on God, too. His time is the right time. We wait for him to make his Word clear to us. We don’t worry. We know that in time and in the spirit of dadirri (that deep listening and quiet stillness) his way will be clear… All persons matter. All of us belong…

“’The time for re-birth is now,’ said the Holy Father to us. Jesus comes to fulfil, not to destroy. If our culture is alive and strong and respected, it will grow. It will not die. And our spirit will not die. And I believe that the spirit of dadirri that we have to offer will blossom and grow, not just within ourselves, but in our whole nation.’”

“We cannot hurry the river”, Miriam says as she reminds me to wait on God. With the indigenous people of this land, I will have to learn to be patient, to remember that while Jesus remained in the tomb for only three days, there are millions in this world (including indigenous Australians) for whom the experience of the tomb lasts for months, years, if not a lifetime.

On Friday I spoke of God nailed to the cross – naked, bruised and bleeding – who stands with suffering humanity, deeply immersed in the horrors and tragedies of this world, willing us to let go of all that separates us from each other and from God.

That same God, the risen Christ, greets us in the garden in the midst of our desolation and grief and whispers our name – “Mary” (Marian, John, Sarah, Robert – insert your own name) – and reminds us that God is with us now – whatever our circumstances – as the one who knows what it is to suffer and as the one who wants to draw us (and the whole world) into newness of life. This is message I will take away this Easter – Christ risen from the dead is with us and with the world in all our life’s experiences. That is the resurrection hope.

There will be moments of transformation, there will be dramatic and wondrous signs of new life after tragedy, there will be resurrection moments when tragedy turns a corner to hope, but above all there will be those barely noticed whisperings: ‘Insert your name’ as Jesus joins us where we are and reminds us that maybe not now, but sometime, we will smile again. In the meantime – “Christ is risen” and the risen Christ is with us through all of life’s experiences the exhilarating and the devastating.

Those whispers will be our everyday moments of resurrection.

“Christ is risen!” “Christ is risen indeed! Allellua!”

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Taking God from the cross

April 14, 2022

Good Friday – 2022
Marian Free

In the name of our vulnerable God. Amen.

About thirty years ago a young woman was abducted at knife point, taken to some bushland, violently raped and stabbed and left for dead. Fortunately, she survived and somehow made it to the nearby road where she was able to flag down a passing motorist. It is impossible to imagine her terror, her desperation, her humiliation, and her utter vulnerability as she stood, naked and bleeding by the side of the road.

Likewise, it is impossible to put ourselves into the mind of Jesus as his naked, bruised and bleeding body hung on the cross – stared at and jeered at by complete strangers. Nakedness is a tool used in a variety of circumstances to humiliate and denigrate another. Our clothing (however insubstantial) provides some sort of protection against the world. It gives us a sense that our inner most being is guarded from the gaze of the world. It allows us to feel that we are somehow in control of our lives and our bodies.

Jesus has not been in control since his arrest in the garden. He has been spat on, whipped, ridiculed. He has been forced to endure the shame of carrying his own cross from Pilate’s court to the place of execution and now he has been stripped naked before being lifted up in front of those who take ghoulish delight in the suffering of others. Not only has Jesus suffered the mortification of the trial, but he has also had to endure Judas’ treachery, the abandonment by his disciples, Peter’s denial and the crowds baying for his blood.

There are so many ways to think of Good Friday, so many lessons to learn. This year, I challenge you to remember that the Jesus who was so brutally slaughtered was not immune to suffering but was, like us – fully human. For him the pain – both physical and emotional was all too real. The lashes and the thorns tore his skin, the nails pierced his flesh and his bone and the struggle to draw breath was excruciating agony. (For it to be otherwise would be to make a mockery of the Incarnation.)

And yet Jesus, fully human, was also fully God. It was God on that cross – God completely naked, exposed, vulnerable and totally out of control.

God does not stand idly by as members of humankind debase and dehumanise those who are different. God does not turn a blind eye when some of God’s creation shore up their power by suppressing, imprisoning, and torturing those who show signs of opposition. God does not ignore the attempts (wittingly or unwittingly) of some to increase their wealth at the expense of others. God is not absent when acts of cruelty, sadism and indifference are perpetrated against the weak and vulnerable. God is there in their suffering – experiencing their pain, their helplessness, and their degradation. The God who hangs on the cross enters fully into the agony and the powerless of all who suffer.

As unspeakable horrors unfold in Ukraine, in Yemen and elsewhere, as refugees are vilified and imprisoned, as millions around the starve or are trafficked into slavery, it is easy to ask: “Where is God?”

God is wounded, bleeding and suffocating on the cross. And on the cross God will remain until we find the will to end our hunger for power, our desire to be in control, and our willingness to demonise those who do not conform to our expectations.

We, by our indifference and failure to act, put God on the cross. Do we have the will to do what it takes to bring God down?

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Love without question

April 14, 2022

Maundy Thursday – 2022
John 13:1-the 17, 31b-35
Marian Free

In the name of God whose heedless, extravagant love draws us to love extravagantly, heedlessly. Amen.

“Jesus got up from the table, took off his outer robe, and tied a towel around himself. Then he poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples’ feet and to wipe them with the towel that was tied around him.” Sound familiar? Or perhaps you have never made the link. Just six days ago (Johanine time) Jesus was at a dinner party with his friends when Mary got up from the table and took a pound of pure nard, anointed Jesus’ feet and wiped them with her hair. Loving farewell actions – Mary apparently preparing Jesus for his burial and Jesus preparing the disciples for his departure.

On this night, we focus on Jesus’ actions, but it is important to remember that they were pre-figured by those of Mary. Mary’s action was extravagant, dramatic (wiping Jesus’ feet with her hair!), generous and almost certainly impetuous. In contrast, Jesus’ action appears to be considered and careful. Neither actor seemed at all concerned by how others might react to their actions – actions which contravened the cultural norms of the time. Neither seemed to give a moment’s thought to the offense that they might cause and the censure that they might receive. They were in the moment, totally heedless of the consequences for themselves. Perhaps the presence of death moves them to do what they otherwise might not have done.

Love (extravagant in Mary’s case, absolutely unconditional in Jesus’ case) determines their behaviour. It matters not to Mary that she should not touch Jesus, or that wiping his feet with her hair is something so intimate and sexual that (even today) is quite beyond the bounds of proper behaviour. If she anything does go through her mind it might be: “Let them think of me what they will!”

We already know that Jesus doesn’t care about the social norms of his day. After all he has spoken to a woman from Samaria, a woman rejected by her own society and he has taken refreshment from her hand. He has healed on the Sabbath Day and he has allowed Mary to touch him in the most familiar and public way. If he thinks anything at all it is likely to be that living out God’s will and demonstrating God’s unconditional love overrides any concern about what people might think of him.

Jesus takes on the role a servant and washes the feet of all the disciples, even those of Judas who would hand him over, Peter who would deny him and the others who would abandon him. In so doing he provides a model for all who would claim to follow him. We are to love – heedlessly, extravagantly, selflessly, with no thought for the cost, no consideration of what others might think of us and no judgement about the frailties and faults of the other.

If only we could love as Jesus’ loved, if only we could love as God loves, the world would be healed.

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What – no palm branches??

April 9, 2022

Palm Sunday – 2022
Luke 19:28-39
Marian Free

In the name of God who cannot be captured by the limits of our imagination, and who continues to surprise and astound us. Amen.

For many of us Palm Sunday holds special memories – the procession, the hymns, the palms, the drama. “All glory, laud and honour.” The chorus resounds in our heads as we make our way to church and the new palm crosses rest in our hands as we make our way home. The church will have been both bright (with palms) and sombre – all the crosses now covered in purple – a reminder that the triumph of Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem heralds the humiliation of the crucifixion. There may have been a dramatization of the gospels and we hear ourselves saying: “Crucify him, crucify him!”

Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem is one of the stories that, possibly because of its dramatic presentation during the liturgy, captures our imagination and remains with us from our childhood on. We know it so well – the donkey freely given (though the owner does not know for what it will be used), the palms that are waved and used to cover the ground under Jesus, the shouts of the crowds – “Hosanna!” and “Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord!”

At least that is what we think the story says. I wonder, how many of us have really paid attention? Now that the account of the passion takes centre stage on Palm Sunday, I suspect that a majority of us rely on our memories rather than on the gospels themselves, for the details of the events that accompany Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem. Indeed, most of us would not know which gospel formed the basis for our ideas of what occurred and, even if we had taken the time to read all four gospel accounts of Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem, it is unlikely that we would have noticed the differences between the accounts – which elements have taken centre stage and which have fallen by the wayside.

May I suggest that you take time to read all four different gospel accounts and that you make a point to discern which aspects of the day the different authors emphasised. (I’ll give you a clue. Matthew has the disciples borrow both a donkey and the colt of a donkey because one of his goals is to demonstrate the ways in which Jesus fulfills the Old Testament – in this case the prophet Zechariah 9:9 (“Lo, your king comes to you; triumphant and victorious is he, humble and riding on a donkey, on a colt, the foal of a donkey.”)

Given that our Lectionary this year follows Luke’s gospel, I have paid particular attention to what Luke has written. If you have already read the four gospels, you might have noticed a number of things his account – in particular the fact that there are no palm branches might have stood out for you. Despite the fact that we take for granted that palm branches (or at least branches) were waved in the air, according to Luke not only was nothing waved, but there were no palms at all! If we were solely reliant on Luke’s account of events we would think that there was no waving and that only cloaks were laid on the ground before Jesus. “Cloak Sunday” doesn’t have the same ring to it and our processions would look entirely different if Luke was our only account.

Other details are different in Luke’s version. No one shouts: “Hosanna!” (That word does not occur at all in the third gospel.) Instead, Luke adds the words: “Peace in heaven, and glory in the highest heaven!” which remind us of the words of the angels to the shepherds. Also, it is difficult to know (from the account in this gospel) whether it is “the crowds” who cheer on Jesus as he enters the city, or whether it is just his disciples. (Luke tells us that it is a multitude of disciples who “praise God in a loud voice” and that the Pharisees order Jesus to stop his disciples.) In other words, those who already know Jesus and have followed him from Galilee are the only people who are shouting out as he enters Jerusalem. These details, I think you will agree, puts an entirely new slant on the story.

That doesn’t mean that we have to let go of our childhood memories, but it does challenge us to pay attention, to recognise that we don’t actually know as much as we think we know, and to let go of our preconceived ideas and our settled approach to our scriptures. The four accounts of Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem remind us to ask ourselves: “What else are we missing?”, to understand that it is important that we take nothing for granted, and that we approach scripture with open minds and with a sense of expectancy. If we are not to become stuck in our views or to left behind, it is essential that we anticipate surprises whenever we open our bibles instead of reading scriptures through the lens of what we already know.

Unfortunately, our relationship with God can be the same as our relationship with scripture. Whether we are radical or conservative we can reach a point at which we become complacent, and our notion of God becomes settled. Sadly, when we become comfortable with our image of God we lose our sense of awe and expectancy, we surrender our willingness to be pulled up short by an unexpected revelation of God and we fail to be surprised by the unexpected presence (or absence) of God in a person, a place or an event. We are losers not winners, if we become self-satisfied and comfortable with our faith – because God (and scripture) will ALWAYS have something more to reveal and something more to teach us.

As we approach Holy Week, may we see the events as if for the first time, be attentive to details that we might have missed and filled with the expectation that God always has something new to share with us.

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A matter of life and death

April 2, 2022

Lent 5 – 2022
John 12:1-8
Marian Free

May I speak in the name of our extravagant, spendthrift, wastrel God. Amen.

Australians, those of us privileged to live in well-treed areas, are not inclined to think of possums (the brush-tail variety) with affection. They eat our vegetables, destroy our rose buds and worse, they live in our roofs from which they are notoriously difficult to remove. Once removed, they will frantically claw at the wire-covered entry point hoping to find a point of weakness that will allow them ingress. If allowed to remain in the roof they will disturb our sleep, urinate, and defecate and worst of all, they will die – something that only becomes obvious when the unmistakable stench of decay will tell us that the ceiling must be removed somehow, and the carcass retrieved and disposed of.

The aroma of death hangs in the air in John chapter 12. Lazarus, one of those present at the meal has very recently been sick, dead and entombed for four days. When Jesus (finally) arrives and calls him to come out of the tomb, his sister, Martha objects: “There is already a stench.” Now, six days before the Passover, we the readers are very aware that Jesus’ crucifixion looms near. The danger to Jesus, and even to Lazarus hangs in the air. Indeed, Jesus has been under the sentence of death since chapter seven when he did not want to attend the Festival of Booths, because the leaders of the Jews in Judea “were looking for an opportunity to kill him.” The menace has intensified since Jesus raised Lazarus. As Jesus’ popularity with the crowds increased, so too did the antagonism of the Jewish leaders who were anxious that his renown would draw the attention of the Romans who would, in turn, “destroy the nation”. (Lazarus too is now a threat to the authorities’ sense of well-being, because he is an object of curiosity, and a sign of what Jesus can do.)

The ”stench” of death fills the home of Martha, Mary and Lazurus, the “stench” of pure nard. I say “stench” because even though the Greek words are different, both the smell of Lazarus’ dead body and the aroma of Mary’s ointment can be translated by the English word “stench” (a strong and unpleasant smell). Whether or not the overpowering odour of a pound of nard is unpleasant is irrelevant. What is important here is that the odour of death hangs in the air. So, whether at the tomb or in the house, death pervades the atmosphere, hovering around the little family and their friend.

In the West, death has become somewhat sanitized and distanced from life. Indeed, we cannot even use the language of death. Today people, even people of faith, refer to someone’s having “passed”, as if death were not a definite and finite end to earthly existence. We might make a great deal of fuss about being with a loved one while and when they die, few of us tenderly wash the body of the deceased or prepare them for the grave. Unless it is part of our religious or cultural practice, we do not sit with the corpse for days, praying and processing the event. We do not wail (or employ others to wail for us) or tear out our hair in the face of death. In our culture overt displays of grief are considered unseemly. In public we tend to be restrained if not stoic.

Not only do we keep death at an emotional distance, collectively we do everything we can to prolong life and to avoid death. Advances in medical science mean that we can expect to be cured of most things and to escape most others.

Those who lived in the first century knew no such luxury as medical science. For rich and poor alike, death was a daily reality that could not be ignored. Women (rich and poor) died in childbirth, a large percentage of children (rich and poor) died before their fifth birthday and the life-expectancy of the average male was 29 years.

Those at the little dinner party depicted by John know all too well that death is part and parcel of life. He might be alive today, but the trauma of Lazarus’ death is still very raw. Death and the threat of death hover in the atmosphere. Mary knows as well as anyone does that death is always at the door. It is unpredictable and not at all choosy. No wonder she seizes the moment – if not now when? There is no point saving her precious ointment for some unknown time and place in the future. It is meant to be used, not squirreled away. Jesus is here, now and she can do this one thing for him. Who knows if there will be another opportunity?

Too many of us live tentative, timid lives, storing things up against an unknown future, hesitant to take risks because we are fearful of what might happen, and unwilling to give ourselves freely in case we will be hurt. Our cautious fails to take into account the reality that life is finite and that in the final analysis we cannot control life, nor can we escape death. Accepting death (ours and that of those whom we love) as part and parcel of life, helps us to live each day as it comes, to embrace life in all its complexity, and to live generously, spontaneously and audaciously.

In her poem The Summer Day Mary Oliver speaks of a day spent watching a grasshopper and she asks: “Tell me, what else should I have done? Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon? Tell me what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”

Everything and everyone does die at last so – what is it that you plan to do with your one wild and precious life? Will you hold on or let go? Be frugal or generous? Timid and cautious or adventurous and outrageous? Mary seized the moment – Can we?

What is it that you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?

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Loving the deserving and the undeserving

March 26, 2022

Lent 4 – 2022
Luke 15:11-32
Marian Free

May I speak in the name of God, Earth-maker, Pain-Bearer, Life-giver whose love for us is beyond compare. Amen.

This week one of the disturbing stories that is making the headlines is the inquest into the shocking deaths of Hannah Clarke and her three children at the hands of her husband and their father. It is difficult to imagine how anyone who purports to love someone could be so possessive/obsessive that they would kill the one they loved rather than set them free. “Love” that comes with conditions or strings is not love at all, but something else altogether. “Love” that seeks to dominate or control is not love but a perverted idea of what “loving and being loved” might be.

In our imperfect world, there are many ways in which “love” has been corrupted or distorted. Some women stay with violent partners because they have been led to believe that they don’t deserve better. Some children act out because any attention is better than no attention. Others are overly compliant in the belief that only if they are good enough will they be loved. There are just too many examples of the ways in which love has been misunderstood or misused.

Today’s gospel, one with which we are so very familiar is all about love – giving and receiving love in its purest form – undefiled and unconditional.

Sadly, many of my generation were brought up to believe in heaven and hell, and in judgement that resulted in reward or punishment. Whether it was intended or not, the message that we received was that even though God loved us, that love came with an expectation that we were to be “good” and knowing that our “goodness” was constantly being measured against our “badness”.

In that light, the parable of the Loving Father or Prodigal Son was taught as a story of forgiveness. The bad son, the prodigal, had to recognise his sinfulness, repent, and return to his father – who then forgave him. That was easy enough to understand, but many of us struggled with the older son, the good but resentful son. This, I suspect, was because we identified with him and felt that we should not. Like the older son, our sense of fairness is offended by the father’s overreaction to the return of the prodigal. Like the older son, our notion of God’s love is predicated on its being earned. In the parable, this concept is turned upside down – the bad son who has done nothing to deserve it is rewarded – and the good son – who has done everything right – is not. “It’s not fair!” we shout, as if we were still two years old.
Our innate sense of justice wants God to be fair – at least far as we define it. We are torn between wanting to know that we (despite our inadequacies) are loved and wanting to know that God will rain down punishment on those whom we (not God) deem unworthy of God’s love. We want there to be consequences for good behaviour and for bad – otherwise (as the older son seems to feel) what is the point of being good? We fail to see the irony (as does the older son) that most of us are not driven by the threat of damnation but by the fact that we don’t actually want to be bad! It is not so much that we want to be rewarded, but we sure as heck want those who misbehave to be punished or at least reproved for their behaviour!

The meaning of the parable changes if we take as our starting point – not the behaviour of the brothers – but the actions of the father whose love towards his sons is demonstrated – not just at the home-coming but also at the leaving, not just at the going, but at the staying. Often, we are so focussed on the end of the story, that we overlook the beginning. According to the parable, the father loves his younger son enough to let him go. He understands that love that holds on to the other is not love but control and that nothing will be achieved by forcing his son to remain at home. If the younger son conforms but is seething with resentment, nothing is gained. According to the story (and we must remember that it is just a story), there are no strings attached to the son’s freedom, no instructions as to what he should do, where he should go or how he should spend his money. When the son returns, there are no questions, no recriminations – just joy that the one who is loved has returned. The father’s love is freely given – no questions, no expectations, and no conditions.

A fresh tells us something about God’s love for us. As is the father’s love for his child, God’s love for us is non-coercive and non-demanding. This was something that the younger son innately understood – he was not afraid to ask for his inheritance, not so anxious about his father’s reaction that he could not return home and not so ashamed that he held back when his father reached out to embrace him. What a contrast with the older brother who, in the story, appears not to have understood how much he is loved, that everything that was his father’s was his already. Instead of trusting his father’s love for him, he seems to have spent his life seeking approval. It is no wonder that he cannot be generous towards his brother, he has not had the confidence to be generous to himself.

If we turn this parable on its head, we will see that it has as much to tell us about accepting love, as it does about being loved. God, who is love, cannot help but love us. It is we, whose ideas about God are often misinformed or misguided, who think that we have to earn God’s love and who in turn begrudge the fact that God freely gives God’s love to all people – both the bad and the good – who have to re-frame the way that we see God and God’s love not just for some, but for all.

God’s boundless, unconditional, and unquestioning love is poured out on all God’s creation. When we claim that love for ourselves we cannot refuse it to others.

All we have to do is say: “yes – I know that I am loved.”

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