Practice makes perfect

February 18, 2017

Epiphany 7 – 2017

Matthew 5:38-48

Marian Free

 

In the name of God who demands perfection, but who overlooks all our faults. Amen.

One of the things about this congregation is that it keeps me on my toes! I learned very quickly that more than a few of you really paid attention to my sermons. That means, that while I have always put a lot of time and effort into my preparation, I have moved it up a notch since coming here. It can be terrifying at times to realise that what I say will be listened to intently. At the same time, it is incredibly encouraging and rewarding to be part of a group of people who takes their faith and their worship so seriously.

Last week was one such example. I made the rather broad generalization that while huge droves have not left the church as a result of the Royal Commission into Child Sexual Abuse, many had left the church well before that because they felt that the church and its members failed to practice what it preached. As he left the church Brian Wilson made a comment on the sermon and then added his own observations. Brian has a few years on me, so his experience of the church (its successes and failures) extends further back than mine. It was his opinion that many people left the church after the war because they had failed to really understand (and the church had failed to adequately explain) the principles of faith, love and hope. Others he said, had an experience of emptiness, but didn’t know how to fill the hole or how to explain the emptiness. He and I agree that many of us have come to a true understanding of those principles either because we were fortunate to have a good example, a good teacher or simply because we knew that there was something more and we persisted until we found it.

A problem that I identified last week was that there has been, at least at times, a tendency to confuse faith with law, salvation with being good. This has led to an emphasis on adherence to a set of rules and a belief that if only one can manage to keep the rules, that one will be saved. There are two problems with this approach. One is that is simply does not work and the other is that it is exactly the opposite of what Jesus taught. Rules alone cannot make us love our enemy and love that is forced is not love at all.

A conviction that faith is about obedience to rules is a sure-fire way to ensure that believers live with a constant sense of failure and guilt– especially when the standard is so high. It is one thing to know that we should not be angry but there are times when we are so hurt that, try as we might, we cannot rid ourselves of the anger we feel. We all know that Jesus expects us to forgive, but there are some things are really unforgivable. If our focus is primarily on keeping rules we are bound to fail and because we don’t like to fail, we are tempted to gloss over our imperfections and put on a good front. We bury our hurt, our fury and our resentment so that it cannot be seen. It is possible to bury our negative feelings so deep that we forget that they are even there. Then one day something will touch the wound and the anger and the hurt come spilling out all over again – often in ways that hurtful, damaging and unconstructive to ourselves or others. We might be successful at pushing the negativity out of sight, but that doesn’t mean that it has disappeared. It can simmer away, waiting to explode when we least expect it and the last situation is often worse than the first.

Here I believe that we can learn something from the practice of Buddhism, something I’ve been exposed to more thanks to Julie and Maria. My observation is that the teaching of Christianity tends to emphasise what a person should do while Buddhism teaches how a person can do it. For example Buddhism teaches specific practices that enable a person to redirect their thoughts around such things as anger, judgement and forgiveness. They recognise that forgiveness doesn’t just happen, that anger doesn’t always magically disappear just because we tell it do and that it can take hard work, discipline and practice to change or even reverse the way we think about a person or a situation. The practice is applied every time a negative thought or emotion comes up until it is no has a hold. In this way it is possible over time to become less angry and less judgmental and more tolerant, compassionate and forgiving.

Of course, I’m not suggesting that we need to become Buddhists to adopt such practices. A Christian spiritual director would be able to teach us similar skills and would give us spiritual exercises that would assist us to look at ourselves more honestly and to work on those parts of our inner life that might be less than perfect. The difference is really one of emphasis. It is difficult in our weekly one hour as a gathered community, to teach and to practice spiritual disciplines. These are left for us to discover through our reading and through retreats. For Buddhists, the emphasis it seems is much more on the practice that enables them to work on their inner life.

“You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be children of your Father in heaven.” Loving our enemy – someone who has wronged or hurt us – does not come naturally, worse, it is the antithesis of how most of us would react. Loving our enemies requires first of all that we are honest about our own shortcomings and our own propensity to cause hurt to others; it demands that we consider what we can learn from the situation and from the other person and it expects that we will be able to find ways to be compassionate and tolerant of those who differ markedly from ourselves. None of these will come easily. Loving our enemy will require us to explore and to put into practice such things that, over time will turn hatred into love, fear into acceptance and anger into peace. Nothing less will do.

Practice makes perfect.

“Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect.”

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The impossibility of perfection

February 11, 2017

Epiphany 6 – 2017

Matthew 5:13-37

Marian Free

In the name of God who demands perfection, but who overlooks all our faults. Amen.

Most of us will have been astounded by the information coming out of the Royal Commission this week. The percentages of Roman Catholic priests and religious who are believed to have engaged in child sexual abuse are astonishing and distressing. (40.4% of all St John of God Brothers and 14.7% of the priests from Sale just for starters.) Not that we Anglicans have anything to be proud of – our percentages haven’t been published and we have escaped some of the worst excesses because we have very few religious orders and therefore fewer schools and children’s homes. What is interesting is that the revelations of child sex abuse has not led to vast numbers of practicing Christians leaving the church in disappointment or disgust. The reason for this, I believe, is that many people lost confidence in and abandoned the institution of the church decades ago.

Why then did people become disillusioned with the church? What caused them to abandon what was once a foundation of our society? It is impossible to be definitive of course and there are many and varied reasons why people no longer give up their Sunday mornings to attend church. My observations suggest there were sources of disquiet before our record on child sex abuse was exposed. Among these was the perceived discrepancy between what the church preached and how the church and its members behaved. It was not uncommon in the sixties and seventies to hear the charge of hypocrisy leveled at the church. There was a feeling among some that the church and its members did not live up to the standards it imposed nor did it live out the principles it proclaimed – “forgiveness of sins” and “unconditional love”. And there was disquiet with the way in which church applied these principles such that a woman who was abused by her husband was asked to forgive, but the abuser was not asked to stop the abuse or that a young woman who found herself to be pregnant was forced to give up her child. The church of the fifties and sixties often claimed the moral high ground when it was clear that its members were as vulnerable and flawed as the rest of society.

One of the problems, at least so I believe is the way in which the faith has been taught which in turn relates to the way in which the church assumed the role as the guardian of morals for society at large. So while it may not have been universally true, it seemed to me that the church placed an emphasis on “being good” or with keeping the Ten Commandments. There is of course no problem with encouraging goodness except that, not only does it suggest that being good is sufficient in itself and have the effect of emphasising obedience to a set of rules rather than on having a change of heart, it also indirectly suggests that it is possible, by adherence to the rules to somehow become faultless, to achieve perfection. The reality is, that while it is relatively easy not to steal, not to lie, not to commit adultery and not to murder, it is impossible for anyone to be absolutely perfect. So a person who is able to obey the rules might present an outward show of goodness or uprightness that may or may not hide an inner turmoil of selfishness, mean spiritedness or anger. Such a person is rightly called “hypocritical” because he or she makes out that they are one thing when really they are another and any discerning person can see through the surface to what lies beneath. It is this sort of double standard or false image that brings the church into discredit – a belief that what is on the surface is more important than what lies beneath.

It is exactly this sort of complacency that Jesus is challenging in the strange and disparate mixture of sayings that make up today’s gospel. It is not enough Jesus says to stop short of killing someone – anything less than unconditional love of the other is the same as murder. Not committing adultery is commendable, but if we have lustful thoughts towards someone to whom we are not married then we demonstrate that we are a long way from achieving the sort of perfection that rivals the righteousness of the scribes and the Pharisees. In other words, there is not a sliding scale of perfection – one is either perfect or one is not.

Jesus is demanding the impossible – or at least that is how it seems. No one can be perfect except God and Jesus who is God. But that is just the point – we can’t be perfect. Few if any of us would ever be able to achieve the sinlessness modeled by Jesus and the good news is that we do not have to. What we do have to do is recognise our imperfections and acknowledge that we are no better than anyone else. Instead of comparing ourselves with others in order to reassure ourselves that we are somehow superior, instead of papering over our inner weaknesses with a superficial show of obedience and goodness, Jesus suggests that we recognise that we share the same faults and flaws as the rest of humanity. Only if we have the courage to see ourselves as we really are will we be able to change into the people God wants us to be and only if we have the confidence to allow others to see beyond the surface will they accept that we really are authentic and that even though we fail, we are struggling to live the faith that we proclaim.

God demands perfection – not because perfection is possible, but because it forces us to recognise our imperfections and to throw ourselves on God’s mercy.

If we have been putting on an outward show, if we have been trying to fool ourselves and others, perhaps now is the time to be honest with ourselves, to let go of any falsehood and to realise that only if we recognise that we need to change, will it be possible for God to change us.

 

 

 

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Standing with our feet in two worlds

February 4, 2017

Candlemas – 2017

Luke 2:22-40

Marian Free

Candlemas

         Candlemas

Loving God, light in our darkness; give us the courage to allow your light to reveal the darkness in our lives. Amen.

Today we celebrate the feast of the Presentation of Jesus in the Temple – an event in Jesus’ life that is recorded only by Luke. As early as the fourth century, the Church Fathers considered that this was an event of such significance that it needed its own feast day. At that time, the Presentation was marked on the fourteenth of February – 40 days after the feast of the Nativity on the 6th of January. Four hundred years later, sometime after the celebration of Christmas had been moved back to December 25, the feast of the Presentation was moved to February 2 where it remains to this day.

It appears that around that time, in the 700s, influences from the pagan festival of Imbolc began to creep in to the Christian celebration. Imbolc is the word for ewe’s milk in old Irish. In Northern Europe Imbolc marked the midpoint between the winter solstice and the spring equinox. In a world in which winters were dark and bleak, the lengthening of days and the first signs of spring growth were a cause for celebration. They were proof yet again that the darkness had not triumphed over light and that the earth would once again bring forth life and growth. It was a time of promise and possibility. White candles were lit as a symbol of purifying fire and of the rays of the sun.

Imbolc took place at the same time as the feast of the Presentation – on February 1st or 2nd. It appears that the church absorbed the practice of lighting candles into its own practice. The liturgy incorporated a procession of candles followed by a blessing of the candles for use that year hence the alternate name for the feast – Candlemas.

Just as Imbolc marked a mid-point in the astronomic calendar, in the Christian practice, Candlemas signified a movement away from the wonder and joy of Christmas and Epiphany and a movement closer to the sobriety of Lent and thus to the shadow of the cross. The changing seasons and longer days encouraged spring cleaning and the preparation of the ground for sowing and in the church Candlemass signified a movement away from festivity and feasting towards self-reflection and fasting.

Today’s gospel clearly depicts the tensions of being caught between celebration and solemnity, joy and apprehension, between Christmas and Good Friday. When Mary and Joseph brought Jesus to the Temple, Simeon’s gratitude and relief was matched by Anna’s exuberance and excitement as they both responded in their own ways to the encounter with their long-awaited Saviour. The joy of the meeting was tempered by Simeon’s warning and sense of foreboding as he says to Mary: “This child is destined for the falling and the rising of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be opposed so that the inner thoughts of many will be revealed—and a sword will pierce your own soul too.”

Simeon might have identified Jesus as the one who was promised as “light to the gentiles and the glory of God’s people Israel” but at the same time he cautioned that God’s promised salvation is not without cost.

Light, you see, is a mixed blessing. Light is threatening and benign, welcome and unwelcome. Light lifts the burden of darkness and enables us to see clearly. It allows us to walk without stumbling, but it has the potential to expose the dark corners and secret places of our lives – the cobwebs and dust that have built up over a long winter of neglect, the self-deception and arrogance that have been allowed to hide in the shadows, the inner thoughts that we would prefer to keep to ourselves.

When Simeon announced that Jesus was “the light to the Gentiles” he was fully aware that not everyone would welcome his presence among them. There would be many who would prefer to remain in the shadows rather than have their shallowness exposed and their self-deception revealed. He predicted that they would resent, resist and even oppose Jesus whose very presence would show them up for the charlatans that they were. The light of Jesus’ goodness and love would be greeted with delight by those who, like Simeon have looked forward to a time when God’s presence will be more fully known and who would feel the warmth and glow of that presence in Jesus. That same love and goodness, would serve to reveal the complacency, self-satisfaction and blindness of those who thought that neither the world nor themselves needed changing and who experienced the light as a scorching flame and a glaring beam that must be extinguished so that their lives could remain the same and their falsehoods unchallenged.

For those who recognise that the world lies in darkness, light is a welcome relief, but that same light is perceived dangerous and threatening by those who recognise that the light will shake and shatter their place in the world.

Today, as we celebrate Candlemas and the Presentation of Jesus in the Temple, we stand as it were with our feet in both worlds – between Jesus’ birth and the cross, between joy and sorrow, between the darkness and the light. As we follow the church calendar from Epiphany to Lent, we have time to consider whether we will allow our darkness to be exposed to the light or whether, content with the way things are and unwilling to accept that different could be better, we will turn our backs on the promise of change and renewal and consign ourselves to the shadows.

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Blessed are the poor – so much we have to learn

January 28, 2017

Epiphany 4 – 2017

Matthew 5:1-12

Marian Free

In the name of God on whom, if we dare, we can totally rely. Amen.

Some years ago, I acquired a book titled Poor in Spirit – Modern Parables of the Reign of God. Compiled by Charles Lepetit[1], it consists of a number of stories written by people living and working alongside the poor who inhabit the slums in many parts of the world. Lepetit is a member of the Little Brothers of Jesus. He says of himself: “I have lived in slums, I have known hunger, I have been in jail (oh not for long). I am an invalid. So I am at home with my brothers and sisters the poor.” The book is a compilation of true stories – stories that have been shared with him by those who are also poor, but who in his words, “share one poverty in common: that of the heart. They do not know the treasure they bear.”

Many of the story-tellers are members of religious orders. Some tell their own stories and others stories of the people whose lives have touched their own. The authors are identified only by their Christian name and by the country from which they write. So Catherine writes from Black Africa, Martin from Northern Europe, Roger from Central America, Olive from South of the Sahara, Larry from India and Nancy from North America. I wish I could share the whole book with you, the stories are powerful and confronting and challenge Western values and our dependence on material possessions.

One of my favorite stories is written by Lisa. It concerns a man who has been cruelly affected by leprosy. Most of his feet and all ten fingers were gone. Even his face was affected, but as Lisa tells it, when he smiled his whole face was transformed. Life was so hard that he had at one time tried to drown himself, “but even the sea didn’t want me,” he says. The leper made a living selling charcoal wearing his stumps raw from filling his customers’ baskets. Somehow, despite his extreme poverty, he maintains his dignity and his home as described by Liza is an oasis in the midst of a busy and noisy city. He has friend, who also has leprosy who cuts grass for sheep and sells it at the market. The two friends share what they have earned each day. One day his friend returned home with “three beautiful coins” that he had found on the pavement – an unexpected windfall in their barren lives. What to do with them? After some thought our friend says: “It is true that you need socks. But this money, we have haven’t earned it. God has given it to us. Why don’t we go to the cinema? One needs a change of scene sometimes.” “So we went to the cinema, and we had a very nice time.”

What touches me in this story is that these two had not allowed themselves to be so overwhelmed and ground down by their poverty that they could see that God might want them to have some joy and pleasure in their lives. Given the choice between the practical (socks) and the impractical (cinema) they had chosen something that would bring some happiness into their bleak and mundane existence.

A second story and one that never fails to move me is told by Dan from North Africa. Dan is stuck in a small town that he’d never seen before. He had spent a whole day trying to get a visa and faced the prospect of doing the same the following day! He says somewhat sarcastically that a “spiritual” reaction drove him to drown his frustration in a café. He was neither an Arab nor a local so needless to say he was the focus of a certain amount of interest. Dan found a seat opposite someone who didn’t look any happier than he was. No sooner had he sat down when his anger spilled out and he shared the story of his day. Ahmed (for that was the name of his companion) returned the favour. Ahmed had no work and was delaying going to home to tell his wife. They shared a few drinks when Ahmed asked Dan where he was spending the night. “Haven’t a clue”, Dan replied. “Then come to my place!”

Ahmed took Dan to a neighbouring suburb. There on top of a pile of rubbish was a little shack. This was Ahmed’s home. Inside the rickety door was a single room – not a stick of furniture graced it. Fourteen pairs of eyes greeted Dan – Ahmed’s wife, his parents-in-law and eleven children! They sat on the floor and after a while Ahmed’s wife produced a “mountain of rice on a copper plate – almost certainly their only valuable possession”. After a quick meal, and numerous cups of tea they stretched out on the floor and slept. In the morning Dan left to try again to get a visa, promising to stop by before he left. Another day wasted! Dan decided to take the bus and take his chances on getting a visa later.

True to his promise he makes a quick visit to see the family before he goes. As he leaves, a parcel is pressed into his hands. It happens so quickly and he is in so much of a hurry that he doesn’t even think about it until he is safely on the bus and here I have to use Dan’s own words: “Ah, yes. The parcel. I opened it discreetly, as my neighbours were looking at me. Actually my mind was still mostly on my visa. Suddenly my eyes filled with tears. I was going to cry, for a good half hour, completely overwhelmed by what I found in the parcel. I didn’t care now what the other passengers might think.

There in my lap was the copper plate from which we’d eaten the rice. And a little rubber camel .. the kid’s only toy.”

Blessed are the poor – who teach us to find joy in life and who, without a thought for themselves will give everything they have.

 

[1] Lepetit, Charles. Poor in Spirit: Modern Parables of the Reign of God. Notre Dame, Indiana: Ave Maria Press, 1989.

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Fishing for people, mining for the souls of people

January 21, 2017

Epiphany 3 – 2017

Matthew 4:12-25

Marian Free

 

In the name of God who meets us where we are, not where God would wish us to be. Amen.

Anglicans are notoriously shy when it comes to mission. Most of us are very happy for people to know that we attend church, pray, do voluntary work for the Anglican Church and so on, but when it comes to sharing the gospel suddenly our faith is a very private matter. We don’t want to intrude or to impose on others. We respect their right to make up their own minds and above all we are conditioned by the mantra that in polite society we don’t talk about politics or religion. This attitude stems in part from the religious wars of our church’s home. Consciously or otherwise our collective memory tells us how divisive religion can and has been. Some of us are old enough to remember the suspicion with which Protestants and Catholics viewed each other and know that friendships can be ruined if old wounds are opened up.

On top of all that we have to add that until at least the 1950’s it could be assumed that the majority of people professed some faith. A vast proportion of the population were attached to a church community whether they worshiped regularly or simply sent their children to Sunday School. In a Christian nation we could assume that the community knew the basics of the Christian faith. Magazines printed recipes for Shrove Tuesday and Lent, everything closed between Maundy Thursday and the Tuesday after Easter, carols in the park told the story of the Incarnation. Sharing our faith was in many ways redundant. Even those who didn’t go to church knew the stories – that the birth of Jesus was celebrated at Christmas and his death and resurrection at Easter. Most people knew some of the parables and that Jesus was a preacher and a healer. Until the end of the twentieth century we could be confident that school children had been exposed to the Christian faith through religious education.

Ever since Constantine made Christianity the faith of the Roman Empire there has been little to no need to spread the faith amongst our own. As a result, those of us in traditional churches have become complacent and out of practice. We have had so little cause to share our faith that we do not have the language for mission, let alone the experience at sharing the good news.

In recent decades as our churches have emptied and our Sunday Schools fallen silent, we have begun to think of mission as a way to rejuvenate our churches and to fill our pews. We have experimented with a variety of solutions, but our lack of success is evidenced by our failure to halt the decline.

Today’s gospel focuses on the beginning Jesus’ mission and Jesus’ call to the disciples to fish for people. As twenty-first century disciples, we can interrogate the texts to see what it can teach us.

As I see it, the gospel consists of four parts – 1. a reminder that for many the world is a place of darkness and death, 2. Jesus’ call to repentance, 3. Jesus’ calling of the first disciples and 4. Jesus’ preaching of the good news and his offering of hope and healing to the world. The gospel begins by reminding us of God’s promise to bring light to a world filled with darkness and the claim that Jesus is the fulfillment of that promise. Then Jesus begins his ministry by calling people to turn to acknowledge through repentance the part they play in preventing the world from more truly reflecting the kingdom of God. Having established who is he and why he is here, Jesus calls some people to follow him – to join with him in his mission to inaugurate the kingdom. He calls fishermen to fish for people, but he might just as well have asked miners to mine for people or seamstresses and tailors to sew lives together, or miners to mine the depths of human suffering. Finally Jesus demonstrates what the kingdom might look like by bringing healing and wholeness to a suffering world.

It is important to notice what Jesus does not do – he does not send people to swell the numbers at the local synagogues. He does not preach the gospel as if it is some sort of moral imperative – “if you are not good you won’t go to heaven”. He doesn’t demand that those whom he calls should be anything other than they are. He doesn’t ask fishermen to teach or teachers to fish. He meets people where they are, acknowledges and affirms what they can do rather than ask them to do something for which they are not suited. He uses the disciples’ gifts and abilities to help him to bring restoration and wholeness to the world.

If we are to learn something from Jesus’ mission it might be this. God has promised to bring light to a world that is filled with the darkness of hardship, sorrow, pain and injustice. God’s desire is that we should catch God’s vision for humanity that the world should be a reflection of the kingdom of heaven and repent our part in the world’s indifference, cruelty and greed and that we should strive with all our being to ensure that our present reality more closely represents the reality that is the kingdom of heaven. We are to recognize and value the gifts and the potential of those around us (valuing them for who they are, not for whom we would want them to be) and through our encouragement and affirmation enable others to share their gifts with the world. And we are encouraged to shower such love and compassion on the world that the recipients of that love cannot help but be changed, renewed and restored and in their turn demonstrate such love compassion to others that the whole world will be healed and transformed and God’s kingdom will be known on earth as it is in heaven.

As we leave behind the seasons of Christmas and Epiphany, and enter into the penitential season of Lent, we as church and as individuals have the opportunity repent the part we play in a world that is far from perfect and to consider more deeply what it is that we can to bring about healing and peace and thus ensure that God’s kingdom will come and God’s will will be done.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Foolish questions are better than no questions

January 14, 2017

2nd Sunday after Epiphany – 2017

John 1:29-42

Marian Free

 

In the name of God to whom we can speak as an intimate friend. Amen.

The meaning of life

The meaning of life

We’ve all seen the cartoons about the seeker who climbs up a steep mountain to receive guidance from a guru or wise person only to be met by a smart retort. “What is the meaning of life?” might be answered by “Google it.” or “If I knew do you think I’d be wasting mine by sitting up here alone?” or “The meaning of life is don’t ask don’t tell – and now we’ve both blown it.” or “I don’t know. The computers are down.”

A cartoonist could have a field day with this morning’s gospel. Two disciples follow Jesus on the road and when he asks what they seek, all they can come up with is: “Where are you staying?”

Our gospel reading covers two days. On the first day, John the Baptist sees Jesus and identifies him as “the Lamb of God”, the one about whom he spoke, the one who is both before him and greater than him, the one who will baptise with the Holy Spirit – in fact the Son of God. On the following day John is standing with two of his disciples when Jesus passes by again. Presumably these two were not with him on the previous day because John again says: “Look, here he is the Lamb of God.” Without hesitation, John’s disciples abandon him and set off after Jesus.

Jesus appears to realise that he is being followed because he turns and asks the pair: “What are you seeking?” “What are you seeking?” This is exactly the sort of question that a wise person, a guru or the incarnate divine might ask someone who was chasing after him. What are the disciples looking for, why have they come after him, is there something missing in their lives, an emptiness that they need to fill? Why indeed have they left John the Baptist? “What are you seeking? It is a reasonable question. After all, these two have been until now been followers of John the Baptist. They know what John has been saying, so they are not approaching Jesus in complete ignorance. Of all John’s disciples only these two, Andrew and one other, see fit to find out more about Jesus. They must know what it is that they are seeking.

This story is so familiar to us that we may have never really noticed the disciples’ strange reply to Jesus’ question. The disciples seem to be dumb struck. They don’t respond to Jesus’ question by asking something meaningful or profound. They certainly don’t give the impression that they are seeking a word of wisdom or the answer to life’s problems from someone whom their own teacher has identified as being greater. They don’t even ask the question that the priests and the Levites have asked of John: “Are you the Messiah?” Instead they seem to blurt out what must be the first thing that comes into their mind: “Rabbi, where are you staying?” Something that might explain why they have been following him.

“Where are you staying?” I wonder, “If you had the opportunity to ask anything at all of the Saviour of the world would this be the first question that came to mind?”

“Where are you staying?” Did John’s disciples have no game plan when they left John so abruptly? Was it a spur of the moment thing or had John’s teaching prepared them to follow someone else? Were they simply curious – wanting to observe for themselves this ‘Lamb of God’? That they are surprised or inarticulate when confronted by Jesus suggests that they had hoped simply to be observers – to see what Jesus might do and to hear what he might say so that they could decide for themselves whether he really was greater than John. In all probability they didn’t expect to be caught. They were just checking Jesus out, gathering all the information that they could before making the radical decision to leave John and follow Jesus.

An alternative view is that the disciples accepted what John had said, believed that Jesus was the one that John had been announcing and were in fact hoping to become disciples of Jesus but were overcome with awe or terror when Jesus turned to address them. After all, what does one say to the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world?

You and I don’t have any of these dilemmas. Thanks to the boldness of Andrew and the other disciple we know that an intimate relationship with Jesus is not only possible but is freely available. Thanks to the gospel records we know that even though the disciples themselves asked foolish questions they were not excluded from Jesus’ company. We know that there is no need for us to be coy or careful because we are assured that our relationship with Jesus is direct and personal. We do not need to be in awe of Jesus, nor do we need to self-conscious about our burning questions. In reality, we have the opposite problem from Andrew and his companion. Our problem is that it is easy to become over-familiar to be so confident and so comfortable in our relationship with Jesus that we begin to take it for granted. We can fall into the trap of treating Jesus as a comfortable friend, forgetting that he is, after all, the Saviour of the world, the Son of God. After all, we are already followers of Jesus, what more is there to do or to know?

How is your relationship with Jesus? Where are you with Jesus right now? When did you last think about following after him? What would you say if he turned right now and asked you: “What are you seeking?” Does your relationship with Jesus have the right balance between awe and familiarity?

Andrew and the other disciple took a risk. They knew that Jesus was something special and they weren’t sure what to say but they didn’t flinch when Jesus turned and they didn’t run away. When the journey got hard they stood by Jesus and when Jesus was no longer there, they carried on alone.

Foolish questions are better than no questions. Any relationship is better than no relationship. The right relationship with Jesus will see us through the hard times and if we work on that relationship the world will see Jesus through our lives and come to seek him for themselves.

 

 

 

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Does Jesus need to be baptised??

January 7, 2017

The Baptism of Jesus – 2017

Matthew 3:13-17

Marian Free

 

In the name of God whose plan is, was and always will be to save the world.

Why does Jesus need to be baptised? Surely Jesus doesn’t need to be cleansed from sin. He doesn’t need to profess his faith. John certainly doesn’t think that Jesus needs to be baptised. It is important that we, with John ask the question? Why does Jesus need to be baptised? The problem is that it is easy for us to make assumptions based on the  idea that John’s baptism was like that which we received when in fact the two things are very different.

John’s baptism – that received by Jesus – was very different from the baptism that has grown up in the practice of the church. John was calling the people of Israel to repentance.  Baptism (the greek word simply means “wash”) was a sign that they were turning their backs on the way that had been living and were returning to God. John’s baptism was a baptism of repentance. It was not intended for individuals but for all of Israel. John was calling for the renewal of the Jewish people nation. He was NOT calling for people to repent of their own individual sins. John the Baptist was preparing the people as a whole for the coming of a Redeemer.

Baptism in the name of Jesus is, at the very least a post-resurrection event. It is form of initiation and a statement of faith. John’s baptism is not and cannot have been a baptism into the Christian faith.  Jesus had not even begun his public ministry and Jesus was, and remained a Jew.

What all this means is that when we consider Jesus’ baptism we have to see it as a stand-alone event and not as something that foreshadows the practice and doctrine of the Christian church. The baptism of Jesus is not baptism in the way that we think of baptism, but something entirely different.

All the gospel writers record this event, so we can state with some confidence that it has a basis in historical fact. Jesus was baptised and the Holy Spirit in the form of a dove descended on him. Matthew, Mark and Luke all report a voice coming from heaven (or from a cloud) that affirmed Jesus as God’s Son and indicated God’s pleasure in God’s son.

Of the accounts of Jesus’ baptism, Matthew’s is the longest. This is because he alone records John’s reluctance to baptise Jesus. “I need to be baptised by you and do you come to me?” he asks. John recognised that Jesus is the more powerful than he.  John thinks that Jesus should baptise him, not vice versa. Matthew apparently agrees with John that Jesus does not need to be baptised, so in order to understand what is happening, we have to examine how Matthew explains Jesus’ baptism.

According to Warren Carter we need to pay attention to four things in order to understand Matthew’s understood if we pay attention to four things: the context, John’s baptism, the conversation between John and Jesus and the voice from heaven[1].

The account of Jesus’ baptism occurs part way through chapter three in Matthew’s gospel. Jesus’ ministry is yet to begin. In fact it will not begin until mid-way through chapter four (after the temptations). Matthew has been setting the scene. Jesus’ baptism is one of the way in which Matthew establishes Jesus’ identity and demonstrates the way in which Jesus is a fulfilment of God’s promises. Matthew begins by establishing Jesus’ identity and the ways in which his early life is a fulfilment of scripture. Jesus is of the line of David, conceived by the Spirit to save the people from their sins. He is Emmanuel, “God with us”. His life is in danger because he is a threat to Herod. The leaders in Jerusalem ignore his birth and yet he is recognised and worshipped by foreigners. Through Joseph, God ensures that he is kept safe from harm and finally John the Baptist prepares the people for his coming.

Matthew has made is clear that Jesus has been sent by God. His baptism by John demonstrates that Jesus both understands and accepts his role and that he intends to be obedient to God’s plan for his life.

Only Matthew records the conversation between Jesus and John – John’s initial reluctance and Jesus’ insistence. Remember that John ‘s baptism is not about individuals, but about the nation of Israel. Jesus’ sinlessness is not in question, it is Jesus’ role as the “one who is more powerful” that causes John some anxiety.  Jesus’ response is mysterious. All it really tells us is that Jesus’ submission to John’s baptism is part of God’s plan for putting everything right – the plan that John has been announcing to the world. Just as other events in Jesus’ life so far have been to “fulfil” God’s plan, so too will Jesus’ baptism. It does not make immediate sense, just as Jesus’ death will not make sense. What is important for Matthew’s story is that God has a plan and that Jesus is determined to submit to that plan, to accept his commission from God.

After Jesus has convinced John that his baptism is not only right, but also divinely sanctioned John baptises Jesus. Then, as Jesus emerges from the water, God affirms both Jesus’ identity and his mission by opening the heavens, descending as a dove and declaring Jesus to be his son, the Beloved, with whom God is well pleased.

Through genealogy and story, affirmation and fear, Matthew has established Jesus as the one of David’s line who will fulfil God’s promise to bring salvation to Israel. Now that he has made it absolutely clear who and what Jesus is, Matthew can begin his record of Jesus’ teaching, teaching that he has proven can be heard and received with absolute confidence. Those who hear and those who read Matthew’s gospel know exactly who Jesus is, by whom he has been commissioned, and what role he is to play in the history of Israel.

As we travel together through the gospel according to Matthew this, we can be sure of this that Matthew believes that: Jesus has been sent by God, to fulfil God’s promises and to carry out God’s plan. What we read and hear can be trusted because it comes from God..

 

 

 

 

[1] For the original see http://workingpreacher.org

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The child who terrified a king

December 31, 2016

Epiphany – 2017

Matthew 2:1-12

Marian Free

In the name of God, whose Son proclaims a kingdom that threatens to shake and disturb the world as it is so that it might become the world as it is meant to be. Amen.

In July 2016 a massive 41,000 people were arrested in Turkey – 41,000. These included police officers, members of the armed forces and public service as well as a number of members of the judiciary. Their crime? – suspected involvement in the failed coup against President Recep Erdogan. The response to the attempted coup was swift. Any real or imagined opposition was quickly silenced and any future unrest deterred by the speedy and thorough suppression of real or potential opponents. Those who were arrested face anywhere from fifteen years to life in prison, though who knows how or when the legal system will manage such a huge number of trials.

The situation is Turkey is far from unique. The so-called Arab Spring has come at a huge cost to many and in most cases there is little to show for a movement that began with so much hope and idealism. In Egypt for example, a change in government has not really achieved the dreams of those who risked their lives for a better state of affairs. Unrest in Syria five long years ago was brutally suppressed and the reaction of the government then has led to the nightmare that is Syria today. In nations that are divided by race or class, or in nations where power is maintained by force rather than popular choice, any dissension that threatens the relative stability of the nation and is often rapidly and effectively crushed. Such action has the effect of exposing the insecurity and the paranoia of the leaders and making others think twice before they take similar action.

Gaining and maintaining power by force and by the suppression or destruction of any opposition are not new phenomena. In our own tradition, the Book of Kings recounts the story of Jehu, a commander of Ahab’s army, who not only deposed his king but who also slaughtered all seventy of Ahab’s sons to ensure that there were no legitimate claimants to the throne and no one to challenge his power. Rule that is not popular or legitimate lays itself open to resentment and opposition and is forced to use violence to maintain control.

“When King Herod heard this he was frightened and all Jerusalem with him”, so writes Matthew in today’s gospel. Herod Antipas, the son of Herod the Great, was a tetrarch appointed by the Emperor. His father had made some good political choices and as a result was given the title of King and responsibility for Judea but you only have to see the fortress at Masada to understand that Herod the Great did not feel at all secure in his role. He needed to bolster his power by force and to protect himself from any who might seek to take his throne. His son, Herod Antipas was even less secure. He was utterly dependent on Rome for his position and was resented by the Jews because he was not one of them.

It is no surprise then that Herod and all Jerusalem trembled when the magi enquired: “where is the child who has been born King of the Jews”? Herod was the King of the Jews. A competing (and perhaps legitimate) King would deepen the resentment towards Herod and had the potential to lead to an uprising against him. A King of the Jews would be able to gather support not only from those who longed to liberate the land from Roman rule, but also from pious Jews who were hoping that one day God would provide an heir to King David to rule over them.

Herod had every reason to fear and he did what many before and since have done – he sought to destroy the child who posed a threat to his grasp on power.

The story of the magi, coming as it does on the heels of Christmas brings us up with a shock. It is hard to hold on to sentimental images of mother and child, of peace and joy when we are confronted by the harsh political reality of this birth. In order to hold on to his power and position Herod has to destroy Jesus – an innocent child who, we might think, is no threat at all. Jesus is God’s son, sent by God for the salvation of all. This infant is not a political or military threat. There is no political party or group of agitators who have been holding out for a figurehead to consolidate their followers or to lead their cause. Besides, any discontent is easily crushed by the superior might of Rome.

Jesus is only a child, a child who, we are led to believe, will show the people how to reconnect with God. He will challenge them to turn from their sin so that they are ready to enter the kingdom of heaven. Matthew’s telling of the story undermines this irenic idea and confronts us with the bald truth of the situation. However innocent the child, however noble Jesus’ purpose, it is clear that he has come to initiate change and to question the status quo. He has come to announce an alternative rule, an alternative kingdom – the kingdom of heaven. It is of no consequence to Herod that this is a spiritual rather than a political kingdom or that Jesus wants to turn the hearts of the people to God rather than turn them against Herod. Any change, any person that draws power and attention from Herod could be considered dangerous and threatening. Any person that implicitly or otherwise challenges loyalty to himself or to the Empire could be perceived to be a danger to Herod’s tenuous hold on power. Potential for trouble must be nipped in the bud before it is allowed to get out of control. Herod cannot risk the people seeing in Jesus an alternative to his role or using the infant to form a movement against him. Herod has no option but to seek to destroy his competition.

Here at the very start of Jesus’ life Matthew makes it quite clear that Jesus is a threat to the status quo and that as a result his life is at risk. As the story continues, we will witness Jesus’ supporting and encouraging those who are alienated and disenfranchised. At the same time we will see him offending and putting off-side those in positions of power.

Herod was mistaken in one sense. Jesus did not come to seize political power, nor did he come to liberate Israel from the grip of Rome. He did come, in the words of Psalm 72: “to deliver the needy when they call, the poor and those who have no helper.  To have pity on the weak and the needy, and to save the lives of the needy. To redeem their lives from oppression and violence.” (12-14) In any time and place this is a subversive mission, one that implies that the state of the world and its institutions are not as God would wish it to be.

Matthew is right to warn us. This is no innocent baby, but a child who will shake up and challenge the world’s institutions, who will bring to light things that some would like to remain hidden and who will expose violence, injustice and oppression.

Herod was right to be terrified. If we are not willing to change and grow, if we are not prepared to get on board with Jesus’ social and political agenda, perhaps we should be terrified too.

 

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Longing to love

December 24, 2016

Midnight Mass – 2016

Marian Free

 In the name of God who longs to be in relationship with us and who willingly forsake power, glory and dominion to try to make that clear. Amen.

During the week I happened upon a movie titled: “Anywhere but here.” It tells the story of how two grown sons cope with the fact that their father is dying. The sons have been brought up in the Jewish faith, but have not been able to embrace its practices and beliefs. One son, Aidan, still has a connection with the synagogue because his father will pay his grandchildren’s school fees if they attend a Jewish school. As with many families there are unresolved issues and tensions that make the grieving process more complicated. At one point Aidan is compelled to go the synagogue and speak to a Rabbi. Aidan is confused because events in his life are leading him to the conclusion that God is trying to tell him something, but he doesn’t believe in God. Thankfully, the young Rabbi is wise. He asks Aidan if he ever feels “a spiritual presence”. Aidan replies that when he is showing his children the stars and trying to explain that the universe goes on forever and ever, that yes, he does get a sense of the spiritual.

The Rabbi responds: “Then think of that spirit leading and guiding you.” The Rabbi knows that Aidan has rejected the traditional ways of thinking about God and he is wise enough not to impose those ideas on him. Instead he asks Aidan to name how he knows and experiences God and runs with that.

Rejecting the God of one’s youth and yet having a yearning to connect with something deeper than the material is not unique to a person who has grown up in the Jewish faith. One of the problems that the church faces today is that there are many people who have walked away from the faith and yet have a sense of something other. There are many long to make contact with their spirituality but their search is blocked by language, dogma or ideas that offend or that no longer work or make sense to them.

If truth be told most of the ideas of God that people reject are ideas that we too reject, but it is possible for some to hear only one thing and a selective reading of the bible (by a preacher or by the reader) can give the impression of an angry, demanding, interventionist God, a selective God who expects conformity at least and obedience at best. It is relatively easy for to abandon this false idea of God, especially if that idea of God has been used to manipulate and control or to appear be remote from human affairs and indifferent to suffering and pain.

Christmas exposes that God for who and what it is – a false God based on a misunderstanding of both the Old Testament and the New.

At Christmas we are confronted, year after year with the God who is not strong or powerful, but who enters the world as a baby – vulnerable, helpless and utterly dependent. When God could not get through to us, when we had turned away from God or turned God into something that God is not, when we lost sight that God’s primary desire is to be in relationship with us, God in Christ came to us. God came among us not with lighting and thunder, waving a sword to condemn and destroy, but as a new-born child a child whom God hoped would demonstrate once and for all God’s love for all humankind – the good, the bad, the engaged and the indifferent, the kind and the unkind. That first Christmas God became powerless and impotent so that we would at last understand the depth and passion of God’s love and that we would see for ourselves God’s complete and total engagement with humanity and God’s participation in both our sorrows and our joys.

This is why we are here this and every Christmas. Our presence is not simply a result of habit or sentimentality. We are here, because we know that the child in the manger is God, that God chooses not to be remote, but to be an integral part of all that this life has to offer. The child in the manger and the man on the cross expose God for who and what God really is – an expression of the deepest love, the utmost compassion and the greatest longing to be in relationship, to be one with all creation.

 

 

 

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Crazy, unexpected, risky vocations

December 17, 2016

Advent 4 – 2016

Matthew 1:18-25

Marian Free

In the name of God who sometimes asks us to do the improbable and the seemingly impossible. Amen.

Most of you will know of the Australian singer Jimmy Barnes. For many years, Barnes was known as much for his drug and alcohol-fueled excesses as he was for his music. It is easy to be critical and to lay the blame for his wild behavior on the rock’n’roll lifestyle, but when you know something of his story, you will recognize that he was running as fast as he could from his horrendous childhood and using alcohol and drugs to dull the memories and the pain.

Barnes has recently published an autobiography[1]. A promotional interview on the ABC gave a superficial insight to the horror and despair of Barnes’s childhood: the book reveals the real horror and the trauma of his early years. His father was a drinker. This meant that more often than not the family had no money for food, let alone clothes and other necessities and because his father drank, his parents constantly fought. When Jimmy was nine years old, his mother decided she had had enough. One morning she simply wasn’t there. Things went from bad to worse. The house fell into disrepair and the children ran wild – no food, no clothes, no bedding, no peace.

Two years later his mother returned with Reg and took the children to live with her.

Barnes’s story is compelling, but today I am more interested in Reg. Let me read to you the section that tells how Reg came into the family’s life.

“It seemed that the Child Welfare Agency had approached my mum and told her that we were going to be taken as wards of the state unless she could provide a safe home for us. So she must have been checking up on us.

Mum told us later that she had been sitting in a work friend’s house, crying about the situation when Reg Barnes walked in and asked: “What’s the trouble love?” He called everybody ‘love’. His mum and dad did the same.

She told him her story. I need to find mysel’ a husband and I need to find a home for me and ma six kids. And I need tae dae it quick or they’ll put the kids in a home.”

“Why did you leave them?”

“I had to run away because my husband was a bad drunk and now they’re being neglected by their father.”

“No worries love” he said, just like that. “ I’ll marry you.”

“Someone has to save those poor kids.”

He hadn’t met us at this point, but he didn’t give it another thought.”

Apparently, up until that point, Reg was going to be a priest, but he gave that up to take on a woman he barely knew and six children whom he had never met and who had been neglected and abandoned.

“No worries love, I’ll marry you.”

In my mind, this is the most extraordinary story – that a man would take on the care of another man’s children sight unseen. That he would provide a home and security simply to ensure that they were not taken into care. That he would marry their mother even though he didn’t know, let alone love her. Reg had no idea what trauma the children had suffered nor how easy or difficult parenting might be. He simply saw a need and stepped into the breach.

Joseph’s story is not too dissimilar – though according to Matthew – he had the help of an angel. All the same, he had to accept that the woman who was betrothed to him was expecting a child that was not his. The other “man” in this picture might have been God but Joseph would still have had to accept that his oldest son had not been fathered by him. He would have realised that the child would have none of his family characteristics – physical or otherwise – and he would have had no idea what to expect of the child. Who would know how a child of God would turn out! Presumably this was not how Joseph had imagined his life.

Joseph has already shown his compassion and tolerance by determining not to expose Mary to shame, so perhaps it was a small step to reverse his decision and “take” Mary to be his wife. We will never know. What we do know is that Joseph laid himself open to misunderstanding, shame and ridicule in order to respond to God’s call. He faced the uncertainty of not knowing what lay ahead and when the child was born he accepted the demands that Jesus’ true father placed on Jesus.

Vocations can take many forms and we are truly blessed if we feel that what we are doing with our lives is a God-given vocation. Whether it is cutting other people’s hair or delivering their children, building bridges or being an aid worker in Somalia, knowing that we are exactly where we are meant to be provides us with confidence and satisfaction. Responding to God’s call on our lives can sometimes mean being and doing the very best that we can with what God has given us. But, sometimes, randomly and completely out-of-the blue, God asks us to do crazy, unexpected things, things that might make us look foolish in the eyes of others, things that might involve taking risks, things that do not sit easily with the culture in which we find ourselves. This might involve confronting unjust governments or legal systems, taking the part of someone whom society has rejected, giving voice to the voiceless or giving a home to the homeless. It might mean risking censure and being misunderstood and it can be unsettling and disturbing, but if God is behind it, the results will be astounding.

Like Joseph, we can be sure that if God calls us to do something – however unusual or strange– that it will be for the furthering of God’s kingdom and that if, like Joseph we put to one side our fears, our questions and our doubts, God will ensure that God’s will is achieved through us, no matter how unlikely that might seem.

 

 

[1] Jimmy Barnes: Working Class Boy

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