Swallowsrest

Holy Thursday 2012
John 13
Marian Free

In the name of God who kneels at our feet and asks that we allow God to love us. Amen.

My father of course blessed me in many ways. I would like to share with you just one.

My Father taught me how to receive the generosity of others with grace and gratitude. I remember clearly when this happened. Our family were well entrenched in the life of our Parish. When Michael and I were overwhelmed by a surfeit of wedding gifts we were receiving my Father dismissed my embarrassment. In fact, he made me recognize how ungracious I was: telling me that those who had given me gifts were doing so out of love for me or out of love and respect for my family. My role in the situation, he pointed out, was to graciously receive the gifts and to dispel any feelings of unworthiness. By receiving their gifts I was allowing the giver to do something that they wanted to do.

It was an important life-lesson that I hope have applied reasonably well. It taught me to accept the kindness of others even when I have felt that it was undeserved, or when I have wanted to exercise my independence and to demonstrate that I didn’t need help.

Today it occurred to me that my Father’s wisdom has a biblical base – in John’s account of the foot washing. Peter’s refusal to allow Jesus to wash his feet demonstrates not humility or self-deprecation but pride and a stubborn resistance to love. He has not learnt the grace to receive. He has not learnt that true love is not based on the worthiness of the recipient but on the generosity of the lover. He has not learnt to allow himself to be vulnerable in his relationship with Jesus and therefore with God. He believes that by refusing Jesus’ act of service he is showing respect for Jesus, when in fact he is throwing Jesus’ love back in his face.

Our pride and our independence do not demonstrate how strong or mature we are, rather they illustrate our weakness and our childishness. It takes courage to allow ourselves to be loved. It takes a great deal of self-confidence to entrust ourselves to the one who loves us. It takes a certain amount of maturity to accept that our imperfections do not prevent us from being loved.

Peter’s false modesty had the opposite effect to that he intended. Instead of demonstrating his love and respect for Jesus, his refusal to be washed showed his unwillingness to receive Jesus’ love and his inability to trust and to be dependent on Jesus.

It is hard to let go everything within us screams that we must do it our self.
It is almost impossible to believe that rather than demanding anything of us, God wants to give us everything.
It is hard to accept that the creator of the universe wants to kneel at our feet.

All the problems of the world are caused by our determination to go our own way, our refusal to trust God’s love for us and our inability to place our trust entirely in God. Yet that is what is required.

Jesus kneels at our feet – do we have the courage to fall into the abyss of His love?

Palm Sunday 2012
The Passion according to Mark
Marian Free

In the name of God who challenges and confronts us so that we might grow and learn. Amen.

I want you to come with me on a journey of the imagination. It is 2008 and Sydney is hosting World Youth Day.100,000 young people have travelled from all over the world to be here. An estimated 500,000 young Australians have spilled out of planes, emerged out of trains and poured out of buses to be on Sydney for this once in a life time occasion. The whole city is caught up in the excitement of the occasion. Thousands of families have opened their homes to the visitors, the transport systems have been expanded to cope with the increased demands and local businesses are expecting to profit from the huge numbers of people in town. Media contingents have arrived to cover the event and the whole of Australia, religious or not, knows that something has fired the imagination of catholic youth from all over the world.

So here we are in Sydney. It is the day that the Pope is to arrive to address the crowds and to celebrate Mass. The thousands who have been sleeping at Olympic Park are awake and their camping gear is packed away. From across the city crowds and crowds of young people are streaming towards the venue which has now been transformed into a place of worship. The local clergy and officials are gathering, word is out that the Pope is on his way. Everything seems set to go.

Then something extraordinary happens. There is a ripple in the crowd, their attention is drawn away form the park to something that is going on outside. Now everyone can hear the noise. Crowds are shouting and cheering – obviously excited by something or someone. It is too early for the Pope and the officials watch in dismay as the stadium empties and the young people disappear to satisfy their curiosity about the commotion.

The officials despair. All the careful planning of the past three years seems to be falling apart. Is all the expense and all the trouble going to be wasted? What are they going to tell the huge media contingent? Everything so far has gone to plan. The youth have behaved impeccably. Sydney has had a huge economic boost but now this! What on earth could be going on? What could be drawing the young people away from the event that they have come from so far to attend?

Finally, the officials realize that they simply have to see what is going on and, stepping outside the Park, they see what is causing all the interest. Moving slowly towards the venue is an old, very beaten up kombi van – its roof removed. Inside sits someone who is barely distinguishable from the crowds. He looks as though he has been on the road for some time and with him are a number of companions, who like him don’t appear to stand out from those around them. The officials are confused. From the hullabaloo the least the officials had expected was to find a limousine with Lady Gaga or some other popular star inside.

People are shouting and screaming. They are so excited that they are jumping up to get a better view, pressing in around the van, even weeping. The Pope seems to have been forgotten and there is the danger that the crowds will get out of control, disturbing the peace which the officials have worked so hard to maintain.

As the van draws nearer the event organisers get a closer view. Now they have some idea what the fuss is about. This is the fellow from the outback who has been causing trouble wherever he goes. He has fooled people into believing that he can cure their sick and solve other problems besides. He has criticized the priests and implied that what he teaches is of more significant than the teaching that comes from the church. Word had reached the authorities that he had gathered something of a following, but this is beyond what anyone could have expected and it is happening at the worst possible time.

The officials had assured the government of the day that there would be no trouble, that everything would be done to keep such large crowds orderly, that every security angle had been covered to ensure that the event that the Pope was to attend would go off without a hitch. This is an absolute disaster and there seems to be nothing that can be done without creating a riot. The officials and churchmen are furious. They have been publicly embarrassed in front of the whole world by this, this nobody! Right now their hands are tied but this stranger had better beware, his time will come.

Eventually the van moves through the crowds and away and though it begins later than planned, the visit of the Pope goes ahead without further incident.

That is just an imaginative scenario, but it is not too far from the situation in Jerusalem when Jesus arrives for the Passover celebrations. Jesus could have slipped quietly into the city and gone to stay with his friends in Bethany. Instead he chooses to do something sensational, something that is sure to catch the attention of the officials – he enters Jerusalem as the king promised by the prophet Zechariah. Being mounted on a donkey seems to be a deliberate strategy to draw attention to himself and his purpose.

As a consequence of Jesus’ behaviour, the crowds could be forgiven for thinking that Jesus was the king promised by Zechariah. The leaders of the Jewish people could be excused for being put out by this person who was acting so arrogantly and who was stirring up the crowds at a time of year when the whole of Jerusalem was on edge. (The leaders are hoping that there will be no trouble at the festival that will cause the Romans to come down heavily on them and spoil the Passover. They want to keep under the radar, not have their activities broadcast to the world.)

It is no wonder that within a week everything goes pear-shaped and Jesus ends up on the cross. He has antagonized the leaders, caused a disturbance in the streets and then in the Temple. He has drawn the attention of the crowds away from their reason for being in Jerusalem. He has criticized the religious authorities and risked the wrath of Rome.

It seems as though Jesus was tired of hiding in the shadows, that he wanted to draw things to their close, to declare his hand no matter how risky that might be. Jesus has come to the centre of the Jewish faith, to see if the people will receive him. At first it seems that they will, but when the chips are down, they turn their backs and walk away.

Jesus is both reassuring and confrontational, exciting and alarming, comforting and challenging. The question we have to ask is: “Do we only respond to Jesus when he makes us feel comfortable, or are we open to the challenge to accept Jesus in all his guises. Are we only prepared to declare our faith when it is easy, or will we stand up and be counted when the crowds turn against us. Do we want a Jesus created in our own image, or are we open to the complexity of who Jesus really is?”

Through this Holy Week and Easter as we journey with Jesus to the cross, let us open our hearts to accept not only the Jesus who comforts and reassures us, but to the Jesus who confronts us and demands that we sit up and pay attention.

Lent 5 2012
John 12:20-33
Marian Free

In the name of God who calls us to search our hearts for our deepest desires and then meets us there. Amen.

I’d like to begin with two true stories. I once knew a couple whose hobby it was to make teddy bears. These were no ordinary teddy bears – they were absolutely beautiful and they had moving arms and legs. In fact, these teddies were so beautiful and so well-made that they won prizes in competitions. Fabric to make the bears was sourced from all over the world as were the various mechanisms that were required to enable the limbs to move. Their hobby gave this couple great pleasure and a sense of pride in their achievements. It never occurred to them that they might be doing something un-Christian until at a Christian conference, they were made to feel as if their handiwork somehow went against the will of God – that it was too frivolous, too worldly. Of course, the couple were deeply disturbed. The last thing that they wanted was to do something against God’s will. Even though were unsure that this was right, they were willing to give up their pleasure if it meant pleasing God.

A Torres Strait artist – a Christian – whose works were and are shown all over the world was at an exhibition in Paris when he had a revelation from God that he should give up everything and become completely dependent on God. Somehow he understood, that only if he did this would he feel truly at peace with the world. To his family’s dismay and consternation he returned home, sold his beautiful home and all the possessions that he had accumulated and lived simply under the home of family member. At the same time he continued to produce world class art.

I don’t know if any of you have noticed that nowhere in the gospel of John do you find the expression “take up your cross”. This is all the more striking when you consider that the expression occurs in all three synoptic gospels at least once. In Mark and elsewhere we read: “if any one would follow me they must deny themselves, take up their cross and follow me.”

However, while the image of the cross is absent, John is not unfamiliar with the idea that following Jesus means accepting the death of some parts of one’s existence. We see this in today’s gospel. Using the image of a seed, Jesus says: “unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies it remains just a single grain, but if it dies it bears much fruit.” at first the language seems softer than that of the cross, though in fact the process of a seed becoming a plant is in itself quite violent. Jesus continues using language that is much stronger than that of the Synoptics: “Whoever loves his life loses it and whoever hates his life in this world will keep it for eternal life.”

Whoever hates his life this world …….. Taken literally, this phrase would seem to mean that a Christian would have to absolutely give everything worldly, to take no pleasure at all in the things of this life. Such an interpretation is obvious in those parts of Christianity that reject all forms of pleasure – dancing, music, art, drinking and so on. This would explain why some people believe that making teddy bears is not a worthy calling for a Christian. It is true that for some, including the artist in our story, that giving up some of the non-essentials of life is perceived as a call from God. Such people give up worldly ties not because someone has imposed the practice on them but because something deep within them compels them to do so. They believe that freedom from worldly attachments allows them to build a deeper relationship with God and to achieve a deep sense of satisfaction. (Such self-denial is not a form of self-abnegation, but rather a way of embracing a style of life that will make them truly content.)

The problem with trying to come to an interpretation in which one size fits all – in this case that we all have to give up what gives us pleasure – has two associated problems. One is that imposing abstinence on others can be a form of spiritual abuse which leads not to freedom and peace, but to dissatisfaction, restlessness, misery and guilt. (The makers of the teddy bears would not have been happier had they given up something which brought them and others so much joy.) The second problem with a literal interpretation of the phrase “hate their life in this world”, is that someone has to decide what belongs in the world and what does not and this itself is fraught with dangers.

Before we radically abandon “the world” or decide to hate our life in it, we have to ask ourselves: does the God who created the world and who gave us life, who gave us eyes to enjoy beauty, ears to hear music and laughter, hearts to love and be loved, talents to share in God’s creative endeavour, limbs to move and use to express ourselves expect us to turn our backs on that creation? If God our creator gave us this world to enjoy, who among us has the wisdom to decide which of God’s gifts has to be abandoned in order for us to keep our life for eternal life? In fact rather than hate the world, God loved it enough to become fully part of it. As Jesus, God showed us how to celebrate life.

Does a positive view of the world mean that we can simply ignore such a difficult and demanding command? Of course not, if that were the case, we could simply pick and choose from scripture according to our taste. It is essential always to grapple with awkward passages to see how they may best be interpreted and to work out how they impact on our lives.

In this instance, John’s Jesus is being absolutely consistent. Those who believe are called to live differently, to develop a detachment to the world that sets them apart from those around them. Detachment in this sense does not mean that we devalue the world or that in some way we set ourselves above worldly affairs. It does mean that over and over again, we need to re-order what it is that we consider to be important and that we need to re-evaluate what it is that we really need to have a meaningful and satisfying life. This means allowing our love of God to put into perspective all the other loves of our lives. When our love of God takes priority in our lives, it will be clear to us what we are to let go and what we are to retain if we are to have a truly fulfilling life. “Hating our life in this world” means “hating” those things that seduce us into believing that they can make us happy or that they can help us achieve our goals when in fact they are preventing us from growing or making us dependent on them instead of setting us free.

“Material possessions, health, relationships, careers and occupations are all good things that can contribute to a life of love, but they become spiritual dangers when they lure us into thinking that they can deliver the well-being and security we seek.”

As the gospel suggests, this process of learning what brings us the most contentment may sometimes be a difficult and painful process. If we have been heading in the wrong direction, turning our life around means not only admitting that we were wrong, but having the courage to take on new challenges and to move in a new direction. If we had defined ourselves according to our possessions, we may find ourselves resisting defining ourselves according to a different set of criteria. At times of change, we may feel very much like the seed which has to throw off its protective cover and allow the new shoot and roots to thrust themselves through its centre. If we have the courage to place our lives in God’s hands, our lives may be changed, but they will be more fruitful than we had imagined they could be.

God’s presence is evident in all that God created and we are called to love a world that is infused with God so long as we don’t love creation more than the Creator. “When our hearts are spiritually attuned, we find that our love for God surpasses our love for anything else. Having God as our centre helps us to put everything else into perspective and making God first in our lives, helps us to see worldly values and possessions as transitory and to know that it is only the things of God that will last forever.

Lent 4 – 2012
John 3:14-21
Marian Free

In the name of God who reaches out and draws us to himself. Amen.

Some time ago a member of this Parish helpfully gave me an extract of a book “because he knew I was always on the look out for sermon illustrations”. At the time, I read it and filed it, only to have it resurface as I prepared for today’s sermon. Let me share a little of it with you.

“The preacher’s voice sank. He paused, joined his palms for an instant, parted them. Then he resumed: Now let us try for a moment to realize as far as we can the nature of that abode of the damned which the justice of an offended God has called into existence for the eternal punishment of sinners. Hell is a strait and dark and foul smelling prison, an abode of demons and lost souls, filled with fire and smoke. There by reason of the great number of the damned, the prisoners are heaped together in their aweful prison.

They lie in exterior darkness. For remember, the fire of hell gives forth no light. As at the command of God, the fire of the Babylonian furnace lost its heat but not its light, so, at the command of God, the fire of hell, while retaining the intensity of its heat, burns eternally in darkness. It is a never ending storm of darkness, dark flames and dark smoke of burning brimstone.”

I don’t know about you, but popular as they may be, I can’t reconcile these ideas of eternal torment with a God who came to earth as a new born child and held out his arms to be nailed to the cross. Images such as these are used to terrify people into obedience rather than loving them into faith.

It is this latter that the Gospel of John emphasises. Rather than threaten us with punishment, john suggests that God loves us into salvation.

As we have seen on previous occasions, John’s gospel is very dense – not a word is wasted. Every sentence is laden with meaning and words are chosen carefully sometimes because they can be understood in more than one way. If you look carefully at today’s passage, you will notice that a number of words recur, helping us to see the points that the author is trying to stress. “World” and “light” are repeated five times. In the Greek words for judging occur four times. “Believe” is used three times in one verse and the phrase “eternal life” occurs twice. It is clear that John is talking here about judgement, but he does so in a way that revises previous understandings of judgement and in a way that asks us to re-think what judgement might mean.

Let me try to unpack the passage a little. “God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son that everyone who believes in him should not perish but have eternal life” (3:16). Two things are obvious from this sentence. First, the object of God’s interest is no longer a relatively small and select group of people but the whole world. God loved the whole world so much that he gave something that was absolutely precious – his only Son. Second, the criterion for judgement appears to have changed – eternal life or salvation relates to belief in Jesus rather than to what we do or don’t do.

When we read further, we can see that the primary purpose of God’s giving Jesus to the world is not judgement but so that the world can be saved through him. Gods’ intention is to save, not judge and to save everyone not just a select few. In fact, according to verse 18, God does not judge, rather judgement relates to the way in which the world responds to Jesus. In other words, by our reaction to Jesus we reveal whether or not we want to be part of what Jesus offers. In effect, we judge ourselves. We can choose to believe or choose not to believe. God does force our hand – we choose. Surprisingly, the choice is not what we have been led to expect. Judgement does not depend on whether or not we do good or do evil (though that may determine our choice), judgement relates to a life (and therefore eternity) that accepts Jesus or a life (therefore eternity) lived without Jesus. We have a choice to open our lives to God’s influence (and to never being separated) or close ourselves off from God and risk eternal separation.

We determine our future by the choice we make in the present.

John turns to different imagery to further illustrate this point. Jesus is the light of the world. Our response to Jesus reveals our preference for a new life in the light or a life and an eternity in the dark. Again, the choice is ours – we can open our lives to God’s love and scrutiny or we can choose to remain in darkness, living as we have always lived, unchanged by the presence of God in the world. Once again, John makes the point that judgement does not relate to what a person does or does not do, but to whether or not they trust in God’s love and allow that love to transform their lives. God does not shut us out but we can choose to shut God (the light) out of our lives.

God’s gift of Jesus is so generous and God’s love so powerful and overwhelming, that the writer of the Gospel finds it almost impossible to believe that anyone would choose not to be embraced by it. God’s love and the life that Jesus offers are so seductive that those who choose to turn away must do so because they do not trust God, because they are afraid of what God will see if they come into the light or because they do not want to live a life that will stand up to God’s gaze.

It is God’s desire to give us eternal life, but God will not force himself on us. God will not twist our arms or use coercion to make us love him or accept him. God want us to come to him through our own free choice, to offer our lives to him, not because we have to but because we want to. God’s love for the world is such that God has given and will continue to give everything in the hope that the world will accept God’s gift. Judgment in this sense is that which separates those who chose to be with God and those who choose to turn away. God will not make us love him – we have a choice but no matter what that choice we make God will not stop loving us in the hope that one day our choice will be for God.

Lent 3 2012

John 2:13-22 (Exodus 20:1-18)

Marian Free

Dressing for church

May the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts be acceptable to you, O Lord our rock and our redeemer. Amen.

Annie Dillard is an American writer who spent two years on an island off the western coast of the United States to reflect on “time, reality, sacrifice, death and the will of God.” Her reflections of this time are powerful and confronting as she faces the violence and capriciousness of life, and struggles to come to terms with a God who seems to stand back and simply allow tragedy and suffering to happen.  During her time on the island, Dillard attends the local church which is led by a Congregationalist pastor.  She discovers that she likes the occasional and therefore surprising spontaneity and the honesty of the pastor, who one morning during the intercessions simply “stopped, and burst out, ‘Lord, we bring you these same petitions week by week’ and after a shocked pause, continued reading the prayer.[1]”

She goes on to say:  “The higher Christian churches – where, if anywhere, I belong – come at God with an unwarranted air of professionalism, with authority and pomp, as though they knew what they were doing, as though people in themselves were an appropriate set of creatures to have dealings with God. I often think of the set pieces of liturgy as certain words which people have successfully addressed to God without getting killed. If God were to blast such a service to bits, the congregation would be, I believe, genuinely shocked. But in the low churches, you expect it any minute. This is the beginning of wisdom.”

Elsewhere Dillard states: “I do not find Christians, outside of the catacombs, sufficiently sensible, aware of conditions. Does anyone have the foggiest idea what sort of power we so blindly invoke? Or, as I suspect, does no one believe a word of it? The churches are children, playing on the floor with their chemistry sets, mixing up a batch of TNT to kill a Sunday morning. It is madness to wear ladies’ straw hats and velvet hats to church; we

should all be wearing crash helmets. Ushers should issue life preservers and signal flares; they should lash us to our pews. For the sleeping god may wake someday and take offense, or the waking god may draw us out to where we can never return.” [2]

These are powerful words. They make you wonder. Do they describe us, our liturgy, our approach to Sunday morning?What is it then that we do when we come here Sunday by Sunday? What do we expect or hope for? Are we filled with anticipation and excitement, awe and trepidation – expecting to be surprised, delighted, or confronted? Do we really believe that we will leave here re-freshed and renewed filled with the Holy Spirit? Do we expect God to burst in on us, shattering our pre-conceptions, turning us upside down and inside out, making us uncomfortable with who and what we are and re-forming us in God’s image?

Do we take to heart the words of the Prayer of Preparation: “Almighty God, to whom all hearts are open?” and wonder that we should dare to be here? Does  the proclamation of  God’s word send a thrill through us? Do we feel a warmth on our hand or a tingle in our throat when we receive the body and blood of Christ?

Do we come anticipating some new insight into the nature of God or some astounding self revelation?

When we come to worship, do we really believe that we will come face-to-face with God, or do we as Dillard says, allow the “set pieces of liturgy” to enable us to keep our distance, to avoid any sort of meeting with God that might challenge or change us? Do we come to seek God’s will for us, or do we hope that our presence here will be enough to limit God’s interference in, or demands on, our time and on our lives?

We hope that God will change the world, and yet we approach God as if God were a kitten and not a lion, a beetle and not a behemoth. We want God to be strong and powerful, able to control the elements and protect us from harem yet, at the very same time we seem to want a God who keeps a certain amount of distance, a God who is within our power to tame and control.

The people of the Old Testament certainly knew what they were doing. They had a healthy respect and an appropriate sense of awe towards the presence of God in their midst. We might notice a sense of familiarity in the relationship at times, but we can see too that the Israelites had a deep respect for the power and might of God and understood that being in the presence of God was awesome and even dangerous. We see this when God calls Moses to the mountain to receive the Ten Commandments. The people are instructed to wash their clothes and to keep themselves and even their flocks at a safe distance from the mountain. If they come too close to the presence of God they will die. Then: “When all the people witnessed the thunder and lightning, the sound of the trumpet, and the mountain smoking, they were afraid and trembled and stood at a distance, and said to Moses, “You speak to us, and we will listen; but do not let God speak to us, or we will die.”“

It is this power and this awesomeness to which Dillard draws our attention – not to make us afraid, but to try to raise our awareness, to help us to really think about what we are doing and to ask ourselves whether we really grasp the implications of worshiping the living God. Are we sensible enough of the risks that are entailed?

Take care when you come into the presence of God – for God, who cannot be controlled, may reach out and grab you, turn your life around, point you in new directions and take you places that you never expected to be. Take care when you come into the presence of God, you may never be the same again.

Lent 2, 2012

Mark 8:31-38

Marian Free

In the name of God who draws us out of darkness into light, from despair to hope and from death to life. Amen.

Some of you may have seen the movie or read the book “Chocolat”. It tells the story a quiet and conservative French village that lives life very seriously and rigidly.  As the narrator says at the beginning of the film: “If you lived in this village you understood what was expected of you. You knew your place in the scheme of things and if you happened to forget there was always someone to remind you. In this village if you saw something you weren’t supposed to see, you learned to look the other way or if by chance your hope had been disappointed you learned never to ask for more.“ Life was quiet and orderly if dull and constrained. There was certainly no room for joy or exuberance.

The mayor of the town took his role as the leader of that little village very seriously. “He modeled by example, hard work, modesty and discipline.” Part of his role as he understood it was to protect the moral fibre of the community. He not only attended church regularly but ensured that everyone else did as well. When the new young priest came to the village, the mayor edited all his sermons so that the views from the pulpit reinforced his, the mayor’s, moral precepts and helped maintain a certain standard of behaviour in the village.

It was therefore, a quiet, orderly village, but that did not make it a happy one. Beneath the apparently untroubled surface lay a turmoil of suppressed longings, hidden violence and broken dreams.

One year, during Lent, everything changes. Vivianne – an unmarried mother – arrives in the village with her daughter and upsets the finely tuned balance of this conservative community. Viviane is not only unmarried, she is different in other ways. She wears bright clothes and does not attend church. She supports and then shelters the woman who is regularly beaten by her husband. She befriends the gypsies who arrive on the riverbank and – perhaps worst of all – she opens a chocolaterie in the middle of Lent when the whole community is observing a period of fasting and abstinence.

It is not just the chocolaterie that is a problem. Somehow Vivianne’s warmth, her care for those who don’t fit the community’s rigid norms and her inclusiveness expose the coldness,meaness and unkindness that lie beneath the outward appearance of goodness and moral uprightness in the village. Because of Vivianne’s presence, even the mayor learns that his self-imposed ideals have not led to certainty and peace but rather to a sense of failure and confusion.

On Easter Day, the priest – freed from the editorial efforts of the mayor – speaks from his heart. “This is what I think: We can’t measure our goodness by what we don’t do, by what we deny ourselves, what we resist and who we exclude. We measure our goodness by what we embrace, what we create and who we include.” A great burden is lifted from the shoulders of the people of the village as they come to understand that their imperfections do not need to be suppressed or hidden, but can be accepted as part of the wholeness of who and what they are.

Sadly, throughout history, the Christian message has been distorted and misrepresented. Christianity has been used as a means of control or to ensure conformity to a particular social code. Faith has been taught as obedience to a rigid set of rules, as a passive acceptance of life’s hardships, or as an austere existence that forgoes all but the most simple pleasures.  Chocolat  exposes the way in which faith has sometimes been confused with tradition and respectability and how easily Christianity can be used to limit and restrict an individual’s or even a whole community’s enjoyment of  life.

Today’s gospel provides an example of the way in which a single piece of scripture can be used to narrow rather than open up possibilities.  Jesus says: “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.  For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel, will save it.” At first glance the meaning seems obvious – in order to follow Jesus and be saved, we have to give up all our worldly pleasures and endure a joyless existence until finally we die and receive our reward. That is certainly how it is often used. I’m sure we have all heard, even if we haven’t used the expression: “We all have our crosses to bear.” As if we believe in a God who sends us hardships simply to test our fortitude and our willingness to suffer.

Life already has its share of sorrow and disillusionment – we don’t have to add to them by burdening ourselves. Taking up our cross is not a metaphor for subduing our passions or for mortifying our flesh. We are followers of the one whose death on the cross opened the door to resurrection life. When we take up our cross we do so because we know that not only does it hold the key to resurrection life, but that it will also lead to a deeper and richer experience of life in the present.

God who gave us life does not ask us to live a half-life, hiding in the shadows fearful of putting a foot wrong, or putting on a brave face, keeping up appearances and separating ourselves from the less worthy. If we make our standards too high or try to too hard to be what we are not, eventually cracks will begin to appear and selves that we are trying to hide will be exposed. To be truly Christian is to live in a way that is true to ourselves, not by pretending to be something that we are not. When we take up our cross, we do so in order to be more authentic, not less so.

As the priest says in the movie: “We can’t measure our goodness by what we don’t do, by what we deny ourselves, what we resist and who we exclude. We measure our goodness by what we embrace, what we create and who we include.”  This Lent, may you take up your cross, joyfully and expectantly knowing that you will lose only those things that you did not need and that you will gain more than you could ever imagine!

Lent 1 – 2012

Mark 1:9-15

Marian Free

In the name of God who never says: “You owe me[1].” Amen.

Some of you will know that I am a member of the Diocesan Council, the Standing Committee that administers the Diocese between Synod meetings. For a long time, there has been a tradition of serving a meal at the close of the meeting – possibly because in the past the meeting could drag on till nearly mid-night and the members needed to be fed. We met last Thursday night. During the meal I noticed something very striking. Wine was available as it is every month, but on Thursday night, in contrast to other similar occasions, the majority of people were drinking fruit juice or mineral water.

It was a quite unself-conscious action. Lent had not been mentioned during the meeting and no one announced that they weren’t drinking because it was Lent.  Here we were, a group of Christians unconsciously engaging in the same spiritual discipline – giving something up for the period of Lent. I found the experience all the more powerful because it wasn’t spoken and I felt a sense of solidarity – people of a common faith observing a common practice, a practice that has in many places fallen into disuse and that is barely noticed by the secular world.

I found myself wondering what it would be like if every member of every church gave up something – a treat, a luxury – for the forty days of Lent. Would the world wonder what crazy thing we were up to? Would our friends and neighbours admire our discipline and ask us questions about our faith? Would the newspapers and magazines once again print recipes for Lent? Would our practice be as much a reason for curiosity as the Muslim practice of Ramadan?

Has the world changed or have we changed? Did the practice of Lent lose its meaning or have the Christians of the world stopped practicing?

So what is Lent and why would we bother giving up something for forty days?

It’s easier to begin with what Lent is not. The first thing to notice is that “giving up” is not some sort of punishment or form of self-abasement. It is not the intention that Lent should be forty days of misery. (Giving up smoking is not a good idea if it will make your life and the lives of those around you miserable for the whole of Lent. In the end you will go back to smoking and all that you will have achieved will be to have made yourself and everyone else unhappy.) Nor should Lent be about striving for some sort of perfection – setting ourselves a task that we are bound to fail. (There is no point in deciding to pray for ten minutes every day if we are not used to praying daily – we will only get disheartened and give up.) One Lent is not going to make us perfect prayers, but it may just get us started. Remember that discipline comes from the same root as disciples – learners.

Lent is not about will power. Of course if we have decided, for example, to give up chocolate, it may take some strength of will to carry through our intention, but if we make the giving up a battle of wills, the practice becomes less about God and more about ourselves.  Lent is not about doing things – joining groups, creating a programme of reading, going to church. All of these things are good so long as we are not so busy filling our time up that we lock God out instead of letting God in.

So what is Lent all about? The season of Lent is about paying attention, it is about self awareness, about discovering what is really necessary for a life that is content and it is about learning to rely not on ourselves, but on God.

After his baptism, Jesus felt impelled to go into the wilderness. There in the silence and the barrenness he was able to focus entirely on his relationship with God. Without distraction he could pay attention to the presence of God and to what God might be saying to and asking of him. In a place without supermarkets, fields or kitchens, he could determine what he really needed to survive and what he could do without. In the emptiness he was able to recognise the temptation to prove himself. Finally, having no occupation, no friends, no other means of support, Jesus learned to rely entirely on God.

Few of us will feel driven to take ourselves off to the desert for forty days of self imposed isolation and starvation but that doesn’t mean that we can’t take this opportunity to find ways that will help us to pay attention, be more self-aware, learn what we really need to have to be happy and to develop a reliance on God.

A traditional Lenten discipline is that of fasting or of giving up some luxury in our lives. “Abstinence helps us to learn whether what we consume is consuming us, or whether what we possess possesses us.”[2] Choosing to go without something is a way of learning what we can do without or of learning that a simpler, less extravagant life-style is not only possible but that it helps us to focus our attention on what is really important. (We don’t need to have wine or chocolate to be content, but most of us do need family and friend.)

In the silence of the desert, Jesus was able to pay attention to God. We might do this through prayer or meditation, by joining a study group or by reading a book on spirituality. In today’s busy world, just stopping for a moment, turning off the phone, the computer, the TV will create a space which will provide some time to become more aware of the presence of God.

Times of silence and/or abstinence can have the effect of bringing us face-to-face with ourselves. In the quiet and discomfort of our figurative desert, we may be confronted with some ugly truths.  The silence and emptiness may reveal restlessness and dissatisfaction, or expose anger, resentment, disappointment or bitterness. If we trust God’s love and have the courage to face our shadows, we can begin to let them go and emerge stronger and better for the experience.

Without the props that we use to give our lives meaning, we are forced to rely on God and not on ourselves. Then we discover that in the power of God we can ignore distractions identify what is truly important and resist the temptation to go it alone.

Finally, when Lent is over, we discover that paradoxically it is not over. What we have learned changes us and the disciplines that we have practiced may be practices that we continue to use, so that by Lent next year we are looking for another challenge, another way to deepen our relationship with, and dependence on, God. By next year we will be ready to face other aspects of our lives that could be changed and transformed.

If the practice of Lent is new to you, or if you have found the practice dry and unfulfilling, try something this year that is achievable, something that fits with your life and your lifestyle. A simple practice is to make the sign of the cross before you get out of bed each day – it’s easy, it takes very little time and it is a reminder of the faith that you profess. Alternately you could begin or end the day with a short prayer, or choose to go without something that is a luxury. You may not be ready to try meditation, but perhaps you could try to turn off phones, television and computers for a period of time each day. Instead of feeling bad on those days when you don’t achieve your goal, be grateful for the times when you do. Instead of giving up when you fail, remind yourself that you are engaged in a learning process and try again the next day.

The fruit of spiritual discipline is a life that is deeply fulfilling, immensely satisfying and overflowing with joy and peace no matter what the external circumstances. Lent is not a burden but a gift, not a chore but a choice. During this Lent, may you find a way to pay attention to God, to discover what is really important in your life, to try to be open to the flaws that you uncover so that you may confront and overcome them and may you learn to let go and let God.

Epiphany 7

Mark 2:1-12

Marian Free

 In the name of God who sets us free from all our doubts and fears so that we may truly live. Amen.

 Just recently Michael and I watched an amazing movie – “Get Low”. Even though the movie centred on one character and there was little violence, no crime and only a modicum of sexual tension, the suspense was agonising. The story is set in Tennessee in the 1930’s and centres on Felix, a hermit who aggressively protects his privacy and about whom very little is known. Mystery surrounds him and as a result a number of legends have grown up – most notably that he murdered at least one person and that he was just as likely to do so again.

The story begins when a priest arrives at Felix’s hide-away to announce the death of one of Felix’s mates. For reasons unknown to the audience, this causes Felix to plan his own funeral which he intends to hold while he is still alive. He knows that rumours are being spread about him and he invites people to come and tell their stories in order for the truth to come out. Needless to say, his plans are met with disbelief, surprise and not a little anxiety – who would dare tell their stories to a man who was such an unknown quantity?

Felix manages to persuade a funeral director that he is serious about the plan and he even devises some sort of lottery to encourage people to attend – the prize being his three hundred acres of land. Flyers and invitations are sent out and plans are made for the event – stage, band, catering and so on.  Then, apparently not convinced that his true story will be told, Felix visits an old friend – the Rev’d Charlie Jackson.  The tension builds – Charlie will not come to the funeral unless Felix asks for forgiveness, something that Felix refuses to do.

By now, the audience is convinced that whatever Felix has done, it must have been absolutely terrible, unforgiveable even. Felix shouts at the priest that he won’t ask for forgiveness: “They keep talking about forgiveness. “Ask Jesus for forgiveness.” I never did nothing to him.” Continuing, he says: “I built myself a jail and lived in it for 40 years. I’ve had no wife, no family, no companionship, isn’t that enough!” When the priest remains resolute, and will not come, Felix storms off and cancels the funeral.

After considerable persuasion from the funeral director who stands to lose a lot of money, the event goes ahead with Charlie Jackson who tells those present that most people think that good and evil are poles apart, but that more often they are side by side. He tells the crowd that this tormented man, Felix, built the most beautiful church he had ever seen and then imprisoned himself on these three hundred acres for the past forty years.

The suspense is unbearable as Felix himself gets up to speak. As no one else will tell his story, he must tell it himself. His story is sad, but his crime, while serious, does not match our expectations. His crime was this: He fell in love with a married woman, the result of which was that she died at the hands of her husband. He has never forgiven himself for his part in her death.

For forty years Felix has carried the burden of guilt. For forty years he has locked himself away from the world as a form of self-imprisonment. For forty years he has kept his secret from everyone – including Mattie his one-time girlfriend and the sister of the woman he loved. For forty years Felix was unable to forgive himself and therefore unable to seek forgiveness. As a result his life was seriously curtailed.  He was, if you like, paralysed unable to move forward, unable to build relationships locked in the prison of his past which clung to him like an albatross – holding him back and preventing him from being truly alive. For forty years guilt and grief stood between him and happiness and fulfilment. Only when his friend died and Felix recognised his own mortality, did he finally come to recognise that he needed to find peace.

In today’s gospel, a group of people bring to Jesus a man who is paralysed. Instead of touching the man and uttering words of healing, Jesus tells him that his sins are forgiven. The reaction of the scribes is one of shock – only God can forgive sins! Jesus is unperturbed. “Which is easier to say: “Your sins are forgiven” or to say: “Stand up and take your mat and walk”? The gospel canvasses the significant issue as to Jesus’ ability to forgive sins, but an underlying theme is Jesus’ recognition of the paralytic’s real need – to be forgiven.

Jesus doesn’t associate disease with sin, but he does seem to recognise that physical healing alone is not the answer for the paralytic, something else is holding him back, something else is preventing him from living life to the full. Only if the paralytic hears the words of forgiveness will he truly be healed.

Forgiveness is powerfully liberating. It sets us free from guilt and regret and allows us to leave the past, whatever it is, behind us. If we accept that we are forgiven and if we have the grace to forgive ourselves we can move on from anxiety, doubt and fear, live in the present and look forward to the future.

It is a mistake to think that guilt is meant to be part of the Christian experience. Living with guilt, nursing our regrets and holding on to past sin demonstrate not faith or humility, but their complete opposite – arrogance and faithlessness.  If, like Felix, we close ourselves away and punish ourselves day after day believing that we do not deserve forgiveness we place ourselves in competition with God who alone is judge. Worse than that, we show a complete failure to trust in God’s love and in the saving grace of the cross and we deny the presence of the life-giving power of the Holy Spirit which continually transforms and renews us.

Felix’ story reminds us that it can be so much harder to ask for and accept forgiveness than it is to hold on to regret. But it is only by accepting our imperfections and by trusting in God’s unconditional love that we are able to be fully alive and it is only by being fully alive that we can show our gratitude for God’s gift of life to us.

Epiphany 6 2012

Mark 1:40-48

Marian Free

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

When I was in my late teens I took part in a healing service. A member of our congregation was ill with cancer and a small group of us met to pray with her. She was in her forties I imagine and had three children, one of whom was my age. This woman had two goals in asking for healing prayer. One was the obvious one – to be cured of the cancer and the other – perhaps for her the more important – was that the miracle of her restoration to health would bring her son to faith. Sadly, our prayers failed to bring about the results she had hoped for and she died not long afterwards.

I may be confusing two memories, but I have a feeling that at the time we worked around the failure of the prayer in a number of ways. One that comes to mind is the belief that the prayer worked, but not in the way we expected – that is, that the woman, while not healed made peace with God and with her situation. In retrospect that is no sort of answer, what the woman really wanted was for her son to believe and at that time at least, he did not.

Why, when we are told that those who ask will receive and that those who have faith can move mountains do some people not receive what they ask for? Is it, as some suggest, something to do with the quantity of their faith? And what about the father of the epileptic child who says: “I believe, help my unbelief.” In that instance the amount of faith seems not to matter. Even if the amount of faith did matter, how does one measure it? Should we all be competing with each other, striving to prove that we have the most faith?

When I read this morning’s gospel, it seemed straight forward enough but then I began to ponder the conversation between the leper and Jesus. The leper says: “If you choose you can make me clean.” Jesus replies: “I do choose. Be made clean!” It seemed like a good place to begin a sermon. Jesus chooses and the leper is healed. However, the more I thought about it, the more fraught the conversation seemed. The leper’s approach demonstrates a mature understanding of the relationship between God and creation. He knows that he can’t make God heal him, that God/Jesus is not a puppet to be manipulated into doing what he, the leper wants. In fact, the leper’s request is not unlike Jesus’ prayer in Gethsemane. Jesus knowing the fate that awaits him asks that God spare him, then concludes the prayer: “Not my will but yours.”

The leper seems to have a grasp of prayer akin to that of Jesus. He comes to Jesus hoping, not expecting, to be made clean. He knows that Jesus can heal him, but he also knows that just because Jesus can it doesn’t mean that he will. Equally, Jesus praying to God at the moment of his greatest need, knows that God can save him from his fate, but he also knows that that does not mean that because God can save him, that God will. Both men pray. The leper is healed. Jesus is nailed to the cross.

How does one make sense of this? Why does God choose to answer some prayers and not others? When Jesus responds to the leper by saying: “I do choose”, does that mean that there are times when he doesn’t choose?

This apparently simple story of healing demands that we think deeply about prayer and about the way in which we relate to God. For many people, ourselves included, prayer is a one way street. We ask God to do something for us and expect to receive what we have asked for. This kind of prayer treats God as a creature that can be manipulated or worked on until we get what we want. It has no concern for the well being of others, but simply focuses on the self and asks: what can God do for me?

Prayer can also be a means of evading responsibility. When we pray for the end to war or poverty, we are often asking God to do what we are not prepared to do. We make God responsible for ending all the wrongs in the world thereby excusing ourselves from any role in challenging injustice, combating oppression, curing disease or alleviating suffering. Some tasks are just too great for us, so instead of trying to make a difference, we hand them over to God and believe that we have played our part.

Our attitude to prayer is, in part, determined by our understanding of God. The God of the Christian faith is constant and unchanging, unlike the volatile, inconsistent gods of Greek mythology. It is this that allows us to trust in God, that informs us that God is reliable and not capricious, that God does not act on a whim and will not be bought by the highest bidder or be forced into change by our persistence.

It is God’s unchangeable nature that makes it so hard for us to really understand how it is that prayer does or doesn’t work. God’s constancy assures us that God is trustworthy, but it also reminds us that God is not easily manipulated or swayed. The very characteristic that enables us to trust in God is the one trait that means that God may not be able to respond exactly when and how we would like God to respond.  When Jesus and the leper say to God: “You choose”, they are accepting that the unchangeable God is beyond their understanding. They are placing themselves and their future in God’s hands confident that whatever the outcome, God will be with them. For the leper that future was one without the skin disease that had separated him from the world and for Jesus it was the road to resurrection victory.

In his first encyclical Pope Benedict wrote: “The Christian who prays does not claim to be able to change God’s plans or correct what he has foreseen. Rather he seeks an encounter with the Father of Jesus Christ, asking God to be present with the consolation of the Spirit to himself and to his work.”[1]

When we do not have all the answers, the best we can do is to trust in God who never changes and say: “we know you love us, you choose”.