One in Christ

May 19, 2012

Easter 7  – 2012

John 17.6-19

Marian Free

 In the name of God who binds us together as one. Amen.

 One form of literature that is found in the Bible is that of the farewell speech – the instructions, words of wisdom or the blessing that a biblical hero gives before he dies. For example, when Abraham nears the end of his life, he gives instructions with regard to the marriage of Isaac. In his turn the blind Isaac blesses Jacob – inadvertently giving him his brother’s birth right. Later Jacob, on his death bed, blesses all twelve of his sons. Moses’ farewell speech takes up the entire book of Deuteronomy as he reminds the Israelites of the story of the Exodus, of their covenant with God and their responsibilities as people of God.

Following this pattern Jesus, in John’s gospel, takes advantage of his last meal with the disciples to give his farewell speech. In it he warns this disciples that he is going to leave them, he provides instruction for the community which will emerge in his absence and finally, in chapter 17, he prays for the disciples, for those who will come to faith through them and he prays for the world. Two of the themes in this prayer are pertinent to our weekly Eucharist. First of all, Jesus acknowledges that the faith of the disciples is lived out in the world even though that might be difficult. Secondly, Jesus prays that the disciples might be united in the same way that Jesus and God are one. Unity with the world and with Jesus are central to our Eucharistic celebrations.

Last week we looked at the Daily Office and discovered that it is a very particular type of prayer. It is formal, objective and dispassionate. However, when we say the Office we are connected with Christians all around the world who are saying the office at the same time as us or who are beginning and ending as we end and begin. This regular pattern creates a continuous cycle of prayer around the world – hour after hour, day after day, week after week, year after year.

Even though the Eucharist too has a set form and is repeated on a regular basis all over the world, its function is quite different. If the office is objective, disinterested praise, the Eucharist is personal, intimate and relational. Whereas the office is a means of taking the self out of our worship, the Eucharist provides an opportunity for us to bring our whole selves and all our concerns to worship. We seek to engage and be engaged by God and to be connected with God’s action in the world. As such, when we come to the Eucharist, there is no need to leave our self behind – we come as we are with all our flaws and all our desires. In the Eucharist there is no room for pretence and no need for disguise. We are not seeking to be detached and indifferent, but to be completely involved, to enter into a relationship with God that is real and authentic.  For this reason we come to the Eucharist just as we are – broken, flawed and needy – believing that in this time of worship, God will heal our wounds, fill our emptiness and make us whole.

There is nothing dry and unemotional about the worship we offer in the Eucharist. It is worship that is both passionate and deeply honest. From its inception as Jesus’ final meal, the Eucharist was coloured by the ambiguities, foolishness and pride that characterise human nature. The brokenness and betrayal that are embodied in the Last Supper are at the centre of our worship. We share with those first disciples our vulnerability, our confusion and our failure to understand God’s purpose. In our prayer and in our confession, we identify in our own lives moments of betrayal and we recognise that we are broken and weak. From the start of the service we are laid bare – we worship the God from whom no secrets are hidden. Later we recognise that are not worthy to gather up the crumbs under the table. It is this self awareness that gives our worship depth and meaning and which enables us to engage with God openly and genuinely.

At the same time, as members of the community around us and of the whole human race, we come to our worship bearing the anguish and despair of the world and laying them before God in the hope that they might be redeemed. Through our own brokenness and pain we are united us to each other and to the suffering of the world. We are united in our frailty. We who come to worship are not distinct from the world by virtue of our goodness or our morality or our uprightness. We share with all people our vulnerability, our potential to do wrong and to cause harm to others. Despite our faith we are not protected from loss and grief. Through our brokenness we united to the brokenness of the world. The pain and the suffering of the world becomes our pain and suffering. We cannot be truly whole until others have the opportunity to be whole.

Brokenness is not only our condition as we approach the Eucharist, brokenness is at the heart of the Eucharist. Jesus identifies with the brokenness of the world by becoming one of us and allowing himself to be broken and poured out for us. Our unity with the world is based on our brokenness. Our unity with Jesus is a consequence of his brokenness. Week after week, we remember Jesus entering into our human experience and giving his life for our sake. Jesus becomes one with us so that we might become one with him. Jesus is broken for us so that we might become whole. In the Eucharist as we eat the bread and drink the wine, we signify our union with Christ and his with us. As we share the one bread and drink from the common cup, we signify our common life in and with Jesus. “We who are many are one body, for we all share in the same bread.”

In sharing our humanity, Jesus restores our humanity. In the sharing of the bread and the wine, we one with Christ and we are restored and made whole. When Jesus instituted the Last Supper, he not only gave us a perpetual remembrance of his death and passion, but he established this meal by which we would be forever connected to him and united to each other.

Throughout the gospel, Jesus has made it clear that he and the Father are one. Now, in this his final prayer, he expresses the wish that his disciples might share with each other the sort of intimacy that he has with the Father. He gives no instructions as to what this unity might look like, or how it might be achieved, instead he gives himself completely and through this meal asks them and therefore us, to enter fully into the experience so that by being intimately connected to him we might also be connected to one another.

It is hard to say what this unity should look like. I don’t imagine that it means that we should all think the same or act the same but rather that we should have the courage to acknowledge our brokenness and to recognise that in the light of our own imperfections our differences are of little consequence and that our union with Christ binds us together in a way that nothing else can.

When we say: “We are the body of Christ” we are signifying that collectively and individually we are the continuing presence of Christ in the world. May we strive to live as the body of Christ – united to each other in love and united with God in our compassion for the world.

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Dispassionate Prayer

May 12, 2012

Easter 6 – 2012

John 16:16-24

Marian Free

 In the name of God whom we are drawn to praise and to whom we offer our grateful thanksgiving. Amen.

I wonder how you pray. Do you set aside a particular time to pray each day or is prayer something that you do on the run? Do you pray regularly or only when you are frightened or troubled? Does your prayer consist of a list of requests for God to meet or does it take the form of thanksgiving and praise? Is your prayer dispassionate or emotive? Is it a duty or a joy? When you pray do you find it helpful to use words that others have written, or are you comfortable finding your own words? Have you tried sitting in silence before God – waiting to hear what God might have to say or do you pray some other way?

I imagine that most of us pray in a variety of different ways at different times of our lives. In fact, in the space of a single day we might pray in several different ways.

Prayer is an interesting subject and one which is at the heart of the practice of our faith, yet I wonder how often we re-visit the topic and how often we re-think how and why we pray. I was interested this week to listen to The Spirit of Things on Radio National this week. The presenter, Rachel Kohn, has asked a number of Australians of different faiths and of no particular faith to write a spiritual diary. This week we heard from the diary of Howard Goldenberg – a Melbourne doctor. Two things struck me about Goldenberg’s report. One was his description of prayer and the other was his disciplined/structured practice of Jewish daily prayer[1].

With regard to the nature of prayer he ponders:

“Will I pray for a speedy recovery of my sick relative who is suffering a deteriorating illness? Yes, I will, I do, I have done. Why? Do I pray to change God’s mind, or to point out to God that I have a better idea than his? Or to sway God by virtue of my piety or work?

I pray, I cry out for my loved one in distress. I give voice to my wish that healing occur, but there is no expectation or obligation upon the deity. I pray because I can, because I must, but the prayer isn’t futile, it serves my need but perhaps not my purpose.”

Goldenberg voices a common experience, that there are times when we pray out of our own need, when our prayer is a cry from the heart rather than an attempt to change God’s mind or to prove that we know better than God how to manage the universe.  In a later entry, Goldenberg speaks of the daily prayer which he has practiced since he was a young child – a prayer which is more structured and impersonal than the cry from the heart; daily routine that he finds both liberating and defining not a restriction. Prayer is so much a part of his life that to not to say the daily prayer would be as uncomfortable to him as if he had not brushed his teeth. Not only prayer a part of who he is, but the daily prayer tells him who he is and reminds him both of his past and present and locates him in the community of his faith.

Our own pattern of daily prayer emerges out of the Jewish tradition and serves similar functions – to provide structure to our prayer lives, to reinforce our Christian identity and to offer dispassionate praise to God.

The early Christians continued to practice their Jewish traditions until, after the Jewish war, they were excluded from the synagogues. A regular pattern of prayer was not abandoned. Our earliest liturgical record urges believers to say the Lord’s prayer three times a day and the Apostolic Constitutions of the fourth century encourage communities to gather in the morning and the evening for the singing of Psalms and for prayer. For some time, these acts of daily prayer took place in the central church or cathedral of a city. Over time, however, attendance decreased and for centuries the daily prayer or office was limited to the monasteries where set forms of prayer were said at least seven times each day.

At the time of the Reformation, Cranmer reduced the seven daily offices to two – Morning and Evening Prayer – and once more encouraged their practice in the Parish Church. “That the people profit from daily hearing of scripture and be inflamed with the love of true religion” This had some success. On Sundays in particular, Morning and Evening Prayer were to remain the preferred form of prayer for the next 400 years.

During the last century, liturgical revision tried once again to inspire practicing Christians to adopt for themselves a regular, disciplined practice of prayer and scripture reading. A Prayer Book for Australia provided services for the morning and evening of every day of the week in the hope that families would adopt these for their family prayers. This pattern was continued in An Australian Prayer Book.

If you look in your prayer books on page 383 you will find the forms of prayer that make up the daily office – a scripture verse, a canticle, an opening prayer, one or more Psalms, a Psalm prayer, readings from the Bible, another canticle, the Lord’s Prayer, intercessions and collects. Used on a regular basis, the daily office enables us to read the New Testament and most of the Old Testament each year and the Psalter over two months[2]. To say the office you need your prayer book and a copy of the lectionary which will tell you which readings to use.

These patterns of prayer provide a structure which dispenses with the need think up one’s own prayers or to choose one’s own Psalms. They provide a framework for the day at the same time as sanctifying the day and all that happens on that day. The daily office is a form prayer which can be offered to God with no thought of ourselves. It doesn’t rely on how we feel but can be said whether we are cast down with sorrow or filled to the brim with joy. What is more, because the daily office is used by Christians throughout the world, when we join in this prayer we are linked to a prayer that never ceases, but which continues day and night wherever Christ is worshipped. The office provides a balance between daily life and prayer, between public and private prayer and it combines prayer, praise and scripture in a regular pattern. It is a practical form of prayer because it is adaptable, simple, familiar, portable and brief.

Is prayer an essential part of your being, as much a part of your daily routine as washing your face or cleaning your teeth? Is there something you can do to change that?

[2] If you don’t have a prayer book at home you could look at these sites which include the service and the daily readings: http://daily.commonworship.com/daily-new.cgi  http://www.missionstclare.com/english/index.html

The Australian and New Zealand Prayer books are not available on line as yet.

 

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Being a Christian is not something we do, it is something God does in us

May 12, 2012

Easter 5 2012

John 15:1-8

Marian Free

 In the name of God who creates, sustains and enlivens all that we are and all that we do. Amen

I am sure that you would all agree that human nature is fascinating. Even though most, if not all of us, are not related in any way to the people who travelled on the Titanic we still feel connected in some way to that tragedy. One hundred years later we watch television programmes and re-enactments trying to come to grips with what happened. In our imaginations we identify with the travellers and think we have some idea of how awful it must have been to survive or how terrible it must have been to remain on the sinking ship.

The sense of connection between strangers is not restricted to tragedy but is also found when people embrace common causes or when nations or groups succeed. Think for example of the sense of solidarity that many Australians felt in 1983 when Australia II won the America’s Cup, or of the bonds that supporters of a sporting team feel when they are cheering on their side. Complete strangers become instant friends when the referee makes what is perceived to be a wrong call, or when the team that they support scores a goal. No matter what their background their common purpose draws them together as one. If only for a short time, they cheer together, get incensed together and feel a sense of warmth and solidarity that would otherwise belong to family or to life-long friends.

All kinds of events and situations serve to join us to others just as, sadly, events and situations serve to tear us apart.

The sort of unity that Jesus is describing in today’s gospel goes much deeper than the superficial and often temporary experience that I’ve just described.

One of the key themes of John’s Gospel is that of union or unity. The theme of union between the Father and Son permeates John’s gospel. “I and the Father are one.” “If anyone has seen me, they have seen the Father.” Over and over again Jesus makes the claim that there is no real distinction between Father and Son, that knowing one is to know the other, that what the Son does is what the Father would do and so on. Jesus’ life and ministry is wholly determined by his relationship with God. He claims that he does nothing on his own – “only what he sees the Father doing. Whatever the Father does the Son does likewise.”

In today’s gospel part of Jesus’ farewell speech, he goes a step further than the relationship between the Father and the Son. Here he insists that the disciples participate in him, in the same way that he participates in, and is one with, the actions of the Father.  In order to make this easier to understand, Jesus uses an agricultural image that would have been familiar to his listeners. Vines were commonplace and everyone would know that a branch broken or cut off the vine would die. Detached from the source of its life the branch would be unable to fulfil its function of producing fruit. While it might still be exposed to the life-giving effects of the sun, the severed branch would no longer have access to the nutrients  and moisture from the soil which flow through the stem and into each branch.

Using the image of the vine, Jesus describes a connection with himself, that is so intimate and close, that it is as if the blood flowing through him could flow through those who believe: that, ideally, their life is animated and sustained by their connection with and absorption into Jesus in such a way that all that they do is fed and nurtured by their association with and in him. A disciple is called to be so integrated into the life of Jesus that their life cannot help but be a reflection of his life, which in turn is a reflection of God’s desire. In this way, just as a branch of the vine cannot help but produce grapes, so a believer who is truly attached to and one with Jesus will not be able to think or act in a way that does not reflect their connection with him.

The image of the vine is a stark reminder that, in one sense, being a Christian is not something we do, rather it is something that we do not do. That is, that our own efforts are not only limited by our short-comings, but they also serve to illustrate that we are separated from the spring of our life, the source of our fruitfulness. When we understand that our faith is measured more by what we do not do, then we allow ourselves to be completely connected to and absorbed by the life of Jesus and our own lives will of themselves reflect the presence of God within us. Our thoughts, words and actions rather than coming from ourselves will be directed and determined by our relationship with God.

The fruit that we bear as a result of this relationship will be fruit that stems from that relationship. How we behave as a consequence of this “not doing”, will be God working through us rather than ourselves acting alone. This concept is both liberating and terrifying. It is liberating because it means that if we have the courage and confidence to abide in God and allow God to abide in us, then we can be certain that we are doing what God desires. It is terrifying because in order to bear this sort of fruit, we have to learn to trust the presence of God within us and – perhaps more difficult still – we have to allow the presence of God within us (not our own intellect or will) to determine what is and what is not good fruit.

This is what Jesus means about remaining in the vine. It is not up to us to decide what is and what is not good. We achieve little if we spend our time doing so-called “good deeds” only to get to the end of our lives and discover that we have produced bananas or pomegranates instead of grapes, to discover that our branches were not firmly grafted and rooted into the vine but were instead supported by something else altogether.

The task of our lifetime then is to let go of our ambitions, to give up our concepts of what God wants and seek instead to be so united to God in every way that our lives may be lived in and directed by God and the fruit that we bear will be fruit that will last.

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Shepherding God’s people

April 28, 2012

Easter 4 2012 (Good Shepherd Sunday)

Benjamin Glennie
Marian Free

In the name of God who calls us to serve and to shepherd God’s people and the world beyond the church. Amen.

The history of the church in the colonies must be full of stories of heroism, vision, steadfastness and good humour. Clergy from a vastly different climate and landscape faced isolation and indifference, they had to travel vast distances in a largely unpopulated and sometimes unforgiving country and minister in situations that were quite different from the English Parish Church. A pioneering priest in this Diocese, Benjamin Glennie faced all these challenges with courage, determination and humour. I imagine that many of you are familiar with the Glennie School in Toowoomba, but I wonder how many of you know much of this tenacious man whose anniversary of death falls on April 30 and whose 200th anniversary of birth falls this year.

Benjamin Glennie was born in 1812, in Dulwich in Surrey, England, the twelfth son of William Glennie a school principal. On leaving school, Glennie spent time as a tutor in Europe before, at thirty, entering Christ’s College Cambridge. By this time three of his brothers had migrated to New South Wales – one a landowner, another a doctor and the third a farmer who was later ordained. Glennie himself came to Australia in 1848 with the first bishop of Newcastle, Dr William Tyrrell. Bishop Tyrrell brought with him several young men who were to be ordained and he took advantage of the long voyage to prepare them for ordination.

After their arrival in Newcastle, the only priest in the settlement of Moreton Bay drowned. As a result, Glennie was urgently ordained and sent to replace him. This was only three months after he had arrived in Australia and before he had had any experience in the ordained ministry. When he arrived in Brisbane he was taken to Newstead House to stay with the Governor. The very next day he conducted morning and evening services. Almost immediately, at the Governor’s insistence, he bought a black horse “Jim Crow” which was to be his companion for the next 20 years.

Glennie must have been shocked by his new home. Moreton Bay only opened to free settlers in 1842. It was isolated from the rest of the colony and sparsely populated. There was no church building so services were held in a converted carpenter’s shop on North Quay. This prompted Glennie to begin a fund for the building of what became St John’s.

Like his predecessor, Glennie was the only priest to minister the whole of Moreton Bay which included Ipswich and the Downs. He held services at St John’s church and also established day and Sunday schools in Brisbane. He visited Ipswich once a month and toured the Downs. Glennie was ordained a priest in 1849 and from 1850-1860 (another priest being available) he was made responsible for all of the Downs meaning that he had the oversight of all Anglicans west of Toowoomba! It must have been a daunting task. Each year Glennie (who did not have a strong constitution) covered a distance of nearly 5,000 kilometres and as he did so he established congregations and bought property suitable for the building of churches or schools.

Glennie disliked riding, but in that era, it was the only means of transport available to enable him get around his vast Archdeaconry. At the same time, there were few roads and those that existed often reduced to tracks through the scrub. This meant that, even if the church could afford one, a gig would have been of little use. It is reported that on many occasions, Glennie could be seen walking from place to place with the laden horse walking along beside him. Riding was not his only trial. In the days before telephones – let alone the internet – communication was slow or non existent. On one occasion Glennie wrote in his diary – “Drayton very wet, no one came to church: The Swamp very wet and no one came to church.” Another time he wrote: “Wet day, no person came to church and I did not go to Toowoomba.”

Among the other hardships were locusts, flies, intolerable heat, fleas and the vast distances with no homestead in which to seek shelter for the night. At times he was forced to sleep in a shepherd’s hut which he records was: “a place miserable in the extreme. The natural earth formed the floor and was quite wet.” Loneliness was another problem and he writes that he was “sadly isolated from my brethren of the clergy”.

A testimony to his drive and hard work are the four churches which he built in the four major centres: Drayton, Warwick ,Toowoomba and Dalby – named for the evangelists – Matthew, Mark, Luke and John respectively . A considerable amount of the funds for these projects came from Glennie himself. That he used money from his own pocket is revealed in a letter written to the Bishop after St Luke’s was built. “ St Luke’s building paid for, but in debt to me of 20 pounds.”

That said, he did not release the congregations of their obligation to support him. At one time, when the Parish of Warwick were behind in paying his stipend, his curate wrote: ” he had an extraordinary suit of clothes – blue frock coat, high collar and sleeves rubbed at the elbows, a pair of short grey trousers which displayed a good deal of white sock and an old cabbage tree hat. Whenever his stipend was in arrears he donned this suit and continued to wear it until the reason for doing so no longer existed.”

One of Glennie’s passions was education – not only for boys but also for girls and to this end whenever he built a church it was expected that during the week it would be used as a school. Glennie also established the “Schools Endowment Fund” to which again he contributed from his own funds, some of which came from the sale of fruit and vegetables grown in Rectory gardens. In 1882 Glennie transferred to the Diocese the sum of £1627 and in 1900 the Synod voted that schools for girls and boys be established in his memory. (By that time the Toowoomba Preparatory School had been founded, so only a school for girls was needed.)

In 1863 Glennie was appointed as the Archdeacon of the Downs. Glennie’s last appointment was to the Parish of Toowong where he built his fifth and final church. He is buried in the Toowong Cemetery and his grave can be visited there.

In 1919, a writer in the Toowoomba Chronicle said of him “The little children ran to welcome with outstretched hands and eager joy in their faces, for to them he truly was the Good Shepherd. ” On this Good Shepherd Sunday, it is fitting that we remember Benjamin Glennie and give thanks to God for his passion for the Gospel, his dedication to the Church and his love for the people. May we, remembering the stature of those whose shoulders we stand on, continue to support and build the church, preach the Gospel and show God’s love to all.

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God as friend

April 22, 2012

Easter 3 2012
Luke 24:36b-48

Marian Free

In the name of God who abundantly provides for all our needs and gives us life in the present and in the world to come. Amen.

I don’t know if you have ever thought about it, but food is a theme that recurs throughout the Old and New Testaments. In the garden of Eden God provides plenty of food for Adam and Eve, Abraham makes a meal for the three angles who visit him, Joseph interprets Pharaoh’s dreams and ensures that there is enough food for the Egyptians during the famine and therefore enough food for his family who come to Egypt. In the wilderness God provides the people of Israel with manna from heaven and the quails. The grumpy prophet Elijah is fed by the ravens and Elijah ensures that the widow has enough food to see her through the drought.

Over and over again God provides food for the people and from time to time God’s people act as host and provide a meal for God’s representatives. God’s promises to the people include the idea of plenty for all. Isaiah’s vision urges the people to delight themselves in rich food, and Ezekiel’s vision of the Temple envisages plants for food on either side of the river that flows from the Temple.

This association of food with God continues and expands in the New Testament. Mary sings that the hungry will be fed, Jesus feeds the 5000 with the loaves and two small fish and turns the water into wine.

Jesus not only feeds the hungry, he is also a guest on many occasions. He is invited to have dinner with Levi the tax collector and by Simon the Pharisee. He invites himself to dinner with Zacchaeus and is the guest of Mary and Martha. It is while he is at the home of a leader of the Pharisees that he heals a man with drops and we are told that women provide for him out of their resources. In fact, it appears that Jesus is well known for his enjoyment of a good meal as he is accused of being a glutton and a drunkard and is questioned as to why he does not fast as do the disciples of John.

Many of Jesus’ parables or words of advice concern a meal. He says: “when you are invited to a wedding banquet, do not sit down at the place of honour” and he tells the parable of the wedding banquet and of the guests who refuse to come. All the parables about the “lost” include feasting – the lost sheep, the lost coin, the lost son. What is more we are told in these parables that there will be feasting in heaven when the lost are found.

Before he dies Jesus shares the Passover meal with his friends and alludes to the banquet that they will share in heaven. It should come as no surprise then that the resurrection appearances include the sharing of food – at least in Luke and John. In Luke’s gospel, Jesus walks to Emmaus with two disciples and is recognized when he breaks the bread. Later, when he appears to the gathered disciples, he asks if they have any food.

What is particularly interesting is that in life and in the resurrection accounts, Jesus is both guest and host. On occasion Jesus provides the food for others. At other times he allows others to cater for him.

In Luke’s resurrection accounts, Jesus is both host and guest. He joins two disciples on their way to Emmaus. When they urge him to stay, he (the guest) becomes the host when he breaks the bread for them. That same night when the two have returned to Jerusalem, Jesus appears to the gathered disciples. After revealing himself to them, he asks for food – allowing them to be the hosts.

This emphasis on eating and drinking combined with the fact that sometimes Jesus is host and sometimes guest, tells us something about the nature of God and the sort of relationship that God desires to have with us. God is not removed and distant, juggling strings or wielding a big stick. God seeks a relationship with us that is built on mutual respect and friendship with the sort of to and fro that that involves. The relationship is not a one way street, but involves God providing a welcome for us and ourselves providing a welcome for God.

It is important that we learn to grow up, to enter into a mature relationship with God, to let go of any dependency and respond to God’s invitation with an invitation of our own. Like any friendship, the relationship will change and take on new meaning or move in new directions. In our journey of faith, we must have the humility to accept God’s offer of friendship and the grace to offer ours in return.

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April 14, 2012

Easter 2 2012
John 20:19-30
Marian Free

In the name of God who asks us to trust and who meets us where we don’t or can’t. Amen.

Over the last few hundred years interest in the historic veracity of the bible has increased. There have been various attempts to locate biblical sites, to prove the occurrence of miracles or to defend the historicity of Biblical stories. These efforts have met with various degrees of success. For example, there appears to be no clear archaeological evidence that the Israelites were ever in Egypt and to date no one has found the site of the biblical city of Jericho. At the same time there is some rich evidence of the life of people at the beginning of the first century and archaeologists are uncovering homes such as those that might have been lived in by the disciples.

A similar amount of energy has been applied to the interpretation of biblical texts. While some scholars have applied themselves to “proving” the bible to be true, others have been examining the style of writing, the use of rhetoric and the historical context of the writings of the bible to uncover the agendas of those who wrote them and to try to find the historical Jesus beneath. One form of “excavation” serves to “prove” the stories, while the second shows the way in which the stories reflect the interpretation of those stories by the authors.

The search or desire for “proof” with regard to the biblical story, is in part a reaction to the Enlightenment and to the scientific revolution which brought some aspects of the bible (miracles, the creation story) into question and in part it is a reaction to those who wish to question the validity of religion in general and Christianity in particular. The availability of scientific or analytic skills has also fuelled a desire among Christians to learn more about their own history and the way in which it was recorded.

It is only in relatively recent times that Christians have demanded historical accuracy of the biblical texts. In previous eras Christians were quite content to live with ambiguity and with a degree of uncertainty. Religious texts were seen as just that, not as proof texts to demonstrate that a particular event really did occur. A different kind of truth is involved – the truth about a relationship with the living God.

This ability to sit lightly with the texts meant that Christians did not have to be overly worried with a conflict between religion and science – to their mind there was none. Religion was religion and science was science. The truths of each could be held in tension without causing great distress. Christians had no problem believing that the world was round, while at the same time holding on to a religious idea of God in heaven. Scientific knowledge complemented rather than contradicted religious knowledge.

Unfortunately, there has been in some quarters an active campaign to separate religion and science and this not just from without. Within at least some churches, there has been an attempt to ‘protect’ believers first from scientific discoveries which were seen to threaten the ‘truth’ of the Bible. Similarly believers have been protected from the results of a scientific study of the Bible itself, a study which revealed contradictions and hidden agendas behind and within the text. As a result many believers feel disloyal if they question the Bible or if they embrace for example, the theory of evolution. They are also ill equipped to interpret the text for themselves and to respond to those like Richard Dawkins who criticize a faith that many educated Christians no longer hold.

Today’s gospel indicates that faith is that which takes something (in this instance, the resurrection) on trust. In the face of Thomas’ questioning, Jesus is reported as saying: “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.” It would be wrong however to claim that as a consequence those who have faith are never to question or to test their faith. It would be equally wrong to insist on the basis of the gospel that Christians abandon their intellects and ignore the progress of knowledge and science.

The reverse is true. Today’s gospel suggests that searching for the truth will be rewarded by conviction (not lack thereof). Jesus might commend those who believe without seeing, but, rather than censure Thomas for not believing, Jesus makes it possible for Thomas to see and touch for himself.

When it comes to faith there is not a policy of “one size fits all”. Everyone is different – that is why the Christian faith can boast mystics and adventurers, priests and prophets, teachers and disciples, artists and scientists. There are those like Thomas who demand and search out solid information and others who are equally happy to accept that some aspects of faith cannot be tied down and who are prepared to take at least a certain amount on faith.

Faith and doubt are not polar opposites but are complementary conditions in the journey of faith. Too much of either can be detrimental, but together they work to deepen and enrich our trust and understanding. The very unknowability of God demands that we continue to be open to growth and change – that we have the confidence to question and to doubt. As we grow in faith so our understanding of God alters and matures and new questions and doubts arrive. Over time we leave behind concepts that we have outgrown or which are no longer helpful to describe what we have come to know.

On the other hand, certainty can be a deterrent to growth. Absolute certainty can be a deterrent to the development of a mature faith. A person who is sure that what they believe is absolutely true, has in effect declared that they know all that they need to know. In effect their very certitude implies that God is no longer necessary. They have closed the door to God’s presence in the world and to the possibility that God is more complex than they can ever know and that God might have more to reveal about himself. (The gospels characterise the Pharisees as those whose certainty and confidence in faith meant that they were blind to the presence of God among them – so blind, that instead of welcoming Jesus, they sought to destroy him.)

Thomas’ doubt, led to his recognition of Jesus as “Lord and God”. Our “questioning”, our seeking for deeper meaning and our quest for truth will be rewarded, not necessarily by certainty but by a richness and depth of faith and a sense of awe and expectancy as to what is yet to be revealed.

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The cost of the resurrection

April 14, 2012

Easter Day 2012
John 20:1-18
Marian Free

In the name of God whose love for us knows no bounds and who gives everything for our salvation. Amen.

It has never occurred to me before, but when we think of Jesus’ resurrection, we usually do so from our point of view. Think of our Easter hymns: “Jesus Christ is risen today! Our triumphant holy day.” we sing or “Jesus lives! thy terrors now, can no more O death enthrall us.” When we think about the resurrection we think about what it has achieved for us. Because Jesus has risen we too will rise from the dead. Jesus has won the victory over death. Death is no more to feared. It is not the end, but a beginning. Our attention is so taken with the benefits for us – “Christ died for our sins, and was raised for our glorification” – that I suspect few of us (including myself) have thought about the resurrection from Jesus’ point of view.

If we have, we have thought how marvelous it was that Jesus’ trust in God was repaid by his resurrection from the dead. Jesus went to the cross not knowing what was on the other side, and his obedience was rewarded by his coming back to life. Jesus’ resurrection is his greatest triumph. From the same perspective, we view the crucifixion as Jesus’ greatest sacrifice and do not consider the possibility that the resurrection comes at as great, if not a greater cost than the cross.

So you might imagine that I was surprised and challenged to think of the possibility that from Jesus’ point of view, the resurrection might have involved a greater sacrifice than the crucifixion and the descent into hell.

In her poem “Ikon – The Harrowing of Hell ”, Denise Levertov suggests that none of Jesus’ experiences – the coming to earth, the rejection by the world, the betrayal, the abandonment by his friends, the flogging, the derision, the cross and even the descent into hell – could compare with the cost to Jesus of the resurrection. It’s an extraordinary idea. How could anyone contemplate that Jesus’ rising to life again was more costly to him than all the shocking and painful events that went before? How, we ask ourselves, could Jesus’ resurrection be anything but the most amazing victory, the confirmation and validation of all that he had come to earth for?

Levertov’s poem describes Christ’s descent into hell, the release of the prophets and the innocents from the grip of death and his leading them to Paradise. That done, she writes, Jesus must return to the earthly world from which he came. Unlike those whom he had freed from the place of the dead, Jesus cannot return to Paradise – not yet. He cannot return to the place from which he originated, take his place once more beside God in heaven. Instead, his task in death complete, Jesus must return to the dark confinement of the tomb and be wrapped once again in the blood stained shroud. Then he must break free once more – not to hell, nor to a heavenly existence, but to a continued life in the world, a life that is bound and limited by time and human flesh, hunger and thirst .

Jesus’ resurrection has not freed him, as we might think but has, at least temporarily, imprisoned him in this material world once more. Even though, as the poet suggests, Jesus is “aching for home”, longing to put on once again the garment of immortality and the body of imperishability, Jesus must remain on the earth – to give to his friends the assurance of his continued presence, to allow them the privilege of serving him and to give to us all confidence in his promise of eternal life.

As if death were not an high enough price to pay for our salvation, Jesus must continue to pay by returning from death to an earthly life.

It seems like an absolute contradiction of all that we know. To us Jesus’ crucifixion – his dying for us seems to be the ultimate sacrifice. However, seen from Jesus’ perspective the resurrection represents an enormous sacrifice – greater than any he has yet made. For our salvation, Jesus entered human existence. He put off immortality and put on human flesh. Even though he was equal to God, he humbled himself and was obedient even to death. As a human creature, he experienced hunger and thirst, pain and sorrow and finally the ignomy and desolation of the cross.

Imagine knowing immortality and choosing to share our mortality – that would be sacrifice enough! If not that, then surely death on a cross would do the trick, but no, even the cross is not the end. Finally, when Jesus might be free of it all, free from his mortal body and free to return to his eternal home he, unlike those whom he has released from death, must enter the world again and endure once more all its constraints – not for himself, but for us.

So next time you think of the cost to Jesus of the cross, spare a thought for the cost to Jesus of the resurrection.

It seems no price is too high to pay for our salvation and that whatever the price, Jesus was prepared to pay. Thank God.

Christ is risen. He is risen indeed! Alleluia

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God’s helplessness

April 6, 2012

Good Friday 2012 – a Reflection
Marian Free

In the name of God who offers salvation, but who will not force us to take it. Amen.

(If you are reading this reflection, you might first like to read the poem Eli, Eli by Judith Wright, which is the basis for these thoughts. A copy of our Good Friday Service can be found on one of the pages to the right.)

http://www.poetrylibrary.edu.au/poets/wright-judith/eli-eli-0483042

Good Friday overturns all our expectations and throws everything we believe into disarray. God is meant to be almighty, all-powerful, able to control the whole universe. We want God to be strong and invincible – to be able to protect us from all harm. Yet here God is, nailed to the cross – anguished, vulnerable, dying – alone. Utterly helpless.

Today we face the terrifying, confronting and confusing reality of a crucified God, a God who submits to humanity’s cruelty and lust for power, a God who chooses to let us do as we want, not as he wants.

Wright’s poem beautifully captures the strength of will and the pain that it takes for God to let us be, to let us find our own way to truth and beauty. Nowhere is this self control more evident than on the cross. Nailed to a piece of wood by the very people that he had come to save, Jesus refuses to stop them or to force them to change their minds. He resists the temptation to use the invisible wand. He will not impose his will on us – even for our own good.

The poem ends with the challenging and confronting statement that there is no river. Wright recognises that our suffering is our own creation – brought about not by external circumstances but by our selfishness, greed and pride which lead to division, disparity and destruction. Our refusal to accept God’s love and our failure to live up to God’s trust in us is not only our greatest betrayal but the cause of all the world’s afflictions.

We want God to save us. We need to know that he already has.

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Falling into the Abyss of God’s love

April 5, 2012

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?

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Who is this man?

April 1, 2012

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.

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