A resonable, knowledgable and compassionate Man.

 

This sermon was inspired by a dialogue entitled “A very reasonable man”, found in “Stages on the Way” (pp.29-32, Wild Goose Worship Group). It puts forward the idea that devil was compassionate in wanting Jesus to eat, knowledgeable in the scripture, and reasonable in wanting Jesus to connect to communities using his networks.

“The devil went elsewhere to walk the earth as a very compassionate, knowledgeable and reasonable man.",

Putting aside for the moment whether you personally believe that the devil is a real entity or not, or whether he symbolically represents evil, I would like to spend some time considering the viewpoint offered by the end of the dialogue - the devil is a very compassionate, knowledgeable and reasonable man, off to walk the earth and interact with us.

What do we define as evil in our world? What sort of lures and deceptions and pitfalls exist for the unwary person to fall into? Is temptation always bad and will lead us into evil? Who should we trust? Do we live in a world like Plato describes through his character Phaedrus:

“Things aren't always what they seem; the first appearance deceives many.”

If even the devil can be seen as a very compassionate, knowledgeable and reasonable man, what hope have we distinguishing the truth?

Jesus finds himself hurled forcefully into the wilderness by a powerful spirit where presumably everything is stripped away except his faith. In the Hebrew scriptures, the wilderness has always been the place where the veneer and confusion of civilisation is absent and God is revealed, along with the true self of the character.

In Lents past, we have talked about symbolically entering the wilderness during Lent to discover ourselves and to strip away things that impede personal and spiritual growth and our faith development.

I guess for me the question that I have to ask is how good is the church actually at such a discipline? Do we take the time to discern and pray, fast and self-reflect, read our scripture and wrestle with our demons? Or are we so impeded by the clutter we carry, both material and emotional and spiritual, that we find instead in the desert not our failings and fears to confront but a very compassionate, knowledgeable and reasonable man to soothe our souls and offer solace?

One of the obstacles we face as a modern society is confirmation bias, a phenomenon that causes us to mix mostly with people and read media sources that support our world view, including our religious, political and ethical beliefs. Known as ‘echo chambers’, these symbolic spaces amplify what we think and make us more impervious to different viewpoints. We are reassured by compassionate and seemingly knowledgeable people that we are right, everyone else is wrong and that different information is fake news or maybe just ill-informed people.

We find at the moment that half the voting population of the United States of America is apparently up to their necks in conspiracy theories, where claims about a billionaire developing a virus and a vaccine with a tiny, tiny chip in it to track your everyday movements appears more logical than a viral mutation between species resulting in a highly contagious disease that affects humans--despite this latter option being a well-documented phenomena over many centuries.

We are convinced by ads and photographs that we can be better, look younger, smell better or be a better person if we buy a product that goes on our face or skin or we drink a probiotic.

We can be encouraged to demonise entire races and religions because governments raise our anxiety and fear about terrorism and the intent of those we do not personally know or understand.

We are happy through our inaction on climate change to sell our grandchildren’s future because we fear inconvenience and losing the benefits that come with a well-off western society.  We tolerate governments that continue to support the indiscriminate burning of fossil fuels when most of the world is moving to cleaner energy. We really believe that when we throw something away, it vanishes rather than accumulating in landfill and affecting our environment.

We expect people who do terrible things to look like monsters, but Jesus warned about wolves who look like sheep. The Royal Commission into child sexual abuse has shown sexual abusers are often people who appear good, talented and compassionate, so that they are allowed to bend or push the safety rules we have put in place because we trust them.

This brings me back to the end of our dialogue again.

The devil went elsewhere to walk the earth as a very compassionate, knowledgeable and reasonable man. And still, the prince of hell and master of disguises appears, incognito, as an angel of light.

How do we distinguish truth from fiction? Grooming from compassion and friendship? Manipulation from honest information sharing? Fact from fiction and science from fallacy? Reporting from propaganda? Who is the real angel of light?

Our once visible wilderness has become shrouded in fog over the last year. Billions of droplets clinging together, covering the landscape. Claiming their truths. Clouding our judgment. Causing confusion. Some droplets are fighting about lockdowns and wearing masks, others are focused on the economy. Some droplets say black lives matter, women matter or all lives matter.

So here we are, surrounded by fog. Should we continue to take things as we see them? Will we fall into the trap of operating at face value—simply because it is easy and suits us to do so? How will we ask the questions that are needed, to pierce through the fog and see the realities hidden by its camouflage?

This Lent, as we journey through our metaphorical wildernesses, perhaps we need to don fog lights that can penetrate illusion and work at learning to see clearly through the distorting properties of fog. We should be prepared to question ourselves and remember that not all compassionate, knowledgeable, reasonable and seemingly truthful people we meet will be angels of light.

 

]

Whispering hope at Christmas

 

Christmas is almost upon us, and usually at this time many of us are watching the hope and wonder in a child’s eyes, smiling as we hear familiar carols in our shopping malls, or are preparing and counting down to a day of eating, gift-giving and celebrating. But maybe not this year. This year is different, with a global pandemic closing borders, separating families and bringing the misery of unemployment, precarious housing and illness and death to so many in our world.

So this year I am faced, as a minister, with the daunting task of coming up with a message of goodwill and hope that does not sound trite or stupidly optimistic or has not been said a hundred times before.

In one of the resources I have been using this Advent, it advises that preachers should just let the story tell itself. The Christmas story is certainly one of originality as divine incarnation finds its expression amongst an occupied nation, and it sits within the history and expectations of a people who have known great heights and terrible lows in the preceding centuries. While pointing to the future, the authors of the Christmas narratives contextualise them for their present and use the past to help interpret them.

In the readings we have been hearing from the Old Testament, Isaiah speaks of hope for a people who had known what it was to live in an occupied land, a people who had walked in the darkness of those days. He speaks of a sign for a new period of hopefulness under a new king who is yet to be born. That hope of centuries earlier is carried into the gospel of Luke where Romans occupy the land, and that provides the context of Jesus’ birth.

In our own current state of political turmoil, pandemics and the ongoing fallout from national disasters, where a culture of blaming the other has led to inaction and a shameless irresponsibility amongst our leaders, the story of new hope found in the birth of Jesus is a story that reveals a different and just kind of world. It needs to be told over and over again, to let its message of justice, peace, fairness and hope for the human race and the world sink in.

But it doesn’t stop there. We have an obligation to do more than just tell the story. This celebration of the event of incarnation amidst angelic choirs and visiting shepherds is a moment of joyous and uplifting transformation. But if we forget that transformation by Boxing Day then all we are left with is an empty ritual, no matter how joyful and uplifting it was in the moment.

So Christmas is not just about a baby in a nativity scene. It’s about a whole new way of seeing the world, a world where wholeness, peace, joy and hope can be available for all people.

A minister friend of mine, Phil Newton, describes Christmas as:

that which makes us more human in the midst of the dehumanising powers of the world…[and gives] a fractured glimpse of the heart of all things.

I really like the concept here of "a fractured glimpse of the heart of all things". We can never hope to understand or see the mystery of Christmas clearly and articulate it in plain and logical words. But to catch a glimpse, even a glimpse distorted by the lenses we wear, may be just enough to catch something of the divine hope that there is an inherent sense of goodness and purpose in us and our lives and that can still transform us and our world for the better. 

Phil also goes on to draw parallels between the time this story was written and now, saying that Christmas

looked like an unwed refugee's baby son, born into an occupied land. It was a whispered hope that life was worth the investment. It was the gift of peace to the lost and the downtrodden. It was a glimpse of the divine drawn near to us that we might draw near to the divine.

In the gospel stories, the refugee babe grows into a man who confronts and challenges, heals and restores, teaches and encourages. Might not that give hope to those incarcerated or trapped in refugee camps, who are in war torn lands or who live in poverty?

The story of the incarnation is a door opening to a kingdom ethic that can help guide our faith and discipleship for the year to come. We can make a deliberate investment not only in our lives, but in the lives of those who need those who can to speak  justice, peace, hope, love and joy into the noise and find ways to challenge and transform the unjust structures of our world.

And just maybe, as we ponder the Christmas story's mysteries and paradoxes, we might just find its flickering flame and fragile hope and draw closer to the divine.

 

Go nowhere among the Gentiles: exploring Matthew 15: 10-28

 

These verses are somewhat of an anticlimax to the dramatic scenes on the sea of Galilee. Proclaimed as son of God by the disciples, Jesus has overcome nature as well as healed the sick. From such acclamation, Jesus abruptly finds himself in an argument about law and cleanliness with the Pharisees.

The topic may seem petty to us, though in these Covid days, we would be agreeing with the Pharisees that hand washing should indeed be a priority! But the debate is highly significant, as Jesus and the Pharisees are really defining boundaries in regard to who belongs in the kingdom, and who is excluded.

Jesus refuses to agree that following tradition means being obedience to the will of God, roundly stating that what feeling and thoughts you have in your heart are what is important . So whilst the Pharisees in this gospel follow the law and traditions of their faith, this does not mean they follow what God requires in a faithful person. Motivations are important, says Jesus, and traditions can be very self-serving. Selfishness, love of status and disdain for others cannot be concealed by an external gloss of righteousness, despite the Pharisees’ claim.

But Jesus himself is about to be put to the test here. As he heads towards Tyre and Sidon, he is accosted by a lone woman seeking healing for her demon-possessed daughter. Matthew alters Mark’s gospel here, designating her as a Canaanite, a race that inspired Jewish scorn. Jesus’ first reaction is to follow the social mores of his day, and not only tells her he has come to serve only Israel, but also suggests she is no more than a dog. The claims of the Jews are presented as superior to her own.

But this Canaanite woman, obviously familiar with Jewish stories (she has previously addressed Jesus as Son of David) is also wise. Already emulating Lady Wisdom of Proverbs by being a loud woman shouting for justice in the public roads, she backs this up by pointing out while she might be a dog, she is still entitled to the crumbs that fall from the master’s table. Her retort is clever and funny and true and wise.

And Jesus knows it. He suddenly finds himself in a position where, faced with this challenge, he has to make a choice. Does he stick with the tradition, thereby putting himself in the same position of hypocrisy that the he has just accused the Pharisees of, or does he admit to himself that he needs to put his money where his mouth is and acknowledge that the woman is right in the truth she is proclaiming? There is no choice really, and Jesus pronounces the faith of the Canaanite woman to be great, while instantly healing her daughter. This wise and believing Canaanite woman has caused Jesus himself to transform his thinking and to share the benefits of the messianic age with her.

If the Messiah can allow himself to be corrected and transformed, surely this gives us great hope. Imagine what our world would look like if we emulated this self-reflective behaviour and acted on it. We could transform our world, and change learnt and potentially harmful responses that perpetuate resentment and hatred to stories of grace. Jesus, with his final acceptance of the woman and his gift of healing, has set aside the learnt conventions of ethnic hatred. By doing so, he invites all us also to do the same.

The illustration is a painting by Sadao Watanabe "New Testament Jesus and the Canaanite Woman"

The sacrifice of....what? Isaac and Jephthah's daughter

The sacrifice of sense: Genesis 22:1-19 and Judges 11

The text for last Sunday is a profound and disturbing story that takes us into the very heart of religious violence.

It is a well-known text. It is powerful and evocative. It deliberately focuses on the main protagonist of Abraham and ignores the potential thoughts and feelings of other characters in the story. It is a story that demands our full attention and should be examined from many points of view.

Part of why it is disturbing is that even today, people carry out acts of violence against children and claim they have heard God directly authorising such violence. In our modern culture, we call such people criminally insane and lock them up.

Despite this, many today will hear this story, and praise Abraham for his great faith and obedience to God. I am sure that you must have heard sermons that have this as the central message. Despite the fact that Abraham is prepared to plunge a knife in his hapless son’s throat, few Christian people suggest that Abraham should be locked up. Is it because we accept that God was always going to save Isaac? Is it because it is so far removed from our time and life that it is a little like hearing a fairy story?

In Abraham’s day, human sacrifice – killing and then burning the remains of human beings of all ages – would not have been understood as madness, violence, or abuse, but as something that demonstrated devotion to the greater good – and the greater god. It was a terrible and costly price to pay but seen by many in the cultures of the Ancient Near East as necessary from time to time to placate angry gods, or ensure a good harvest.

Some biblical scholars believe that the Isaac story was written to counter such practices, and the Law expressly prohibited any sort of human sacrifice. That this law was deemed necessary suggests that such sacrifices had indeed taken place.

It is easy for us to interpret this as the ultimate test of faith that Abraham passes. But surely the story should be raising other questions for us. How did this affect Isaac? How did he feel when bound by his own father to a sacrificial bier? What did he think when he saw the knife about to plunge into his throat? How could he ever trust his father again? What sort of a God demands such a terrible test of faith?

We find another such story of a child presented for sacrifice in the book of the Judges (Judges 11:29-40), a story about a man called Jephthah, who was commanding the Israelite army who were fighting the Ammonites. The story says that “the spirit of the LORD came upon him”, and Jephthah made a vow stating that if God delivered the enemy to him, Jephthah would sacrifice the first living thing to come out of the doors of his house to meet him. It would seem that God accepted his oath, because he was successful in defeating the enemy.

Jephthah goes home, and his daughter, his only child, is first out to meet him with music and dancing, to celebrate his victory. When he sees her, he tears his clothes, and says, “Alas, my daughter! You have brought me very low; you have become the cause of great trouble to me. For I have opened my mouth to the LORD, and I cannot take back my vow.”

What does the daughter of Jephthah do? Rather than blaming her father for his vow, she agrees that he cannot take it back, and she is willing to be sacrificed. And sacrificed she is, after she mourns her fate for two months.

This does raise the question of where God was when this child was being sacrificed for a father faithfully carrying out his oath. Why did no angel call out, why was no ram found in the thicket for her? Is it because girls were not valued as highly as sons? Why don’t we celebrate Jephthah’s daughter for her faith? Have most of us even heard of her?

Isaac is saved by divine intervention and the daughter of Jephthah is saved by no one. Why do we continue to retell only one of these stories in our churches? Why do we laud one father as having great faith and great wisdom and not the other father?

Our own Christian tradition has consistently interpreted as faithful obedience what would be considered religious infanticide in any other setting in history. Jephthah is labelled mostly as a madman who is cursed by God, Abraham is labelled father of faith. Why?

Where are the Isaacs and daughters of Jephthah today? Are they listed as statistics in royal commissions, silenced and hidden? What happens to them if they speak? Do we just sit back, and half-heartedly hope for a miracle, only to find Jephthah’s daughter lies broken and bleeding on our doorstep and Isaac has profound depression and suicidal thoughts? Do we remember every year the names of those who have died by violence at the hands of those they loved and should have been able to trust?

Perhaps it is time we gave a lot more thought as to how we should respond as Christians to such stories today.

The attached video is shows artist Kevin Rolly giving Jephthah’s daughter a face. The music accompanying the painting is With This Love by Peter Gabriel

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4LKlq5bDrB8

The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not WANT

Psalm 23

This Sunday (3 May) is what has become known as Good Shepherd Sunday. Every reading is full of sheep and shepherds. This bucolic imagery promises sentimental visions of verdant pastures and contented sheep, especially Psalm 23.

For many of us Psalm 23 is very special.  We hold it dear: it has been a source of comfort for us in difficult times.  In my experience, it is the most commonly requested Psalm for funerals.

Yet it is precisely this familiarity with the words and possibly even our sentimentality about them that makes it difficult to hear just how challenging they are.

Often they come across like just another platitude; words designed to help us feel good when we are feeling down.

The psalm does do this, but when read carefully, it also presents some challenges for us.

The first line of the 23^rd psalm starts: “The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want”

How does this phrase, ‘I shall not want’, strike you? Another way of translating this is “The Lord is my Shepherd, I have all that I need.”

Is this line in the psalm really something we have thought about?

Is this how any of us experience and think about life?

I know that ‘I want’ and I live in a society where my wants are encouraged, and even manipulated. Just think about it for a minute... what do you want? What are you being taught to want?

Psalm 23 begins with the notion that the sheep will not want because the Shepherd will have provided for them with all they need or want for: green pastures, still waters and a safe place.

We live in a consumerist society that thrives, even depends, on teaching us to want. To want more and more and more:

                    I want a new car.
                     I want a large flat screen TV and a home movie theatre.
                     I want the very latest in technology.
                     I want to win lotto.
                     I want a bigger house.
                     I want it all...right now.

But it’s not just that we want possessions either – we also want things of an emotional and spiritual nature as well.

I want a happy life.
I want to live in safety and security.
I want the best for my children and my grandchildren.
I want my husband to be more considerate.
I want my wife to understand me.
I want God to bless me

I want to be recognised for my work.

I want and I want and I want.

All this wanting seems somewhat ironic when you think about how comparatively wealthy and free most of us are in Australia. When you consider the access most of us have to housing, to food, to education, to healthcare, to freedom in worship it could appear to those in other, poorer nations that we spend a lot of time complaining and not enough time being grateful .

One would think that by now we would have realised that we do not really want for much at all, that we pretty much do have all that we need.

There are signs of this wanting everywhere: the increasing size of houses (Sydney’s are the biggest in the first world), people constantly upgrading their technology, a growing proportion of the population with obesity, the increase of anxiety disorders in our Western culture.

Further, we live in a time where we have become almost incapable of being led to rest beside waters. Instead, we are busy about damming up those waters and diverting them for irrigation, fighting simultaneously with the farmers upstream who we suspect are getting more than their fair share.

The cost of saying “I want” is great. Not just to our culture but also to those places around the world where our Western materialism is propped up by people who earn next to nothing, who could even be considered slaves and sometimes literally are, who live in squalor and poverty to provide us with the things that we want. Are we more likely today to travel through the valley of the shadow of debt rather than the valley of the shadow of death?

So with all of this wanting around us, and in our own lives as well, how do we read those well loved words when we consider the consequences that our wanting brings?

For those of us with faith, continuing to want when we have been provided enough somehow seems at odds with the message: “I shall not want”

Given that we know the good news that God has reconciled and renewed us through Jesus we can begin to understand that life isn’t just about what I think “I want”.

We who have encountered this good news are challenged to think upon our not wanting. Psalm 23 is for us, a counter-cultural and revolutionary statement that could change our world, and should turn our lives upside down.

Jesus, the good shepherd, calls us out of our comfortable homes, away from living off of the lush pastures available to us right here and out to the margins, so all might eat good food, drink clean water, and enjoy the privileges we have such as education, healthcare and the power that comes with them.

“The Lord is my shepherd, and I have all that I need” will only be true when the world lives out the justice and righteousness that the psalmist proclaims, and when all of God's children can sing with the psalmist in celebration of this line as a present reality rather than a future hope.

A lament for Communion

Our church has recently had to face the reality of  COVID-19, otherwise known as the corona virus. Like many churches, a good proportion of ours is elderly and in the high risk categories to catch the virus with severe consequences. Because of this risk factor, our church has decided to suspend any physical contact whilst passing the peace with each other and shaking hands with me (the minister) at door. On further reflection, we also decided it was also prudent to suspend communion as we could not guarantee that any infection would not be passed on. This service was written to replace our planned communion service today (Sunday 15 March), to lament that while we could not hold it at present, we could still remember and praise God.

An order of service for a time when Holy Communion was planned
but not able to be held (written during the COVID-19 pandemic, March 2020)

HYMN 707:   Bread is blessed and broken

OFFERING (Prayer from Spill the Beans)

Bless all the gifts offered,

as all are the work of our hands,

and the hopes of our hearts;

and bring them to bear

upon the hunger and hurts of the world.

Set us free from fear.

Stand us upright in grace.

May our shame and our anger

be transformed

from burdens that hold us back in fear

to gifts that urge us forward in love.

Lead us to the well

and help us to drink deeply. Amen.

THE PEACE

We pass the peace by facing one another, placing our hand on our heart, looking at the other person, and saying “peace be with you”

Holy God, it is our practice to come to this table

to receive the bread and wine.

Today we cannot do this,

for to do so would put ourselves and others at risk.

Yet we know that you still meet us here;

you embrace us in our brokenness,

you pour out your love upon us,

name us as your disciples,

and claim us for an eternity.

And we can still remember, as you commanded.

We lament that we will not share

the bread and wine today.

We lament that we cannot grasp

a hand in fellowship today.

We lament the suspending of this sacrament.

 We can remember that the Lord is with us.

We can remember to lift up our hearts.

We can remember to give thanks to the Lord our God.

Blessing and praise still belongs to you,

God of promise and of covenant.

Through your living Word

you created all things,

the majesty of the heavens

and the glory of the earth.

In your wisdom and goodness

you have made all people

in your image and likeness.

We remember too

that in the fullness of time

you gave your only Son

to share our human nature,

to be tempted in every way as we are,

And who set his face resolutely towards Jerusalem

to be lifted high upon the cross.

We remember too

that on the night of his betrayal

your Son Jesus took the bread

and took the wine, blessed them

and shared them with his closest friends,

saying: "Remember me.”

Come now, Holy Spirit;

bless us as we gather here today.

Unite us in love and peace with all your people

until, with the whole company of heaven,

we are brought into the presence of your eternal glory,

through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

THE LORD’S PRAYER

LENTEN PRAYER AFTER COMMUNION

Merciful God, you called us forth from the dust of the earth;
you claimed us for Christ in the waters of baptism.

Bless our journey through the desert

of Lent to the font of rebirth.

May our fasting be hunger for justice; 

our alms, a making of peace;
our prayer, the chant of humble and grateful hearts.
All that we do and pray is in the name of Jesus.  Amen.

Luke 12:49-56

"Do you think that I have come to bring peace to the earth? No, I tell you, but rather division!”

The words of Jesus from this week’s gospel reading are quite confronting. They do not reflect the notions of God we have cultivated in our progressive Protestant churches, which prefer a God who is ‘nice’, and a Jesus who is meek, mild and humble. Luke’s Jesus is having none of this sort of thinking. Instead, he offers something of what it will mean to redeem a world that is anything but nice.

It is evident from the many things that trouble our world, things such as war, famine, and oppressions, that we are not yet living in the kingdom of God where goodness, beauty, and just and life-giving opportunities are there for all. Our world is instead broken and scarred, offering death rather than life to many people and many other living things. Our structural systems are exploitative and non-sustainable. Luke’s Jesus is saying that redemption can only happen when such systems are confronted and destroyed by apocalyptic fire, as this is necessary for new life to emerge. Jesus comes not to stir up a nice world but to shatter the disturbing and death-dealing structural systems of a world that stifles life.

It is no wonder that Jesus' call for redemption stirred up division during his time. How do we hear this call today? What are the ‘signs of the times’ we should be looking for today in a world that is not only battered and broken, but that also increasingly rejects the church?  

The words of this Lukan Jesus remind us that it is only when we set fire to the old that the new can emerge. It is only when we challenge the traditions, structures and habits that no longer serve us all well that we can start to change what is wrong.  Change is only possible at the edge of chaos, and perhaps this is what Jesus meant when he spoke of bringing fire and division to the earth. Jesus came to cause chaos and change because business as usual was no longer an option for ensuring all would have life.

Many of us today are materially rich and spiritually poor. Money and power continue to obscure what should be the important values for humanity. A world which relies on exploitation and oppression to run its economy at the expense of others' basic needs is a world that needs the disrupting influence of the gospel.

In a world whose systems do not encourage a flourishing life for all, the chaos brought by the chaotic words of Jesus might just constitute good news. This gospel passage calls us to be witnesses to this good news, and to the chaos that represents God’s consuming and compelling presence.