I am an immigrant

There's a campaign currently under way in the UK
which has caught my interest.    
It's trying to drive a stake through the heart
of what feels like an ever-present policy of
targeting and blaming immigrants for the woes of this land.
I wanted to have a look at some of the ads,
and so, I typed 'immigration campaign ads'/ images
into a well-known search engine -
basically because I couldn't remember the name of the campaign.
I didn't quite find what I was looking for, initially.
What I did find, however, was rather
eye-popping.

Wall to wall hate.  
'Go home'
'No way'
'You can't stay here'
Several countries:
all pulling up the drawbridges,
filling the moats with sharks,
and putting archers along the walls.
Siege mentality.
Or, another analogy:
drawing the wagons into a circle,
countries turning in on themselves.
And, all the while, the stench
of political opportunism and cynicism
hanging heavy in the air.
Creating and encouraging a culture of fear
is an expedient way of manipulating
the erosion of civil liberties,
or basic human decency.
And, looking around at the images that appeared
on the search engine,
fear and near-panic seemed the order of the day.

Fear.
Fear of other.
Fear of others taking:
your jobs,
your houses,
of taking over.

Fear.
Fear that hunkers down,
and feeds the lie:
creating bile,
creating scapegoats,
and further fear.

'They' are [apparently] coming.
And 'they' are out to get you -
swarming in,
like locusts,
ready to ravage
all the goodness from the land;
to bleed the nation dry.

This is the narrative.
A narrative of misinformation,
of hate,
of vitriol and prejudice.
A narrative that often misses the nuances
between 'immigrant' and 'asylum seeker'.
A narrative lacking in generosity,
hospitality, or welcome.
A narrative of dehumanisation,
and deflection:
easier to cynically target 'them'
than to examine one's own systems and structures
with something resembling integrity.
All smoke and mirrors:
smelling of a desperation
that comes of empty policies
and power just for power's sake.

As I ponder my options in the upcoming General Election,
the negative campaigning being used by the major
parties - and the appalling UKIP - is both horrifying and sickening.
It is one thing to practise the usual whinge and whine of:
'he said/ she said/ they smell/ they're mean and will take your toys away.'
It's quite another to deliberately target groups of people
and blame them for all that ails the land.
Ah, and that's another narrative:
the narrative that everything in the UK
has all gone horribly, horribly
wrong.
It has, if perhaps you are still wanting to be an empire,
or you fear a loss of class, gender, or race privilege.
But actually, the UK is a pretty decent place,
where, for the most part, there are decent, ordinary folk
getting on with one another,
and living decent, ordinary lives.
And occasionally even decent, extraordinary lives.

Some of those decent folk are trying to combat
the fear and the scapegoating.
The campaign ads I was looking for are
under the working title of:
'I am an immigrant'
The posters show different people -
all immigrants,
all with positive messages.
Human faces put on an issue,
attempting to combat a policy of
progressive dehumanisation.
Human beings demonstrating the value
that they bring to society,
showing how they contribute to UK society.
While I'm broadly in favour of any attempt to address
the negative narrative around immigrants -
because, bluntly, I'm an immigrant myself -
there's one slight niggle with the campaign.
It centres around this notion of 'worth' and 'value' and
'making a contribution'.
It's an important point to make, countering as it does
the lie that all immigrants are on the scrounge,
out to take, take, take.
But there's this:
it's also important to make the point that those
who are vulnerable, fleeing for their lives,
who may have lost everyone and everything they value,
are also welcome.
It's important because it counters a culture of hostility
with one of hospitality;
it counters a culture of clinging on to every little thing
with one of generosity.
It is counter-cultural because it has at its core
a deep and broad understanding of what it is to love one's neighbour:
'for I was hungry and you gave me food, 
I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink,
I was a stranger and you welcomed me,
I was naked and you gave me clothing, 
I was sick and you took care of me,
I was in prison and you visited me'  Matt.25:35-36

It's important because it recognises the innate worth
of each human being - a worth that transcends the financial
and recognises that, in the face of the immigrant,
there, too, is the image of God.

'sounding like a girl'

It was a great blog post.
Beautifully written, filled with wise words on boundaries and work-life balance,
and the need to step back and say 'no' at times.
Know yourself.
Know your limits.
Out of courtesy to the blogger, who I respect hugely, and who is a well-known speaker and writer, I'm not going to name them, nor post a link.
Not that they need 'protected', but rather, this is not a post about calling them out: it's about calling out systems and structures that perpetuate misogyny in such a way that it is normalised to the point of subversive, unhelpful near-invisibility.

But back to the post...
In the midst of wise words, a phrase caught my eye,
took me out of the writer's intended train of thought and moved me along another parallel track.
The premise was the difficulty of saying no, and the added difficulty of doing such without a profusion of apologies,
of 'sounding like a girl.'
'Sounding like a girl'...
We've all heard variations of the '...like a girl' phrase:
cry
walk
run...like a girl.

As if there's something inherently wrong, bad, about the way girls - or women - do things.
And it's a phrase that's used at such a subconscious level that the inherent sexism and diminishing of women can be missed utterly.  One day I hope we can all find a more helpful analogy than the 'like a girl' trope which comes with such an implicit negativity regarding the voices of girls/ women.  Centuries upon centuries of thinking/ living/ working within the default framework of male hegemony have had some impact upon a possible female default response: to please, to be nice, to defer, not to make waves (and, should waves be created or anticipated, to apologise and apologise again).  Apologise for what, however?  For our right to exist, for self-determination, our right to express an opinion?
Is 'sounding like a girl' so dreadful?
And if not, what then, is it to 'sound like a girl?'

This:

or perhaps this:

Wouldn't it be awesome if 'sounding like a girl' was a thing to be celebrated?  I celebrate, rejoice, and give thanks for, voices of girls - young women - like Nobel Peace Prize winner Malala Yousafzai.  May she be an inspiration for other girls and women to find and use their own voices without fear...and as they do so, make outdated analogies obsolete and more than a  little ridiculous.

'Crumbs...': a sermon for ordinary 20A

based on Matt 15:(10-20) 21-28 and Isaiah 56:1, 6-8

Let’s pray:

May the words of my mouth and the meditations of all our hearts be acceptable in your sight, O Lord our strength and our redeemer.  Amen.

It’s not easy, being a disciple.

There you are, having left your nets,

your flourishing tax business,

to follow this rabbi, Jesus.

He has some pretty amazing things to say -        

but not everyone in the wider community is particularly chuffed by what they hear.

He seems to like challenging the religious authorities -

making them uncomfortable...

and sometimes, making you rather uncomfortable in the process.

His cousin John did a similar thing,
and...that didn't exactly turn out well.

He throws some pretty astounding

on-the-job training your way,

like catering for the multitudes

or walking on water.

He does some pretty astonishing things too.

Miracles, sure.

But... he also seems to like spending time with the kind of folk 

your mother always warned you about -

you know,

the edgy ones, the outsiders...

the ones who are definitely

‘not     like     us’...

the ones who don’t belong.

It’s hard, being a disciple,

because you find yourself so conflicted at times:

his words, his deeds, and sometimes the company he finds himself in,

often seem to get attention:

the wrong sort of attention.

Abandon any hope of future career

advancement here...

following the rabbi will not only

not make you rich,

you may also lose your respectability.

And yet,

there’s something about him:

he’s a visionary, a prophet,

and you occasionally wonder:

could he be the Messiah

with all his talk of the kingdom of heaven.

It’s not easy, being a disciple.

Perhaps it never has been.

If you think about the long history

of the children of Israel

it’s been a pretty mixed bag of

blessings and woes:

God’s promise to Abraham - of becoming a great nation...

and yet, becoming a nation of slaves in Egypt.

God’s deliverance under the leadership of Moses

and then... 40 years wandering and wondering in the desert.

Reaching the Promised Land,

and crowning your first king,
only to discover that Saul really isn't going to cut the mustard...

The golden years of God’s beloved king, David...

and Solomon the wise, who ruled in splendour...

but then the nation dividing into two...

weakened by infighting.

The kingdom of Israel eventually becoming a spent force

in the face of the might of other kingdoms...

and eventually conquered.

The temple destroyed

the best and brightest sent into exile...

The homecoming,

the rebuilding,

the hope for the future...

followed by further kingdoms

taking over the land...

until eventually, the Roman occupation.

And then,

...Jesus turns up.

He talks of a kingdom
that doesn't follow the usual format of

‘might equals right’,
a kingdom which doesn't put a lot of store 

in power and prestige at the expense

of the weak and the vulnerable...

A kingdom that is totally upside-down

and unlike any other:

the kingdom of God -

the kingdom of heaven.

It isn't easy, being a disciple,

but talk of this very different kingdom,

this very different way of being,

intrigues you enough to want to know more.

Which is why you find yourself

following the rabbi

as he travels the land,

walking around towns and villages,

and where you often land up

in awkward situations.

He’s just offended the Pharisees again -

this time in a conversation about things clean and unclean.

You think the plan to move on to another area is a good one,

except you find yourself in Gentile territory -

with all their strange ideas and customs -

pfft, dogs, the lot of them.

Not like us.

And now there’s some wifey who’s chasing alongside shouting out,

causing a scene.

It’s embarrassing.

It’s...  awkward.

You keep your head down, and keep walking...

and, to your relief,

so does the rabbi.

He outright ignores her:

actually, it’s about the only socially acceptable thing to do 

in the circumstances.

She keeps following, making a scene.
Perhaps the rabbi's silence isn't actually helping - 

maybe he needs to be more firm,

tell her to shove off.

Tell her ‘sorry, love, but you don’t belong here - you’re not one of us.’

And, it seems like he’s going to do just that.

Do the sensible thing;

the right thing,

tells her that it’s simply not in his job spec to speak to such as her.

But instead of going away,

...she stays,

makes an even bigger spectacle of herself.

She falls on her knees and begs...

‘Lord, help me.’

...Funny, Peter said the same thing the other day,

when his experiment with walking on water went wrong.

Seems she thinks that anyone

who calls on the name of the Lord

will be saved. ...

They get into a conversation.

To share, or not to share?

Is it fair to throw the children’s food to the dogs -

to people like her?

Even with that usual, casual insult,

she persists...

a strange clash of cultures here:

dogs are scavengers, pests...

for her, they’re family pets...

she talks of puppies and crumbs.

Crumbs...

And suddenly you remember:

you see in your mind’s-eye 

12 baskets of left-overs

from an improbable feast of a couple of days ago.

So     many     crumbs...

And you’re shaken out of your thoughts as you hear him

marvel at her faith

hear him agree to heal her daughter.

And you know that even as he’s said the words,

somewhere in a house nearby,

a young girl has been restored.

And somehow,

you can almost hear the crazy upside-down kingdom’s borders

getting bigger...

enlarging

expanding...

where all belong,

where all are God’s children,

not just the children of Israel.

It isn't easy, being a disciple.

Perhaps it’s never been.

Here, in the 21^st century, with the benefit of hindsight,

we look back over 2 000 years of church history

and see a mixed bag of blessings and woes,

as disciples through the centuries

have tried to work out what following

Jesus is all about.

Too soon, in the history of the Church,

followers began to buy into the idea of 

building the kingdom of heaven in brick and mortar...

in gold and marble...

caught up in thinking of power based on

earthly models:
of getting caught up in carving out an earthly empire 

where the nations of the earth would 

submit       or   be    crushed.

Where entry was through conversion by the sword 

as the New World was discovered...

where entry was by agreeing to adhere

to long lists of rules and regulations

and if not,

the doors of God’s grace would be slammed firmly shut.

Where the vision of the kingdom of heaven

decreased...

grew smaller and smaller

and only allowed the right sort of people in -

the ones who were just like us.

Somehow, over the centuries,

the children of God appointed themselves 

to the task of being God’s gate-keepers -

holy bouncers -

and in doing so, wholly losing sight

of the vision of the heavenly kingdom

that both the prophet Isaiah and Jesus saw:

a kingdom that was bigger, and broader, than imagined.

It isn't easy, being a disciple

but nothing truly worthwhile is easy.

We’re called to be uncomfortable at times

because as Christ’s body here on earth,

we’re called to share

in the bringing in of the kingdom of heaven -

a kingdom where the powerful are challenged

and where the lowly are raised to places of honour;

a kingdom of peace

a kingdom of rich, and glorious diversity

that breaks down the barriers of discrimination

and includes the kinds of people

that our mothers may just have warned us about.

It’s a kingdom of goodness, justice, and caring for one another:

where the gates are flung wide open

for all to enter in;

a kingdom that is always, always about God’s 

immeasurable generosity and grace:
where all can 'fit under YHWH's umbrella' [FOTW]

where all may come and sit around God’s banqueting table -

not offered crumbs,

but invited to feast,

to celebrate life, in all of its abundance...

...where all it takes is the faith,

the willingness to believe that with God

all things are possible...

The poet, R. S. Thomas described the Kingdom like this:
It's a long oway off but inside it 

There are quite different things going on:

Festivals at which the poor man

Is king and the consumptive is

Healed; mirrors in which the blind look

At themselves and love looks at them

Back; and industry is for mending

The bent bones and the minds fractured

By life.  It’s a long way off, but to get

There takes no time and admission

Is free, if you will purge yourself

Of desire, and present yourself with

Your need only and the simple offering

Of your faith, green as a leaf.

Amen 

'You're welcome!' - a sermon for Ordinary 13A

Texts:
Ps 89: 1-2, 5-16
Matthew 10: 40-42

One of my favourite kids worship songs

is a song by Fischy Music.

It’s a simple, cheery, song of welcome,

and the words are short and to the point:

‘Welcome everybody, it’s good to see you here    

- said x three -

gathered in this place.’

Who knows, I may yet get the chance to teach it to you all 

before I leave in September -

and this particular welcome song comes with actions - 

so you’ve all been warned!

Welcome...and actions...

In our gospel reading this morning,

we find Jesus talking of welcome,

a welcome that comes with actions...

a welcome that is, in this instance,

quite specifically aimed at those,

who follow God,

being made welcome.

Jesus says -

‘whoever welcomes you’ - Jesus is talking to his disciples here...

‘whoever welcomes God’s messenger’ -

prophets and preachers and anyone who proclaims the good news of God...

‘whoever welcomes a good man’ [or woman!] -

other versions of the bible translate this as

‘the righteous’

and lastly,

‘whoever welcomes the least of my followers’

and here, we have an action:

the welcoming of the least is linked to the most basic - 

the most fundamental - act of hospitality:

providing a drink of cold water.

In this passage, then, we see various

kinds of follower,

from the very visible, to the barely visible:

from the great and the humble, to those in-between.

And we learn that to welcome any who follow Jesus,

is to welcome Jesus himself.

Here we get a glimpse of how the followers of Jesus are, 

in effect, the body of Christ.

And we also get a glimpse of how we should see one another:

for in order to welcome someone,

we first need to see them.

The God who sees us

calls us to see each other -

but more than that:

to see the spark of the divine in one another:

to see God in each other.

There’s something of the sacred then,

in the act of welcome.

But, in order to recognise God in one another

how do we see God?

The way in which the writer of our psalm sees God,

whilst singing God’s praises,

give us some helpful clues concerning the nature,

the character of God.

The psalmist sings:

‘O Lord, I will always sing of your constant love;

I will proclaim your faithfulness forever’. ...

In the reading, ‘constant love’ and ‘faithfulness’ just keep cropping up -

in this particular extract, we get to hear about

both of these attributes three times.

Then there’s the uniqueness of God:

‘no one in heaven is like you...’

God is seen as ‘awesome’,

‘none is as mighty’,

God is ‘powerful’ and ‘strong’.

 We see how God’s strength can calm the

‘angry waves’ of the sea -

which, several centuries later will be demonstrated by Jesus,

on the Sea of Galilee,

in a boat,

in the midst of a fierce storm...

The psalmist praises a God who is

supreme,

creative,

imaginative:

The heavens, the earth -

belong to God,

who created the world

and all therein...

And in the midst of the psalm,

we have a key statement which gives us a huge steer,

not only in how we see God,

but how we see each other -

how we welcome each other.

That statement?

‘Your kingdom is founded on

righteousness and justice;

love and faithfulness are shown in all you do.’

At Presbytery on Thursday evening, the Moderator 

reflected on the various fruit of the Spirit: 

love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, 

gentleness and self-control -

this list coming from Paul’s letter to the Galatians. 

And it got me wondering about how these are demonstrated

each time we see one another -

each time we welcome and worship and walk with God together.

While some of these may come a little more easily than others,

the list serves to help us begin to tease out

those kingdom values of

righteousness and justice

that the psalmist sings about,

for righteousness and justice is bound up

with building each other up

in love, in joy,

by being patient and kind,

good and faithful, gentle,

and having some modicum of self-control...

okay, let's just not mention chocolate biscuits!!

But welcome is not only about us.

While our gospel reading 

‘invites us to explore in depth the quality of the welcome 

that we offer to one another within the Body of Christ...

we must also reflect on the welcome we offer

to those who are not yet a part of this body.’ [FOTW]

For, echoing last week,

we worship a God who not only sees us,

we worship the God who sees the outsider:

in the case of last week, Hagar.

How then, might we extend God’s welcome

to those on the edges or outwith

the community of Christ’s followers?

...Sometimes, it may be as simple as a random act of kindness...

acts like the ones in the wee film that [ppt person]'s going to play for us now...

[FILM]

Who are the people around us,

unseen,

unnoticed,

ignored by the wider community?

As we wander through our neighbourhoods,

or along the High St,

who might we see?

who are the unwanted ones?

the unwelcome ones?

who are the thirsty ones -

the ones that we could give a drink of water to?

That we could extend God’s welcome to?

the ones who we see

as God’s beloved ones -

or even,

as Christ, in the stranger’s guise?

One very practical thing, that you,

as a congregation are already doing,

has recently been to come alongside

the work of the [name of local group] Project...

seeing young homeless folk,

and helping them to turn a space into a home

when they’re offered housing.

[Seaside Parish community worker] was telling me on Thursday morning

that through your care and kindness,

the second of the starter packs

has already been given away.

Another young person has been given more than a cup of cold water:

that particular way of extending welcome is a ‘welcome to your new home.’

That’s just ...awesome...

I may be biased, but...so are all of you -

Keep up this good work:

the work of active welcome.

Practicing acts of kindness -

whether random or intentional -

is part and parcel of extending welcome:

to welcome someone

is to acknowledge their existence.

In a time and culture that’s geared towards suspicion and mistrust,

the act of welcoming someone is perhaps 

the most radical thing that we can do:

and welcoming those deemed

the last and the least -

those who some would prefer to be

out of sight and out of mind,

is a pretty random act of kindness indeed:

something that seems to make no sense...

And yet,

in God’s kingdom of righteousness and justice it makes complete sense.

For in the radical act of welcome,

as you see,

really see others

you may just come face to face with Christ.

And now, to him be all glory, honour and praise.  Amen.

Sermon for Trinity Sunday 2014: 'A Trinity of Love'

And so to Trinity Sunday... gave a brief nod to sermon preached several years back with regard to referring to Rublev's icon 'The hospitality of Abraham'.  

Had stumbled upon the legend of St Augustine during the week, so decided to do a little creative rewriting of the story.  Had wondered if, in the telling of the story, the congregation might be poised waiting for a punch-line...and hoped they wouldn't: was wanting to build an initial atmosphere of the strange and mysterious.  Was pleased: it worked

Earlier on in the service, read 'Three', a reading for 3 voices.  

'THREE'

[not sure of the source for this reading, but will happily credit it if someone knows!]

All 3 voices     We believe in God: Father, Son and Holy Spirit.

Voice 1     The three in one and one in three,

Voice 2     God in three persons

Voice 3     Blessed Trinity.

All 3 voices      We believe in the God who came to meet us in Jesus Christ,

Voice 1     Born as one of us,

Voice 2     Preaching and teaching amongst us,

Voice 3     Dying, rising and ascending to bring us life.

All 3 voices     A story in three parts:

Voice 1     Wise men from the east bringing three                

                 gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh, to worship the newborn Christ child.

Voice 2     As a teenager he stayed behind in the Temple for three days 

                to argue with the elders.

Voice 3     As a man, he was tempted three times by Satan in the wilderness.

Voice 1     His ministry lasted only three years, yet his teachings survive into the third millenium.

Voice 2     There were three people present at the transfiguration, 

                Peter, James and John, who witnessed Jesus talking with Moses and Elijah.

Voice 3     Nearing the end of his ministry, Jesus vowed to destroy the Temple and rebuild it in three days.

Voice 1     He spoke three times about his impending death.

Voice 2     He overheard Peter deny him three times in the High Priest's courtyard in 

                his hour of need.

Voice 3     He was led to sacrifice like the prized three year-old lamb 

                specially reserved for the Passover meal.

Voice 1     He stumbled three times on his way to Calvary.

Voice 2     There were three crosses.

Voice 3     Jesus died at three o'clock

Voice 1     and rose again, three days later.

Voice 2     He gave Peter three opportunities to redeem himself by declaring his love.

Voice 3     And commands us to love three times: ourselves, our neighbours and God.

Voice 1     We believe in the Holy Trinity,

Voice 2     God in three persons:

Voice 3     Father, Son and Holy Spirit. 

All 3 voices     We believe in God.

Sermon: 'A Trinity of Love'

May the words of my mouth and the meditations of all our hearts 

be acceptable in your sight, 

O Lord, our strength and our Redeemer.  Amen.

It was a mystery.

And he had been puzzling over it for near on 30 years.

He had written thousands upon

thousands of words

and yet, none of them felt adequate.

All of them fell short of the mark.

How do you describe the indescribable?

How do you try to comprehend the incomprehensible?

It was a daunting task;

It was madness:

a work that could never be completed

in a single lifetime.

It was a mystery, a puzzle, an enigma.

One day, as he walked on the beach,

his mind overwhelmed by the

immensity of the task,

he saw a young child playing.

As he watched, the child dug a small hole,

then ran to the water’s edge with a shell in hand.

Gently, carefully, the child filled the shell with water

and tiptoed back across the sand.

The shell was upturned, and water trickled into the hole;

the child then went back to the water’s edge.

The great thinker watched, as again, and again,

the child with the tiny shell 

moved between the water’s edge and the hole,

collecting, carrying, pouring.

Walking up to the child, he smiled.

‘What are you doing, little one?’ he asked.

The child looked up at him with a solemn face and replied:

‘I’m trying to pour the ocean into this hole.’

The great thinker considered the child’s answer for a moment

and responded gently:

‘But the ocean is vast. 

What makes you think that you can empty the immense ocean

into this tiny hole,

with just a small shell?’

The child continued to look solemnly at the great thinker and said quietly:

‘And what makes you think that you can comprehend the immensity of God

with your tiny mind.’

And with that, the child vanished

leaving the great thinker alone

on that empty beach

looking at a tiny hole in which sea water

seeped into damp sand...

Today we celebrate, and reflect upon, mystery:

a mystery that the Church has puzzled over for near on 2 000 years.

There have been thousands of words written -

including the thousands written by the great thinker we heard about in the story -

the 5^th century African theologian Augustine -

and while the story of Augustine’s

strange beach encounter

may be mere legend....

in this second decade of the 21^st century

we are still none the wiser about the mystery he was pondering.

Words are not enough;

all of them fall far short of the mark

as we try to describe the indescribable,

and comprehend the incomprehensible:

the mystery and immensity of God,

Father

Son

and Holy Spirit -

one God

in three persons...

...blessed Trinity.

It is a mystery

this business of the Trinity

yet, every year, for near-on 2 000 years,

church communities have listened as preachers have used a variety of examples 

to try and come close to explaining the inexplicable:

God like a shamrock - three leaves but one stem

God like water in 3 forms: water, steam, ice...

but still water

God like an egg: shell, yolk, white...

All of these okay, but yet, not quite right.

It’s a tough job...

so perhaps we should just stick to the

Athenasian Creed -

you can almost hear the writers sighing and shrugging as they wrote:

God the Father: incomprehensible

God the Son: incomprehensible

God the Holy Spirit: incomprehensible.

But is mystery necessarily a bad thing?

And will we cope if we haven’t got the answer

to every single question this side of heaven? 

I suspect... yes.

And I also suspect, from scripture, that we don’t get to know the whole shebang 

this side of heaven anyway:

Paul, in his first letter to the Corinthians, notes:

‘for now we know in part: then we shall see,

face to face.’

Personally, I kinda like the anticipation, and of knowing 

there’s a whole lot more to come.

So, if we don’t get to unravel the whole mystery of who God is 

and what this matter of the Trinity is about, 

where might we go from here?

If we explore God as Trinity within the context

of love and belonging and relationship,

- concepts that are a little more easy to get our heads around -

how might that affect the way in which we live our lives?

In a small nod to ecumenism: the 1982 communion liturgy 

of the Scottish Episcopal Church, 

paraphrasing the 1^st Letter of John, states that:
‘God is love and we are God’s children.

There is no room for fear in love.

We love, because God loved us first.’

For me, this gets to the heart of the matter:

relationships of love.

God is love...

and our response to that love.

In the 16^th century, the Russian artist

Andrei Rublev

tried to paint his understanding of the Trinity:

Father, Son, and Spirit.

It’s the picture you have in front of you

on your order of service - and up on the screen. 

Rublev was very much trying to demonstrate

a sense of God living in harmonious

and perfect community.

This sense of unity within the relationship of each of the figures 

is indicated by the way their heads incline one to the other, 

almost making an outline of a circle. This shows how they're 

bound together as one by a common will and mutual love: 

love unites them.

...God, as a Trinity of love:

God the Father: the one who loves

God the Son: the beloved

God the Holy Spirit: the love that flows so strongly between Father and Son, 

that it takes on shape and substance of its own.

And, mirroring this, for us created in God’s image, we might ask:

How do we love?

Who do we love?

What is the impact of that love on others?

It is a mystery, this business of the Trinity

and yet, the overarching theme appears to be about community;

to be about relationship.

In our readings this morning,

both contained mention of God as Trinity:

it’s the formula Jesus gives his followers

when he sends them out to make disciples and to baptise them -

in the name of Father, Son, and Holy Spirit -

the holy community that is God.

And the one who is baptised, enters into the church -

the community of God’s people.

As God is in the perfect community of the Trinity,

so those who believe

are to live within the context of community -

journeying together into the mystery

and heart of God

and learning and following, despite our imperfections, the way of love.

This sense of relationship - of belonging to God -

and of being a part of God’s people -

is brought out in our reading from 2^nd Corinthians.

And the background to the reading from Corinthians is significant:

Paul is writing to a community that’s wracked with in-fighting,

jostling for power positions,

squabbling over doctrine,

and causing scandal throughout the city, due to some quite 

outrageous behaviour among the believers.

Here, at the end of his letter, Paul is reminding 

this rather fractious community of believers

of whose they are,

and how they should live...

lives modelled on the holy and harmonious relationship

of Father, Son, and Spirit:

lives lived in grace, love, and fellowship.

And every time we say the grace together -

which is from this passage -

it’s a handy reminder to us, 

of just whose we are and how we should live -

how we should love God, and love one another.

And there’s an openness to love.

Our painting by Rublev has an open space

at the front:

it’s as if we’re being invited in to sit at the table...

God looks outwards, not inwards -

looking out in love towards us,

towards the world.

In turn, we are to look outwards not inwards -

look in love at the wider world around us:

to welcome all people,

to demonstrate heavenly hospitality

on earth as it is in heaven:

to build communities of love -

as in the prayer of St Francis:

‘where there is hatred, sow love,

where there is injury, pardon;

where there is doubt, faith;

where there is despair, hope;

where there is darkness, light;

where there is sadness, joy.’
And, as we go out marching in the light of God, and into the world, 

and build communities of love, 

we have the promise from the gospel of Matthew:
Jesus says: ‘I will be with you always, to the end of the age.’

['marching' was a nod to the singing group, who were following the sermon

with the song 'We are marching in the light of God']

The Trinity:

it’s a mystery.

One that will continue to puzzle

until the end of time.

Thousands of words will be added to those already written;

all trying to comprehend the incomprehensible

and never really succeeding.

But in the end, what matters is this:

love:

the love of the God who dwells

in perfect community

the love of God whose love is limitless, immeasurable

and welcomes us in -

the love that creates a place at the table for all...

And, as God loves,

so we are to reflect that love

because:

we believe in God:

Father, Son, and Holy Spirit,

the Three-in-One and One-inThree,

God in three persons,

Blessed Trinity.

Amen.

Tainted love: a sermon based upon Luke 7:36-8:1-3

After two dramatic monologues: one from the point of view of the weeping woman and the other from the point of view of Simon the pharisee, a short sermon to try to tie stuff together.
I may, at some point write the 'alternative' version to the sermon which employs lyrics from the song that the sermon is using for a title... :)
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

In that town, there was a woman who lived a sinful life...

Simon the Pharisee – in fact – everyone around that dining table including the woman herself knew that she was a sinner...
And everyone in that room
Simon,
his dining companions,
and possibly, even the woman herself,
if not physically pointing fingers of judgement, were certainly doing so in their heads:
from them – condemnation;
from her – self-flagellation.
She was tainted:
Polluted,
ritually unclean.
And anyone seen in her company was also tainted –
guilty by association.
At this private meal the local great and the good did not want this less-than-good outsider –
and her utterly extravagant display of public emotion –
did not want her anywhere near them, and she knew it.
And despite it, she burst through the closed door of judgement and exclusion and,
weeping,
found herself centre-stage:
on the floor
wiping Jesus’ feet with her hair,
touching him,
anointing his feet with oil...
tainting him ...
making him...
impure
while everyone else in that room looked on.

Given the way the story is presented, it’s as if a spotlight is shining on these two:
on Jesus and upon the woman ...
Which is why I find the question that Jesus asks Simon immediately
after the story of the forgiven debt
so very telling.
Turning from Simon to the weeping woman Jesus asks:
‘do you see this woman?’
He then continues by giving an account of her hospitality compared to Simon’s lack of hospitality... But wait a minute, let’s go back to that question:
‘do you see this woman?’
Why does Jesus ask this?
Given that she has burst in upon them and made everyone apart from Jesus
both outraged and excruciatingly uncomfortable
how could Simon not see her?
Or, another question:
What is it that Simon does see?
Here is a man who has lived by the laws of his religion:
He has made his life one of discipline
One of rigour
One of ritual purity –
He has tried all his life to live in obedience to God’s commands
To do the right thing.
He is not a bad man...
And yet, in this story, if this were an old cowboy movie,
Simon would definitely be wearing the black stetson:
Here, an apparently good man is portrayed in a very poor light
And it comes down to both what he does and does not see.
For him, the woman is a religious label:
A sinner
He is so busy placing her in his ideological box that all he sees is sin, not her.
She, as a human being, is almost irrelevant:
He is so caught up in the what
That he has lost the who
And by focusing solely upon the issue and not the human being,
Simon, ironically, is himself condemned.
But, in a double irony – if we judge him, do we fall into a similar difficulty I wonder?
After all, he is just human and thinks he’s doing the right thing.

Over the course of roughly 2 000 years of church history a consistent thread can be seen:
The tensions around law and judgement on one hand
and grace and forgiveness on the other
...as well as walking through the ethical maze of what it is to be pure or impure
and, indeed, who gets to decide such things.
And within this all, how this might impact upon our lives as we try to work out just what it means to be followers of Jesus?
While these tensions can be seen today in debates about sexuality for example,
this, to my own mind as an historian at least,
is just another in a long line of matters that have been argued over two millenia
regarding who is, or is not allowed in to the church...
And I suspect when we have finally come to a mind on the matter of sexuality,
that there will be something else or some other group that will crop up and continue these age-old tensions –
it was ever thus.

So, where does this leave us with our weeping woma?
With Simon and the other guests?
And with Jesus?
In our gospel passage, I wonder who it is we might identify with:
the woman?
Simon?
The watching, whispering group in the background?
Or perhaps, Jesus?
And, who we find ourselves identifying with in the story might change on any given day #
depending on our particular situation...
Regardless of where we put ourselves within the story,
I suspect that we’re not called to be a select group of the great and the good,
who try to ring-fence the church to preserve it and keep it pure from taint.
We can’t keep the church pure anyway:
it is made up of us – human and flawed
but also, forgiven, loved, and free
and, importantly, in whom Christ lives –
it’s no longer we that live, but Christ that lives in us –
and as Christ’s body in the world, we are meant to be in the world like God in Jesus was:
God – who loved the world, and the whole of humanity so much –
that he became one of us and got his hands dirty...
We, as his followers, are called to be risk-takers:
To open closed gates and doors –
Whether they be physical spaces
or voices of judgement and exclusion.

After Jesus had stated that the woman’s sins were forgiven, the watching, rather gobsmacked diners asked their own question:
‘Who is this Jesus?'
Simon, earlier, had wondered:
‘If this man were a prophet he would know who she is.’
And in fact he does:
She is a human being beloved by and forgiven by God.’ [1]

And so is Simon,
And the company of diners,
And, so are we.

Let’s pray:
Loving God In Jesus you showed the depth and breadth of your love for all people:
In the knowledge of so great a love and forgiveness
Teach us to love
Amen.


[1/ Alyce M McKenzie - http://www.patheos.com/Progressive-Christian/Piece-Jesus-Mind-Alyce-McKenzie-06-10-2013.html]