Of bad beginnings and happy endings

The story of Ruth and Naomi too easily rushes to the 'all's well that ends well' stage. And yet, what to do with the beginning of the story because by the time we reach the end of the first five verses, we're left with the remnants of a family that has suffered catastrophic losses? Having escaped from famine in their homeland, the family move to, hopefully, greener pastures. Conditions have clearly been dire for several years, given that the names of Elimelech and Naomi's sons are Mahlon and Chillion - meaning 'sickness' and 'wasting'.
Within ten years of having settled in Moab, Elimelech and the sons have died, leaving behind three widows - Naomi, and her two daughters-in-law. Having heard the famine in her homeland has passed, Naomi decides to return.
All of that, in just five verses.

We know, from later in the text that Naomi's daughters-in-law are given the choice to make new lives for themselves without the ties of obligation - to return back to their own families and start again. One chooses home, the other, to travel with Naomi. And, on the matter of their treatment by scholars down the centuries, poor Orpah is given quite the harsh treatment by both Rabbinic and Christian scholars (see the following excellent essay 'The defamation of Orpah' by Dr.Barry Dov Walfish). Given the writer of the story passes no judgement on her, and, given Orpah doesn't immediately leave, and when she does, it is with tears - demonstrating a hard decision, to condemn Orpah is simply unfair. But I digress - perhaps Orpah is a reflection in waiting!

Back to the temptation to read Ruth through a 'quick, let's get to the happy ending' lens...
my attempt, below, to put in some balance to address the accentuate the positive view (yeah, just call me 'Debbie downer'!).

Would I?

Would I do it again, knowing all that I know now?

So long since hunger rumbled in my belly.

Was it worth it – the wrench of leaving home

as the cost of living took its toll?

We walked into the unknown,

my man and I,

the boys dawdling behind

with their cries of

‘are we nearly there yet?’

and ‘I need to pee!’

and their stumbling sleepwalking

towards a different promised land.

Would I do it again?

There seemed no other choice;

starve, or leave.

It was as stark as that.

And having walked, we settled,

strangers in a strange land.

And there was food

and my man found work

and the boys set about 

the business of growing into men –

when staying behind meant only

sickness and wasting. (1)

Would I do it?

Even now, that familiar stab of pain;

that hollow place where love once lived,

the sting of salt in eyes.

We managed, 

but a widow’s life is made bitter (2)

by the platitudes 

and hurried awkwardness of grief.

We, who had already moved,

moved on with our lives

and the boys found wives

and the promise of life once more.

Would I?

Even when everything good and pleasant (3)

had dried up like sweat in the summer sun?

Broken. 

A wife without her man, 

a mother without her chicks.

The voice of home called weary bones to go, 

walk back where they belonged.

Releasing the girls from their obligations,

one left; I wished her well.

The other stayed, compassionate friend. (4)

Together, we walked from famine to a fruitful harvest.
    Nik Mac c. June 2023

(1) Naomi’s sons were Mahlon and Chilion, their names meaning ‘sickness’ and ‘wasting’. Apt, perhaps, if they’d been born in a time of famine.

(2) When Naomi returned to Bethlehem, she told those greeting her to call her ‘Mara’, which means ‘bitter’.

(3) The name ‘Naomi’ means ‘good’, ‘pleasant’, ‘lovely’.

(4) Ruth’s name translates as ‘friend’ or ‘compassionate friend’.

Senga, dancing

George Elgar Hicks:
The Lament of Jephthah's Daughter, 1871

I was tasked with writing a wee something on the story in Judges 11:29-40, of Jepthah's unnamed daughter - and the vow her father made. Thinking about that vow, I did wonder why he seemed so surprised and then struck by grief when his daughter came running to meet him. The vow was, after all, exceedingly specific: 
‘Whoever comes out of the doors of my house to meet me…’ 

Exactly who did Jephthah expect would come out of the house to meet him?
Not Nip the dog or Fluff the cat.
'Whoever', not 'whatever' - telling choice of word, that.
The text informs us that Jephthah's household is not exactly large: he has only one child. Presumably there's a mother... possibly some servants. Perhaps he had in mind a servant coming to meet his Master, to tend to him and the horse, then meet his Maker? Or, heaven forfend, Jephthah's wife - after all, only the one child, and a daughter at that...? He gets to fulfil his vow, and then replace the first wife with another more fertile companion? Brutal, but convenient.
But no, it's his daughter who meets him:
'Yay! Daddy's home!... You did what?!'

The unnamed daughter is sacrificed - after all, vows must be fulfilled and honour kept intact. She is the price to be paid to broker victory in battle, with no real agency of her own. And yet, for all that the outcome will still be the loss of her life, she speaks up:
she lays out her terms. If she's going to go, she'll go off and do what she needs to do - prepare in whatever way she needs to, hang out with her pals, perhaps have some big conversations where, whenever her Dad is mentioned, there's some serious side-eye happening.

I wanted this young woman to have a name... wondered about her response... thought about it in a more Scottish context. And the line wondered through my head:
'Wee Senga's off to the disco with her pals.'
So, below, a work in process. I'd quite like the finished product to be properly in Scots - we shall see!

Senga, dancing/
Wee Senga’s off to the disco with her pals.
They’ll dance around their handbags,
have a few swallies –
but not get too puggled, mind:
every moment, every minute,
meant to last a lifetime. 

Wee Senga’s off away soon.
They’ll dance like they’ve never danced before,
celebrate in style –
a cheeky Vimto and a stolen kiss,
and laugh to cover up the inner scream
at her body, brokered for him.

Wee Senga’s living like every day’s her last;
They’ll keep on dancing ‘til the party ends –
two months will go too fast –
an’ if anyone should tut and say:
‘but yer Da’ll kill you!’
She’ll just say: ‘Aye, so he will.’
     Nik Mac c.2023

Lottie, looking back

Lot's Wife Pillar, Mt Sodom, Dead Sea, Israel

A wee reflection sparked by Genesis 19:12-26 on Lot's wife, who looks back

Lottie, looking back

Lottie lifts the album

from its dustless shelf,

hugs it close,

places it on the coffee table – 

all in quiet tenderness.

It’s not a proper visit 

without the family on display.

And ach, how she loved them.

She was happy then,

fresh-cheeked, eyes twinkling –

eyes now with a soft light

as her finger moves slowly

to the children.

‘Ah, wee Callum - cheeky laddie; always the joker.

And Shona, forever making sandcastles – 

och, the sand got everywhere.

They loved the beach, eh.’

Seaside holiday snaps,

Christmases, birthdays,

a few anniversary celebrations 

in for good measure.

‘Would you look at Billy –

wearing that silly hat one Christmas:

he was always ‘silly Billy’ after that,

but there was no harm in it.’

Lottie strokes the close up face.

‘A good man,

a kind husband,

and a doting dad, that one.’

Always the photographs;

fading, dog-eared memories 

of days long gone;

smiles, frozen in time –

a past now only remembered by her.

And so she tells their stories,

while she still remembers:

when she goes

then they’ll all be gone.

‘What’s your name?’

‘It’s Shona.’

A page turns;

me, 40 years younger.

16 year old -

all excitement and puffy sleeves,

dressed up for my very first dance.

‘This is my girl, Shona – such a pretty one.

You’d like her, I think.’

Tears threaten, but I shake them off. 

‘Yes, Mum.’

My hand covers hers,

it’s warm, and wrinkled,

and still on the photo album

full of memories,

where her heart and soul,

and mind, now live.
                c. Nik 2023

'Ark'

Reflection based on the women in the story... 
Exodus 1:8-2:10 

'Ark'
They placed the tiny cargo 

into the makeshift ark, 

pushed it out 

past the reeds 

hoping for salvation. 

No saccharine story 

filled with  

happily paired animals, 

no cheerful snatches of 

‘Arky, arky’. 

But perhaps, 

in its own distinctive way 

this, too, was a story 

of new beginnings: 

a reset. 

Mercy 

moved the midwives, 
not ambition; 

It was never about 

making a name for themselves 

in the larger story 

of a people 

and their god… 

Even so,  

the story lifts them above 

the nameless Pharoah: 

Shiphrah and Puah 

live on, 

named and righteous. 

  

Odd, how the ‘cull’ order 

seemed only to see 

an increase 

in the Hebrew birth-rate. 
If it was subversive, 

an act of resistance  

against state-sanctioned slaughter  

of innocents, 

so be it… 

‘The women give birth quickly, Sire,’ 

they lie 

to the old man on the throne, 

even as his daughter 

draws out 

the river-child 

from the basket that will bear his name, 

and takes him home.  
               c. Nik 2023

*'Ark' - from the Heb. תֵּבָה, tevah; 'box, or 'basket' - used only twice, the other reference: in the story of Noah. Both arks, in different ways, vessels built with the purpose of saving life.
n.b. the name 'Moses' sounds like the Hebrew for 'draw out'.

Snakes on a [wilderness] plain: thoughts on Numbers 21:4-9

Having a conversation with some colleagues about this passage, there was talk of whingeing in the wilderness. Familiarity with a text can be both a good and a bad thing! But this time, as I began to try to walk in some wilderness shoes, I found a community of fear and grief, a community of people who were reacting in the way that some do, in circumstances where life has been so utterly changed, and the Promised Land is both an unknown quantity, and an unknown distance. A community who want to believe in the God who has liberated them from Egypt, and yet, who find it so hard in the hot searing sun of the wilderness, when each step forward saps your energy... and then, have to contend with snakes on a wilderness plain.
And so, a reflection of sorts:

A tough love, this.

A tough love, this.

Wilderness wandering,
weary wondering:
‘are we nearly there yet?’

But they do not know where ‘there’ is.

What they do know is:
blasting heat by day,
surprising cold by night;
sand and stone,
occasional bones
bleached clean;
scavengers hovering,
picking off
the ones who fall behind.

No signs of life here,
only dust and death.
Is this their promised freedom?

And some grow nostalgic,
rewrite the past
as a glorious feast
of life.

Slowly
a creeping mutiny begins
in the arid landscape
of their hearts,
and moves outwards;
insinuates itself throughout the camp,
undermines the voice,
the vision,
that led them from slavery.

Hope seeps away
like sweat in the sun
and they are undone
by toxic murmuring.
New life slithers among them,
with a sting.

Stunned
from their misremembered past,
they cry out to heaven,
call upon the One
who brought them to this place,
this strange new freedom.

They are not a petulant people,
but traumatised
and afraid:
there will be wobbles
on the way
to the promised land.

Until then...
a tough love, this,
that removes one poison
through another.
           c.Nik Mac 2021

'Ten words' - thoughts on Exodus 20:1-17

The Ten Commandments - panel at
the National Museum of Scotland

 At first, the Ten Commandments were not referred to as such, but rather as the ‘ten words’ which, later in the Greek translation of the Hebrew Bible called the Septuagint, was translated as the ‘decalogue’. These ‘ten words’ were not written in order to beat people with a stick, but rather, were meant to be life enhancing. They are words that are relational—words aimed at living at peace with God, yourself, your neighbours—words that have as their prime motivation, love.

Ten words—
the Decalogue;
Love,
as I have loved you.
Love yourself.
Love others.

Ten words—
summed up in one:
Love.
Not a trap to trip you,
beat you down
or smother.

Ten words—
that show God’s heart.
Love,
that guards and guides you;
seeks the best...
and where peace prospers.
     c.Nik Mac 2021

Psalm prayers: Psalm 3 meets Bartimaeus

On Sunday, we were exploring the meeting between Bartimaeus and Jesus on the outskirts of Jericho.

A few pages back in the Gospel of Mark, the disciples try to stop the children approaching Jesus. This time, as they leave the town of Jericho, the disciples and a large crowd try to shut down someone they believe should stay in darkness... Picking up on those themes, as I was reading Psalm 3 today...

A Psalm of David, when he fled from his son Absalom...

O Lord, how many are my foes!

Many are rising against me; 

many are saying to me,

‘There is no help for you in God.’

          Selah 

But you, O Lord, are a shield around me,

my glory, and the one who lifts up my head. 

I cry aloud to the Lord,

and he answers me from his holy hill.

          Selah 

I lie down and sleep;

I wake again, for the Lord sustains me. 

I am not afraid of tens of thousands of people

who have set themselves against me all around. 

Rise up, O Lord!

Deliver me, O my God!

For you strike all my enemies on the cheek;

you break the teeth of the wicked. 

Deliverance belongs to the Lord;

may your blessing be on your people!

          Selah

Bless the ones, O Lord, who are told 'no, he is not your God,'
the ones, like Bartimaeus, who sit at the side of the road
and who are told 'Shhhh!' by those who call themselves your followers.
But bless also the ones who are fearful that your grace is limited -
that there's not enough to share with all -
the ones who would deny that grace to others;
overcome fear with loving-kindness,
the desire for power with self-giving.
Teach us anew that there are different ways of seeing,
of being in the light;
and different ways of choosing darkness,
of remaining in the night.

Give strength to those whose heads are bent low from exclusion;
instil hope in hearts grown heavy with despair
in the face of a host of nay-sayers.
Sustain those grown weary from the doctrine wars,
and challenge those who would try to micro-manage
who you would allow into your kin-dom.
Shine light onto the pathways of peace and reconciliation -
that your love be shared with all,
that in your love, all are valued,
that through your love, all are delivered safely home to you -
for deliverance belongs to you, and no other.
Bless us and challenge us,
this day and always.  Amen

Lent, day 24: Psalm 51...misere mei, Deus

Today thinking of Psalm 51, the classic penitential psalm.  

Ascribed to David, and written in the aftermath of his adultery with Bathsheba, 

and the sanctioning of Uriah's death.  It is very much a raw cry of the heart, 

but a heart that is desperately seeking God's mercy.  

Can God extend mercy - can God forgive even to this extreme?

David discovers that the astonishing answer is 'yes'.
Hope, then, for all of us.

'O, Lord, in your mercy,'

the heart cries out.

When there is nothing left,

when the mind, and heart,

and soul align

and come to their senses,

always, always,

there is mercy mingled with love.

It is a strong love, this,

that looks beyond the mirk,

to see the worth,

and comfort and restore.

'O, Lord, in your mercy,'

and in that mercy,

the freedom of forgiveness;

the freedom to move away

from raking over old sins.

Forgive us when we fear

that forward movement of the soul;

when we choose instead to stay stuck fast

to old patterns,

old ways;

when we continue to lick old wounds

rather than to fall upon your

liberating mercy.

Teach us to accept your love

so graciously given.

Help us, in turn,

to love

and choose the way of mercy -

for ourselves

and towards others,

for only with mercy can there be abundant life -

life worth living.

'O, Lord, in your mercy,'

O, Lord, whose property is always to have mercy,

in your great mercy,

you hear our prayer.

Thanks be.

Psalm 51, a psalm of David: 

Have mercy on me, O God, according to your steadfast love;
 according to your abundant mercy blot out my transgressions.
Wash me thoroughly from my iniquity, and cleanse me from my sin.
For I know my transgressions, and my sin is ever before me.
Against you, you alone, have I sinned,
and done what is evil in your sight, so that you are justified in your sentence
and blameless when you pass judgement.
Indeed, I was born guilty, a sinner when my mother conceived me.
You desire truth in the inward being;
 therefore teach me wisdom in my secret heart.
Purge me with hyssop, and I shall be clean;
 wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.
Let me hear joy and gladness;
 let the bones that you have crushed rejoice.
Hide your face from my sins, and blot out all my iniquities.
Create in me a clean heart, O God, and put a new and right spirit within me.
Do not cast me away from your presence,
and do not take your holy spirit from me.
Restore to me the joy of your salvation, and sustain in me a willing spirit.
Then I will teach transgressors your ways, and sinners will return to you.
Deliver me from bloodshed, O God, O God of my salvation,
 and my tongue will sing aloud of your deliverance.
O Lord, open my lips, and my mouth will declare your praise.
For you have no delight in sacrifice;
 if I were to give a burnt offering, you would not be pleased.
The sacrifice acceptable to God is a broken spirit;
 a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise.
Do good to Zion in your good pleasure;
rebuild the walls of Jerusalem, then you will delight in right sacrifices,
in burnt offerings and whole burnt offerings;
then bulls will be offered on your altar.

Lent, day 4: arc of covenant

Genesis 9: 11 

'I establish my covenant with you: Never again will all life be cut off by the waters of a flood; 

never again will there be a flood to destroy the earth...'

Never again.

And in the sky, mark of rainbow sealed the deal; 

mercy a-glimmer in the heavens,

translucent shimmering hope

of life,

of love. 

Etched and stretched across blue.

Arc of covenant

bending,

extending grace.

'Love God, and do what you like': a sermon on Exodus 20:1-20

Given the gospel passage, I moved away from the RCL OT suggestion,
and went for Exodus 20:1-20... and then found myself focusing upon that
and only giving a very brief nod to the set gospel text for Sunday.
I love the suggested Acts passage, but maybe next time around I can preach on that!!
This is the last in a 3-part series that has focused upon:

• 'what is the church' - we are - called into community
• 'what does the church do' - tell God's story - we are a community of story
• 'how can we be church' - some handy guidelines via 10 Commandments

I had been reading around quite a lot, so there may be some accidental plagiarisation!

Sermon ‘Love God, and do what you like’

Picture the scene:

the wind is blowing mightily.

The very air is alive with crackling tension:

Thunder thunders,

lightning flashes,

there is a sound of trumpets in the air....

Swirling smoke and cloud cover the mountaintop.

Far down below, in the shadow of Mt. Sinai, 

people huddle together trembling, afraid...

trying to find a little distance

from the terror and the noise

and the all-pervading,

utterly terrifying, voice

of the all-powerful God.

...

Too much.

it’s all too much to bear –

and if they hear much more,

the people feel that they will surely die....

The description of the giving of the ten commandments 

is certainly not filled with fluffy bunnies, pretty butterflies,

or people skipping merrily along the way. 

Nor, for that matter, does it feature Charlton Heston 

in glorious cinemascope, with his long, grey beardy locks blowing in the wind –

as much as I, and Hollywood, certainly would like it to.

Rather, it is quite literally awe-some:

designed to make you pay attention. 

Something big is happening here,

something of tremendous importance: 

God... speaks. 

The people of God tremble.

They think of death...

and miss the point completely:

God speaks.

Ten words.

Words of life,

not death.

Words of liberation,

not captivity.

‘Law’...and...’liberation’?

But surely, ‘law’ and ‘liberation’ in the same sentence 

must be a bit of an oxymoron:

are contradictory? 

Don’t quite...compute.

Or do they? 

                                                                     

An Orthodox Jewish reading of the ten commandments has as the first commandment:

‘I am the Lord you God who brought you up out of the land of Egypt, out of bondage and slavery.’

Bill Wylie-Kellermann, writing for the magazine Sojourners asks:

‘This is a command?’

And he continues, by answering his own question: 

that it’s a command that focuses upon the identity of the people of Israel...

and of what God has done...

it’s a command that implies

to those who have ears to hear it:

‘Know that whose you are

precedes what you do.’  

...you are God’s people...

this, then, is how to live as God’s people...

Which, if you like, is picked up in our gospel reading, where Jesus observes:

'if you love me, you will obey my commandments'

But are the 10 commandments merely just a bunch 

of rules and regulations designed to spoil our fun?

As someone who’s been a very keen student of church law,

of course, I’d be inclined to say ‘no!’

And I’d add that law –

rules, regulations, codes of practice,

however you might describe them –

often get a bad press, which, I think, is a little unfair. 

On the other hand, it is fair to say that the manner 

in which the ten commandments are phrased doesn’t seem to help:

‘thou shallt not...’ is not the most positive of starting phrases, after all. 

The phrase is a little like a verbal slapping before you’ve actually done anything.

‘Don’t do that!’

slap...

‘Stop it!’

slap...

It feels almost designed to beat us into submission...

Here, I probably should confess that, in my head 

there’s a picture of God as Clint Eastwood, 

saying to potential offenders:

‘Go ahead, make my day...’ 

slap.

The ‘thou shallt nots’ are all too easy to caricature, and in doing so,

misrepresent what I believe to be the actual intent of the commandments.

At this point, I’m really, really, really hoping you’ve all been given a copy of ‘the positive 10’ in your orders of service... and if you take them out now, we’ll be referring to them a little. 

When I stumbled across this version of the commandments, 

it really helped me see them with fresh eyes – 

and do feel free to take them home with you and pin to your fridge!

Let’s go back to that comment about knowing 

‘whose you are’ preceding ‘what you do’...                                                           

And while we’re at it, let’s also lose the word ‘commandment’ –

in the original context this was known as ‘decalogue’ –

ten words.

The ten words are almost a foundational document of liberation:

And that liberation is founded on relationship.

Let’s have a look at the first four commands, or ‘words’ –

These first four ‘words’ concern

God in relation to God’s people,

the people in relation to their God...

Just ‘whose’ are these people?

They belong – are in relationship with –

 the One who freed them from captivity,

who took them out of Egypt, 

and on a journey into the wilderness wastes,

a journey where daily, they saw God’s saving hand at work:

keeping them fed and watered on the way.

A rocky journey at times, and this is not just a comment on the terrain...

mumblings, murmurings, complaining:

even doing a little revisionist history concerning their time in Egypt –

to the point where some were inclined to believe that slavery, 

on the whole, was actually pretty darned good –

But now, at the foot of Mt Sinai,

they are no longer Pharoah’s:

they are God’s particular people,

and God begins the process of guiding them 

into a particular way of being,

Having liberated them for a particular purpose,

they are now in the process of learning what it is to live in relationship with God...

and, as we look at the other six ‘words’,

learning how to live in relationship with each other - their neighbour.

Ten words,

calling God’s people to serve God, 

and each other, in love, 

Ten words that are a radical call for commitment to God 

and to neighbour... and extending to all creation.

Ten words that continue to confirm my growing suspicion 

that God is indeed a Presbyterian: 

after all, these words enable life to be lived decently, and in good order!

God, in the giving of these words to the ones liberated from Egypt,

provides a way in which order is created out of the former chaos...

and reinforces that, even in the wilderness,

life can be meaningful, and fruitful -

importantly, that in the midst of it all, 

that there should be time to rest: 

a clear message that there is more to life than work – 

that we are defined by being in God, not by what we do.

These ten words paint an alternative picture to their previous life in Egypt:

a place where there was little interest in regeneration and rest and no freedom....

And, in contrast to the Egyptian custom,

the commandments don’t sanction a human king 

or a leader to assert power over, or demand allegiance from, the people.

The community isn’t going to be defined 

according to the whims of power-hungry human rulers.

Instead the commandments demand loyalty and obedience to God alone.

The commandments also serve to formalize the connection 

and the relationship between the realms of God and this particular people.

As Patrick Miller eloquently expresses it: 

‘...neither community, nor deity have separate existences 

once the covenant is established. Even though both 

experience real abandonment on the part of the other 

for a time, they are forever linked.’

But what about us?

God’s people, the church...

God’s living stones...

called into community...

called to tell God’s story?

We certainly haven’t been released from captivity in Egypt...

and given the dreary weather this last couple of days, 

it’s not as if we’ve been stumbling about the searingly hot wilderness of Sinai....

So, what might these ten words have to say to us in our situation,

as we sit comfortably in our seats here in parish by the sea?

I’m fairly sure that most of us here are aware of the ongoing talk of the church

being in a kind of terminal decline. 

Of talk concerning how we, in the Church of Scotland in particular, 

no longer seem to hold the privileged place in society 

that we used to when it came to having some 

kind of public influence when decisions and statements 

were made at the General Assembly.

Everything seems to be shrinking away and the glory days seem long ago.

In that sense, are we, in a different way to the Israelites, 

in a type of wilderness?

Is there a small sense of terror, 

as we watch the depletion of resources...

and of the depletion of people and skills,

of time and talents?

And like the Israelites, do we long for a return to the good old days? 

Journeying in the wilderness can be terrifying –

all the securities and apparent guarantees of survival are gone.

But the wilderness could also provide the church 

with an opportunity to re-define itself according to what matters most,

and in doing so, find fresh ways of touching the hearts of all we encounter;

for in the wilderness, free from unnecessary distractions,

we are reminded of whose we are:

God’s particular people,

In this particular time and place at Seaside Town,

in our homes,

or wherever, and whoever, we are with.

What might our lives look like if we lived 

the Ten Commandments as invitations to freedom,

to life, rather than a set of rules to be followed?

What would life be like if we lived in the awareness 

that life comes from God, 

that we don’t need to worship the false god of consumerism,

or bow down to the idol of celebrity? 

What if we celebrated that we can still freely and publicly 

speak God’s name in praise and prayer?

What if we recognised that life was about more than work 

and took up God’s invitation to Sabbath?

What if we took up God’s invitation to respect people,

honour life, and honour relationships?

And what if we were on the receiving end of that respect and honour?

What would that feel like?

...What would life be like?

Writer Joe Roos notes that:

‘the Ten Commandments don't begin with:

'Here are ten commandments, learn them by rote,' or

 'Here are ten commandments, obey them.'

Instead, they begin with a sweeping announcement of freedom:

'I am the Lord your God, 

who brought you out of the land of Egypt, 

out of the house of slavery'.

We will probably always think of the declarations that follow 

as the Ten Commandments.

But we could,

and probably should,

think of them as invitations to God's ...liberation.’...

the ‘positive’ ten.

As we learn what it is to walk in the freedom 

that God gives to each one of us, 

I’m reminded of the words of 5^th century theologian, Augustine, 

who famously said:

‘love God, and do what you like’...

meaning that, although there will be the occasional glitch, 

for we’re none of us perfect yet...

if we love God,

what we like

will tend to be that which pleases God...

for we are his, 

and he is ours,

and we live within the immense bounds of his amazing grace.

Let us pray:

Faithful God,

We ask your help as we grow in our relationship with you.

Life-giver, love-bringer, liberator,

As we learn together to love and to serve you,

May our hearts so incline towards you,

that all our deeds become an expression of lives lived in love – 

of you, and of our neighbour.

We ask this in Jesus’ name.  Amen.
*******************************

The Positive 10:

Put God first. 

Give worth to the one who gives worth to you.

Use God’s name with respect and love.

Spend time thinking about God.

Honour and love your whole family.

Live towards other people with love and generosity.

Find the richness in faithfulness towards others.

Celebrate what you have rather than dwell on what you don’t.

Speak well of others and truthfully to yourself.

Why get down about what others have when you can share what you have with others?

'there are children here somewhere, I can smell them'

'A voice was heard in Ramah, wailing and loud lamentation, 

Rachel weeping for her children; 

she refused to be consoled, for they are no more.' Mt 2:18

The Sunday immediately following Christmas is, if following the Revised Common Lectionary at least, a somewhat delicate and tricky matter.  Unless opting for a service of Lessons and Carols [good call for the exhausted preacher - and what we did at Parish by the Sea] we move from the hope of the Christ child to the horror of Holy Innocents.  It's a time when we remember Herod's decree to slaughter all male children under two years of age; this upon hearing of the birth of a new King of the Jews. 

I got to wondering about this particular 'terrible text' of the bible after reading a statement by a friend on facebook about the Feast of the Holy Innocents. Quite frankly, I really struggled with the content - or, perhaps, more correctly, where that content took me in my own thoughts through no actual fault of my friend.  Perhaps, given the subject matter, struggle is the only appropriate response.  The trigger prompting my move beyond what friend has posted was something along the lines of remembering 'all such children for whom their Creator was jealous, who are now at home with Him...'  

Initially, it was the word 'jealous'; an odd word to use and yet utterly Old Testament biblical.  But it set me off thinking about responses by people in cases where a child, or children, die; of comments made to help console friends or strangers in their grief:          

'God must have needed another angel in heaven'
'God looked at all the wee ones in the world and chose yours'

or the dire poem that contains the following:
'Perhaps God tires of calling the aged to his fold,
So he picks a rosebud, before it can grow old.
God knows how much we need them, and so he takes but few
To make the land of Heaven more beautiful to view.'
          etc. etc. etc.

Beyond a theology concerning angels - angelology, if you will - and of what Christians believe happens when they die, which is not to be transformed into an angel but rather, the resurrection of the body [we don't change species / I'm thinking here of the Apostles Creed], I wonder at this understanding of a God who is not unlike a divine version of the Child Catcher from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang: 'there are children here somewhere, I can smell them.'  

How do we balance theological understandings concerning our image of God and our beliefs around what happens when we die with providing a helpful and appropriate pastoral response to those who are in the midst of grieving the loss of a child?  Personally, God walking with folk in the place of pain is more comfort to me than the thought that God decided he needed another wee soul in heaven to brighten it up [what kind of cruel and capricious God does that?]...some folk, on the other hand, apparently derive comfort from this [here perhaps seeing God's particular care and a way to make meaning out of death].  How best to minister to folk who hold a viewpoint that may be very much at odds with one's own?  Lots to chew on - this is only the beginning of a conversation.  I think I wanted to post while it was still fresh!

'Knowing me, knowing you': a sermon for Sunday, proper 18yr C

This week, I decided to take a slightly more expository preaching tack, and went with a sermon on Psalm 139, with one very brief nod towards the end to the other passage to be read during the service, Philemon.
And while the references to ABBA are probably entirely gratuitous, hey, why not... *grin*
It's a rather workmanlike effort, but as it was finished at 2am, let's be frank, that hour is not my most shining hour...!
The congregation I'm with use the GNB, which is okay, but I was quite shocked at how verse 14 of the Psalm read in this translation - the sense of the verse is really rather lost.
------------------------------------------

Knowing me, knowing you' 

Let’s pray:

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

I have two confessions this morning:

One: I’m about to age myself terribly

And Two: I’m about to display my probably quite dubious taste in music.

About a thousand years ago, when I was little...

well, okay, a teenager,

I was absolutely obsessed by a particular pop group who were all the rage in Australia. 

And apparently they didn’t do too badly over here, either. 

I refer to Benny, Bjorn, Frida, and Agneta, otherwise known as...  

ABBA 

Me and my mate Deb thought they were fab, and, as you do when you’re a particular age and get a little obsessive about a band,

we collected everything related to them;

learned all their songs – and, another confession:

we sang our wee hearts out with them –

well, alongside the portable record player in my room.

We read everything we could find about them in the news and in the fan mags:

no bit of information, however teeny or seemingly trivial, escaped our notice. 

Simply, we wanted to know everything about them. 

In many ways, they were a huge part of our formative years, and they were familiar friends.  

Except, of course,they were not friends at all, and really,

when it came down to it, although we thought we knew them, 

we didn’t know them at all.

The writer of our psalm this morning is faced with a similar scenario:

wanting to know God yet, realising that the task is seemingly impossible, he - or she - confesses as much in verses 17 and 18:

‘O God, how difficult I find your thoughts – how many of them there are! 

If I counted them, they would be more than the grains of sand.’ 

Unlike me and my mate Deb, however, who would never truly be able to call ABBA our friends in any real sense,

the psalmist paints a picture of a relationship at a most deep and intimate level,

and, within that relationship, we begin to learn about – to know God – a little more. 

And what we learn about God here, can be placed under three different umbrellas:

God ... knows everything

God ...is ever-present

God...is all-powerful.

God knows everything – we see this particularly in verses 1-6.  

And here’s a thing:

in many of the psalms, God is way out there, the awesome, yet distant creator of stars and planets and solar systems.

Yet, while the awesomeness of God is not in dispute in this psalm, note the focus...

rather than look at the vastness of the universe, it’s as if a zoom lens is put on and suddenly, the attention of the Great Architect of the Cosmos is completely upon

us...

Verse one: you have examined me, you know me  

Verse two: from far away, you understand all my thoughts.

Here we get a glimpse of the God who is concerned with,

what might seem in the broader scheme of things,

the teeny, the seemingly trivial. 

The psalmist tell us that in God’s eyes,

we matter –

we are not incidental, but rather,

like the stars and the planets and the swirling galaxies we, too, have our place in the great scheme of things,

and that God watches over us, knows us –

knows us better than we know ourselves, 

and...

there’s a slight edginess to this knowledge:

God knows us completely,

for nothing –

not

one

thing

is hidden.  

The good, the bad, and the downright ugly...

all seen,

all known.

That knowledge could be almost discomforting, and you can see this from the way the psalmist moves the meditation on in verses 7-12

Suddenly, we find at verse seven, a certain twitchiness about being so completely exposed, a twitchiness that produces a desire to escape –

to try to run away from God. 

Except, as the psalmist oberves:

God is ever-present.

Whether the escape route takes us to the highest heights, or to the deeps,

to the extreme points of the compass at east or west,

or finds us attempting to hide in either blinding light or darkest night...

God is with us.

And in the midst of feeling crowded in by God on all sides, there’s this:

‘you would be there...

to lead me...to help me.’ 

And so the sense of – well, I’ll use the term –

the sense of feeling stalked by God is suddenly diluted...

God is ever-present because God knows us,

wants to lead us,

wants to help us. 

The constant presence of God is not menacing, the psalmist decides, but one of comfort.

And this sense of comfort continues as the psalmist begins to reflect upon God, who is all-powerful.

And again, rather than meditating upon the power of God within the context of the vastness of creation,

here we see the power of God in the small,

the almost unseen –

God who knows us so intimately that he knew us even as we were being knit together in the womb

God as a knitter – it’s a nice image...

God present even there in that small hidden place:

God powerful creator not only of the universe – the big – but also, of us – of the small.

And every aspect of God focused in upon, and concerned with, our well-being.

And here is where I have a wee problem with this particular translation of the bible...in verse 14, a more accurate sense of the text here would be:

‘I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.
Wonderful are your works’.

‘fearfully and wonderfully made’ – that’s us:

We have been created by God with the capacity to do acts of appalling 

horror –

fearful acts...

and simultaneously, we have the capacity to do amazing things –

acts of wonderful kindness, bravery, generosity.

And the all-powerful, ever-present, and all-knowledgeable God gives us the ultimate gift:

rather than creating us and possessing us,

God sets us free to choose,

knowing that at times we will get it horrifically wrong

and that at other times, we will get it gloriously right.

It’s an awesome responsibility we’ve been given...

Which is perhaps why, when the psalm ends – and we didn’t read this bit out – but when the psalm ends, we find our psalmist,

having meditated upon the constant faithfulness of God,pausing...

and asking ‘examine me, test me, know my thoughts...and guide me in the everlasting way’.

The psalmist, while acknowledging how difficult a task it is to know God, nevertheless, in this meditation, can only respond by trying to articulate what is known from their own personal, lived experience of God:

that in every way imaginable,

God knows us utterly

and even so, accepts us totally;

that God is our constant guide and faithful companion on the way;

and, unlike that unrequited relationship with ABBA, that this is a relationship that is both requited, and eternal –                                              

that we are known by name,

and are more than useful:

we have been created in love,

are loved,

and are called to love.

As we ponder the One who knows us,

and who we in turn, are learning to know more deeply,

let’s take a moment of quiet to reflect, as we watch a short meditation on the psalm.

Let us pray:

God all-knowing

All-present

And all-powerful

We praise you.

We thank you that your faithfulness reaches beyond the heavens

That you are God of the big picture

And the minute detail;

That you are our comfort and our guide all the days of our lives

Help us to know you more deeply

And lead us on the everlasting way,

In Jesus’ name we pray... amen.