Easter Sunday - Mary - from John 20:1-18

Mary...

Entirely possessed –

bedevilled.

Your steps much lighter

since he met you

where you were.

You turned your face

toward the Son

and flourished.

Possessed now by grief –

a withering.

Your steps, are heavy

as you go to

where he is.

He turned his face

toward Jerusalem

and perished.

Self-possessed –

blossoming.

He blooms with life

in all its fullness

as he meets you

where you are.

You turn again

toward the Son...

astonished.
            c.Nik Mac 2022

Holy Week reflections - Thursday: 'The usual, unusual story'

It is the usual story, 

accompanied by the usual food.

It is the usual rabbi, 

accompanied by the usual group of disciples.

It is the usual conversation, 

accompanied by the usual jests 

and theological point-scoring.

That is, it is the usual, until the unusual happens.

Mid-meal, the usual rabbi suddenly rises 

from the table and starts disrobing.

This unusual action has got their full attention.

Dressed in just his tunic, a towel around his waist,

the usual rabbi looks unusually fragile.

Chatter stopped, they listen as the water falls into the bowl,

watch in silence as he kneels before them: as servant.

The usual meal has become unusually awkward

as the natural order of things is overturned

and feet are washed by the Master.

It is the usual way of things that Peter misunderstands

and then jumps in with both feet first.

The unusual usual rabbi teaches as he washes,

showing them the way of loving service.

All is upturned:

it is the unusual that is to become the usual.

Bread becomes body, wine becomes blood,

power is stripped of ego.

It is an unusual story, 

accompanied by unusual food.

It is an unusual rabbi, 

accompanied by an unusual group named ‘friends’, 

gathered through the ages.

It is an unusual conversation, 

accompanied by unusual love shown in word and action.

That is, it is the unusual, until it becomes the usual...

for, usually, love is a work in progress.

      I give you a new commandment, 
      that you love one another. 

      Just as I have loved you, 

      you also should love one another.

      By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, 

      if you have love for one another

  c.Nik Mac 2022

Lectionary leanings for Easter 5B

 A wee reflection I wrote for a project that I'm a part of.

This, picking up the 'vine and branches' theme for Sunday's RCL 
reading of John 15:1-8...

‘I am’, you said,
‘the true vine.’
And I...
am connected:
a branch.

At times,
firm and strong,
flourishing and fruiting
with kindness and care;
peaceful, patient.
Rooted in love,
watered with grace,
tended with tenderness.

But Lord, at times,
I’m barely clinging on,
faltering and flailing,
wondering if you’re there;
rattled and restless.
Wretched, alone –
withered, joy gone,
heavy with helplessness.

In the green times
and the dry,
still, you remain
and so, connected,
help me abide.
  c.Nik Mac 11/2020

Maundy Thursday, in a time of pandemic...

Maundy Thursday, in a time of pandemic...  

This Maundy Thursday,
there’ll be no shared meal around a table
for there’d be more
than two households who’d gather;
no washing of feet,
nor a beloved disciple coorying in;
no touching, no hugging—
and where a kiss is a betrayal
on a variety of levels.

In a time of pandemic,
when simple touch
can lead to death,
how then to show God’s love,
to do as Jesus has done for us?

Loving one another is:
a facemask worn;
the skoosh of sanitiser,
falling cool upon hands
when making entries and exits;
making space—
at least two metres.

There are other ways to practice love—
to touch hearts without touching:
be deliverers of medicines,
of food,
of news,
or, stay home—
for that, too, is an act of loving service.

Support the local food bank.
Phone a friend,
ask them how they really are—
and give the gift of listening
when, timidly, they tiptoe past ‘fine’
and move into harder honesty.

This Maundy Thursday,
we follow the command to love
by touching other’s lives...
without touching.
                    c.Nik Mac 2021

Labels

Noodling about with the idea of identity in this week's reading from the RCL:

Matt 16:13-20, I was reminded of an old sketch by Rikki Fulton, in his persona of the 

Rev. I. M. Jolly, commenting on a baptism and forgetting the child's name.

'Spindonna Jaiket' comes the reply from the father.

The Rev. is bemused by these strange new names that people feel the need to come up with...

he begins the baptism 'I baptise thee, Spindonna, in the name of...'

and is interrupted hastily by same parent, pointing to the label on the wee one's gown upon

which the child's name has been pinned -

'No you fool, there! There! Spindonna jaiket!'

[which in a good Weegie accent = It's pinned on her jacket]

From that ridiculously silly sketch, I began thinking about labels and identity and the questions 

Jesus poses to his disciples -

'Who do people say I am?'

and

'Who do you say I am?'

Anyway, from my noodling and silly dialect sketches came the following:

Labels/

Labels: 

John, the baptiser;
Elijah, ravens’ friend
(and occasional flame thrower);
weeping Jeremiah, perhaps,
in an echoing well?
A prophet –
just a random
one for any occasion?
The expectations of the people
are pinned on Jesus’ jacket
but cannot
pin him down.

Another label:
the One,
the Son
not just any old son...
this One
is of the Living God.
Not wood,
not stone
but flesh and blood
and bone.

Somehow,
in the mystery,
God has put skin on
trying on ‘human’
for size:
becoming
a waymarker
pointing us
to life
less wooden,
to hearts
less stony;
showing,
in who He is,
whose we are
and what it means
to fully live.

Our expectations of the Promised Messiah
are pinned on Jesus' jacket...
while we

are pinned as Jesus’ own.

c.Nik Mac 2020

Centurion and Widow: a reflection on Luke 7:1-17

Centurion and widow
Had he always wanted to be a soldier?
To travel the world, fight for Rome,
and gather up honour and glory?
Had she always wanted to be a wife, a mother?
To settle down, make a home,
and calm her son with bedtime stories?

Had he ever imagined a land like this:
strange ways, strange words, strange God,
and he, with power, privilege, and prospering?
Had she ever imagined a lot like this:
hard times, hard hearts, hard loss,
her future like a vine uprooted, withering?

Different lives
and different journeys,
but both, outsiders in their time of grief.
Had they ever imagined a God
who loved both powerful and powerless,
who cared for foreigner and widow?
Conceived of a God
as patron of lost causes?
Dared to believe in a God
who’d draw the circle wider,
extend the love and blessing;
break down the boundaries
and welcome all?

c.Nik

Cloud of witnesses: Sophie Scholl

The blade is sharp, but her courage is sharper still.
Along with her brother and small cohort of friends,
she has looked the regime squarely in the eye and called it out for what it is:
brutal, dehumanising, death-giving.
Motivated by her faith, and horror of the accounts of atrocities in the East shared by 
the boyfriend who is a serving officer, she, with her friends, begins to leave leaflets 
around the city in the summer of 1942. They urge fellow citizens to passively resist 
the killing machine that has replaced good government. 
The machine is nothing, if not efficient: a climate of fear turns citizen against citizen. 
Sophie, brother Hans, and friend Christoph are caught in the February of '43, 
informed on by a university janitor who has seen them drop what is the sixth, and final,
leaflet. A trial quickly follows and the death sentence is passed four days later.
They are to be beheaded by guillotine within hours.
Before she dies, she talks to a cell-mate and states:
'How can we expect righteousness to prevail when there is hardly anyone willing to
give himself up individually to a righteous cause. Such a fine, sunny day, and I have
to go, but what does my death matter, if through us, thousands of people are awakened
and stirred to action?'
The blade is sharp, but her courage, sharper still.

I've been recently thinking around the idea of 'wild church'.
I've also been thinking of power and courage - due in part to
wrestling with various lectionary texts, and also, due to the ongoing season of Lent.
Jesus turns his face to Jerusalem.
The powers that be - religious and political - have been challenged.
To hear words such as 'the last shall be first, and the first, last',
is a prime motivator to nip such notions in the bud:
the 1% in any given era will always be determined to remain at the top,
and to keep the 99% firmly at the bottom.
Jesus turns his face to Jerusalem, the place where prophets go to die.
He not only walks on the margins with the least,
he walks on the wild side of non-conformity with systemic structures of power
and shows that real power is life-giving:
the giving of life, for the living of life in a more real and abundant manner.
The wild side of the kindom of God throws down a challenge.
It's about waving, or shining a torch, calling out:
'there's so much more than this: look! Come and see! Come. Live.'
It's the very thing that institutions and regimes fear,
for it casts a light on their own desperate clawing for power at any cost.
The Cross is looms large, but his courage, larger still.

Sophie's faith feels like a 'wild' kind of faith - the faith that dares to move from a
place of quiet comfort. A faith that turns its face towards a variation of Jerusalem,
and witnesses to that very different understanding of power:
which refuses to buy into the notion that force and bullying,
fear and manipulation, are just the way of things,
and that conformity is always the best course.
That the strongest, or the loudest, wins.
It may seem that way, but there's so much more than this: look! Come and see!
Come.
Live.

Sophie Scholl, 9 May 1921 – 22 February 1943, member of the White Rose resistance group

'First Coming': poems for Advent/ Christmas

So out of kilter with blog posting these days...

I suspect the following, glorious poem by one of my favourite writers
will be heard over Christmas.

First Coming     

He did not wait till the world was ready,
till men and nations were at peace.
He came when the Heavens were unsteady,
and prisoners cried out for release.

He did not wait for the perfect time.
He came when the need was deep and great.
He died with sinners in all their grime,
turned water into wine. He did not wait

till hearts were pure. In joy he came
to a tarnished world of sin and doubt.
To a world like ours, of anguished shame
he came, and his Light would not go out.

He came to a world which did not mesh,
to heal its tangles, shield its scorn.
In the mystery of the Word made Flesh
the Maker of the stars was born.

We cannot wait till the world is sane
to raise our songs with joyful voice,
for to share our grief, to touch our pain,
He came with Love: Rejoice! Rejoice! 
                        -Madeleine L’Engle

Lent, day 10: Sunday sermon - A cross carrying community (lent 2 yr b)

Sermon for Communion Sunday.  

The second in my Lent series  'The kin-dom of heaven: living as God's community'

Last week we explored being a covenanted community; this week we reflect on picking up our cross, and being a cross-carrying community.

1^st READING: Romans 4:13-25

2^nd READING: Mark 8:27-38

SERMON  ‘A Cross-carrying community’

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.

It was all so upside-down.

Madness.

There’d been miracles:

healings,

the feeding of multitudes.

Surely, surely these were signs

that God was with them.

People everywhere had heard of him -

were speaking of him,

   were speculating about him.

Who was he,

this wandering rabbi

performing wondrous deeds?

‘Who do you say I am?’

he’d asked his closest followers.

And, in a moment of startled insight,

Peter found himself uttering words that generation after generation

had yearned for, had longed for:

‘You     are the Christ.’

Four little words,

weighed down by a myriad of hopes

and expectations,

and chief among these: liberation.

Liberation from illness,

from hunger...

and indeed, Jesus had shown

his credentials there,

but beyond these,

a liberation from the yoke of oppressive empire

that echoed down through centuries

of having been in thrall to other empires:

Egypt

Persia

Babylon,

and latterly, Rome.

‘You are the Christ’ expressed the hope

for a new David -

a deliverer anointed by God

to free the Jewish nation from

the tyranny of Rome,

a deliverer who would visit God’s judgement upon those who would dare to

crush his chosen ones;

 ‘You are the Christ’ came with expectations

of a warrior Messiah,

who would avenge the wrongs done to Israel

and restore Israel to her former glory;

who would resurrect national pride from the gutters of inglorious, humiliating subjugation,

and cause other nations to humble themselves and bow down -

to pay homage.

But...

it was all so upside-down.

Madness.

‘You are the Christ.’

Four little words that are immediately seized upon by Jesus

to teach those closest to him

just what it is to be the Christ.

What follows is plain speaking -

blunt talk.

In no uncertain terms,

the disciples are disabused of any notions

of glory they may have had when thinking of

the nature of Messiahship.

No amazing escape across a miraculously

dried sea-bed,

no joyous return from exile,

no heroic, battle-hardened warrior leading

God’s people to victory over Rome.

Jesus’ description of Messiahship

is completely counter-cultural,

and utterly shocking:

a Messiah rejected -

a Messiah...killed.

And Peter is unnerved by this teaching,

so much so that he pulls Jesus aside

and rebukes him -

because suffering and dying Messiahs

make absolutely no earthly sense at all.

Which is exactly what Jesus picks Peter up on when he says:

‘you do not have in mind the things of God,

but the things of men.’

Quite a turnaround for Peter:
from profound insight to utter confusion.

From ‘you’re the Messiah’ to

‘but not that kind of Messiah!’

But it gets more alarming:

there’s talk of picking up one’s cross -

not only does the Messiah suffer,

so too, do his disciples.

No power, no prestige:

rather, a call to put aside personal gain;

a call to a very different kind of faith -

a faith not built upon material symbols

of earthly success,

but grounded in the God who gives life to the dead and calls into being things that were not.

It was all so upside-down.

Madness.

It    still    is,

in the eyes of the world.

To deny self,

to deny gain, fame,

...to let go of our preconceptions of success

and of what we think a Messiah should be:

to choose, instead, a very different way of being.

But we don’t do it alone -

as followers of the Christ -

as Christ’s body here on earth -

we are called communally to pick up,

and carry our cross -

we are a cross-carrying community.

Nourished, strengthened,

and sustained by the One we follow,

and at whose table we feast,

we are called to give of ourselves - to God -

and to others.

To be real, authentic:

understanding that to be fully human

is to allow ourselves to be vulnerable,

to open ourselves up to the possibility

of pain and of hurt

just as God, in Christ did.

...To follow, in faith,

is to love sacrificially:

love our friends, yes,

but love our enemies as well -

to seek ways of reconciliation.

To pick up one’s cross and follow in faith

is to call out political expediency

which relies on scapegoating those who are the most vulnerable in society

in order to gain votes in a ballot box;

to engage in society,

to question the growing gap between

rich and poor;

to uncover and challenge abuse of power -

on a grand scale -

and, at the domestic level.

To pick up one’s cross,

in the words of Archbishop Oscar Romero, is to:

enter ‘into the reality of a child,

of the poor,

of those wearing rags,

of the sick,

of a hovel, ....of a shack.

It is going to share with them.

And from the very heart of misery,

of this situation,

... to say to them,

“You aren’t trash.

You aren’t marginalized.”

It is to say exactly the opposite,

“You    are valuable.”

For Romero, picking up his cross

and walking in faith

challenging oppression

and speaking out on behalf of the poor

in El Salvador resulted in his assassination in the middle of worship.

As a cross-carrying community,

we are not called to look the other way

when we see others hurt,

we’re called to get involved,

just as God, through the incarnation,

got involved with the whole human race.

It was all so upside-down.

Madness.

Returning to the conversation between

Jesus and his disciples for a moment:

In the midst of all this odd talk,

this overturning of cherished

definitions of Messiah,

it’s interesting that one quite significant detail appears to get lost:

so shocked are the disciples,

that they seem to miss

what Jesus says immediately after he’s told them that he’ll be rejected, suffer, and be killed:

they miss the bit about

‘and after three days,    rise again’.

As we pick up our crosses,

we discover that in the very act of giving our lives - through sanctified love of God and neighbour -

we discover what it is to truly   live;

that in giving,

we discover that we truly receive.

As we walk towards Jerusalem

over the course of this Lenten season,

nourished and strengthened for the journey

by the bread and wine of communion:

let us pick up our crosses,

walk in faith,

walk with our brother Jesus,

‘in paths of love and justice.’

For this is the way of the

upside-down kin-dom of God -

the community of faith.

Madness, perhaps,

but a life-giving,

love-giving madness

that chooses to give glory to God,

being fully persuaded

that God has the power

to do    what he has promised.

Amen.

Ministry: walking and talking and praising God

It is an ongoing process, this working through what it is, what it means, to minister with, and to, the people of God.

At the moment, I am back to that old metaphor of walking:
walking alongside,

walking with,

occasionally walking behind, cheering from the back as gifts are nurtured and nourished,

sometimes walking ahead, with head turned back, and hand beckoning in encouragement:

'C'mon, it'll be okay, this is a story that has a great ending, which is really a whole new beginning.  Don't be afraid.'

I am also back to a favourite word as well: 'story'.
As I walk in my probationer-minister's shoes, I ponder place and time as I minister here and now at 'Seaside Parish', and think about how both weave in and through the lives of the community of folk that I have grown to love and care for.
And as a student of history with a fondness for 'the story', I think of the many stories written into the life of this community, past, present, and future; stories that I have been told, stories being uncovered whilst listening in a living room and drinking tea, stories of hoped-for outcomes or of hope snatched away.
Gathered together, in this specific place, at this specific time, there are many stories held together by that one common story of an unexpected expected child, in a far-away land, at a far-away time, who grew in wisdom and grace, who used stories to point the way to a larger, deeper story...who was crucifed, died, was buried, and who rose again, and who calls us 'friend'.
We are a community of story, and of journey...
sometimes walking together
sometimes walking apart
occassionally walking rather shambolically
every so often walking in ways that surprise and astonish and delight
but always, always
walking in the light of God's loving faithfulness.

Perhaps then, to be a minister, is to acknowledge that this is not a sedentary task we're called to - although knowing that it is good to rest is also important in order to walk more fruitfully.
Perhaps it is to acknowledge that this is not a silent task we're called to -
although knowing the value of wordless waiting is also important in order to hear the story better.
Is the minister, in essence, a wandering story-teller - wandering and yet rooted in the community one is called to:
proclaiming in word, and in symbols, in speech and in gestures, the great story of God's journey to us - and our journey away and towards, away and towards him?
It is exhausting and joyful, life-giving and gut-wrenching, it is littered with the trivial and mundane and shot through with the transcendant, it is inspiring and humbling and a hundred million things in-between...and I wouldn't swap it for the world.     

lectionary leanings: Luke 2: 41-52 a child in the midst

For what it's worth, some of my own potted ramblings and ponderings on the gospel passage for tomorrow.    
The lectionary time-warp at this time every year makes me laugh: this time last week Jesus hadn't actually been born yet; now, suddenly, he's 12 - they grow so fast... :)

The young Jesus, along with his family, are in Jerusalem to celebrate the Passover.  The reading implies that this is an annual practice that this family, immediate and extended, appear to keep.  Once the Passover has been and gone, all begin the journey home, but Jesus quietly turns back and heads off to the temple.
 

Cue scene at the temple: here's a kid - well, a young man given he's 12 - sitting there amongst the teachers, all the wise and learned folk. 
There he is listening to all that's being discussed.  This is important: it makes the point that there's a maturity in the way he is engaging - he listens first, speaks second, he's not just spouting off. 
He then asks questions; he is curious about this faith/ religion and wants to know more, wants to see how things are, how they work, what things mean, and why this is so.
All who hear him are amazed: they hear him.  Here's a bunch of grown ups who are taking a young person seriously:
1/ by letting him remain in their midst in the first place, not sending him out to do some activity...
2/ by responding to him - they are obviously answering his questions - or at least in conversation
3/ by not shutting him up
4/ by acknowledging that this young'un has something of value to say/ to add to the conversation.

If I were prepping for sermon tomorrow, I think I might be inclined to head along a theme of how we engage with the younger folk in our parish / congregation...
how do we make space for them?
how do we engage with them?
do we listen?
do we acknowledge there's something we can learn
do we allow space for them to listen and speak...?
if we have a conversation, is it one way or two way?...
when we say 'we want more children and young people' - do we really mean that?  Or, is it conditional - only when it is on our terms?

In the passage, the boy Jesus is not merely tolerated, but accepted and even celebrated as a valued person in their midst. If we don't value our young people - on various spiritual/ practical/ emotional etc. levels, we should not be surprised if 'numbers' [ugh 'success' measured as statistics, dislike!] are low... and rather, be surprised if we do actually have some at all.

hmmm, accidentally now have half a sermon... ooops.

'man's' chief end...

Stumbled upon this pic. the other day and it just made me laugh out loud.  It is a somewhat different approach to the answer to the first question in the Westminster Shorter Catechism!
q1/ What is man's chief end?
answer/ Man's chief end is to glorify God and to enjoy him forever.

I often wonder why it appears that we seem to forget the 'enjoy' part: what is it about our inner workings that cause us to get caught up in the 'seriousness' bit of faith that we forget that 'silliness' is sometimes also okay.  And even in that sentence, I realise I put a qualifier word in when it comes to silliness - 'sometimes'.

I'm minded of a conversation around one of the tables in the Rainy Hall a couple of years ago.  We were discussing God, humour, and such like.  I remember observing that in some of the stories Jesus told, you could almost see a twinkle in the eye and a grin; that sometimes, because we are so used to the stories in the bible, we lose some of the impact and the effect the stories may have had on the early hearers.  I went so far as to say that I could imagine Jesus laughing out loud in certain situations.
A rather serious young woman, who had been frowning at most of the conversation suddenly spoke for the first time.  I found myself being utterly reprimanded:
'Jesus would never laugh!' she exclaimed, sternly rebuking me.
A caveat: I do not, in any way, want to cast aspersions on how this young woman chose to work through her faith - that is her own journey, and that is totally fine, and if it works for her that is all that matters.

Reflecting on my own faith dimension:
Perhaps I am a very bad example of a Christian - I think I probably am - but in the dark places I have occasionally found myself in, knowing I follow one who has the capacity for laughter and enjoyment, as well as having the full gamut of emotions, has been the very thing that has kept me hanging on in there. 
Sometimes, you have to laugh as part of engaging in enjoying God forever...well, I do. 

[blogging ever more infrequently as I write up the thesis...]

'broiled' fish?

There are days when even my peculiar mind surprises me....
This morning in kirk as the Gospel was being read [Luke 24: 36-48] the following verse managed to gently distract me from higher thoughts:
⁴²They gave him a piece of broiled fish, ⁴³and he took it and ate in their presence.
'Broiled fish', I wondered.
'Broiled'?
What on earth is 'broiled' fish?
I'd heard the term for years - every time that particular reading had come around the lectionary cycle once again - and it struck me that I actually hadn't a clue what it meant.
And so my tiny mind began to play around with cookery terminology, racking brain to remind self of what broiling involved.
The sermon drifted in and out of my consciousness...at times, I nodded in agreement with points made, such as our peculiar church language and how, outwith the kirk, folk would probably scratch their heads wondering what such and such a term meant. I confess, I immediately thought of the term 'intimations' - not as potentially exciting or lurid as might at first seem.  But then my thoughts snaked back to the wretched word 'broiled', with no defining joy in sight.  It's not as if I had never seen the word before, but today, for some bizarre reason, it just stood out and vexed my wee mind.
Now at home, I have just looked it up.
Aha!
Apparently it's what our American friends over the Pond mean by grilling.
So... Jesus ate a piece of grilled fish.
Further Messianic/scriptural validation for barbecues, thought I.
And so, with that scintillatingly deep spiritual insight, my mind is at rest once more.

it is finished...

John 19: 25-30
Meanwhile, standing near the cross of Jesus were his mother, and his mother’s sister, Mary the wife of Clopas, and Mary Magdalene. When Jesus saw his mother and the disciple whom he loved standing beside her, he said to his mother, ‘Woman, here is your son.’ Then he said to the disciple, ‘Here is your mother.’ And from that hour the disciple took her into his own home.
 After this, when Jesus knew that all was now finished, he said (in order to fulfil the scripture), ‘I am thirsty.’ A jar full of sour wine was standing there. So they put a sponge full of the wine on a branch of hyssop and held it to his mouth. When Jesus had received the wine, he said, ‘It is finished.’ Then he bowed his head and gave up his spirit.

lectionary leanings: 'who' and 'what'?

Ps 22: 23-31; Mark 8: 31-38

Several juicy themes to wander down for this coming 2nd Sunday of Lent, but the one that pulls most strongly is identity.  So, some identity meanderings...

But first, that pic from the previous post once more:

The verses just before our gospel passage for this upcoming Sunday see Jesus asking the disciples a series of related questions:
'who do people say I am?'
'who do you say I am?'
this, followed by Peter blurting out 'you are the Messiah'

It is only having sifted through the various lenses of identity perception with the disciples, that Jesus can then move from the 'who' to the 'what' - both identity and action marrying together: this is who I am, and therefore, this is what will happen to me.
And after Jesus has stated what will happen - his suffering, his rejection, his death, his rising from death - Peter appears to have a meltdown moment, and rebukes him.
In the Markan text, we are not told exactly what it is that Peter is rebuking - but the Matthean parallel notes that Peter says 'God forbid! That shall never happen to you!'
And in turn, Jesus rebukes Peter.
Peter, although having stated who Jesus is, still misses the point.
He gets the 'who' but not the 'what' of Jesus.

And then we move to more about identity: in a sense, this is our 'who do we say Jesus is?' bit.
And those who identify as his followers will have the 'what' of:  denial, taking up of a cross, following, loss and yet gain, of not being ashamed of being his people in the world.

And making use of the Psalm for this week, Ps 22: 23-31, perhaps helps fill in a little more with regard to who we follow, and whose we are... and how that shapes our actions, how we live our lives, what we do:

The psalmist opens by saying we should:
praise him, glorify him, stand in awe of him.
Why?
He does not despise those who suffer
he does not hide, he listens when we cry.
He feeds the poor,
he rules over nations...
countless generations will remember him.

what I really do...

There have been a number of variations on a theme over in 'spacehook' recently: a poster headed with a job description and then several pictures of what various folk think it is the person doing said job does.  While they've been fun, they were getting a little tired; that is, until the above was posted by friend Blair. 
I particularly liked the nod at Mark Driscoll.... :D

lectionary leanings: Mark 1:14-20 - dreaming, MLK, and some good news

Mark 1: 14-20
Now after John was arrested, Jesus came to Galilee, proclaiming the good news of God, and saying, “The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near; repent, and believe in the good news.” As Jesus passed along the Sea of Galilee, he saw Simon and his brother Andrew casting a net into the sea—for they were fishermen. And Jesus said to them, “Follow me and I will make you fish for people.” And immediately they left their nets and followed him. As he went a little farther, he saw James son of Zebedee and his brother John, who were in their boat mending the nets. Immediately he called them; and they left their father Zebedee in the boat with the hired men, and followed him.




This coming Sunday, the lectionary cycle picks up the Gospel of Mark once again, having had a brief foray into John.  Here we find that having been baptised, Jesus journeys to Galilee...

The kiddies song 'I will make you fishers of men' is for me, often the accompanying mental sound-track to this reading; this unusual invitation tending, as it does, to often be the focus or 'stand out' verse for the potential preacher.  However, that is not what caught my eye this time as I read these very familiar words.  Instead, in the business of picking up the narrative from the preceding week, it was the initial set of statements that Jesus was making which made me pause momentarily.
Good news.
Fulfilment. 
God has come near.
Repent, and believe in the good news.

This latter statement set off a wee train of probably lateral tangent thinking, as well as bringing to mind the 'dream' speech of civil rights activist Martin Luther King - whose remembrance day it is today.

Repent, and believe in the good news....
What I found myself mentally adding to this was:
and stop believing the bad news/ the worst case scenario/ being paralysed by fear/ being filled with suspicion, or cynicism.
Repent, and believe in the good news.

Good news that is life-giving, life-enhancing...
news that enables abundance;
news which shines light into the dark fear-filled places and sees possibility and potential and hope;
news which gives us the ability to shake off the chains that keep us clinging to past hurts, and which propels us forward...
equips us with a capacity and a courage to take up that most unusual of invitations...
to fish for people.
Which is... to share the good news about not believing the 'negative press', but to believe the good news:
to believe that the kindom of God has indeed come near...
that kindom - God's gathered community - which works together;
where hope triumphs over despair;
where the captives are freed;
where wounds are healed;
where the broken-hearted are gently tended;
where the vulnerable are championed and where power is used wisely and well;
where people are not judged by the colour of their skin, their orientation or gender, or by the material wealth that they possess...
but where, to borrow from Martin Luther King, they are judged by the content of their character.

Repent, and believe in the good news.
The good news that we are beautifully and wonderfully made in God's image, and that each one of us in our small corner can and will make a difference as, in that perseverance of the saints if you like, we continue in the ongoing journey of turning from believing the bad news and incline instead, towards the good news.

Idealistic dreamer?
Yes.
And the ideals move us from the realms of contemplation towards action:
to be a dreamer of dreams is to actively take up the invitation to follow to one who proclaims good news, and so in turn, we become bringers of the good news, in our homes, in our streets, in our local communities....
To be a dreamer of dreams is to imaginatively and actively engage with one another, and with institutions...
from taking the time to check in on our elderly neighbour, to occupying Wall Street and challenging systems that have the potential to bring out the worst, not the best, in people.
It is to have the courage to shrug off the temptation to use any available ways and means open to us that puts us first, and tramples others under the weight of our own agendas.
But it is also to know that this does not equate with being a doormat...the cleansing of the temple was not exactly the act of a doormat.
Referencing a previous post, what indeed would Jesus do... and how would he do it?
How then, does that inform how we live and act? 


Idealistic dreamer?
Yes.
Because that is what we are called to be and do:
to dream dreams and have visions - of what can be,
to turn away from the soul-destroying paralysis that belief in the bad news brings,
to share the good life-giving news with others.

We are called to follow the great dreamer and activist, Jesus, who turned social conventions on their heads, upset institutions,
who emphasised again and again how much people mattered...
and that institutions are there to serve people, and not the other way around. 
As we dream our dreams and have our visions, we also live and act in the belief that the kindom of God is indeed nearer than we even think.
An inaugurated eschatology... which is not to be equated with a 'do nothing now and wait for pie in the sky when you die', or a 'we're all doomed' attitude.

the undergarments of the Lord...

At one time, amongst a particular strand of Christianity, the WWJD? [what would Jesus do?] fad kicked off: Christian bookstores/ resource centres/ bookstalls/ etc. were inundated by sales reps marketing the WWJD? slogan in all manner of gift format.
WWJD? bracelets
WWJD? t-shirts
WWJD? coffee mugs
and even, allegedly, WWJD? boxer shorts... which provided me with the rather unhelpful distraction of bemusedly wondering about the choice of undergarments worn by our Lord. 

The follow up marketing gimmick was another set of initialled products, all displaying 'FROG' - the rather dire acronym for 'fully rely on God'.
No, I don't make these up, I merely pass on this information.
The purpose of these Christian products were, I believe, two-fold:
1/ to aid the wearer to think how one might behave as a follower of Jesus, when faced with various ethical crises to make the 'right' choices 
2/ as an tool for evangelism - wearing the products as a type of witness to your own faith.

I'll gloss over my difficulties with number one [turning these products into a type of  'lucky talisman' as a tool for decision-making, the possibility of creating Jesus in one's own image, etc., using such items as a way of taking any potential joy in life and crushing it dead 'just in case' - Jesus did go to parties, but one would be inclined to think that Jesus was a particularly miserable kill-joy] and move on to number two:
it's all very well having signs and symbols... wearing particular things, using particular gestures and language, but unless those on the 'outside' of the 'club' know what the symbolism is about, I wonder if it is not rather a futile gesture/action/etc.?
On the other hand, one should not downplay mystery and otherness either, as potential conversation starters.
Further, when the WWJD? outfits are teamed up with actions that seem contrary to what some think Jesus might actually do, we have an interesting conundrum.
Perhaps rather than wearing items asking WWJD?, we might just get on with the business of learning to love one another - and wear what Jesus would do on our hearts and through our actions....
to learn to live life in all its abundance, and to share that abundance with others,
to encourage spaces in which life can blossom and flourish, not wither and perish,
to create environments that nurture and nourish and ensure that all are welcome and all have a place at the table...
this, even when we might disagree with one another over theologies, structures, the manner in which we do things,
this even should it mean we might lose our own status and privileges.

So, WWJD?
Love.
Love abundantly,
and sacrificially.
Love to build up, not beat down.

I'm still not quite sure about whether he'd wear boxers, however.

I rather like the pic. below, posted by friend Nad. on facebook...

lectionary leanings: scrambled musings on the baptism of Jesus

The Baptism of Christ - Piero della Francesca

Mark 1:4-11

John the baptizer appeared in the wilderness, 

proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. 

And people from the whole Judean countryside 

and all the people of Jerusalem were going out to him, 

and were baptized by him in the river Jordan, confessing their sins. 

Now John was clothed with camel’s hair, 

with a leather belt around his waist, 

and he ate locusts and wild honey. 

He proclaimed, 

“The one who is more powerful than I is coming after me; 

I am not worthy to stoop down and untie the thong of his sandals. 

I have baptized you with water; 

but he will baptize you with the Holy Spirit.”

In those days Jesus came from Nazareth of Galilee 

and was baptized by John in the Jordan. 

And just as he was coming up out of the water, 

he saw the heavens torn apart 

and the Spirit descending like a dove on him. 

And a voice came from heaven, 

“You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.” 

This coming Sunday's gospel reading focuses on baptism, in fact, baptisms.
The mysterious cousin of Jesus, John, 'appears', as the text puts it.
There's a sense of John somehow unexpectedly springing up out of nowhere -
out of nowhere, and into that nowhere named 'the wilderness'.
And there, in the wilderness, a place beyond the edges of society, of civilisation, of comfort, John both proclaims and offers a baptism.
In the wilderness, the seemingly deserted desert comes alive with streams of people: 'the whole Judean countryside...all the people of Jerusalem' spill out into the desert to seek this baptism.
Some were probably driven by curiosity, others to watch the entertainment of a good show, and some who had within them a sense that all was not well within and which needed to be put right.
John offered a baptism of repentance, a visible, physical act that demonstrated to the one baptised, and to those watching, that whatever had been done was forgiven.  With that forgiveness came the opportunity to imagine and walk towards a future unshackled by the chains of the past,
to let go of bitterness that sucked the soul drier than the desert wilderness itself,
to take on the hope of a new life, green-growing shoots of healing and recovery.

Whether the writer of the gospel is using hyperbole or not, when it comes to the numbers who seemingly began to overcrowd the desert, the point is that people left their homes to seek out this odd man in the middle of nowhere who dressed in the style of a prophet, had a rather odd diet, and talked of one who was greater than he was.
And the reading tells the story of how his words took on physicality in the form of the Word appearing: there in the wilderness, by the River Jordan, amidst the crowds seeking forgiveness prophecy takes on skin... and Jesus, the 'greater one', who will baptise with the Spirit', looks to John for baptism.
This gospel does not have any conversation between the two cousins: no John looking shocked or confused, objecting to such a request.
No editorial theological aside explaining why Jesus, as the Son of God, felt the need to undergo a baptism of repentance and forgiveness.
The act of baptism is dealt with in a simple, straightforward sentence. 
And we, as those watching the scene play out in our minds, are left to wonder what it was all about without the comfort of an easy answer.
Mystery.
And then a further mystery:
the heavens torn open echoing Isaiah's cry [64:1] 'o that you would tear open the heavens', the dove-like Spirit, the voice affirming Jesus as 'Beloved'.

This is such a rich text: rich in imagery, symbolism, mystery.

And in brief:
what catches my eye at the moment is the nature of John's baptism and the response; it would, of course, given rituals of repentance and forgiveness happen to be the focus of my thesis.
Forgiveness is a powerful two-edged tool - to seek and receive it, as well as to give it.
There's something cathartic about it; a liberating act for both giver and receiver that aids the process of closure and moving on.   
And it's something that continues to fascinate me, which is just as well, given I do have this thesis to write....

What a mate we have in Jesus...

Found this 'Aussieised' hymn, below, a wee while back, and had totally forgotten about it.
Its simple beauty demonstrates the impact that carefully chosen words can have when working in cross-cultural contexts:


What a mate we have in Jesus!            
Streuth! We really bloody do.
All the blokes think he's fantastic,
And the Sheilas think so too.
All his teaching is fair dinkum,
In the Church we're cobbers true!
What a mate we have in Jesus!
Yes, we really bloody do!

Repeated ad infinitum bloody nauseum

The miracle of the pies and beer ain't so bad either :)
       
                                               picture taken from Mambo