Lectionary leanings - Pentecost 18C: 'Boundaries'

Boundaries
a meditation on Luke 17:11-19

Crossing boundaries:
Galilee and Samaria,
Jew and Gentile,
clean and unclean.

Blurry boundaries
when those who were ‘in’
became those thrown out.
Expendable through disease,
they formed a bond
beyond culture,
out of need.
A community on the edge,
survival focused unity.
It was...
mutually beneficial.

Beyond boundaries
of time and space,
both divine and human,
he walked into the margins
of their lives.
Mercy transforming them,
nine hurried away
to move from 'out'
to ‘in’ again.

Boundaries broken
by love,
the one who would never be ‘in’
with those former comrades in crisis
returned,
thankful to be taken in
by the greater company
of God.
            c.Nik Mac 2022

Lectionary leanings - Pentecost 17C: 'Faith is...'

 Faith is...
a meditation on Luke 17:5-10

Faith is not believing six impossible things before breakfast.
Faith is not competing for a gold medal in the spiritual Olympics.
Faith is not about quantity, but quality:
less vast sea, and more, small seed.

Faith is a leap, or sometimes a foot planted hesitantly on the floor.
Faith is relational, a life-long process of learning how to be.
Faith is a growing knowing
into the heart of God.

Faith feels its way forward, tho’ sometimes falls flat on its face.
Faith feels wild, and free – moves mulberry trees; tho’ sometimes it’s shy and timid too.
Faith feels organic, authentic, real...
which, in the end, is all that we’re truly called to be.
                                               c.Nik Mac 2022

Lectionary leanings - Pentecost 16C: Purple

Purple
A meditation on the rich man and Lazarus - Luke 16:19-31 

Purple,
the colour of power, prestige.
Fine linen;
lush and lovely –
luxurious.
The daily feasting –
food piled high;
dainty and delicate,
exotic, enticing:
spices and sherbets;
tidbits to tempt the trickiest palate.
A good life, this,
wanting for nothing,
eyes dazzled by the glory
and colour and sumptuousness of it all:
so accustomed to privilege
that he cannot see anything
or anyone other than his own.
Nothing exists beyond his bubble.

Pale:
poverty’s power stunts all.
Rags and sores,
barely cover
his flesh.
Cold saps his energy –   
little strength
to keep the dogs at bay,
nipping, yapping:
ready to devour;  
while his own while hunger gnaws within.
A living death, this,
having nothing, always wanting –
eyes made sharp by serious lack.
So accustomed to invisibility
that he does not have the luxury
of choosing not to see.
Beyond the bubble, he is nothing.
                c.Nik Mac 2022

Easter 2 reflection: Thomas

Thomas based on Jn 20:19-31
Not for you 

the hiding behind locked doors:

Thomas, the doer;

practical, shrewd.

Even in grief –

especially in grief –

people have to eat

and food doesn’t just

appear as if by magic, 

does it?

Do you smile at the thought,

remembering a hill,

some loaves and fishes,

an unexpected, very large picnic?

Not for you

hemming yourself in from fear:

Thomas, the daring;

pragmatic, brave.

Even when risk –

especially when risk –

is looming,

you square your shoulders

and walk with him to Jerusalem

to die.

Do you wince at the thought,

remembering a hill,

a cross of wood and nails,

an unexpected, yet expected ending?

Not for you

closing yourself away:

Thomas, the anything but doubting;

prophetic, wise.

Even when faced –

especially when faced –

with the unthinkable.

Unlike the others, you worship,

for you see him as he is:

divine.

Do you laugh at the thought,

remembering the upper room,

his side, his hands,

an unexpected, yet predicted beginning?
     c.Nik Mac 2022

Lectionary leanings - Epiphany 3C: 'Good' news?

'Good' news?

So, he’s back,
Mary’s golden child;
carpenter’s son—
at least, he may be,
the birth details were,
shall we say,
a little... sketchy.

The local boy, done well.
He’s made a name for himself
and so, when he stands to read,
then sits to teach,
we listen;
after all, we’re not close-minded folk.

Words of comfort spill forth
from the Book of the Prophet Isaiah.
A good passage, with its promises
of a happy, heavenly hereafter—
where even the ones clearly cursed by God
find welcome relief and restoration.

“The year of the Lord’s favour”
is a nice touch:
time for Jubilee
and resetting the clock,
settling old scores peaceably,
redistributing resources.

Yep, for those who didn’t lift a finger,
those who sat about and didn’t work,
it’s all going to be good news,
in the great by and by.

Of course, of course,
we all want justice,
but this side of heaven,
we do what we need
to get by,
make our mark,
give our children
a good head start,
a wee step up the ladder—
after all, God helps those who help themselves
and I’ve made very sure to help myself.

“Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.”

What, now??
I don’t think so, son,
some of us have way too much to lose.
How is this ‘good’ news?
Watch yourself:
that sort of talk will get you killed.
                        c.Nik Mac 2022

Lectionary leanings: Epiphany 2C - 'You were ever about joy'

'You were ever about joy'

The first miracle

was turning water into wine –

you were ever hospitable.

Social embarrassment 

ironically saved

by transforming water 

for washing shame away

into heaven’s finest vintage.

No holding back,

no half-measures,

jars full to overflowing

meant for celebration.

The first miracle

was a celebration of abundance –

you were ever about joy.

In a feast

lately flowing with wine

the glory of the kingdom

danced in,

singing merrily of 

life in all its fulness.
               c.Nik Mac 2022

Worship words for 12 Sept - P16

Ugh, life has been a little too busy!!
Must get my act together a wee bit more on this poor neglected blog.
in the meantime, some worship words for this Sunday, focusing upon the reading from James 3:1-13 and the power of words...

Sticks and stones/
The wee ditty rings out:
‘sticks and stones
may break my bones,
but names will never hurt me.’
Bravado that rings hollow.

Words matter,
words batter
and bruise the heart,
the soul.   

Words shatter –
words scatter
glassy shards
of self-image, 
diminish
those created
in God’s likeness,
‘til all that once was whole
lies broken.

Be mindful
of the certain poisoned sweetness
of the tongue.
  c.Nik Mac 2021

Blessing/
May the Word of Life
breathe love into all you say.
Speak well and speak wisely,
console and speak kindly.
Speak truth to power.
Leave space for others to speak.

In all you say—
bless and encourage,
comfort and inspire.
May your words be loving,
life-giving,
honouring the God
in whose image
all are made,
the One who spoke creation into being,
and who speaks words of blessing to us
this day and every day. 
  c.Nik Mac 2021

Trinity Sunday - a short reflection

Beyond/                                                                              
We try,

and fail,

to describe you,

God 

beyond words,

and imagination.

We try,

and fail,

to contain you,

God

beyond space

and time.

Wholly other,

and holy other.

Immense;

God 

who cannot be 

hemmed in.

Majestic.

Mysterious.

Supremely glorious;

God 

to be worshipped

and adored.

Finite
creatures,
in your presence
we

fall down,

fall apart,

fall.

Infinite

Creator,

you 

catch us

cleanse us

call...

As seraphs

listen

in timeless eternity,

‘Yes,’

we utter,

all hushed awe.

     c.Nik Mac 2021

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

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

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

The quality of mercy...

Crumbs...

A wee thing I wrote for a resource I'm involved with - which works for this week's RCL gospel passage.

The quality of mercy

Mercy:
doesn’t need to be pristine,
nor need to be huge.
It doesn’t need to be protected,
nor kept in a pot
with a lid
and a lock –
and oh-so-carefully
parcelled out
to those deemed ‘deserving’.
Just
a
crumb
will
do.

Mercy:
is not like pie,
nor is it mealy-mouthed or stingy.
It can’t be measured,
can not help itself
can’t be contained.
No matter how some try,
still, it overspills
the tables of power and privilege,
subversively escaping in
scraps
and crumbs
that are limitless,
boundary-breaking.
Just
a
crumb
will
do.

Mercy:
is subversive,
spilling out for all,
even those deemed (by some) as:
‘undeserving’,
‘different’,
‘not one of us’.
It re draws the circle
wider than the edges
of our imagination.
Just
a
crumb
contains
more grace and love
than we
will ever need...
so:
just
a
crumb
will
do.

c.Nik Macdonald, 2020

lectionary leanings: 'Castaway God'

Have been pondering one of the readings for tomorrow:
Isaiah 55:10-13

The words from the Book of Isaiah are aimed at the Babylonian captives:
exiles, castaways... and in a lateral tangent I began to think of 'Desert Island Discs'
and wondered what if God were the 'castaway' interviewee...
What 8 pieces of music would God choose - the Psalms?
What book [apart from the Bible and Complete Works of Shakespeare]?
And what would be God's luxury item?
The interweaving conversation would be quite something.

I can almost hear Kirsty Young’s introduction:
*cue signature tune, fade...*

Our castaway this morning is someone who has been the subject of countless words:

writers through the centuries have praised and pondered him,

others have criticised and condemned him.

Turning to his own words:

He’s been in the word-smithing business since before Adam was a boy -

His own word brought creation into being,

His book has been in the all-time best-seller list

since before the printing press was invented;

he has only to speak, and the mountains bow down before him

and trees have been known to clap their hands in joy.

He’s been extravagantly scattering his word on pathways,

in rocky and thorny places,

and even on good soil for generation upon generation

And such is the power of his imagination

his Word became flesh and dwelt among us,

and we have seen his glory...
--------------------------------------------

Hmmm, quite like the idea of 'castaway God'.  Perhaps something to explore at another point when I am not sermon-procrastinating!

'Stones and stories': sermon for Easter 5A

Oh dear... could try harder.  Was so *not* in sermon-writing mood...in the end, just a lot of thoughts desperately in search of a sermon - with a little Manicheism thrown in for good measure...Augustine would be most disappointed :(

Nevertheless, a sermon, of sorts, based primarily on the 1 Peter text.

1 Peter 2:2-10 and John 14:1-14

Tell me the old, old story

of unseen things above,

Of Jesus and His glory,

of Jesus and His love.

This last week, I’ve been thinking about stories...

and I’d quite like to do a wee straw poll with you:

what are some of your favourite stories? 

[allow folk to respond] 

But what’s all this business about stories got to do with our bible passages, I hear you ask...

And that’s a very good question! 

Last week, we thought about the question:

'what is the Church...?'

We looked at the very beginnings of the Church, as described in the Book of Acts,

and we were reminded that the Church... is us...

the people of God, called into community -

a learning community;

a worshipping community;

a sharing and supportive community;

a community of thanksgiving and praise.

This week, developing the theme a little more as we heard the reading from 1^st Peter,

we’ve another aspect to add, which is:

a story-telling community.

In this, I’m very much thinking of Peter’s description 

of the followers of Jesus as ‘living stones’ -

‘come to the Lord, the living stone...

come, as living stones’

Stones and stories - what do they have to do with each other?

Let’s first look at the context in which this letter is written.

Within the letter itself we have an idea of the intended, original audience:

in Chapter One, the writer,

who may or may not be Peter,

addresses his readers as

‘God’s chosen people who live as refugees scattered throughout the provinces’ of what we refer to as Asia Minor.

The term ‘God’s chosen’ appears several times throughout the letter -

an encouragement for folk who appear

to be not only refugees, but along with that, scattered - or separated - from home, family, the larger body of Christians.

Following the opening greeting, the writer begins to talk of ‘trials’ and ‘sufferings’ -

there’s the possibility here that this wee, scattered lot of people are suffering persecution for their faith.  However, this might just refer to the difficulties of following Jesus, and how that impacts upon the general customs and culture of the day.

Within the letter, the writer also gives some practical tips to assist with living life as a follower of Jesus.

Overall, the aim of the letter is to encourage and affirm these ‘chosen’, possibly persecuted refugees... to assure them that:

• there is a point and purpose to their lives;
• that they’ve been liberated from darkness into light;
•  that they are part of the body,
• that they belong to God and
• that they can rely on God, who calls them His people...‘living stones’.

Stones...and stories:

The stone metaphor is an odd one:

stones are more associated with...

well, just ...

sitting there being rather lifeless...

but here in our reading,

each stone is infused with the Spirit of God -

alive - active:

these stones live...

not unlike dry bones, in a dusty valley, also live, once God’s Spirit breathes upon them, remembering that passage from several weeks back from Ezekiel.

But whether bones, or stones,

God brings life - even when it appears unthinkable, impossible...

but then, God managed to roll away a stone

from a tomb

and out sprang the promise of resurrection and new life:

Jesus -

the stone that the builders rejected -

the living stone...

With God,

all things are possible, even living stones...

living stones that have a story to tell.

Stones and stories:

if these living stones could speak,

what would they say?

1^st Peter provides some clues.

The living stones, God’s own people, have been:

'chosen to proclaim the wonderful acts of God, who called you out of darkness and into his wonderful light...’

Living stones;

story-telling stones.

As I read about stones and of ‘proclaiming God’s wonderful acts’, I couldn’t help but cast my mind back to Palm Sunday...

the crowds are being gloriously, riotously cheerful - it irks the Pharisees, who complain to Jesus

and ask him to tell the crowd to be quiet.

His joyful response?    

‘I tell you, if they keep quiet, these stones would shout aloud!’

So then, our Peter passage is not the first time we encounter the possibility 

of lifeless stones becoming living stones -

story-telling stones.                                                     

A story that hints at our communal identity -

who we are...

and, whose we are.

But what is the story?

In the words of the old hymn:

Tell me the story slowly,

that I may take it in,

That wonderful redemption,

God’s remedy for sin.

                                                                          

Redemption: it’s one of those big theological words that gets pulled out, 

and dusted off, every now and then.

It’s a word most often associated with what happened to Jesus on the Cross

and how it impacted upon the whole of humanity.

And over the course of centuries,

theologians have been at it hammer and tongs trying to work that out.

Stones and stories:

One of my favourite writers, Paulo Coelho once commented 

that when all was said and done, there were really only four themes when it came to stories:

a love story between two people,

a love triangle,

the struggle for power,

and the story of a journey.

In a sense, the story the living stones tell is a combination of these four themes...

the love story?

- of God for humanity;

the love triangle?

- the alluring whispers of a serpent in a garden;

the struggle for power?

- between light and dark, goodness and evil;

the story of a journey? -

exile from the garden, and the long journey back to that first love,

the journey back to God...

But also, another journey -

God’s journey - involving the vulnerability of incarnation:

of becoming one of us

to show us the way

in and through the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus

It is a story of pain and sacrifice,

love and separation

redemption and reunion - for love always wins.

This is the story that God’s living stones proclaim.

Gathered together here, as God’s people,

as his living stones,

each one of us comes with our own story

- of whose we are ... family ties, connections, relationships;

of where we’ve come from,

where we are,

and where we hope to go

as we journey along our life’s path...

Each story different, unique...

and yet, as we gather together as God’s people,

each of us shares in a common story:

the story that brings us here today...

The story passed down to us by the living stones of the church 

going all the way back to the very earliest living stones...

All of us, church visible and invisible, building a spiritual house 

'where love can dwell and all can safely live.'

As God’s living stones

as God’s story-telling stones,

how might we tell the story?

How might we proclaim the marvellous acts of the one 

who has brought us out of darkness into his marvellous light?

How might we live God’s story in our lives this week?

How might we:

Tell out the old, old story,

tell out the old, old story,

Tell out the old, old story,

of Jesus and His love.

Let’s pray:

Holy God, we give you thanks
for the gift of Your Son, Jesus
the Word, the way,
the truth, 

the living stone,
who expands our
limited understanding
with outstretched arms
of love.

As your living stones

breathe your Spirit upon us

renew us

refresh us

excite us

that we may go out into your world 

to proclaim your marvellous works.

In Jesus’ name

amen.*

*prayer borrowed and slightly added to, with thanks to RevGals!

doubting Thomas?

Some sermon thoughts...

Poor Thomas.
Much-maligned Thomas.
Doubt for one little minute and they
never
let
you
forget.
Poor Thomas: forever typecast as the one who really just doesn't cut the mustard when it comes to faith.
Thomas: the one you're told *not* to be like -
in Sunday School,
or youth group,
or even from the pulpit:
'don't be a doubter, like Thomas!'
Poor, poor Thomas:
here's a man who's gone through nigh-on 2 000 years of suffering from a persistent image problem.
It's high time we rescued Thomas, the disciple who draws the short straw, who gets a raw deal, because let's be blunt: he was not the only follower of Jesus who doubted on that Resurrection day.

According to the Gospel of Luke, when Mary Mag returns from the garden after her meeting with the resurrected Jesus the disciples dismiss the news as 'nonsense'.  They hunker down in the upper room, lying low, with the doors firmly locked in a room stinking of fear.
But the locked doors are not impenetrable: they 'cannot keep out God's grace...neither the doors nor fear can prevent the risen Christ's coming to his disciples.  They may be able to lock others out, but they cannot lock him out.' [Feasting on the Word, yr A, Vol. 2, 399]
There, in that fear-filled room, Jesus stands among them bringing words of peace, embodying resurrection's promise.  They see his pierced hands, his side, and immediately upon seeing, are filled with joy.
Now, now, they believe...after they've seen.
Not unlike Thomas....
It is not unreasonable, then, that Thomas wants to see Jesus, after all, the rest of them have.
I think the silence regarding the reaction of the disciples is telling:
no laughter,
no mocking,
no exasperation,
no judgement...
just silence.
It appears that over the course of history, the judgement on Thomas as a 'doubter' has been left for others to make.

But what is it they believe, I wonder, these 10 out of 11 disciples?
For having seen the risen Lord, a whole week later, there they are, still hunkered down in that room, with the doors still firmly locked...
These guys are not in a hurry to go anywhere, even though Jesus had indicated that as the Father had sent him, so he was sending them out into the world.

Again Jesus appears.
Again, he offers words of peace.
And then, he turns to Thomas, and gives to him what has already been given to the others:
Thomas sees, is invited to look, to feel the nail marks, the wounded side.
But unlike the rest of the disciples, Thomas sees beyond the physical.
He sees with the eyes of faith.
Unlike the rest of the disciples, Thomas gets it.
This is something different, something other.
Is he perhaps remembering a conversation from the past - this in John 14 - 'now you have known me, you will know my Father also, and from now on you do know him and you have seen him'?

In front of our eyes, as we read the text, we see Thomas have a kind of 'aha!' moment.
And it causes him to utter that great statement of faith that the other disciples have not yet made - because they've not yet clicked:
'my Lord... and my God!'
While for centuries Thomas has been called out for not having enough faith because he 'needed' to see Jesus, I wonder...in the end, is it Thomas out of all of those gathered, who has the greatest faith?
While he does indeed see Jesus with his own eyes, he also sees with his mind, his heart, his faith:
to see Jesus...is to see God.
To say 'my Lord and my God' is not just a statement of faith, it is an expression of worship.

Perhaps it is less a case of Thomas doubting, and more a case of us doubting Thomas...

lectionary leanings: 'well, that's awkward' - Matthew 5:21-37

Although I'm not preaching this coming Sunday - as I shall be in Israel [she said, casually!] - a conversation in a facebook group prompted some thoughts on the upcoming gospel text for the day: Matt. 5: 21-37. I love being a part of a group who are happy to engage in conversation both casually and deeply about the texts for preaching. I value the variety of approaches and insights - they both feed my soul and stimulate my own thinking. The verses concerned are:

²¹“You have heard that it was said to those of ancient times, ‘You shall not murder’; and ‘whoever murders shall be liable to judgment.’ ²²But I say to you that if you are angry with a brother or sister, you will be liable to judgment; and if you insult a brother or sister, you will be liable to the council; and if you say, ‘You fool,’ you will be liable to the hell of fire. ²³So when you are offering your gift at the altar, if you remember that your brother or sister has something against you,²⁴leave your gift there before the altar and go; first be reconciled to your brother or sister, and then come and offer your gift. ²⁵Come to terms quickly with your accuser while you are on the way to court with him, or your accuser may hand you over to the judge, and the judge to the guard, and you will be thrown into prison. ²⁶Truly I tell you, you will never get out until you have paid the last penny.²⁷“You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall not commit adultery.’²⁸But I say to you that everyone who looks at a woman with lust has already committed adultery with her in his heart. ²⁹If your right eye causes you to sin, tear it out and throw it away; it is better for you to lose one of your members than for your whole body to be thrown into hell. ³⁰And if your right hand causes you to sin, cut it off and throw it away; it is better for you to lose one of your members than for your whole body to go into hell. ³¹“It was also said, ‘Whoever divorces his wife, let him give her a certificate of divorce.’ ³²But I say to you that anyone who divorces his wife, except on the ground of unchastity, causes her to commit adultery; and whoever marries a divorced woman commits adultery.³³“Again, you have heard that it was said to those of ancient times, ‘You shall not swear falsely, but carry out the vows you have made to the Lord.’ ³⁴But I say to you, Do not swear at all, either by heaven, for it is the throne of God, ³⁵or by the earth, for it is his footstool, or by Jerusalem, for it is the city of the great King. ³⁶And do not swear by your head, for you cannot make one hair white or black. ³⁷Let your word be ‘Yes, Yes’ or ‘No, No’; anything more than this comes from the evil one

One of the group had posted a comment observing that she really did not like the text - which, given some of the content, is understandable. In response, another noted that, in sensitivity to some folk who'd be visiting the church that Sunday, the reading would be stripped a little - especially the 'divorce' stuff. Some said 'find another text to preach on, then', while others encouraged a 'don't shy away from the hard texts' approach. A couple noted that by omitting the text, the original poster could be storing up a homiletical problem a little ways down the track when the gospel unpacked some other matters that were based on this chapter. So, a nice diversity of opinion already, with regard to whether to preach on it or not. 

I think that I'm inclined to the view that when these so called 'hard' texts turn up, we should face them square in the eye.  And that it's completely okay to say to a congregation 'you know what, I struggle with this reading.'  Chances are, they do too - it may even come as a relief to know that the minister is also sweating somewhat with regard to the passage.  Given that, if I were preaching this coming Sunday, I'd still go for the gospel text - warts 'n all - and think my sermon title would be 'Well, that's awkward...!', thus acknowledging the difficult sounding stuff in the reading, and also the possible difficulty regarding what on earth to do with it.  However, having taken that communal deep breath with the congregation, I'd also acknowledge that the passage is a massively rich text and there are many ways in which to approach it.
Looking at the passage, my own tendency would be to try and stand back a little to try to see a broader theme and try to avoid the potential of becoming bogged down in the individual offences.  As I read it, this passage is part of a much wider discourse on how to love one's neighbour - the offences mentioned are all potential causes for dispute and disharmony undermining personal / familial/ community/ divine relationships:
murder, anger management, insults, adultery, divorce, false witness.
Thinking of John Calvin [as I often do] and his understanding of the godly community being an harmonious community - ordered and peaceable, and thus potentially at least, demonstrating a foretaste of the kindom of heaven - perhaps I'd invite folk to think about how to live in love/ harmony with one another?
For me, then, the key verses would be:

'23 So when you are offering your gift at the altar, if you remember that your brother or sister has something against you, 24 leave your gift there before the altar and go; first be reconciled to your brother or sister, and then come and offer your gift.'

We are called to be a community of reconciliation - as God has reconciled us in Christ, so we are to be reconciled one to another and as we do so, live into our calling as Christ's body in the world to bring the message of the gospel of peace to the world.  The challenge of preaching upon a 'hard' text is paralleled by the challenge it is to live as reconciled people...


And I am now filing that thought away for the next time the text comes around!! 

'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!

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.

musing on Mark 9:38-50: wagon circling and circle widening

The gospel reading for tomorrow is Mark 9:38-50

John said to him, “Teacher, we saw someone casting out demons in your name, and we tried to stop him, because he was not following us.” 

But Jesus said, “Do not stop him; 

for no one who does a deed of power in my name will be able soon afterward to speak evil of me. Whoever is not against us is for us. 

For truly I tell you, whoever gives you a cup of water to drink because you bear the name of Christ will by no means lose the reward.

“If any of you put a stumbling block before one of these little ones who believe in me, 

it would be better for you if a great millstone were hung around your neck and you were thrown into the sea. 

If your hand causes you to stumble, cut it off; 

it is better for you to enter life maimed than to have two hands and to go to hell, to the unquenchable fire. 

And if your foot causes you to stumble, cut it off; it is better for you to enter life lame than to have two feet and to be thrown into hell. 

And if your eye causes you to stumble, tear it out; it is better for you to enter the kingdom of God with one eye than to have two eyes and to be thrown into hell, 

where their worm never dies, and the fire is never quenched.

“For everyone will be salted with fire. Salt is good; but if salt has lost its saltiness, how can you season it? Have salt in yourselves, and be at peace with one another.”

For me, this week, the opening part of the gospel passage has really been knocking, especially:
'we tried to stop him, because he was not following us.'

In yet another of those instances when you have read a passage over the years a number of times, a new chink of light appears.  I find myself asking the question: 'hang on, what on earth is going on here?'

The disciples come upon a person who is doing something good in Jesus' name... and their instant reaction is to be very cross indeed. 
Who is this person?  Not one of us.
And because this person is not following them, not in their little group, they try to stop him from doing what he'd been doing... which was doing good in Jesus' name.
They stop him rather than encourage him;
they stop him rather than finding him an encouragement - being delighted that others outwith their group are actually getting it:
Jesus' message to love God and to love neighbour, in word and deed.
Again, what on earth is going on here?

Having been raised on a diet of Westerns when growing up, the image coming to mind is that iconic picture of covered wagons drawing themselves in a circle when under attack: drawing the circle small and defending the group.
But the gospel passage is not about being attacked.
It is about someone outside the group seeing, or having heard about, what Jesus has done, and going out and trying to do likewise.
A person outwith the group who appears to be thinking that what Jesus has been doing is a Jolly Good Thing.
Perhaps an alternate take on the disciples' attitude could be that they were concerned the person casting out demons - or dealing with mental health issues, or whatever this situation was about - is trying to set himself up as a messiah figure.
But this comes unstuck: the person would be invoking his own name. 
Here again, whoever this person was who happened to be going about doing good, the disciples state that it was done in Jesus' name. 
And so, perhaps at the heart of the problem, is identity and belonging... and a little matter of the pride of exclusivity:
we are the group that follow Jesus. 

The gospel passages over the last couple of weeks have featured:
disputes and jostling for best place in the Jesus gang,
reminders about leadership not being about greatness but about humility and service,
calls to the disciples about looking after the ones who are on the edges, whose voices go unheard, who are invisible.
And here, in this passage, the disciples have gone out to do deeds in Jesus' name and have found someone else doing the same. 
Is there a fear about loss of privilege?
If any old random can do deeds in Jesus' name, will the disciples lose their place in the queue?

In stopping the unknown man from doing deeds in Jesus' name, the disciples exhibit behaviour that we, in the church, have also had a tendency towards historically. From the time of the disciples and continuing down through the ages we have effectively circled our wagons, we've fenced the table and actively put stumbling blocks in front of those who may have been inclined to do good.  On occasion, like the disciples, we have been quite caught up in the 'they don't belong', 'they're not in our group', so much so that we have been utterly blind to everything else, including the good that has been done by those who are not in our gang.
Perhaps especially the good: are we tacitly asserting that folk who are not like us are not really capable of being and doing good?
 
So some questions I am musing on:
How do we - how do I - stop folk from following?
What stumbling blocks do we/ I put in the way of others?
I find it interesting, and hadn't quite picked up on it before [slow to learn, that's me] that the disciples are not even focused upon the fact that whoever this person happens to be, they are doing good things: in and of itself, that is a thing to be praised.  So, how do we, how do I, actively be an encourager not a discourager?  How do we, how do I, see the good and praise that, rather than being worried about losing a place in the queue?
And further, to be awed and inspired rather than sniffy...
Instead of stopping, or discouraging folk, what ways can we find to encourage folk to be all that they can be and more? 

What are our/my motivations for following Jesus and doing deeds in his name?  It is better to reflect on that perhaps, than use the distraction technique of pointing to others... a little self-examination perhaps brings the perspective of humility.
And does the pointing of fingers and getting huffy about who is doing what get in the way of our own active service to our neighbour?  Does spending time arguing about our own place in the queue stop us from giving someone that real or metaphorical glass of water?

How do we break that very human trait of wanting to draw the wagons around in a circle and not let folk in?
And, following, how do we learn to draw the circle in a way that expresses the wide love of God?  And includes, like the cartoon at the top of the post expresses so beautifully, everybody?

Meanwhile, on a practical 'giving a cup of water' front, might I recommend the work of Wateraid...!