Sermon 26 June, Wk 4 Galatians series 'Fruit'

In the shadow of Thursday's EU referendum...

READINGS:
Psalm 16;   Galatians 5:1, 13-25

A million years ago, when I was an older teenager –  yes, it really was a long time ago –
I had a habit of cutting out and collecting
wise sayings with a twist, bad puns,
and deeply philosophical questions and statements, such as:
‘Do red corpuscles live in vein?’
[I never said they were good!]
or
‘Be odd, for God.’
At one point, in youth group, we were exploring the very same passage from Galatians that was read earlier, and thinking about the fruit of the Spirit. I remember our Youth Pastor looking at us all at one point, and observing:
‘God wants spiritual fruit, not religious nuts’ –
A saying that I immediately took note of and added to my collection .
The expression made such an impact upon my younger self,
that thereafter, every time I walked past a block of Cadbury’s Fruit and Nut chocolate in a shop, Galatians 5:22 and 23 would pop immediately into my head.
I’ll be curious to see if that now happens to you...

Having begun Paul’s letter to the Galatians, we’ve covered
a wee bit of ground now – and we’re beginning to move into the home straight.
We’ve been thinking of themes around
change and transformation;
of unity and diversity;
of being clothed in Christ.
We’ve thought about grace,
and we’ve thought about religious codes – or laws.
Paul talks a lot about law, and especially within this letter to the young churches
in Galatia, who have been beset by those who would impose old religious laws upon them.
Paul has been urging them to break free of these shackles
that they’ve bound themselves in and, in our text this morning,
Paul brings home the message of living in the freedom of Christ:
‘It is for freedom that Christ has set us free. 
Stand firm, then, and do not let yourselves be burdened again by a yoke of slavery.’
He then talks of what it is to be called into this freedom:
and it’s not a freedom from all responsibility ...
rather, this freedom is found within the context of community,
of relationship...
a freedom that has love at the centre,
a freedom that shows the fruit of that love in service to one another;
a freedom that can see the old law boiled down to this:
to ‘Love your neighbour as yourself’.
To love and serve your neighbour is part of a communal, mutual giving:
building one another up,
growing, blossoming, flourishing together.

Paul is particularly keen to emphasise this context of mutual love and service,
this context of ‘commonweal’ –  a guid Scots word...
He’s keen, because he’s addressing a community
that has been seriously at odds with one another:
split and riven by divisions about what it is to be a ‘true’ follower of Christ.
And the arguments that they’ve been having have been harsh and bitter and destructive.
Paul is alarmed by what’s been happening to these young faith communities,
communities that he’d shared the gospel with;
communities that had grown in faith, and strength and love;
communities that were learning the way of peace by following the Prince of peace;
communities... who were now so at odds with one another that they are seen to be
‘biting and devouring one another’,
and if they continued down this path they would destroy each other.
To stem the flow of violence and self-destruction of these faith communities,
Paul reminds them to ‘live by the Spirit’,
to be ‘led by the Spirit’ rather than living under the law.
He reminds them of the fruit of the Spirit:
love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.
But note what begins the list: love.
Love is the starting point – where God is, there is love.
Love is the root which enables the fruit to flourish.
And Paul is not saying don’t disagree with one another,
remember he recognises diversity within the unity...
Rather, Paul would seem to imply that by seeking to live in, and be led by the Spirit –
even amidst differences of opinion –
the community will work together to find a way
to accommodate one another so that all may flourish:
they may occasionally disagree, but through the Spirit they can
find a way in which to do so healthily,
to do so in a loving manner.

While it seems a life-time ago, it was only 21 months back,
that I stood here in front of you all, conducting worship –
but worship done whilst preaching as sole-nominee to hopefully become minister of the parish.
Then, as now, it was a couple of days after a referendum.
Then, as now, there were campaigns run,
from both sides of the debate, that were less than savoury:
name-calling, taunts, sometimes sheer bullying,
tactics aimed to instil fear,
tactics used to cover up lack of any concrete policies...
Then as now, communities began to divide down opposing lines,
then as now, families found themselves on different sides of the fence,
...then as now, in the aftermath,
there are those who rejoice at the result,
and those who are dismayed.
And then, as now...
we, as the community of love -
each one of us having voted in different ways for what we believed was genuinely
the best way forward for Scotland, or the UK -
then as now, we must model love.
We must love one another – no biting or devouring one another...
we must love our neighbour – the neighbour we know who may
have voted quite differently from us;
we must model love, and show the fruit of the Spirit
in our conversations,
in our communities:
love...joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.
‘It is for freedom that Christ has set us free,’
let us live in that freedom so that we work towards
reconciliation,
restoring harmony,
rebuilding fractured communities...
let us live in that freedom by serving one another in love –
showing to our friends,
our neighbours,
a positive way forward as we, as a nation, walk through a new way of being in the world.
Whichever way we voted on Thursday, we still have to live with one another:
how can we find ways to practice the fruit of the Spirit
as we get on with the business of living?
Where might we demonstrate kindness, patience, gentleness, self-control...?
How might we find ways of living joyfully, and at peace, with one another?
As we live into the freedom we’ve been given,
remember to listen to the voice of the Spirit,
guiding our steps,
urging us onward in the way of love...

As I was pondering what to say today, I remembered an old story –
and, I don’t think I’ve shared it with you, but if I have, bear with me!
It’s a story about a community of monks...
The community had once been a thriving order, but over the years had fallen on hard times.
Only 10 monks and their Abbot remained, and most of them were quite elderly.
They were also dispirited, and sometimes crotchety,
and occasionally would fall out with one another;
...the joy seemed to have gone out of the place.
The Abbot decided one day to go walking in the woods that surrounded the monastery,
pondering how he could reconcile his brothers to live in peace.
In the deepest part of the forest lived a hermit and the Abbot found himself
drawn to seek the hermit out and ask for his advice.  

The hermit welcomed this brother in God, listened in silence to the Abbot’s story
of bickering monks and then commiserated with him.
The Abbot asked the hermit what to do.  
But the hermit shook his head,
‘it is a difficult situation, brother, I am not sure what to advise you...
but what I do know is that Jesus is among you.’
They embraced, and the Abbot headed back to the monastery.

Upon returning, he called the brothers all together and told them of his meeting with the hermit.  Trying to recall the conversation, the Abbot, a little muddled, told them
‘the hermit said that Jesus is one of us. I’m not sure what he meant.’
They sat silently for a while, prayed together and went off about their duties.
But as they went about their work, each one began to wonder
about the hermits words...and if it was true:
was Jesus one of them... and if so, who?
Could it be the Abbot?
Or Brother Philip, or perhaps Brother Benedict or...
For days, each of the monks puzzled over which one in their midst might be Jesus...
And as the days turned into weeks,
and the weeks turned into months,
still the mystery held their attention:
‘which of my brothers is Jesus?’
And as they pondered, a strange thing happened:
they began to treat each other with more and more respect,
on the off-chance that one was indeed Jesus.

By the end of the year, the community had become a place in
which each member held extraordinary respect and love for the other –
indeed, love and joy seemed to radiate from them.
What had been a place of brotherly bickering
had become a place of healing and reconciliation as each served the other...
For as each served the other, there indeed was Jesus.

People passing by the monastery would often linger,
as they found themselves strangely compelled by the place.
Occasionally, they would meet one of the monks working in the gardens
or walking in the woods,
and in conversation would discover that Jesus was in their midst.
Folk found themselves drawn to come and spend time there,
to play, and to pray, and to bring their friends with them...
knowing that they would find welcome
and perhaps, even Jesus, at this place...
a place in which joy had returned
and a growth in numbers,
all seeking to find Jesus in the midst of them.   ...  ...

As I stand here, looking at all of you,
I echo the words of the hermit:
‘Jesus    is among us.’ ...

And so, as we look at one another here this morning,
let us see Jesus in the face of each other...
And as we go back into our homes,
 to our places of work,
or places of play and rest,
or as we walk along the street...
let us see Jesus
in the faces of the ones we encounter.
And as we do so,
may the fruit of the Spirit blossom in abundance...
and may we build, in our small way,
communities of love - this day, and always,
based on the great love of God,
revealed in the Son...
and, in so doing, bring in God’s kindom.
 Let’s pray:
Christ, our brother
Help us love one other
As you have loved us.
Help us live in, and be led by your Spirit,
bearing fruit that brings blessing upon us,
our families,
our communities,
as we seek to walk in your way of peace.
We ask, in your name,
Amen.

Sermon, 19 June, Galatians series wk 3: 'Make the world more beautiful'

Not at all where I'd originally intended upon going with the Galatians reading...
but in the light of this last week's events...sometimes original intentions need changed.

1st READING: Psalm 22:19-28
2nd READING: Galatians 3:1-5, 23-29  

SERMON
Let’s pray:  May the words of my mouth
and the meditations of all our hearts be acceptable
in your sight, O Lord, our strength and our redeemer. Amen.

There’s a lovely children’s book called ‘Miss Rumphius.’
The story is told by wee Alice, and it’s about the great-aunt
who she’s been named after.
Sometimes great aunt Alice is also known as ‘the lupine lady’,
or called by her formal name: Miss Rumphius.
When great-aunt Alice was the same age as wee Alice,
she’d visit her grandfather who was an artist and who also lived by the sea.
Sometimes he’d let his little grand-daughter help him when he was working.
At other times, she’d sit on his knee, and he’d tell her
stories of all the adventures he’d had travelling around
the great, wide world to faraway places.
She vowed that she, too, would live by the sea,
and that, like her grandfather, would travel to faraway places.
"That is all very well, little Alice, "said her grandfather, 
"but there is a third thing you must do. 
You must do something to make the world more beautiful." 
And so, little Alice grows up, and indeed, travels far and wide,
just as her grandfather had done.
And having come to the end of her travels, she settles down by the sea.
But she always remembers her grandfather’s words about making the world more beautiful.

It’s when she falls ill, and is laid up in bed, that she looks out of her window
and spies the lupines she’d planted the year before, swaying in her garden –
blue and purple and rose... beautiful.
And thinks again of her grandfather.
And so, Alice – Miss Rumphius – makes it her mission to plant lupines:
around her house,
around her village,
all along the highways and byways, and beyond.
As time passes and seasons change the lupines blossom into loveliness –
giving cheer to all those who see them.
Giving hope to all those who feel hopeless.
Spreading beauty just as her grandfather had asked.
The story ends with great-aunt Alice handing on the baton to her wee great niece.
"When I grow up," wee Alice tells her, "I too will go to faraway places and 
come home to live by the sea." 
"That is all very well, little Alice," says her aunt, 
"but there is a third thing you must do. 
You must do something to make the world more beautiful." 

‘Make the world more beautiful’
It’s a fine sentiment, in a world that currently feels
jangly, disjointed,
harsh, and ugly.
We see the headlines shouting at us from the newspapers,
or blaring from the screen;
hear rhetoric and hate-speech,
watch as the world seems to be careening dangerously towards
the edge of a waterfall where it may well land on jagged, pointy rocks
at the bottom and be splintered into thousands of shards.

I can’t even begin to make sense of the targeted hate-crime
against LGBT folk last weekend,
nor the horrific murder of MP Jo Cox,
nor of football hooliganism,
or the ongoing war in Syria,
and the millions of displaced, dispossessed people
struggling to escape death because of that war.
Then there’s Vladimir Putin and his dangerous posturing,
all the uncertainties around the upcoming American election,
not to mention our own referendum next week
and the vitriol and negativity and fear-mongering
coming from both sides of that particular debate.
‘Make the world more beautiful.’
It’s a fine sentiment...
but how can we when the world feels so dark and full of fear:
fear that breeds intolerance, hatred, violence;
fear that freezes the very blood in our veins;
fear that saps us of our energy and robs us our joy?
It feels so hard to fight against the fear.

And then, we read the words of Paul,
to the young faith communities of Galatia;
words written to correct some issues that had gotten a
tad out of hand, yet nevertheless, words that spoke to a climate of fear:
fear of deviating from religious rules.
Words written in a time of Roman rule:
where there was a well-ingrained fear of deviating from secular rules.
These were words written to people subjected to a mighty, conquering oppressor;
words written in a time where the distinctions of
race, culture, status, gender, and faith mattered in society –
and where Paul states that they no longer do.
It’s a time where to question the authority of Rome was to risk your life –
where you hoped you’d be okay if you just kept your head down and got on with it;
a time where emperors were supposed to be worshipped as gods
and, where to be a follower of Jesus would put you outside the
bounds of Roman Law.
A time, where, like now, it was easy to cover yourself in the clothes of fear,
even with the strange stability that Roman occupation brought.

And so Paul writes:
‘You are all sons (and daughters) of God, 
through faith in Christ Jesus, for all of you 
who were baptised into Christ have been clothed with Christ’
In this climate of fear,
he reminds them of their baptism:
of whose they are;
of the faith they professed when they were baptised;
of the faith that broke the chains of legalism and set them free;
of the faith, and of the act, that washed the old away,
that chased the darkness out;
of the faith that stripped away the ragged clothes
of fear, of suspicion, of division
and which clothed them in Christ:
the light-bringer,
the life-giver,
the love-bearer,
the liberator.

Paul’s words remind us,
that in our baptism, we belong to Christ, just as the Galatian Christians did.
We belong to the One who lived his life
so freely,
and so fully,
that those who preferred darkness and diminishing others were driven to kill him.
I’m minded of the words of the philosopher, Albert Camus, who said:
‘the only way to deal with an unfree world is to become 
so absolutely free, that your very existence is an act of rebellion.’

Jesus’ life, was an act of rebellion.
To live freely and fully, as Christ did, and to rebel against the chains of fear,
makes this world a more beautiful place:
for it denies the power of fear its opportunity to choke the life of the world
completely into dull, deathly submission.

To live freely, to live into our baptism, and to be clothed in Christ,
is to see life differently:
to live in faith, not fear –
hope, not hate...
It is to seek the freedom of others...
to see the face of Christ in others regardless of the self-made distinctions
that society, and fear, try to create.
And to behold the face of Christ is a beautiful thing.

In the service of welcome, which greets guests at the beginning
of each week on the island, the Iona Community talks of
‘seeing Christ in the stranger’s guise’.
In our baptism, clothed in Christ, we are called to see others
as if they, too, are clothed in Christ.
In doing so, we go against a prevailing culture that seeks to put up walls,
or to name those we don’t know as
‘terrorists’ or ‘economic migrants’
or a thousand other labels...
To be clothed in Christ is to stand against the fear and hate and darkness
that wants to divide and conquer and destroy.
As a community of faith, we stand together, as brothers and sisters in Christ,
pointing to him,
pointing to freedom and light –
and that his light is never overcome...
And, clothed in Christ, as we point to him,
we show the world a different way of seeing
and of being:
we point to a different ending to the story,
as we focus on God’s love and goodness,
and, as we, through our baptism, wear that love and goodness –
share that love and goodness,
it's like the scattering of lupines...
blue and purple and rose,
bringing beauty into a world struggling so hard to find it.

Clothed in Christ, we are heirs to the promise that God made to Abraham:
we share in his blessing and as we do,
so we share the blessing as we love God and love others –
as we turn our own focus from fear to God,
whose perfect love casts out all fear.

Earlier this week, poet Maggi Smith –
no, not Dame Maggi –
published a poem online, which has subsequently gone ‘viral’ –
meaning, it’s turning up everywhere on social media.
It speaks to the complexity of the time in which we live,
and it speaks of beauty.
I’ve substituted a word, out of good manners,
but otherwise, this is what she wrote:

Life is short, though I keep this from my children.
Life is short, and I’ve shortened mine
in a thousand delicious, ill-advised ways,
a thousand deliciously ill-advised ways
I’ll keep from my children. The world is at least
fifty percent terrible, and that’s a conservative
estimate, though I keep this from my children.
For every bird there is a stone thrown at a bird.
For every loved child, a child broken, bagged,
sunk in a lake. Life is short and the world
is at least half terrible, and for every kind
stranger, there is one who would break you,
though I keep this from my children. I am trying
to sell them the world. Any decent realtor,
walking you through a real [s**thole] dump, chirps on
about good bones: This place could be beautiful, right?
You could make this place beautiful.
                                                               Maggi Smith

Earlier in the service, water was poured into our baptismal font,
and after the service ends, I invite you to come and dip your hand -
or your fingers into the water - to remember that you have been
clothed in Christ and need not fear.
Remember: it is for freedom that we have been set free in Christ:
set free, and called to bring in the kin-dom of heaven on earth:
to make this place –
this planet, this country, this parish,
one another...beautiful.   Amen.

Sermon, Sun 12 June, Yr C: 'The shock in Antioch' - from Galatians 2:11-21

1st READING: Psalm 5:1-8
2nd READING: Galatians 2: 9-21

SERMON
Let’s pray: May the words of my mouth
and the meditations of our hearts be acceptable
in your sight, O Lord, our strength and our redeemer. Amen.

The ‘rumble in the jungle’...
the ‘thrilla in Manilla’...
Foreman, Frasier, and Ali –
perhaps the greatest boxers of all time,
and whose rivalry, skill, and power
awed, stunned, and entertained millions back in the day.
Ali, who was buried on Friday
in Louisville, Kentucky,
was more than ‘just a boxer’, however.
Since his death, the airwaves and the internet
have been filled with retrospectives, and clips.
Many of them naturally focusing upon his prowess in the ring,
but more than a few noting that this physically powerful man
was also funny, articulate,
and used the power of his fame
 – or notoriety –
as a vehicle for social change.

An Olympic gold medal winner in 1960,
the story, told by Ali,
is that he came home from Rome,
went into a restaurant,
and was refused service because of the colour of his skin.
Marching out of the place, he headed for the Ohio river,
took off his gold medal,
and threw it into the swirling waters in disgust.
Throughout the rest of his life,
Ali championed civil rights,
believing and fighting for a society
that would include and embrace all.
And because of his belief in a free and fair society,
he was no stranger to controversy –
from the ‘Establishment’, of course,
but occasionally, from those who were also
championing civil rights –
who felt he should follow their way of doing things.
He was a powerful and passionate man
– a great humanitarian -
and I think the world is a little less sparkly with his passing.

This morning, in our passage from Galatians,
we meet two heavyweights of the faith,
who, according to our text,
lock horns over ways of doing things –
of living out the Christian life:
we come across a face-off between Peter – the ‘Rock’ –
and Paul – ‘the persecuter'.
And in a nod to Ali and co., let’s call this meeting
the ‘shock in Antioch’.

Last week, we talked about the gospel and of transformation and change;
this, in light of Paul’s anger at what had transpired
since he’d last spent time with the faith communities in Galatia.
A quick re-cap:
a group had come along, after Paul had moved on
to preach the gospel to others.
This group had basically told the new believers
that they had to meet certain conditions in order to be ‘of the true faith’;
these conditions being an acceptance of Jewish rites – circumcision –
and of following the law laid down in the Torah.
It was ‘Jesus plus the law equals proper belief.’
And the young in the faith,
wanting to follow Jesus,
had bought the ‘Jesus plus’ formula that this
group had brought among them.
Paul was horrified:
he is quick to rebut the erroneous teaching.
He reminds the Galatians that the gospel is ‘good news’:
is Jesus, and...
only Jesus -
not ‘Jesus and something else’.
No works,
no law,
just pure, and utter grace from God:
the freedom of forgiveness,
the freedom of new life –
life in Christ.
The old had gone,
the new had come.
And, telling the Galatians his story,
his ‘road to Damascus’ experience,
he reminds them that,
the power of God’s love in Christ alone
was what had transformed him from persecutor to preacher.

The gospel, as we heard last week,
is about change and transformation.
And there’s more:
it’s about welcoming all,
building bridges, not walls.
As Paul continues in his letter,
he tells the Galatians of meeting with Peter –
first, in Jerusalem, and later, in Antioch.
Things initially seemed to be going well in Antioch.
Peter was meeting with the new believers,
in fact, Peter was eating with the new believers...
Peter, who before his encounter with Jesus
would never have ritually defiled himself by eating with non-Jews.
For Peter, there has been a change:
Jesus has broken down the barriers between Jew and Gentile,
uniting them in himself.

Peter had previously had a vision of ‘clean and unclean’ foods,
had seen God clearly blessing non-Jewish followers of Jesus,
such as the centurion Cornelius.
Peter had discovered the inclusive love of God for all,
not just the chosen few.
But there, in Antioch, he has a wobble:
a group sent by the disciple James, comes from Jerusalem to visit.
Peter is suddenly conspicuous by his absence
amongst the Gentile converts,
afraid to be rebuked by this group from Jerusalem.
And his actions cause others around him to wobble –
those disciples who had a Jewish background
also withdrew themselves from their fellow believers in Christ,
with Paul almost spitting out in disgust:
and ‘even Barnabas was led astray.’
Good, solid, faithful companion that he was,
when someone like Peter –
someone who had spent years in the company of Jesus –
comes to town and acts in a certain way,
then, out of respect for his authority and experience,
you’re not likely to stand up and go:
‘um, Peter, I’m not sure this is such a great idea.’
You’re not likely to...
unless you’re Paul, that is.

Paul’s not afraid of making a stand,
not afraid of rocking the boat.
As he, himself writes to the Galatians:
‘When I saw that they were not acting in line 
with the truth of the gospel, I said to Peter in front of them all...’
and then he goes on to show how he publicly called out Peter.
Paul does seem to have a bit of a habit of getting folk
to pin back their ears and listen to him.
But, in this particular matter, Paul is right
and Peter’s done a ‘Peter’ and messed up.
Paul’s one tough cookie –
he’s determined to demonstrate
the all-encompassing wideness of the gospel:
that God’s love is for everyone.
To remind even Peter, that great pillar of the faith,
that in Jesus, all barriers are broken down –
although different, yet all are one in Him:
Paul says:
‘I have been crucified with Christ 
and I no longer live, 
but Christ lives in me.’

Transformation and change, yes,
along with unity in diversity.
Here Paul is showing
to Peter and his companions from Jerusalem...
to the Galatians...
to us,
that faith is about expanding the way we think,
is about refocusing the way we think;
it reorients the heart and soul and spirit.
Within the all-embracing love of God,
in faith, having been loved by God,
we love God in return –
and, in faith, extend that love to all humanity.
‘Through death and resurrection, Christ comes 
to dwell in the human heart and to produce a community 
based not on social distinctions but on love.’ [Wendy Farley, FOTW, 136]

Another nod to Muhammad Ali:
Ali was born in Louisville, Kentucky.
Interesting things seem to happen in that city.
The great 20th century spiritual writer, Thomas Merton, was a monk.
He had spent his life rejecting the world,
encircling himself in silence, and prayer, and meditation.
One day, away from the monastery, and wandering the streets of Louisville,
Merton had an epiphany, a lightbulb moment, if you like.
In his book, ‘Conjectures of a Guilty Bystander,’ he writes:
“In Louisville, at the corner of Fourth and Walnut, 
in the center of the shopping district, 
I was suddenly overwhelmed with the realization 
that I loved all these people, 
that they were mine and I theirs, 
that we could not be alien to one another 
even though we were total strangers...’
Merton goes on:
There is no way of telling people that 
they are all walking around shining like the sun.
Then it was as if I suddenly saw the secret beauty of their hearts, 
the depths of their hearts where neither sin nor desire 
nor self-knowledge can reach, the core of their reality, 
the person that each one is in God’s eyes. 
If only they could all see themselves 
as they really are. 
If only we could see each other 
that way all the time. 
There would be no more war, no more hatred, 
no more cruelty, no more greed...’

A gospel of transformation and change.
A gospel of welcome: of unity and diversity.
A gospel of love.
Love is not always easy.
And there are times when loving some folk
is particularly challenging.
Perhaps a way of walking in love
is trying to imagine how God sees them;
and trying to walk in someone else’s shoes –
to try and imaginatively enter into that person’s life;
to wonder, and to ask what their story might be
before we make a quick judgement.
Loving people when they do things differently
to the way we might prefer is also challenging...
but in love, first ask just ‘why’ they may be doing things that way.
And then, there are those we may see in the media –
people in positions of power who have misused that power in shocking ways –
whether ruling their land with an iron fist of fear...
or ruling the roost at home and making everyone walk on eggshells.
How do we find a way to acknowledge that even those we see as unlovely
are nevertheless, beloved of God -
even though God may weep at the choices they make?
How do we love certain others, when they don’t love in return?
How do we love those who have caused us deep, deep hurt?
So often, it feels easier to harden our hearts;
to become judge and jury;
to choose the way of violence, of vengeance...
or, depending on our situation, of using passive-aggression.
So often, the way of love is held up as weak, as ‘wishy-washy’.
Choosing to love is the hardest thing that we can humanly do.
Choosing to love
is costly.
Choosing to love
is choosing to follow
in the footsteps of the One
who knew what it was to love fully –
even unto death...
Choosing love is an act of faith
and an expression of hope:
a hope that reaches beyond death and sees new life –
resurrection and reconciliation.
Paul was using fighting words when he challenged Peter.
In a similar way to Muhammed Ali,
this powerful, passionate, and articulate man,
used the power of his fame
– well, his notoriety –
as a vehicle for social change:
However, as he continued defending the good news of the gospel –
Paul was also using his power to effect spiritual change,
by showing the gospel of life-giving grace for all.

For Paul, the gospel – the news of God’s love in Jesus -
spoke of a love wider, bigger, than we can ever fully understand.
A love that, every day, has a new beginning
as we die to self and allow Christ to live in us.

Let us, as Christ’s community,
choose to walk in love now, and every day:
learning to find the beauty and wonder in God,
and in one another,
and let love be our prayer in action.  Amen.

Sunday sermon: Easter, yr B

Texts/
John 20:1-18
Acts 10:34-43

Let’s pray:

May the words of my mouth
the meditations of our hearts 

be acceptable in your sight,
O Lord, our strength and our redeemer.  Amen.

‘Early on the first day of the week...’

The beginning of an old, familiar story.

The beginning of a story that cuts to the heart

of the Christian faith.

A story of darkness and light, for John’s recounting of that story begins

in the gloom and dark before dawn.

But we, as his audience,

know that light is coming...

The lone figure of a woman, Mary of Magdala,

makes her way through the darkness

to the garden tomb.

A tomb in which her beloved Lord has been placed 

after his recent, horrific execution.

As dark as it is outside,

Mary’s interior world is darker still.

She’s bereft. 

She’s grief-stricken.

And for Mary, the darkness is compounded

when she arrives at the tomb:

the massive stone covering the entrance

has been rolled away.

What’s going on?

What fresh horror is this?

In shock,     she runs.

Actually, there’s a lot of running

in this particular story.

She runs to find Simon Peter and the unnamed ‘other’ disciple - 

who most biblical commentators believe to be John.

She’s not sure what’s happened at the grave,

but whatever it is, it surely can’t be good.

Is there some conspiracy afoot?

‘‘They’ have taken the Lord out of the tomb,’ she says, 

‘and we don’t know where ‘they’ have put him.’

Even though they've killed him,

have the enemies of Jesus played one last cruel trick?

There’s no inkling here of resurrection,

of death defeated’,

only shock and maybe panic.

All of this happens, while it is still dark -

and for the writer of this Gospel,

darkness is working on several levels:

the darkness of pre-dawn;

the darkness of grief and despair;

and the darkness of confusion.

But we, as his audience, know that light is coming...

More running.

Peter and the other disciple run to the tomb.

The open tomb.

The first disciple peers in -

sees strips of linen,

the burial cloth,

grave clothes without a body.

And Peter, less hesitant, goes inside.

The cloth is folded neatly.

What’s happening here?

Does he think back to Lazarus,

remembering another tomb?
But when Lazarus emerged,

he was still bound in his grave clothes,

and needed help to get out of them.

This...is different.

There’s nobody here:

or, more to the point, no body.

The other disciple finally goes into the tomb.

We’re told that ‘he saw and believed’ -

but what is it that he believes?

Mary’s story of an empty tomb, sure.

But are we so sure that he believes

there’s been a resurrection?

Because, in our story, we have a

small editorial comment:

‘they still did not understand from Scripture that Jesus had to rise from the dead’.

Both disciples leave the tomb,

the rolled stone,

the garden...

and go home.

And, as they head for home,

is there a glimmer of belief, of light -

or are they still in the dark?

But we, who know this story well,

know that light is coming...

Light is already filling the skies:

as the morning sun breaks over the horizon

so too, the Son of God breaks the power

of death and darkness

and brings the light of hope,

the light of eternity into the world.

In the quiet of the early dawn,

the lone figure of a woman

can be seen in the garden,

weeping outside the tomb.

Having run back to the garden

with the two disciples,

she now dares to peer inside the open tomb.

The open tomb, that’s no longer empty:
Where the body should have been,

two shining figures are seated.

They ask a strangely obvious question:
‘why are you weeping?’

Obvious, because she’s standing there,

inside a tomb,

obvious, because the tomb contains - contained -

someone dear to her.

In the darkness of her grief,

she replies to the shining figures:
‘They have taken my Lord away,

and    I don’t    know    where they’ve put him.’

And then, another person enters the scene.

She has no idea who the stranger is,

but he, too, asks the same question

that the angels have just asked:
‘Why are you crying?’

And he follows it with another:

‘Who is it you’re looking for?’

She’s still in the dark as to who this stranger is.

All she wants to know is:
where have they put Jesus, and...

can she get him back?

For, at least if she can recover the dead body,

she can perhaps restore some dignity

to him at the last. 

Do one last kindness to him.

But she’s already living in the past:

clinging to it,

clinging to the comfort of the familiar -

for that’s what we do in the darkness of grief.

And, piercing through her darkness,

his voice:

he calls her name -

‘Mary’

and, in hearing her name,

the darkness is lifted,

the light pours in,

and she finally sees the Teacher.

Tries to comprehend this staggering truth -

he    is    not dead.

And she is the first to witness this.

Having followed him before his crucifixion,

she’s now sent to be a messenger -

an apostle in the broadest sense,

for that’s what the word means.

She’s sent to tell the other followers -

to bear witness.

As he calls her by name,

so Jesus calls her to tell the news,

the Good News:

to spread the light of hope,

the light of the resurrection,

the light of new life...

of freedom,

forgiveness,

and unconditional love.

Having wanted to cling to the past,

she’s shown, in the present,

in the garden of that first Easter morning,

the One who is the light

that shines in the darkness:

the light that can never be put out,

the light who even the darkness

cannot consume or contain.

Mary goes, as bidden, to the disciples,

begins to tell the story of the One

who died and rose again.

A story, which, 2 000 years later, is still being told.

We, who are gathered here on this Easter morning, know this story:

know that the light has come.

That Jesus, through his life, and death,

and resurrection,

offers us new life in him -

a way out of the darkness -
the darkness of harmful cycles of behaviour,
the darkness of grief and despair,
the darkness of injustice, hate, and oppression.

He offers us a new way of being of living as his people,

his body here on earth:
a people who live in the power of the resurrection here and now.

Over these last weeks,

we’ve walked through the wilderness of Lent:

and, in this last week, have journeyed

with Jesus through Holy Week,

through the palms and the cheers,

to Gethsemane and betrayal in the garden,

to arrest, and trial, and jeers, and crucifixion.

And in the darkness of that death,

held our breath

as time stood still,

and watched and waited.

And, we have dared to hope -

for we know how this story ends:
that there shall be no more tears,

that darkness is overcome,

that death is defeated,

that the light of the world can never be put out.

Here, with an empty cross,

grave clothes folded,

and with resurrected alleluias,

the questions Jesus asked of Mary

in the garden echo down through the ages:
‘why are you weeping?’

‘who is it you’re looking for?’

And, like Mary,

he calls each one of us by name -

for in his life,

his death,

his resurrection

he brings us life, and light, and hope.

He calls us not to cling to a dead body -

not to cling to the past,

but to walk in his light here and now

and also to look ahead to the light of eternity.

Like Mary,

he calls each one of us to go,

to tell,

to share the Good News -

to call others,

to watch the darkness lift,

and the light pour in

as they, in turn, see the Teacher

and comprehend the staggering truth -

that he    is    not dead.

He lives still.

And we are his witnesses -

called by name

and brought out of the darkness

into his marvellous light

For we are an Easter people

and ‘alleluia’ is our song.

Christ is risen!

Alleluia! He is risen indeed! 

Amen.

Lent, days 27 and 28(!): Sunday sermon, Lent 5B 'The fresh air of forgiveness'

SERMON ‘The fresh air of forgiveness’

1st reading: Jeremiah 31:31-34
2nd reading: John 12:20-33

‘Let’s pray:
May the words of my mouth and the meditations of all our
hearts be acceptable in your sight, O Lord, our rock and our redeemer.  Amen.

What is forgiveness?
Comedian Emo Philips tells a story
from his childhood.
He says:
‘When I was a kid I used to pray every night 
for a new bicycle. 
Then I realised that the Lord 
doesn't work that way ...
so I stole one      
and asked Him to forgive me.’

I have a hunch that this is probably not quite
the right approach when it comes to forgiveness!
So, what is the best approach?
And why bother with forgiveness anyway?

Let’s explore our reading from
the Book of Jeremiah...
First, some background context to help us
understand the text.
And we know some of this already - clues that from the book of Isaiah -
readings we looked at before Christmas.
Jeremiah is a prophet -
called to warn king and nation of their impending fate
at the hands of the Babylonians.
The Babylonians are the major power in the area.

Try as he might, Jeremiah’s words are not heeded:
he’s initially ignored, and later, actively persecuted:
by false prophets
by the priests in the temple
and by those who serve the king -
all of them are living in a state of denial,
none of them want to displease the king by
telling him potentially devastating news.
However, Jeremiah’s prophecies come to pass,
and the Babylonians conquer the nation of Judah.
To emphasise that they’re in charge,
they raze the Temple in Jerusalem,
bind the king in chains
and lead him into humiliating exile in Babylon.
In a stroke, the spiritual and earthly leadership
of Judah is destroyed.

With their king now gone
and, with the destruction of the temple,
those left behind are left wondering:
has God disappeared as well?
In the midst of all of this,
Jeremiah calls on God’s community to repent.
But he also reminds them of God’s faithfulness.
The shattered nation has not been deserted -
God is with them.
God will forgive them.
This, despite a lack of faithfulness
from his people;
despite turning to other gods,
despite their leaders - spiritual and national - priests and king - being corrupt,
despite a myriad of failings -
of exploiting, not loving, their neighbour,
of allowing injustice, not God’s justice,
to flourish...
...Despite all of this,
Jeremiah tells the people that
God is still with them.
Calling them to him
calling them to turn back to him
loving them
and forgiving them time after time.

In the aftermath of their defeat
by the Babylonians
Jeremiah tells the community of the
not-quite-as-faithful-as-they-could-have-been
that God is faithful, that God forgives.
And with forgiveness, there’s hope:
Jeremiah talks of a new covenant
that will be written on the people’s hearts -
a new way of being,
where being faithful is as basic as breathing.
God will wash away their sins permanently -
enabling the relationship to continue,
to blossom and flourish
not wither and fade into bitterness.
They are forgiven...
in order that they can move on,
and start afresh.

From our text, it would appear that God’s approach
to forgiveness is one of persistence:
God doesn’t give up even when, to all intents and purposes, things look hopeless.
Instead, the olive branch of forgiveness and reconciliation is offered;
the door, not slammed shut, but left open -
and in that act,
demonstrating a willingness to keep talking,
demonstrating hope,
demonstrating that forgiveness brings healing
and new possibilities.
And, given the merry run-around the people of Judah have given God,
demonstrating that forgiveness is not a sign of weakness
but a sign of strength.
Because the seemingly easier course of action
would be simply just to walk away.
Clearly, forgiveness... is not for wimps.

If forgiveness is potentially so hard, then why bother?
We are the people of God.
Called to follow,
called to love as he loves -
and if last week, we talked of modelling
the manner in which God loves,
this week, we’re thinking about
how to model the manner in which God forgives.
We’re called to love as God loves
and to forgive as God forgives.
And I find it an interesting thing that so many of us
have trouble with forgiving ourselves for past mistakes.
If the God who created the universe, and all therein,
if the God who created us, and who loves us,
can, and does, forgive us,
then we should probably take notice of that,
and learn to live in the light of God’s forgiveness -
and forgive ourselves.

Every week, we think about forgiveness:
we pray about forgiveness -
as we pray the Lord’s Prayer:
‘forgive us our sins
as we forgive those who sin against us.’
Or, another way of putting it:
‘in the same way in which we forgive others...
forgive us, God.’

So, how are we at forgiving others?
Because, effectively, if we can’t forgive,
we get caught in an ongoing cycle:
holding that grudge,
nursing it close to our hearts, is a recipe for bitterness...
but there’s something else at play - and it has to do with power.
In the act of not forgiving,
we allow the one who has caused hurt,
who’s offended us,
to have a hold over us -
if we keep picking at the scab
it will always be there, raw and bleeding.
We’re trapped.
And it’s only through forgiveness
that we get our life back,
that we find both freedom and peace.

There are some people who would rather die, than forgive.
And effectively, that’s what happens:
relationships wither and die.
And, with no hope for healing,
we begin to wither inside as bitterness takes hold.
This, is not the abundant life that we’re called to:
it’s the opposite and it’s grim.
...The most powerful thing we can do
is to forgive.

In the struggle to overturn Apartheid in South Africa,
Nelson Mandela was thrown into prison.
Desmond Tutu observes that:
‘before Nelson Mandela was arrested in 1962, he was an angry, 
relatively young man. He founded the ANC's military wing. 
When he was released, he surprised everyone because he was 
talking about reconciliation and forgiveness and not about revenge.’
Mandela’s approach,
choosing the way of forgiveness,
paved the way for reconciliation and healing,
and for the nation to find a new way of living and being together.

Tutu describes forgiveness like this:
‘a room can be dank because you have closed the windows, 
you've closed the curtains. But the sun is shining outside, 
and the air is fresh outside. In order to get that fresh air, 
you have to get up and open the window and draw the curtains apart.’

Forgiveness is hard.
It requires that we admit we’re hurt -
it’s an admission of vulnerability that risks being open to further hurt.
It requires that we see the one who has caused the hurt -
not as a monster, or any other dehumanising term we might use -
but as a fellow human being.
Flawed - yes.
But, then, so are we.
And it’s in seeing the one who has caused you pain as human
that leads to pity...
and pity takes away the power dynamic
somehow lessens the rage...
paves the pathway to forgive...
breaks down walls -
a little like the Greeks discovered when Jesus agreed to meet with them -
for there was a wall of cultural hostility between Jews and Greeks
that needed breaking through in order to see the other face to face.
Jesus breaking down the walls, letting them in:
was forgiveness, in a seemingly simple action.

Sometimes we don’t get the chance to meet face to face
with the person who’s hurt us or our loved ones.
Sometimes they refuse to meet,
or acknowledge the wrong they've caused;
sometimes it’s just too late - they've died.
Even so: forgive.
Ask God to help you - he’s been in the forgiveness business a long, long time.
Forgive, so that you can live -
and let the light and fresh air in.

If you were to look in the papers, or on the internet, you’d find many stories
of forgiveness in action:
forgiveness given in seemingly impossible situations.
Forgiveness is not an emotion,
forgiveness is an act of will.
Some of you may know of the Dutch woman, Corrie Ten Boom -
she was a Christian speaker and writer.
Corrie lived with her family - her father, her two sisters and a brother.
They were a family of watchmakers who lived
a relatively unremarkable life, until the German occupation of the Netherlands.
They joined the Dutch Underground, actively working to hide
Jewish people escaping from the Nazis.
Eventually they were discovered.
Corrie, her sister Betsie, and her father Casper were sent to a concentration camp.
Only Corrie survived - released due to a clerical error.
She returned home, and, after the war wrote of her experiences
in a book called ‘The Hiding Place’.
Corrie later returned to Germany,
and, one night, after a speaking engagement
where she’d talked of God’s forgiveness,
a man approached her.
The following, is in her own words:
“It was 1947, and I’d come from Holland to defeated Germany 
with the message that God forgives. It was the truth that 
they needed most to hear in that bitter, bombed-out land, 
and I gave them my favourite mental picture. 
Maybe because the sea is never far from a Hollander’s mind, 
I liked to think that that’s where forgiven sins were thrown.
‘When we confess our sins,’ I said, 
‘God casts them into the deepest ocean, gone forever. 
And even though I cannot find a Scripture for it, I believe God 
then places a sign out there that says, ’NO FISHING ALLOWED.’

The solemn faces stared back at me... 
And that’s when I saw him, 
working his way forward against the others. 
One moment I saw the overcoat and the brown hat; the next, 
a blue uniform and a cap with skull and crossbones. 
It came back with a rush—the huge room with its harsh overhead lights, 
the pathetic pile of dresses and shoes in the centre of the floor, 
the shame of walking naked past this man. I could see my sister’s 
frail form ahead of me, ribs sharp beneath the parchment skin. 
That place was Ravensbruck, and the man who was 
making his way forward had been a guard—one of the most cruel guards.
Now he was in front of me, hand thrust out: 
"A fine message, Fraulein! How good it is to know that, 
as you say, all our sins are at the bottom of the sea!" 
And I, who had spoken so glibly of forgiveness, 
fumbled in my pocketbook rather than take that hand. 
He would not remember me, of course—how could he 
remember one prisoner among those thousands of women? 
But I     remembered him. 
I was face-to-face with one of my captors 
and my blood seemed to freeze.

"You mentioned Ravensbruck in your talk," he was saying. 
"I was a guard there." 
No, he did not remember me. 
"But since that time," he went on, 
"I have become a Christian. I know that God has forgiven me 
for the cruel things I did there, but I would like to hear it 
from your lips as well. Fraulein,"
—again the hand came out—
"will you forgive me?"
And I stood there—
I whose sins had again and again been forgiven—and could not forgive. 
Betsie had died in that place. 
Could he erase her slow terrible death simply for the asking? 
It could have been many seconds that he stood there—hand held out—
but to me it seemed hours as I wrestled with the most difficult 
thing I had ever had to do.
For I had to do it—I knew that. 
And still I stood there with the coldness 
clutching my heart. 

But forgiveness is not an emotion—
I knew that too. Forgiveness is an act of the will, 
and the will can function regardless of the temperature of the heart. 
"Jesus, help me!" I prayed silently. 
"I can lift my hand. I can do that much. 
You supply the feeling." 
And so woodenly, mechanically, 
I thrust out my hand into the one stretched out to me. 
And as I did, an incredible thing took place. 
The current started in my shoulder, raced down my arm, 
sprang into our joined hands. 
And then this healing warmth seemed to flood my 
whole being, bringing tears to my eyes.
"I forgive you, brother!" I cried. "With all my heart!" 

For a long moment, we grasped each other’s hands, 
the former guard and the former prisoner. 
I had never known God’s love so intensely, as I did then. 
But even then, I realized it was not my love. 
I had tried, and did not have the power. 
It was the power of the Holy Spirit.   ...
[Corrie Ten Boom, 'Tramp for the Lord'] 

Corrie Ten Boom’s story is a powerful story of forgiveness
and reconciliation under the most extreme of circumstances. ...

We are the kin-dom of heaven on earth -
spiritual kin, brothers and sisters called to live
as a community of reconciliation:
for as we have been forgiven,
by the One lifted up from the earth to draw all humanity to him,
so too, we are called to forgive -
it’s not easy, it’s costly.
For that’s what it is to follow in Christ’s footsteps:
we pick up our cross,
we remove all the obstacles that prevent us - and others -
from following him....
and we go out, into the world,
as God’s beloved and forgiven community:
to share the good news with others,
to be like ears of wheat that fall to the ground
and which sow the seeds of healing,
of peace,
of reconciliation,
and forgiveness.
To sow seeds of hope, and light, and life
and the message of      God’s      love.
And we do all this, with the One
who walks by our side
and who will give us the strength to keep us walking.
And to him be all glory, honour and praise, amen.

Lent, day 23: Sunday sermon, 4 Lent, yr B - 'The beloved community'

Continuing the series on 'The kin-dom of heaven: living as God's community'
This week, looking at 'The beloved Community'

1st READING: Ephesians 2:1-10
2nd READING: John 3:14-21



SERMON  ‘And the good news is: God loves’
Let’s pray:
May the words of my mouth and the meditations of
all our hearts be acceptable in your sight, O Lord, our rock and our redeemer.
Amen.

I wonder, well, at least for those of you who are old enough,
I wonder if you remember a bit of a trend back in the 70’s
and through the 80’s?
It felt as if no big televised sporting event was complete without
the camera inevitably panning across the stadium and passing a large
hand-made sign with
‘John 3:16’ emblazoned upon it.
Everywhere.
These signs were everywhere.
And then, at some point, I’m not sure when, they seemed to just fade away.
But not today: because here it is - we find this verse within our Gospel reading this morning.
John 3:16.
If we were suddenly put on the spot and told to recite a bible verse from memory,
I suspect most of us would know this one,
at least.
‘For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son 
that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.’

‘For God so loved the world...’
Back in the day when I was relatively new to the bible and to church,
and all this God-stuff,
I remember a conversation with a friend of mine.
We were talking about this verse.
‘Wow,’ said I, ‘God really does seem to love us heaps.’
She grinned at me and my teenage enthusiasm.  
‘Well, yes, he does, but that’s not quite what this verse means.
It’s not talking about how much God loves us,
it’s talking about the way in which God loves.’
It was a good lesson to learn.
It turns out that:
‘For God so loved the world...’
is not about the measure of God’s love
it’s about the manner of God’s love.

What then is the manner of God’s love?
It’s wide - big - vast.
It’s not just an individual thing, not just about you or me,
it’s about the world - the universe - in the Greek: ‘the kosmos’.
God so loved...the world...
that he gave his Son...
verse 17 - ‘not to condemn, but to save.’
‘Not    to condemn’ -
It seems that any time we look at the news,
read the papers, or watch films or tv dramas,
the community of faith really doesn't come across very well at all.
There’s a tendency - because it makes the story more dramatic -
to flag-up faith at the very extremes.
Reasonable, kind, everyday people, who happen to have a faith,
tend not to get interviewed,
tend not to be ordinary, relatively normal characters in dramas.
It’s all hard-line or nothing at all.
The result is, that an assumption is built up
by folk outwith the community of faith
that all Christians are scary, judging, condemning.
And I think this extends to other faith communities as well:
Muslims can be outraged by acts of terrorism and concerned
that those acts will somehow impact on how their faith community is seen.

Assumptions hurt.

Imagine if, simply because of the clothes you wore or because of your name,
people made assumptions about your faith.
Or perhaps associated you with a form of Christianity with which
you strongly disagreed.  For me, it might be like linking Christianity
to that which is practised by the Westboro Baptist Church in the USA.
Who are they?

They are members of an American unaffiliated tiny church –
a small group of people, mostly comprising extended family members -
who seem to be extraordinarily skilled in getting US media coverage,
and courting publicity through sheer controversy.                                                          
They specialise in picketing the funerals of gay people, but also the funerals of
service men and women -
shouting out horrible things to those in the midst of grieving;                                          
letting the mourners know in no uncertain terms that this is God’s just punishment
upon the country for allowing gay people to simply exist,
let alone to have human rights.
And the American news goes wild when this group comes into town to share
their understanding of ‘good news’.
And the reason this group is even cropping up here in the sermon
is due less to the issue they spend their lives protesting about,
but due more to their picket signs:
picket signs that have their slogan,
which begins with ‘God hates...’
and so their signs range from
‘God hates ...this person’,
to ‘God hates ...that group’.
Picket signs that you just can’t miss because they’re brightly coloured,
with those words, ‘God hates’ in big, bold capitals.
And the message that ‘God hates’ is spread -
all over the telly,
all over the papers,
and across the internet.

‘God hates’...?
That breaks my heart.
This group certainly doesn’t speak for me as a Christian.
‘For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, 
but to save the world through him.’
God did this, ‘for God so loved the world’ -
God loves, not hates....

Ephesians chapter 2 talks of God’s love -
‘because of his great love for us, God, who is rich in mercy, 
made us alive with Christ even when we were dead in transgressions - 
it is by grace you have been saved...’
...It is through God’s grace that we can walk tall, lift up our heads.
In grace and love we are, and will be, shown God’s incomparable kindness.
We are God’s beloved community.
This is the very antithesis of hatred.
God loves
God loves the world
God desires that the world is saved, is rescued - from itself.
From poor choices that result in
environmental disasters
in order to make some easy money;
from the situation in which the whole world
has more than enough to feed
everyone on the planet,
and yet people starve to death...
and even in this United Kingdom,
where the constituent parts are deemed
to be prosperous,
we see and seem to accept the
rise in food banks.

...God loves
God loves the world
God desires that the world is saved, is rescued - from itself.
from poor choices based on naked power and might is right -
where young women who dare to go to school are kidnapped or terrorised,
and young men are radicalised through frustration, alienation,
and a sense of disempowerment.
from poor choices based on
misunderstanding or manipulation
where entire groups of vulnerable people
pay the price for a lack of vision
or self-serving decision-making.
...God loves
God loves the world
God desires that the world is saved, is rescued - not   condemned.

...‘For God so loved the world...’
Not a measure
but the manner in which God loves.
We are loved, rescued,
are free from condemnation.
As followers of Jesus - the One who came to free us -
as a community of the beloved,
what is the measure of our love:
for God
and for the world that God loves in this way:
‘that he sent his one and only son that whoever believes in him shall not perish 
but have eternal life’?
As God’s community of faith,
how do we model the manner of God’s love for the world?
For this is what we are called to do as his beloved community:
to model love, not hate, not condemnation.

Emerging from a sense of the church as God’s beloved community,
called to model love, the term ‘The Beloved Community’
took on a broader, more global context for the great social
justice campaigner, the Martin Luther King.
Steeped in the Christian tradition,
and stemming directly from his understanding of the good news of the gospel,
King’s vision was for a nation - a world -
in which people were treated with equal dignity and respect,
where people were judged
‘not by the colour of their skin, 
but by the content of their character.’ [I have a dream speech]
For King, the vision of ‘the beloved community’ was one in which
all people could share the good things of the earth -
where ‘poverty, hunger, and homelessness will not be tolerated because
international standards of human decency will not allow it.
Racism and all forms, bigotry and prejudice will be replaced
by an all-inclusive spirit of sisterhood and brotherhood...
where love and trust will triumph over fear and hatred...                                                      
and where peace and justice will prevail over war and military conflict.’
[from The King Centre - www.thekingcenter.org/philosophy]
King stated that the:
‘goal is to create a beloved community and
this will require a qualitative change in our souls
as well as a quantitative change in our lives.’

Thinking of his words, I’m reminded of the hymn
‘let there be peace on earth, and let it begin with me’
Each one of us is a member of God’s beloved community -
called to model God’s love - God’s belovedness - to others...
For ‘we are his workmanship, 
created in Christ Jesus to do good works’.
As we grow in the knowledge of God’s love for ourselves, and each other,
our default position of just looking out for our own interests is re-set:
because, as those who are beloved,
we understand more fully the good news of God’s
immeasurable love for the whole world - and, in the
sharing of that good news - the gospel of God’s love,
we incline to King’s wider understanding of the beloved community -
as we work towards the creation of a place where all are valued -
and where we find the image of God in those we encounter in our daily lives...
and where we seek, in small and big ways, to respect the dignity of all...
As King also said:
‘darkness cannot drive out darkness. 
Only light can do that.  
Hate cannot drive out hate.  
Only love can do that.’
As the kin-dom of heaven of heaven on earth,
we work to bring about the
kingdom of heaven on earth -
To be bringers of light,
and to live and love in such a way that the good news -
the good news of God’s love - actually does come across
as good to a world starved of goodness and love.

...‘For God so loved the world...’
Not a measure, but the manner in which God loves.
And the manner in which God loves is good news indeed:
transforming,
life-giving
and very much worth having.
Thanks be to God.  Amen.

Lent, day 16: Sunday sermon, lent 3 yrB 'Meek? Mild? As if'

Continuing the Lenten series 'The kin-dom of heaven: living as God's community'
This week, 'A reforming community'

1^st READING: Psalm 19                                                                  

2^nd READING: John 2:13-22

SERMON  ‘Meek? Mild? As if’

Let’s pray:

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

Gentle Jesus, meek and mild,
Look upon a little child;
Pity my simplicity,
Suffer me to come to Thee.

Lamb of God, I look to Thee;
Thou shalt my Example be;
Thou art gentle, meek, and mild;
Thou wast once a little child.

Loving Jesus, gentle Lamb,
In Thy gracious hands I am;
Make me, Saviour, what Thou art,
Live Thyself within my heart. ...

For some of us here, this morning, hearing the words of this old, beloved hymn

may have taken us right back to early childhood -

to Sunday School, or school assemblies,

or perhaps bedtime prayers

after warm milk and a chocolate chip cookie.

It’s a hymn that’s familiar and comfortable

and comforting.

Written in 1742 by that great Methodist hymn-writer, Charles Wesley,

‘Gentle Jesus, meek and mild’ expresses

a quiet simplicity,

and a child-like desire to be just like Jesus -

quiet, good, gentle:

a well-behaved Jesus,

perhaps seen, but never heard,

and certainly never speaking out of turn.

A role model for any parent to present to a small, somewhat noisy person

as a reminder to behave.

Which is all very well until you come across a reading such as the one we encounter

in John’s gospel this morning.

...Which occasionally has me wondering if Charles Wesley ever actually read this particular text!

A very different Jesus is portrayed:

here, it’s less ‘Gentle Jesus meek and mild’,

and more ‘Rambunctious Jesus, loud and wild’.

If you were wanting your child

to be seen and not heard -

to keep out of trouble,

then this passage is perhaps not the best one to use as a model for behaviour:

With loud shouts and a whip made of cords,

Jesus rampages through the temple courts,

overturning tables

scattering the coins of the money changers,

driving out the various animals on sale

for use in the ritual sacrifices.

The temple courts are cleared of the clutter

by a Jesus who is anything but meek and mild:

this     is angry Jesus,

prophetic Jesus - acting in the manner of prophets before him,

calling God’s people to repent, to reform,

to put aside those things that

distract from being God’s people -

to resist the temptation

to become comfortable,

or of getting a little...slack in the

way of doing things.

While there’s a wealth of material in the text

that could be used to explore the church’s uncomfortable issues around anger,

and a pervading pressure to fall into a comfortable culture of niceness,

that’s a sermon for another time.

This morning, I want us to reflect a little

on the sense of the church as a

reforming community.

There’s an internet meme that’s been doing the rounds for some time now.  And I’ve copied it onto the back of your orders of service:

The text, over a picture of Jesus in

the Temple reads:

“If anyone ever asks you

‘What Would Jesus Do?’

Remind them that flipping over tables and chasing people with a whip

is within the realm of possibilities.”

Putting on my historian’s hat for a moment:

In a famous sermon in Perth, John Knox preached on this particular event in Jesus’ life

to a crowd no longer comfortable

with the old religious ways.

Such was the power of his preaching,

that his call for reform

effectively resulted in a 16^th century version

of a clearing of the temple -

removing altars, statues, and anything

that the crowd felt was

cluttering up, and distracting from

the worship of God.

This was judiciously assisted by the use of stones that just happened

to be in their pockets.

Apparently they had a smashing time.  J

But reform in the church was not just some Protestant invention:

the church has always been in

a process of reform,

going right back to the time of the disciples.

There’s an expression

‘ecclesia reformata semper reformanda secundum verbum Dei’

basically meaning:

‘the church reformed always to be reformed according to the word of God.’

The church - the body of Christ - us...

is not called to be comfortable

we’re called to challenge,

to encourage repentance

and reformation of lives...

to clear away the clutter that distracts

from the worship of God.

And so, we need to ask ourselves some potentially uncomfortable questions:

Are we a little too comfortable

with the way we do things?

Is the phrase ‘we’ve always done it this way’ pointing to deep theological and liturgical reasons for what we do...

or, is it more a case of

‘we don’t want to change,

to do new things,

we’re quite comfy as we are,   thanks’?

Do our comfort zones help,

or distract us from what we,

as the people of God, are called to do?

What are those things we do within worship,

within our meetings,

...within our lives

that clutter up and distract ourselves, and others from seeing,

from hearing God’s good news?

and which dull our longing for God?

Let me tell you an old story...

On a rocky seacoast

where shipwrecks were frequent

there was once a ramshackle life-saving station.

It was no more than a hut and

there was only one boat,

but the few people at the station were a devoted lot who kept constant watch over the sea

With little regard for themselves and their safety, they would go out fearlessly in a storm if there’d been a shipwreck somewhere.

As a result, many lives were saved

and the station became famous.

As the fame of the station grew,

so did the desire of people in the neighbourhood

to become associated with its excellent work.

They generously offered of their time and money

New members were enrolled,

new boats bought

and new crews trained.

The hut was replaced by a comfortable building which 

could adequately handle the needs of those who had been saved from the sea.

Now, shipwrecks in those parts,

while frequent, didn’t happen every day.

And so the building became a popular gathering place – a sort of   local club.

Over time, the members became so caught up

in socializing, fundraising, and other such activities, that they had little interest

or energy left for life-saving -

although they duly sported the life-saving motto on the badges they wore.

It got to the point that, when people were actually rescued from the sea,

it was a bit of a nuisance -

they were dirty and sick -

and they made a mess of the

carpets and furniture.

Eventually, several members became concerned that the club had lost its focus.

At the AGM, they insisted that all the social activities - nice as they were -

had become a distraction:

they called the members to move from a social club back to a life-saving club once more. 

After a stormy meeting, a vote was taken.

The small handful who had called for change were accused of being troublemakers,

of   upsetting things,                                                  

of creating hurt and discomfort with their provocative behaviour.

Having lost the vote,   they were asked to leave.

‘Why don’t you start your own club?’ they were asked, as they were shown the door.

Which is precisely what they did – a little further down the coast, with such selflessness and daring that, after a while,

their heroism made them famous.

Whereupon their membership was enlarged, their hut ...was reconstructed…..

and their idealism smothered.

If you happen to visit that area today

you’ll find a number of exclusive clubs dotting the shoreline. Each one of them is justifiably

proud of its origin.

Shipwrecks still occur in those parts,

but    nobody seems    to care much.  ...

[story from Anthony de Mello]

As we are called to pick up our cross

and follow Jesus,

so too, we are called to be a community

of repentance and reformation.

The season of Lent is one traditionally

used as a time for repentance,

for refocusing upon God,

for re-forming unhelpful practices.

For getting rid of clutter:

those things that distract us from

being connected to God

- both individually and communally.

Sometimes, the process of reforming,

and renewing, is gentle.

But often it’s a discomforting process.

We are not called to be comfortable

we’re called to follow the One

who knows us completely,

who discerns our errors

and who forgives our faults...

the One who is both gentle Jesus meek and mild

and angry Jesus - challenging, reforming, removing the clutter that prevents others moving into relationship with God,

...from worshipping God.

Thinking of Jesus’ decluttering of the Temple,

I was reminded of an advertising campaign

by the Church of England, back in 1999.

The advertising firm they hired came up with an image of Jesus as a type of Che Guevara - revolutionary idealist and freedom fighter -

a turner-over of tables.

The campaign itself caused quite a controversy -

suddenly everyone, even the Guardian - was talking about God and about church.

The tag-line on the picture of this revolutionary-looking Jesus?

‘Meek? Mild? As if’

Quite.

Change for the sake of change is pointless -

but not changing the way we do things

just because we’re comfortable

is something that Jesus made quite a

dramatic statement about.

So,   we carry the tension between

tradition and not getting stuck.

This morning,

each and every day,

we’re called to a decluttering challenge:

to be in a process of reform and renewal

to question how and why we do the things we do, individually...but more importantly,

as the kin-dom of heaven - as brothers and sisters in Christ -

as we worship the One who calls us for his own.

And to Him, be all glory, honour, and praise, 

now and forever, Amen.