Creepy or comforting, or something else entirely...

The posted pic has been variously popping on the occasional facebook wall of this or that friend.  Invariably, the friend posting the pic tends to be an avid book lover - indeed, as am I.  The picture, apparently, is meant to convey the message that reading is one of life's comforting pastimes - and indeed, it can be.  But, try as I might, it is not the message that comes across to me.  Instead, I find the picture oddly discomforting and have been wondering just why I find this imagery, well...frankly incredibly creepy.

Earlier today, a conversation about said pic occurred over on facebook.  One friend wondered if the picture might be more 'comfortable' if the woman had her eyes closed, or if the book figure had a more recognisable face - an eye to eye, face to face kind of hug.  It was a good point and I said as much.  Another friend noted that he saw the pic as was - books are comfortable friends.
Various suggestions, and interpretations were made on the one image.
As to me, I offered that perhaps my discomfort was sparked off by reading and watching just a little too much in the sci-fi/fantasy genres. 
Dr Who came to mind: the book on the bookshelf looking harmless and inviting...the unsuspecting reader perusing the shelves, until, stumbling upon this particular title, chooses it, opens it, and the book - which is really some kind of alien creature - literally, draws the reader in.  Here, getting lost in a book, taking on more menacing overtones.

It's always an interesting thing to see how one particular person, thing, theory, can be viewed in different ways by different people. 
So many perspectives.  And all in their own way entirely valid. 
I remember being in a congregation many years back now [and many of the folk still much-loved friends] where the ongoing joke was 'where two or three [name of church] are gathered together, there shall be at least five or six opinions in their midst.'  It was true enough: trying to actually organise anything was a tad like attempting to herd cats - although incredibly lovely, bright and articulate ones. :) 

The way we see a thing, our different perspectives, was on my mind this last week as I grappled with the gospel text - Luke 13:10-17 - where Jesus heals a woman on the Sabbath.  I began to feel rather sorry for the poor old synagogue official, who was, after all, only doing his job, and who, I felt, was possibly terrified of the repercussions that might occur due to the healing: would this breach of the Law, as the official was interpreting it, result in a display of God's displeasure?  The fear of God literally prompting the official to rebuke Jesus?  It would be too easy to label the man as a 'jobsworth'.  In the context of both a covenantal relationship with God which entailed both privileges and duties, and from the perspective of holding to a providential view of God, the fear would be entirely well-founded. Beyond the mere 'jobsworth' label, what else might have been going on here and what was it that he was seeing; what was his perspective?  That's not to discount the possibility that he could indeed have been simply a 'jobsworth' but that also raises the question:what is it that makes someone so focused upon rules and regulations that humanity somehow gets lost in the equation?

And then, there's the woman herself; unnamed, as is the official.  She is defined by her illness, an illness that causes her to be severely bent over.  Her physical perspective is where her feet are - and the paths her feet take her.  Interactions with others are not eye to eye, or face to face [echoes here of the conversation about our picture above].  She can neither look ahead or up, only down.  And through her healing, her perspective changes, as too, her neighbours: she stands straight and tall, she sees others and others now see her differently as well.  The healing goes beyond a physical change of perspective. 
There's an identity perspective - she can now look up at those same stars that Abraham once saw: she is a child of a promise made long before.  In seeing the stars, her identity as a daughter of Abraham is reaffirmed.
And there's a wider change of perspective being offered to the community in the story concerning the meaning of Sabbath: reaffirming the celebration of liberation from Egypt through the freeing up of the woman from her bondage to whatever this illness was as seen to be entirely in keeping with the meaning and purpose of Sabbath.

Coming back to the starting point of the post, is that picture one of comfort?  For some, it is.  That's great, and I'm delighted it is so.  I still find it creepy, but it would make a cracking episode of Dr Who.  Stephen Moffat, all I ask is a 10% fee....

In the meantime, copied below is a reflection from the point of view of the healed woman - I chose to divide the sermon into three distinct compartments, in different styles, placed at different points in the service.  The first reflection was 'him' and was taking the point of view of the synagogue official, the second, 'her' copied below and in an attempt to get the feel of spoken word poetry format, and the third, 'us', hopefully brought the whole thing together, pondering on what the call to be God's faithful people might look like.

‘Her’

A transformed woman tells her story:

Freedom:
‘Woman,
you are free’
That’s what he said to me
that young rabbi:
‘free’.
And called to me
in the middle of the synagogue –
in the middle of the sermon,
in front of everyone.
I strained to look up
from the floor
Saw them all
Looking at me
And looking at him.
Saw him, seeing me.

Eighteen years;
Long and lonely
a life spent looking at my feet
not able to meet
anyone eye to eye
but always
always
eyes cast down
back bent
burdened by illness
and distress.
I was the invisible one
the neighbours shunned.
Quietly I shuffled through the village,
through my life,
not knowing what it was
simply
to be
free.

That Sabbath day
dutifully
I shuffled in to synagogue
listened to his words
and heard
the sermon stop
and words addressed to me:
‘Woman you are free.’
And compelled,
I crept across to where he was
and felt the kindness
as he placed his hands on me.
And I,
unbent.
Stood up,
stood tall
and blinked in shock,
amazed,
eye to eye with him
and called
on God in praise.

And now when nights are clear
I walk outside
look upwards
to the sky
and count the stars
that Father Abraham once saw
...and ponder freedom,
and the law.

unclaimed treasure, or left luggage?

See this pic?
This, apparently, is me.

Am somewhat bemused by a post-church conversation over coffee.  The topic of conversation happened to be on the matter of lawn bowls [gads, I feel sooo middle-aged] but somehow relationship status entered the scenario.  I noted that 'as a single person, yadda yadda, yadda.'  My conversational counterpart responded with:
'Ah! You're one of God's unclaimed treasures.'
Marvellous.
I did respond, with a grin, that this was not quite correct: 'God has claimed me for his own.'
In a later conversation with some of the RevGals, a consensus was building that, perhaps the above was marginally better than being referred to as 'left luggage'. 
Regardless, I now feel the need to create a badge to wear, with the words 'God's unclaimed treasure' boldly emblazoned upon it.
Or, alternatively, written on a cardboard luggage label; after all, they're cheaper...

Yr C - 'I sing a song of the saints of God': sermon for Sunday 18 August, 2013

A sermon based on Hebrews 11:29-12:1-2
[part of a three sermon series]
not one of my better efforts but at this point, something is better than nothing..
 
As I was thinking about our text from the letter to the Hebrews which we heard earlier this morning, an old hymn decided to wander into my head –
and I’m not sure if it’s one that’s particularly well-known in Scotland, so bear with me if that’s the case...
It begins with these lines:
I sing a song of the saints of God, 
Patient and brave and true, 
Who toiled and fought and lived and died 
For the Lord they loved and knew.


It’s a cracking hymn, and I'm more than a little vexed that it's not in CH4, but never mind.
A particular verse in the hymn has always made me stop and think, and occasionally made me scratch my head –
the lines in the verse tell us a little about some of these saints of God:  
one was a soldier, 
and one was a priest, 
And one was slain by a fierce wild beast; 
And there's not any reason, no, not the least, 
Why I shouldn't be one too.
Now, I was never too sure *why* I should want to be a fierce wild beast, but never mind.

At any rate, this morning I find myself standing before you about to preach on that most un-Presbyterian of topics ‘saints’ – surely, Johnny Knox would be rolling in his grave underneath the car park behind St Giles Cathedral...
Against that is the thought that, every communion Sunday,
we say the Apostles Creed, in which we declare that we believe in
‘the communion of saints’,
So, given that, a sermon on saints it is.

Our verses from Hebrews this morning sounds like a roll call of the great and the good heroes of the faith – the saints of God, named and unnamed.
We start off with a list of named saints:
Moses – and the Israelites who followed God and who walked across the Red Sea as if on dry land;
The Israelites again, who, in faith, marched around the walls of Jericho and saw those walls come tumbling down...
The walls of the city in which contained Rahab, who through faith, had welcomed the Israelite spies...
an act which saved her life and which eventually saw her name appear as one of the ancestors of David and Jesus, in the genealogy you find at the beginning of the gospel of Matthew...

The list of faithful heroes continues, naming
Gideon, Barak,
Samson the strong and mighty,
Jepthah,
King David – beloved of God,
Samuel, and the prophets.
All apparently terrifically successful –
through faith, they fought whole countries and won.

And then we move to the exploits of some of the unnamed heroes of the faith:
some shut the mouths of lions
others put out fierce fires or escaped death by the sword.
God made them strong and gave them victory in battle...
And then there were women of such faith that dead relatives were raised back to life...
We read this list and it is easy to be impressed:
less ‘heroes’ of the faith, and more like ‘superheroes’.
These folk are winners in the race of faith...
it’s not hard to be inspired – they have the ‘wow’ factor.

But our writer to the Hebrews is not finished with us yet:
A bit like those old sales adds - you can almost hear him say:
‘but wait, there’s more’
And so there is.
But this list is rather different.
It’s a little edgier...
 And quite a lot darker in tone:
We hear of those whose faith resulted in torture and death,
Of mocking, whipping, and being placed in chains and imprisoned.
Of being stoned, or sawn in half,
or, who, unlike our first list, did not manage to escape the sword.
And of those who survived who were so poor that they had only the skins of sheep or goats to wear, and who slept rough in caves or holes in the ground...
Unlike our first list of victorious heroes, this latter list is filled with folk who, in their own life-time did not necessarily see the obvious fruits of victory,
as they ran the race that had been set before them.
Here is a case in point of faith truly being “the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen,” as we talked about last week.
It was faith that enabled these folk to hope for a better world,
a brighter future,
To hope that darkness would be swallowed up in victory –
even it they themselves might not be alive to see that victory.

What are we to make of these lists?
Of this great cloud of witnesses to the faith who, following in Jesus’ footsteps picked up the baton of faith and ran with determination the race that the writer to the Hebrews talks of?
We sit back and read of these saints of God, and of their adventures in the faith,
sometimes awed,
sometimes shocked,
and occasionally horrified...
and maybe somewhere deep down we perhaps think that it is all very well for them:
they were, after all, exceptional and extraordinary people.
Well, yes, but no.

I discovered another list – though not in the book of Hebrews:
a list that tells another side to some of the saints of God... these people who allowed themselves to be open to God and to be used by God to do mighty things.
Check this list out:
Noah got drunk
Abraham was too old
Sarah laughed at God’s plans
Isaac was a daydreamer
Jacob was a trickster
Joseph, well he was a show off in that fancy coat of his.
Moses stammered
Miriam gossiped
Gideon was insecure
Samson – let’s just say ‘my, my my, Delilah!’
Rahab was a prostitute
Ruth was a foreigner
David was an adulterer and murdered Bathsheba’s husband.
Isaiah...er, preached naked for three years
Jeremiah struggled with depression
Jonah ran from God...
and in the New Testament:
Zaccheus was too small
the woman at the well had had five husbands
Martha was a worrier
Mary Magdalene was demon-possessed
Peter denied Christ
the Disciples fell asleep while praying in the garden
Thomas doubted
Timothy was too young
 Paul was too religious
Lazarus ...
Lazarus was dead!
These ‘superheroes’ of the faith... were everyday flawed and fallible human beings, who God called.
Now I want to show you a picture of some of the saints of God I know...
and you might know some of them too...
[turn on the live stream camera or have large mirror and a prepped person to use it - so congregation see themselves reflected]
There they are... look around...
Look at the saints of God.
You – yes you.

You are God’s fabulous and fallible and faithful saints
Called not to straighten your lives out before serving God...
but called as you are for who you are,
and with all the gifts you have been given by God, to use where you are.
And while you might not ever be called to wrestle with fierce wild beasts,
you are called to participate in the great race:
And it’s not about being the fastest man or woman alive, like Usain Bolt, nor is it about being the strongest, or the fittest individual...
This is a team effort.
It’s a great relay race that generation upon generation of Christians have been involved in –
whether they’ve run, skipped, jumped, walked, hobbled, limped, wheeled or dragged themselves, or propelled themselves forward through the sheer power of thought if they weren’t able to physically move...
All passing on the baton of faith to the next generation and keeping the flame of faith alive.
And here and now, we are that generation who are running the race, holding the baton;
everyday saints just getting on with life.
And if you sometimes don’t think you’re good enough,
or sometimes struggle to believe that God calls you to run so that the baton can be passed along for the next leg of the great relay race,
there’s quite a neat line from Oscar Wilde who observed that
 ‘every saint has a past, and every sinner has a future’.

The last verse in the hymn ‘I sing a song of the saints of God’ states:  
They lived not only in ages past, 
There are hundreds of thousands still. 
The world is bright with the joyous saints 
Who love to do Jesus' will. 
You can meet them in school, or in lanes, or at sea, 
In church, or in trains, or in shops, or at tea; 
For the saints of God are just folk like me, 
And I mean to be one too.

God doesn’t call superheroes – they don’t really exist except for in comic books.
God calls us:
Calls us, imperfect yet beloved, people to fix our eyes on Jesus,
the pioneer and perfector of our faith:
calls us to run the race.
And, as we do so, we are cheered on by that great cloud of witnesses who remind us that, as we run, we are not alone –
we run the race with everyday saints past and present and are a part of something so much bigger than we can possibly imagine...
but in faith we have hope:
hope for a brighter future -
We may or may not see that future, but we run the race knowing who holds the future in his hands.
And to God alone be all glory...

Let’s pray: God of all the nations, you rescued your people out of the Red Sea and delivered Rahab from battle; you rescue the lowly and needy from injustice and tribulation. Surround us with so great a cloud of witnesses that we may have faith to live by your word in our time, courage to persevere in the race set before us, and endurance in the time of trial. Amen

'our sins, like piles...'

Oh dear.
Oh.
Very.
Dear.
It is, I am beginning to learn, possibly the task that ministers love the least: the cycle of the year turning around inevitably to the task that is the 'musings from the manse', 'ministerial mutterings', or 'pastor's ponderings'.
I refer to the blurb that is the minister's slot in the parish magazine/ newsletter.  
Now, as a probationer-minister, in theory, this little task should not necessarily be my problem as yet.  Indeed, my wondrous and fab supervisor will be writing her blurb for the mag at some point this week.  However...in a bid to get me used to the whole thing, 'probationer's ponderings' will also have its own wee slot while I'm at parish-by-the-sea.
Joy abounds.

I'm reminded of the many times I've read such things, with variations on a theme as they begin:
'Friends, as I sit looking out the window of the manse study, watching the blossoming of Spring/ the first falling leaves of Autumn/ the frost-covered garden on this Winter morning...etc...I am reminded of God's...[insert divine attribute here, continue to claw about desperately for rather tortuous spiritual analogy].'  I suspect that very occasionally, what one really, really, really wants to write down is less er, 'weather-orientated'.  But how to avoid drowning in what could be the equivalent of a cheese-fondue?

Mind, I feel the potential for a competition coming on: prizes - by preferred type of cheese - for most torturous analogy?  Below, my own humble offering, as I reflect upon piles...feel free to join in.

'Dear ones, as we move towards Autumn, I find myself contemplating piles.
Countless piles.
Currently the falling leaves are covering the ground, 
and groundskeepers and gardeners everywhere are amassing piles...
of these fallen objects, now no longer displayed in all their glory but
discarded, damaged, decaying.
Friends, as I ponder piles, I am minded to think of our own fallen lives.
Each of our sins, amassing like spiritual piles, 
cluttering the interior landscapes of our lives:
ruined remnants reminding us of our formerly whole and glorious relationship with God.
But friends, be comforted: 
God can heal our piles 
if we only hand them over to Him.'

'our sins, like piles...'

blessed and speechless

I had been planning a quite different day yesterday.  It involved a gentle and quiet morning, followed by friend Fran and I daundering off to explore the loveliness that is Seton Collegiate Church. The plan then involved heading down the road to stay at Fran's for a couple of days.  My wee bag was duly packed and friend Fran arrived.  A small change to plan: Fran was going to stay in order to take me out for a quiet birthday meal in town.  Off we went to Seton CC, initially set up as a local parish church from the 12th c and then, in the 15th c, being furnished by priests to sing masses for the souls of local nobles the Seton family - gaining collegiate status in 1492.  It has been a place I've been meaning to have a wee look at for several years now. 

The weather was gorgeous, the sun filtered through the woodland path that led to the church, and then as we passed through the old stone entrance, in the midst of beautifully tended lawns, there it was in all its pinky-brown stone glory with uncompleted spire.  Glorying in the beauty of the surroundings, we strolled about the gardens, carefully avoiding the 'burrowing bees' [shades of 'Harry Potter' anyone?] - this, at any rate, according to a sign.  We walked in and inspected the place, with no other souls in sight.  Given it was just the two of us, we put the accoustics to the test - singing a psalm, several versions of the Lord's Prayer, and a MacMillan Sanctus.  The sound bounced about the old stone wonderfully - even though neither of us are particularly wonderful singers!  A lovely way to spend the afternoon.

And then, home. 

Quick change for quiet meal in town.

I was puzzled, however, when, after having parked on George IV Bridge, we kept walking...and walking, past all the usual restaurants and headed along the way to the Mound.  Things began to get more mysterious as we passed the last two 'obvious' eateries and walked towards New College where Fran decided to pop into Musa, the wee cafe by the school, to 'just see Sue for a minute'. 

Something was not quite right, but I shrugged, and said I'd wait outside as it was a lovely evening.

No.

I was coaxed into Musa and, just as a cog in brain began to turn, the door opened to reveal a host of friends who had apparently been brilliantly discreet for weeks - lots of plotting and planning and I had not heard a whisper.

Can those eyebrows lift any higher? No. I think not.

'SUPRISE!' indeed - I had been played like a fish - it was beautifully done.  Possibly one of the most astonishing, fun, touching, and best moments of my life.  Utterly speechless and utterly humbled by how many folk had worked so hard, and so quietly, to help put the whole thing together, to turn up or send their good wishes, and to cheer me on as I marked a year which for me ends in a '0'... and special thanks to friend Fran for being inspired to organise and coordinate the whole thing.  What a wondrously eclectic mix of friends from all the various strands of my life... and such generosity.
I'm left astonished, amazed, humbled, and very very grateful. 
I am truly blessed.

'lifelong learning' and the marking of a decade

Today marks another decade.
Where did it go?  Well, mostly it went at uni.
Ten years ago the seeds planted in my mind by a pal, who suggested that I 'might just like uni.' began to grow into the rather madcap idea that, well, maybe I just might indeed, and that...perhaps I might even be accepted as a stoodent. Encouraged by friends, I never imagined that sending off the form would lead to spending most of the following decade doing my B.D., followed by an accidental Masters, followed by a 'goodness, how did that happen' PhD. As I await my viva for the PhuD, continue to enjoy my probationary ministry placement, and mark this particular birthday, well... gosh...what an adventure this decade has been. :D

The pic above is me, aged 4, heading off to nursery school [an alarmingly 'Midwitch Cuckoos' feel to it!]
Who'dathunk that it would take quite so long to leave school...?
'Lifelong learning' indeed.

[not quite] born to be wild...or/ an afternoon with Dr Spot

Last Saturday morning - conducted a rather big funeral, and then off to the reception afterwards.  An utter privilege to have been able to 'be there' for the family, and a further affirmation of calling. 
But what to do with all that emotional/ psychological energy and suchlike that comes with these sorts of events?  It is one of those perennial 'how to do care of self after caring for others in extremis' questions.  
Well, in this case, it involved a friend *waves to Spot*, his bike, and burling down the road - initially clinging on for dear life.  Once I got my head around being on said bike, I found myself relaxing into the whole experience.  On the way out, Spot very cleverly had relaxation-style music - most calming.  On the way back... we were overtaking cars while 'Bat out of Hell' played through the helmets.
In my usual way, I found myself mentally standing outside the scene, analysing quietly.  I noted the transition from terror, to relaxation, to exhilaration....
Pity we didn't have 'born to be wild' on the cd *grin*
Quite the experience for this middle-aged minister-historian - I may yet ditch the rocking chair.
Great therapy, with many thanks to Dr Spot!  :D      

very big grin!

I have been grinning like a loon since 3pm yesterday afternoon.
Finally, several months after my self-imposed deadline...
THE THESIS HAS BEEN SUBMITTED!!!!!!
*ahem*
*continues grinning*
*dances a very happy dance*

Golly. 
Finished the final proofing on Wednesday evening at 9.30pm, emailed illustrious and esteemed supervisor with the news.
After parish visit in the morning, daundered into town to the printers, where in under an hour 3 copies [1 for me, and 2 for the examiners] of a thesis, printed and bound, were handed back to me.  Trogged across to the College office carrying the dead weight of Knox and arrived somewhat pink and 'glowing'.  Happily submitted the thing, then called lovely pal Penny and 10 minutes later we were in Peckham's having a wee celebration.  Amidst massive hugs and generous helpings of cheesecake and root beer, the thesis submission was duly marked. 
Then caught up with pal Nic... more happy celebrations...and then with Frannie and Eliz.  The celebration of submission was, if nothing else, beautifully trinitarian!
Onwards to the viva at some point.
I am beyond delighted to have finally got the thing in.

'it started with a kiss'...'the journey, the journey is long'

'It started with a kiss, never thought it'd come to this'
Lyrics from an ancient, ancient song by Hot Chocolate on a school-yard crush that didn't manage to stand the test of time...

For no discernable reason, it's the song that has popped into my head as I reflect on blogging, beginnings, ministry, and about community and connectedness.  This particular blog space did not, alas, start with a kiss, but with a conference in April 2009; the second of five conferences in my initial training for ministry.  All of which feel a little lost in the mists of time given the slow boat to China route I've taken due to the accidental PhD.

It seems somehow apt to note that first wee blogpost, as I dipped both a hesitant toe into the bubbling blogosphere and dived headlong into training.  Here I stand, now in the first week of full-time probation, and the next part of the ministry journey, with a new set of conferences beginning in Sept.  The PhD - is off with my proof-reader, and will be submitted once I've made the corrections...I suspect there will be a celebratory blog-post to mark that!  After the viva and requisite corrections are corrected and re-submitted, I shall finally wave goodbye to academia, having started in New College way back in 2004.
Odd.
But also time.
New things beckon.
So, beginnings, endings, beginning again.

And what of community and connectedness?
Alongside friends in the non-virtual realm, I have found a 'home', a sanctuary and space in realms virtual, whose inhabitants form a part of a brilliantly supportive and encouraging community - the wonderful RevGals.  It's an online group of bloggers who are women in ministry/ training for ministry/ supportive of women in ministry/ and supportive men - a most affirming and inclusive place of support of folk dotted all around the globe. 

I find myself rich indeed, to have in both realms companions and kindred spirits and have been delighted when the boundaries between both have blurred: it has been great to meet virtual pals in 'real' life, and it has been fun to see a growing Scottish contingent - we have now had two W.E.E. meets [Wee Event Ecosse!!].  It has been a fab thing, watching as different folk pondered, and journeyed, and made life-changing decisions, or ranted, or laughed and just spent time 'shooting the breeze'.  They don't know it, but they all keep me sane and vaguely grounded, and I am most grateful :)   

While there's so much more I could say, I have the matter of a funeral to go and conduct - the doing of which also helps keep me grounded.
As per that very first blog post, 'the journey, the journey, the journey is long' - but it is good, and there have been, and continue to be, a community of most amiable and encouraging companions to travel with.
Friendship and Galship :)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

Gathered and scattered: a sermon for Pentecost

A sermon for Pentecost...
Acts 2: 1-18

[the idea here is a sort of rhythmic repetition, snappy and fast-paced and flowing, and bringing in some of the lyrics to the following hymn 'Gather us in'... I feel I got boxed in earlier in the week by the post-sermon hymn... it ain't pretty, but never mind]

Let us pray:

Spirit of the living God

Fall afresh upon us –

Help us to hear your voice in word and in our thoughts...

Amen.

Gathered in

Gathered together in one place

All the believers –

in one house

Sitting ...

Talking

Pondering upon Jesus:

Jesus who had so recently been among them

And who had been himself 

gathered

up to God the Father....

but, who, before he’d gone

Had asked them to gather...

And so, 

they did.

In a room,

In Jerusalem...

Gathered together

Gathering their thoughts:

They waited...

And wondered:

Wondered what those last words of Jesus had meant:

‘You will receive power from on high’

‘I will be with you always’...

Always?

But he’d disappeared...

Gone to the Father;

So, how was that possible?

Called and gathered

They had been on an incredible adventure:

A roller-coaster ride of mystery and wonder

Of friendship and laughter

Of weddings and wine

loaves and fishes

Palms

Processions

Cheers, betrayal, and jeers

A journey of fear, denial,

Slaughter and scattering.

...and unspeakable bewildering grief...

And then

Day’s dawn in a garden

And the world... turned upside down

as a stone rolled away... with resurrection’s promise fulfilled.

They gathered again

He appeared in their midst

With bread and wine and blessing

And the promise of a helper...

On a day 

when they’d gathered together again,

A sudden unexpected noise

Loud:

 like wind blowing out the cobwebs in the corners of the mind

Blowing and rattling the windows of imagination open

Blowing wide open the doorways of their hearts

as the flames of the Holy Spirit danced in their midst:

their eyes opened as if seeing for the first time;

And their hearts were comforted by the warmth of holy fire

And their minds understood 

the words:

‘I will be with you always’...

And in response:

So excited that together they left the room

And, like the Spirit rushing into that room and into their lives...

they rushed out into the world:

Excited

Amazed

Shining and blazing with the light and life of God’s love.

Proclaiming what had happened to all who would hear.

...And some who heard thought they were drunk

but others from all around the known world mysteriously heard the joyous good news in the language of their birth.

And 3 000 were added to the number of believers that same day.

And as they gathered,

So they scattered – to be witnesses

And to call and to gather others...

Who, in turn, would scatter

and proclaim the good news of the message of Christ

down through the ages...

Generation upon generation,

Gathering and scattering,

Fired by the prompting of the Spirit,

Hearing and sharing the story:

Eating bread,

drinking wine.

Remembering the one who had called them

and caused them to gather

Who told them that He would be with them always;

Then - 

told them to scatter and to share the good news...

And now,

here,

in this place,

in this room,

we gather:

Week in, week out,

We gather.

Why?...

Because Christ has called us here –

although maybe in a less dramatic way than those first followers on the day of Pentecost:

the drama which was the birth of the church.

We gather, because 

it’s something we just 

do:

Almost a routine...

We get up

Get dressed

Have our bacon butty

or our cereal

or even that slice of leftover pizza...

and, at the Spirit’s prompting –

even though we may not have realised that’s what it was –

we answer the call:

we gather in this place

as generations before us have gathered;

we hear again the good news...

 

That good news is about friendship:

God, in Jesus, saying:
‘I call you my friends’

God, through the Spirit

Being with us – 

always.

The friendship expanding as we, in turn, say to our neighbours:

‘I call you my friends’

As we stand alongside,

and walk with those around us –

in joy and in pain and in all the in between....

We are called to gather,

in order to scatter

and so we share the love of God.

Here,

in this place,

in this room,

we gather:

and although at times we may not even be aware of it...

Here, in this place, 

new light is streaming

now is the darkness vanished away.  

The One who calls us friends

is with us still

in the mystery of the Spirit;

That same Spirit

who blows through this room

making, in our hearts, a home:

comforting and encouraging

challenging and inspiring...

with us always

calling us to gather

to hear again the good news;

to remember

and to respond once more:

to shine;

to blaze with the light and life of God’s love

and then to scatter from this room

and go and share:

share the good news with all:

the good news

that God calls us friends

that God is with us always –

that God will never leave us or forsake us

that we are loved regardless of age, or gender, or orientation,

or even if we did have that leftover pizza slice for breakfast...

Here in this place

Gathered together as God’s called people -

Even now...   

 the breath of God’s Spirit is filling the room,

Swirling around us

and within in us

Reminding us that 

even as we scatter and think about what God might be doing 

in our own lives,

And in the life of the world - 

that we are not alone, 

that each of us is part of something much, much bigger: 

that we’re bound together in friendship – 

with each other

And with God,

Who calls us

And gathers us

Loves us

and scatters us

and who, in the Spirit,

is the fire of love in our flesh and our bone -

and who encourages us to tell 

the greatest love story the world has ever known.

Amen.