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

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

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

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

Sermon ‘Love God, and do what you like’

Picture the scene:

the wind is blowing mightily.

The very air is alive with crackling tension:

Thunder thunders,

lightning flashes,

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

Swirling smoke and cloud cover the mountaintop.

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

people huddle together trembling, afraid...

trying to find a little distance

from the terror and the noise

and the all-pervading,

utterly terrifying, voice

of the all-powerful God.

...

Too much.

it’s all too much to bear –

and if they hear much more,

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

The description of the giving of the ten commandments 

is certainly not filled with fluffy bunnies, pretty butterflies,

or people skipping merrily along the way. 

Nor, for that matter, does it feature Charlton Heston 

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

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

Rather, it is quite literally awe-some:

designed to make you pay attention. 

Something big is happening here,

something of tremendous importance: 

God... speaks. 

The people of God tremble.

They think of death...

and miss the point completely:

God speaks.

Ten words.

Words of life,

not death.

Words of liberation,

not captivity.

‘Law’...and...’liberation’?

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

must be a bit of an oxymoron:

are contradictory? 

Don’t quite...compute.

Or do they? 

                                                                     

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

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

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

‘This is a command?’

And he continues, by answering his own question: 

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

and of what God has done...

it’s a command that implies

to those who have ears to hear it:

‘Know that whose you are

precedes what you do.’  

...you are God’s people...

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

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

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

But are the 10 commandments merely just a bunch 

of rules and regulations designed to spoil our fun?

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

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

And I’d add that law –

rules, regulations, codes of practice,

however you might describe them –

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

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

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

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

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

‘Don’t do that!’

slap...

‘Stop it!’

slap...

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

Here, I probably should confess that, in my head 

there’s a picture of God as Clint Eastwood, 

saying to potential offenders:

‘Go ahead, make my day...’ 

slap.

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

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

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

When I stumbled across this version of the commandments, 

it really helped me see them with fresh eyes – 

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

Let’s go back to that comment about knowing 

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

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

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

ten words.

The ten words are almost a foundational document of liberation:

And that liberation is founded on relationship.

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

These first four ‘words’ concern

God in relation to God’s people,

the people in relation to their God...

Just ‘whose’ are these people?

They belong – are in relationship with –

 the One who freed them from captivity,

who took them out of Egypt, 

and on a journey into the wilderness wastes,

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

keeping them fed and watered on the way.

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

mumblings, murmurings, complaining:

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

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

on the whole, was actually pretty darned good –

But now, at the foot of Mt Sinai,

they are no longer Pharoah’s:

they are God’s particular people,

and God begins the process of guiding them 

into a particular way of being,

Having liberated them for a particular purpose,

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

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

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

Ten words,

calling God’s people to serve God, 

and each other, in love, 

Ten words that are a radical call for commitment to God 

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

Ten words that continue to confirm my growing suspicion 

that God is indeed a Presbyterian: 

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

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

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

and reinforces that, even in the wilderness,

life can be meaningful, and fruitful -

importantly, that in the midst of it all, 

that there should be time to rest: 

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

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

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

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

And, in contrast to the Egyptian custom,

the commandments don’t sanction a human king 

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

The community isn’t going to be defined 

according to the whims of power-hungry human rulers.

Instead the commandments demand loyalty and obedience to God alone.

The commandments also serve to formalize the connection 

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

As Patrick Miller eloquently expresses it: 

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

once the covenant is established. Even though both 

experience real abandonment on the part of the other 

for a time, they are forever linked.’

But what about us?

God’s people, the church...

God’s living stones...

called into community...

called to tell God’s story?

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

and given the dreary weather this last couple of days, 

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

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

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

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

being in a kind of terminal decline. 

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

no longer seem to hold the privileged place in society 

that we used to when it came to having some 

kind of public influence when decisions and statements 

were made at the General Assembly.

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

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

in a type of wilderness?

Is there a small sense of terror, 

as we watch the depletion of resources...

and of the depletion of people and skills,

of time and talents?

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

Journeying in the wilderness can be terrifying –

all the securities and apparent guarantees of survival are gone.

But the wilderness could also provide the church 

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

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

for in the wilderness, free from unnecessary distractions,

we are reminded of whose we are:

God’s particular people,

In this particular time and place at Seaside Town,

in our homes,

or wherever, and whoever, we are with.

What might our lives look like if we lived 

the Ten Commandments as invitations to freedom,

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

What would life be like if we lived in the awareness 

that life comes from God, 

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

or bow down to the idol of celebrity? 

What if we celebrated that we can still freely and publicly 

speak God’s name in praise and prayer?

What if we recognised that life was about more than work 

and took up God’s invitation to Sabbath?

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

honour life, and honour relationships?

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

What would that feel like?

...What would life be like?

Writer Joe Roos notes that:

‘the Ten Commandments don't begin with:

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

 'Here are ten commandments, obey them.'

Instead, they begin with a sweeping announcement of freedom:

'I am the Lord your God, 

who brought you out of the land of Egypt, 

out of the house of slavery'.

We will probably always think of the declarations that follow 

as the Ten Commandments.

But we could,

and probably should,

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

the ‘positive’ ten.

As we learn what it is to walk in the freedom 

that God gives to each one of us, 

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

who famously said:

‘love God, and do what you like’...

meaning that, although there will be the occasional glitch, 

for we’re none of us perfect yet...

if we love God,

what we like

will tend to be that which pleases God...

for we are his, 

and he is ours,

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

Let us pray:

Faithful God,

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

Life-giver, love-bringer, liberator,

As we learn together to love and to serve you,

May our hearts so incline towards you,

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

of you, and of our neighbour.

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

The Positive 10:

Put God first. 

Give worth to the one who gives worth to you.

Use God’s name with respect and love.

Spend time thinking about God.

Honour and love your whole family.

Live towards other people with love and generosity.

Find the richness in faithfulness towards others.

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

Speak well of others and truthfully to yourself.

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

'Stones and stories': sermon for Easter 5A

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

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

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

Tell me the old, old story

of unseen things above,

Of Jesus and His glory,

of Jesus and His love.

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

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

what are some of your favourite stories? 

[allow folk to respond] 

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

And that’s a very good question! 

Last week, we thought about the question:

'what is the Church...?'

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

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

the people of God, called into community -

a learning community;

a worshipping community;

a sharing and supportive community;

a community of thanksgiving and praise.

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

we’ve another aspect to add, which is:

a story-telling community.

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

of the followers of Jesus as ‘living stones’ -

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

come, as living stones’

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

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

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

in Chapter One, the writer,

who may or may not be Peter,

addresses his readers as

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

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

an encouragement for folk who appear

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

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

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

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

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

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

Stones...and stories:

The stone metaphor is an odd one:

stones are more associated with...

well, just ...

sitting there being rather lifeless...

but here in our reading,

each stone is infused with the Spirit of God -

alive - active:

these stones live...

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

But whether bones, or stones,

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

but then, God managed to roll away a stone

from a tomb

and out sprang the promise of resurrection and new life:

Jesus -

the stone that the builders rejected -

the living stone...

With God,

all things are possible, even living stones...

living stones that have a story to tell.

Stones and stories:

if these living stones could speak,

what would they say?

1^st Peter provides some clues.

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

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

Living stones;

story-telling stones.

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

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

and ask him to tell the crowd to be quiet.

His joyful response?    

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

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

of lifeless stones becoming living stones -

story-telling stones.                                                     

A story that hints at our communal identity -

who we are...

and, whose we are.

But what is the story?

In the words of the old hymn:

Tell me the story slowly,

that I may take it in,

That wonderful redemption,

God’s remedy for sin.

                                                                          

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

and dusted off, every now and then.

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

and how it impacted upon the whole of humanity.

And over the course of centuries,

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

Stones and stories:

One of my favourite writers, Paulo Coelho once commented 

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

a love story between two people,

a love triangle,

the struggle for power,

and the story of a journey.

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

the love story?

- of God for humanity;

the love triangle?

- the alluring whispers of a serpent in a garden;

the struggle for power?

- between light and dark, goodness and evil;

the story of a journey? -

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

the journey back to God...

But also, another journey -

God’s journey - involving the vulnerability of incarnation:

of becoming one of us

to show us the way

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

It is a story of pain and sacrifice,

love and separation

redemption and reunion - for love always wins.

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

Gathered together here, as God’s people,

as his living stones,

each one of us comes with our own story

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

of where we’ve come from,

where we are,

and where we hope to go

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

Each story different, unique...

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

each of us shares in a common story:

the story that brings us here today...

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

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

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

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

As God’s living stones

as God’s story-telling stones,

how might we tell the story?

How might we proclaim the marvellous acts of the one 

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

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

How might we:

Tell out the old, old story,

tell out the old, old story,

Tell out the old, old story,

of Jesus and His love.

Let’s pray:

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

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

As your living stones

breathe your Spirit upon us

renew us

refresh us

excite us

that we may go out into your world 

to proclaim your marvellous works.

In Jesus’ name

amen.*

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

'One heart, one love': sermon for Easter 4A based on Acts 2:42-47

Acts 2: 42-47; John 10:1-10

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.

As the poet, John Donne, famously wrote:

‘No man is an island,
Entire of itself,
Every man is a piece of the continent,
...A part...

of the main.’

In our gospel text this morning, Jesus talks of coming 

that we might have life in all its fullness - abundant life...

And, as we listened to our reading from the Book of Acts -

the story of the very beginnings of the Church -

we discover that life in all its fullness

is not one that’s lived in isolation:

abundant life ...

the Christian life...

is necessarily ...communitarian:

we’re not called to live out our faith in glorious isolation;

we are the body of Christ...

one body, and each of us making up the many parts. 

Throughout this week, 

on the back of a couple of conversations with different folk, 

I’ve been pondering the question:

‘what is the Church?’ 

And in our reading from Acts we catch a glimpse 

of what church might be for those earliest of Christians -  

behaviours and ways of being that might act as wee touchstones or signs for us,

as we think about what church is.

So, let’s examine our Acts passage a little more.

We’ve already worked out that for the folk in Acts, community was important -

the text says that ‘they continued together in close fellowship’...

and ‘day after day they met as a group in the Temple.’

The comment that:

‘You don’t have to go to church to be a Christian’, 

is a comment that’s just not on their radar. 

And also, it just wouldn’t make sense to them:
‘go to the church?’

No.

They don’t have to ‘go’ to the church

because...    they ‘are’ the Church.

The Church, as the song goes,

is wherever God’s people are praising...

Or, as that other song observes:

I am the church

You are the church

We are the church together...

The Church is flesh and blood, not bricks and mortar...

‘the church is not a building,

the church is not a steeple;

the church is not a resting place;

the church ... is a people’

And these particular people in Acts 

clearly seemed to think that meeting up together - 

joining up with other parts of the church, as such - 

was somehow important, somehow helpful.

They were drawn to one another;

they had common purpose;

they were connected;

they had a common identity in and through Jesus:

united in one love

all beating as one heart.

Spurred on by this one love

this community

this very early part of the self-same Church that we, too, are a part of...

spent their time in learning:

they wanted to know more about Jesus;

they wanted to know of his teachings;

they wanted to know how, as his followers,

those teachings impacted upon their own lives, and the lives of those around them.

They were hungry to know more,

to work out how to walk the journey of faith.

It was a community of learning:

learning to be like the one they loved.

Spurred on by this love

this community 

found that the natural expression of their love for Jesus 

was through worshipping together as his people.

And so they ‘took part in the fellowship 

and sharing in the fellowship meals and prayers.’

It was in community that they remembered Jesus in bread and wine

and, as they did,

ordinary grape and grain took on a deeper spiritual meaning -

the everyday things of the world becoming sacred - sacramental;

nourishing them,

binding them closer together -

one love, one heart, one in spirit.

United in prayer, too,

as they remembered and said together

the prayer that Jesus had taught - 

that prayer which we still say.

It was a worshipping community:

worshipping the one they loved

and who loved them, utterly.

And, as they began to comprehend that great and utter love

this community was filled ...with awe.

Hearts and minds and souls

struck with the wonder of it all

as they went deeper into this faith,

deeper into what it was to be disciples,

deeper into the great love of God as revealed in the Son.

This was an awe-filled community:

marvelling at all that God had done

at all that God given for them.

That amazing, divine self-giving

caused the believers to respond likewise.

And, in what could be seen as a dream text 

to delight the heart of any church treasurer - 

where’s [treasurer's name]?! -
these earliest of Christians gave...and gave...and gave,

sometimes quite sacrificially -

because the thought that one may be in need and suffering

was enough to cut them to their hearts:
when one suffered, all suffered.

They gave what they had,

what they could,

so that none were hungry

none were homeless...

remembering those words that Jesus had said:

‘when you do this for the least

...   you do it for me.’

They cared,

they supported one another

and within that mutual support,

they shared hospitality as well -

eating together in each other’s homes.

It was a community of generosity:

a living parable of the generosity of the one they followed.

That generosity was also a demonstration

of their great sense of thankfulness to God.

They were truly humbled as they thought of God’s love,

of Jesus’ life and death and resurrection.

Thankful - and possibly not a little astonished -

as they pondered the thought that

the Creator of the Universe and of all contained therein -

the One beyond time and space

the One beyond human comprehension -

cared for them:

called them... ‘beloved’...

It was a community of thankfulness and praise:

delighting in the One who delighted in them.

As the early believers worked out what it was to be church, 

there were a couple of interesting knock-on effects:

first, the wider community saw what they did,

how they lived,

how they treated one another in response to their God...

And so it was that the church enjoyed 

the good will of the people around them -

the wider community.

Second, the way in which this church community behaved... 

piqued curiosity,

drew people to them,

and so their numbers grew.

...What is the Church?

What are the signs of the Church?

The Church is... us:

the Church is... community.

For faith, within the context of fullness of life

is not just a private and personal matter of

‘me and my God’

faith, and fullness, is much more expansive than that:

it’s about ‘me and my God ...and my neighbour’ - 

and my neighbour may be a fellow Christian, 

or someone who lives in the local neighbourhood,

or even someone who lives on the other side of the world, 

who we may not know, but who may be in need,

and who we can support through agencies such as Christian Aid.

Called to live within the context of community,

as God's people...as church:

together we learn about the faith

together we worship God

together we share with, and support, one another

together we give thanks and praise ...

because we recognise that this is what life,

life in all its fullness is about

as we follow  

the God who is bigger than the sum of our deeds

the taker of fears

and the giver of dreams..

the God who calls us to be his people

his community:

the God who is not finished with us yet,

despite the claims of some...

the God who is still speaking...

finish with clip...

 AMEN...

of law essays and teddy bears

Coming to the end of writing my Church Law essay - the last essay I will have to do for my training requirements.  Sitting, sighing, and trying to stick with the task at hand, my beloved Dad emails a bunch of jokes.
I think my particular favourite out of the lot was this 'groaner'  :D

A teddy bear is working on a building site. He goes for a tea break and when he returns he notices his pick has been stolen. The bear is angry and reports the theft to the foreman. The foreman grins at the bear and says "Oh, I forgot to tell you, today's the day the teddy bears have their pick nicked."

Thanks for cheering me up Dad, lol!
Aaaaand back to the essay! :)

Ahhh and a brilliant postscript courtesy of friend Amy...
this must be the best blogpost I think I have ever read - I am still crying with laughter:
praise the Lord for giant chickens

doubting Thomas?

Some sermon thoughts...

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

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

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

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

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

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

For Jase: 'and now I live, and now my life is done'

Holy Week is not meant to be all light and fluffy.
This, I know.
It is harder this year.
Monday saw me saying that most final of goodbyes to someone who,over the last 6 years, had moved into the 'jolly good pal' category.
It is a small group, and now, even smaller.
Latterly, as we meandered our way through very different PhD's, Jase was always there with a droll remark, an encouraging comment, or occasionally, a 'get on with it woman!'
His humour could make me snort my tea in a most unseemly manner.
He had the keenest mind I've ever encountered, was an avid Whovian, a lover of 'weird French stuff' [existential French theology], a generous spirit, and underneath a woolly-jumpered exterior, an unfailingly kind man.
Jase was an inspired giver of gifts: amongst many treasures [occasionally Knoxian], I rejoice not only in being the proud possessor of possibly the world's largest teapot [16 mugs or 20 cups...'great for the kirk session'], but also a Cthulhu mobile phone case...
He was one of the good guys, and the greatest gift, was of course, his friendship.
Right to the last, his courage and humour and kindness remained.
Having managed, through heroic efforts to finish his doctorate and graduate last July, he died just before his book was about to be published.
I shall miss him, and echoing the sentiments of another close pal 'I feel robbed.'
Too soon.
Too soon.

I'm minded of a poem written by another one whose life was also cut too short, although in vastly different circumstances.  The poem was written on 19 September 1586 by Chidiock Tichborne on the eve of his execution for treason - he was involved in the Babington Plot to assassinate Elizabeth.
However, while Jase could think the occasional dire thought, an assassin he was not!  Nevertheless, regardless of circumstance, the poem just seemed oddly fitting...

Tychbornes Elegie:

My prime of youth is but a frost of cares, 

My feast of joy is but a dish of paine, 
My Crop of corne is but a field of tares,
And al my good is but vaine hope of gaine.
The day is past, and yet I saw no sunne,
And now I live, and now my life is done.

My tale was heard, and yet it was not told,
My fruite is falne, and yet my leaves are greene:
My youth is spent, and yet I am not old,
I saw the world, and yet I was not seene.
My thred is cut, and yet it is not spunne,
And now I live, and now my life is done.

I sought my death, and found it in my wombe,
I lookt for life, and saw it was a shade:
I trod the earth, and knew it was my Tombe,
And now I die, and now I was but made.
My glass is full, and now my glasse is runne,
And now I live, and now my life is done.

the sacred in the ordinary...or: normality is under-rated

Today was a gift, involving a couple of friends, and assorted children.  Life has been hectic of late; routines have disappeared in the busyness.  Within both parish and the personal, lately death has felt like a persistent companion.  In the midst of it all, I'd somehow forgotten the wholesome, life-giving sacredness of the ordinary.

In conversations over cups of tea, shared meals, chats about spiders and Robert the Bruce and school holidays - along with the music of Phineas and Ferb and generous helpings of smiles and laughter - my soul was somehow restored.  The sacred ordinariness of life is a wonderful thing; time enough to be extraordinary at some other point.

Am very much giving thanks for the gift of friends today.

Lent 3A: sermon for Sunday - 'Is God with us, or not?'

readings:
Exodus 17:1-7
John 4:5-42

There’s a very old story of a chap who joined a silent religious order...

After five years have passed, he’s called to the Abbot’s office.

‘How are you finding things, my son?’ asks the Abbot.

The monk considers for a moment, and being a man of few words, mutters:

‘Porridge is too salty.’

Another five years pass, and again he’s called in to see the Abbot.

‘How are you, my son?’ the Abbot asks.

‘Bed’s too hard,’ the monk grumbles.

Yet another five years pass and, you guessed it, 

it’s his time to visit with the Abbot once more.

‘Well, my son, how are things?’

‘I’m leaving,’ the monk replies.

The Abbot sits and considers this news for a moment, and says:

‘Frankly, I’m not surprised: you’ve been complaining ever since you got here.’

In our Old Testament reading this morning, 

we heard a story about complaining from the book of Exodus:

the Israelites journeyed at God’s command,

landing at  Rephidim, where they set up camp –

but there was no water for them to drink. 

They complained to Moses and said,

"Give us water to drink."

To which Moses replied

"Why are you quarrelling with me?

And why do you test the Lord?" 

But they ...continued to complain.

Wondering if they were going to stone him,

Moses cried out to God,

and was told to strike a rock with his staff.

And so he did:

water flowed from the rock,

and the people’s cries were answered...

and, demonstrating that there’s more to a

place-name than sometimes meets the eye,

Moses called the place

‘Massah’ and ‘Meribah’,

‘test’ and ‘quarrel’ –

neatly summing up the whole experience;

for the people had done just that, and asked:

‘is God with us, or not?’

‘Is ...God with us, or not?’  ...

Now, I confess, that if I was planning on going on a long journey 

and was in the process of looking out for some travelling chums,

based on the apparent evidence found in the book of Exodus,

I’d have to say that,

the complaining children of Israel

would figure pretty low on my list...

...Actually, I suspect they wouldn’t be appearing at all! 

This lot could seemingly win a gold medal for grumbling:

given that God had rescued them from oppression -

and rather dramatically at that, by raining down plague upon plague 

on the Egyptians;

given that God went ahead of them in a pillar of cloud by day

and a pillar of fire by night;

given that God had led them safely across the Red Sea by parting the waters...

AND, given that God was providing food for them in the wilderness – 

quail burger, anyone? -

given these very dramatic, very tangible proofs, how could they NOT see

that God was indeed with them?

It      was      plain    to see...

wasn’t it?

So why were they busily reinventing their recent history, turning what had

been slavery and oppression into some kind of ‘Disney-on-the-Nile’ theme

park?

...Perhaps, it was a coping mechanism.

Their lives overturned,

dramatically uprooted from all they’d known – even though it had been slavery –

journeying as strangers in a strange, forbidding landscape,

anxious in the present

and fearful for their future,

...they looked back

to a place where there was the comfort of home and familiarity of routine daily patterns. 

Tho’ slaves, they knew what was what,

and what was required to get by.

And in the wilderness, everything –

every        single        thing –

was different:

all was change

a daily struggle for survival,

with the accompanying insecurities and fears of never quite knowing if they’d live or die;

never quite knowing what to expect.

Given the huge turnaround they’d experienced in their lives, maybe it isn’t actually that surprising

that they cried out, and asked

‘is God with us, or not?’

That question makes the story become

more human...

more real.

As often as I’ve read the stories of these wanderings in the wilderness,

with the occasional thought of

‘tch, what a bunch of whiners’ -

and I certainly have had those thoughts –

there’s also been the follow-up rueful realisation that perhaps 

I’m not so different from these folk of so long ago...

and I wonder:

how many of us look back on our past

wearing those proverbial rose-tinted spectacles?

Ah, the ‘good old days!’

...However, we often leave out the reality of the hard slog of how things really were,

and of how much we actually grumbled as well. 

Maybe grumbling is part of our human condition, and it continues to fascinate

me that the questions of people like the Israelites in the wilderness so long ago,

echo down through the ages,

to right where we are today

and that they remain so very relevant.

‘Is God with us, or not?’

This is a big question –

a huge question,

underpinning the very essence of our faith,

for, gathered within its folds,

we find that it’s the question that asks:

‘why do bad things happen to good people?’

it’s the question that asks:

‘where are you God, in my suffering?’

it’s the question, the cry from the heart, that asks:

‘how could you let this happen...to me?’

As with the Israelites, ‘is God with us, or not?’ is our very human attempt to 

find meaning in a painful, lonely, and hurting world;

a world in which events can sometimes feel so random and meaningless...

a world in which we can feel lost in the wilderness;

our hope withered,

our souls parched and thirsting for meaning.

And, it’s a question that I believe is okay to ask:

sometimes we need to ask it,

just because being able to ask it,

able to voice the fear, the pain, the confusion

is...enough.

But sometimes, the question demands an answer:

one that avoids clichés, glibness, or glossing over...

and one that avoids trying to explain

everything – including God – tidily away into a box.

Because even in our very modern, very instant, ‘microwave’ society –

sometimes neatly packaged answers that we don’t have to think about too much ...

just don’t cut the mustard.

Which is just as well, because this whole ‘mystery of faith’ business is pretty untidy...

and God consistently refuses

to fit into the boxes we try to put him in.

‘Is God with us, or not?’

Yes.

God is.

We worship an ever-present God

A God, who, in Jesus, became one of us

and who sat at a well in the heat of the day,

and like his ancestors in the wilderness

and perhaps like his followers in the present,

found that he was thirsty,

...and asked for a drink...

but who also talked of living water that refreshed the soul.

Is God with us, or not?

Yes.

God is.

We worship an ever-present God.

Wherever we are – and even where we are not,

God is present:

in times of celebration

or sorrow,

in the midst of the mundane

or the terrifying,

in the fibre of our being

and in the very fabric of our world...

in Syria, Iraq, Afghanistan,  

and in places of peace;

in the cockpit of a plane mysteriously disappeared

and alongside the waiting relatives of all those on board;

God is present:

in the corridors of power where the cats

just     keep     getting     fatter

and among those gathered at the food bank hungering for food and thirsting for justice,

desperate to survive.

‘Is God with us, or not?’

In the mystery of our faith

God is present

God is with us

and for us

in Spirit and in truth

rejoicing when we rejoice

weeping when we weep

grieving over the appalling things that humans do to each other,

comforting,

guiding,

cherishing us,

regardless of whether we feel it or not...

and sometimes the more pressing question is:

‘are we with God, or not?’

We may not have the dramatic signs that the Israelites had in the wilderness

but there are signs that God is with us,

if we stop and we look

and listen for them closely enough.

‘Is God with us, or not?’

Yes.

It can be seen in the way that we value each other in this community –

through myriad, tiny,

and sometimes near-invisible acts

of caring and kindness;

it can be heard underneath the banter during coffee, when a joke is shared,

but what is meant is ‘how are you really doing?’

It’s in the way we live our lives amongst our friends and our families, 

our workmates, our neighbours...

being listening ears,

or a hand to hold,

a place of refreshing and hope in the lonely wilderness 

that someone is feeling...

and that we may not even know about:

the important thing being, that we were, and are, there.

God is with us, as we drink in the life-giving, living waters of his love

and go and share that water with others.

Someone once said that

‘faith is the triumph of hope over experience.’

In faith, 

we say ‘yes’ to God being with us –

even though we can’t neatly package the whole mystery of how and why.

Shortly, we’ll go out from here, into the rest of the week, touched by God

And, in turn, touching others –

being water-carriers into a parched and thirsting world.

‘Is God with us, or not?’

Within the very heart of the question,

within the mystery that surrounds us,

we worship a God who is with us

indeed, who is so much with us

he became one of us,

and who, even now, in this place,

invites us to drink deep

from the fountain of life-giving water

...and quench our thirst.      

And so, may the God who is with us

bless us and keep us in his care

this day, and always,

Amen.

Foxy Knoxy's word to the wise #6: begone, foul lenten horror

Beloved elect, predestined - albeit woefully tainted,
regarding this matter of 'Lent':
it behooves us to remember that we are surrounded on all sides by the adversaries of Satan.
Subtle, subtle are the machinations of his minions.
Flawed and unworthy creatures that we are, we listen to the honeyed words of temptation and fall, alas.
Swimming in a cesspit of sin with Satan, only God's grace can rescue us from uttermost darkness.

Fall on your knees and fall upon God's mercy: repent.
Fast and pray.
Think not of so-called special times and seasons of the year: begone foul lenten horror!  Instead, live your lives in perpetual penitence; don the black of sorrow and avoid riotous cheer, or indeed, purple.
Being a Protestant is a serious business.
We neither do purple nor shades of grey; black and white are sufficient unto the day. But given our inadequacies and sinfulness, mostly black will do.