Sermon Luke 9: 51-62
What does it really mean to follow Jesus?
This is the question at the heart of today’s Gospel, as Jesus sets his face towards Jerusalem, and tells His would-be followers that looking back is not an option.
From the challenges He puts to them, it seems that rue discipleship, true following, is not about Power; its not about Possession; but it is about Pilgrimage.
Not Power, not Possession, but Pilgrimage. Let’s think about each of these.
It seems that the disciples James and John were really getting into their new found power. No doubt they had enjoyed some success in healing and casting out demons. Now when a Samaritan village refuses to accept Jesus, their power goes to their heads. “Would you like us to call down from fire form heaven upon this village and destroy it?” They ask.
Jesus of course rebukes them. And rightly so.
To have returned an insult with such violence would have been a totally unacceptable abuse of power.
At the time of Jesus, the Samaritans and the Jews were mutual enemies. So despite Jesus reputation as a healer and teacher, when they hear that he is heading for Jerusalem, to perform His Jewish obligations, they refuse to welcome Him. From their perspective, whatever his merits as an individual, he was a member of a different, enemy tribe, and they would have nothing to do with him. James and John are furious and out for revenge.
But of course this is not Jesus way of doing things. He never returns evil for evil, and He encourages his followers to choose the ways of non-violence.
In this of course there is immense strength. It is much more difficult to refuse to retaliate when we are wounded, and this is true at every level of our personal, political and international life.
Jesus shows by example, that to follow him is to reject the abuse of power, the thirst for vengeance and control, and to take the path of reconciliation and peace. It is not an easy choice, and often the church has failed to make that choice, choosing instead to assert its power in various ways, both obvious and more subtly manipulative. But this passage shows without question that the use of power for our own ends has nothing to do with the path of Christian discipleship.
So not Power. And not Possession either – by which I mean the desire to own, to control, to be in charge of our own destiny.. In our own era the will towards possession is very strong. I don’t just mean that we live in a very commercialised and consumerist culture, though that is true. I mean that we really think that we are in charge of our own lives. But the path of Christian discipleship is one of letting go – letting go of the illusion that we are in charge of what happens to us; letting go sometimes even things that on the face of it seem quite innocent and good, if they stand in the way of a deeper listening to the will of God.
Jesus is met by three potential followers. To the first rather idealistic and passionate person, who promises to follow him wherever he may go, Jesus points out that this is a choice to be homeless. Whether or not they met that challenge, or realised it was beyond them we do not know.
What we do know is that the next two, whom Jesus invites to follow Him, each have an excuse for not doing so.
At first glance it may seem that Jesus is being harsh, but closer examination suggests this is not the casse.
The one who wants to go and bury his father first – now that sounds reasonable doesn’t it? But in fact, in the culture of the day if the man’s father had already died, he would not have been out and about to meet Jesus in the first place This means that his father was still alive – and from Jesus’ response it is clear that the man was potentially going to wait many years before his father would die and be buried. To this person Jesus was saying that following Him, involved letting go of possessiveness – of control over his future; even in so far as this involved his family.
Similarly the person who wanted to say goodbye to those at home, sounds fair enough – but what if ‘home’ is not just up the street, but many miles away? What if seeing the ‘folks at home’ involves an endless list of relatives to be found in many places?
Jesus is once again challenging the real intention of this person to commit to the path of discipleship. He is not being harsh. He is just encouraging those whom he thinks have the potential for deep discipleship, not to wait around too long. After all He has an inkling that His own days are likely to be numbered; and none of us knows how long we may have on this earth in which to fulfil our vocation.
Most of us, if we are honest, have some things that we rather cling to. These things may be physical possessions – a house, a car; or emotional ties: family members whose esteem or welfare we prize very highly; or perhaps a career choice or path that we feel comes above everything else. No matter the focus of our possessiveness, Jesus in this Gospel issues a challenge – are we willing to give up even this? – this which has a legitimate claim upon our time and attention? This which we might believe to be our very vocation? – can we give up everything, if it is asked of us? It is a hard ask that’s for sure.
Yet those who have most notably followed in the way of Christ, all seem to have understood that time was short, and that sometimes it was necessary to do things that might seem quite extreme or unnecessary to others. Think for example of the poverty of Francis and Clare; the courage of a Martin Luther King; the determination of someone closer to home like Sr. Angela, who founded the monastery at Stroud.
Such Christian saints were all pilgrim people – moving wherever they felt called; refusing to allow the ties of possessions or relationship to prevent them from moving on along the path. As Dietrich Bonhoeffer wrote,” Discipleship is not limited to what you can comprehend – it must transcend all comprehension…Not to know where you are going is true knowledge.”
Which brings us to Pilgrimage – that willingness to follow a path even when we do not know where it leads.
This passage is full of movement words – the word to travel or proceed is used five times in the first six verses, and the word depart or go three times. The writer of Luke is making it quite clear that Jesus is in a new phase. Instead of just moving around Galilee teaching, he is now moving through Samaria, focussed on Jerusalem. His movement has become determined and intentional.
And this is what distinguishes pilgrimage from other kinds of journeying – it is a journey with a definite purpose; that of seeking the path of God no matter what.
Today’s Gospel challenges us, would-be followers of the pilgrim path – are we willing to let go of our desire for power, control and possession, in order to encounter the Christ along our way?
When we do , we can be sure that we will encounter resistance and persecution , as Jesus did, for those who speak truth to power are rarely popular.. We can be sure that our path will lead us into places of suffering and distress, because these are the people and places that Jesus held most dear. We can be sure that our path will lead us to places we would never have thought possible, for this is the onward call of a God, whose purpose never stands still.
So let us listen for the call of Christ; “Follow me”. And let us never be afraid to set out once more in faith. Amen
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Sermon preached by Penny at Coolamon 20th June 2010
LUKE 8.26F – GERASENE DOMONIAC
Well you certainly found your visiting preacher a rip-roaring story to have a go at! This one really has a bit of everything, doesn’t it?
The whole scene that Luke describes is bizarre – somewhere between a hammer horror movie and a political cartoon. You’ve got this naked crazy guy, coming out from the tombs in the middle of the night; chatty demons; pigs hurling themselves off cliffs; and a small riot of freaked–out locals.
And what is Jesus doing there? – after all this is the territory of the Decapolis, the ten towns; Roman, Gentile Territory. Not somewhere a self-respecting Jew would be seen in – not even a Jew from Galilee of the Gentiles. There’s a bit of local politics in the sub-text of this story – and no doubt the Galileans who first told this story would have been delighted by it. As James Liggett has written,
“Everybody knew instantly both that it was no accident that the demons called themselves ‘Legion’ after the famous and feared Roman legions; and that pigs were a staple both of the Roman army and the Roman economy. (Both of course anathema to Jews). Caesar’s legions and Caesar’s rations were mere child’s play for Jesus – a quick flush and they’re gone. What fun! – from a Jewish point of view.”
But what is Jesus doing there? To answer that we have to remember that Jesus has just brought the boat to shore after stilling the storm. He and his disciples have just had a rough night to say the least. In those circumstances, as the saying goes, ‘any port in the storm’. But perhaps they could have wished for an easier welcome.
We’re told, “as he stepped out on land” in other words, he’s virtually got one foot on the boat - when the next trial meets him, in the shape of this crazy guy.
It’s still dark, or perhaps just getting light; this man is naked, rattling his broken chains, emerging out of the tombs - frankly if I’d been Jesus or the disciples I’d have got back on the boat sharpish!
But Jesus stands His ground. He knows what perhaps some of you already know from experience, that in the spiritual life, it seems always that just when you’ve got through some particularly difficult time; you’re perhaps a bit tired, inclined to sit back and say “whew, glad that’s over”, that the next challenge comes – and usually from some unexpected quarter. And it can be a very edgy time.
This is definitely an edgy matter – it takes place on the beach; the edge of land and water; probably at dawn; the edge of night and day; somewhere on the edge between life and death, bondage and freedom – for this man has lost everything – he’s a total social outcast, living a half-life in the tombs. Whenever others have tried to bring him in, by shackling him, he’s broken the chains – but it’s been a freedom for death not life.
In less extreme ways, we may recognise our own experiences in his. Think of the “edge” times in your life – the times perhaps of sickness, of grief, of depression – the times of “half-living”, when you felt vulnerable and helpless. We can certainly recognise them in our world. The Roman legions were not the first or the last bullies on earth. We see the violence that human beings visit on each other, and the inhumanity that can result from the action (or lack of action) of governments and powers. These are the true demons of our day, as they were of Jesus day.
So what was Jesus doing there? Well He was sending the demons packing. He was showing what God can do in the world, when we recognise it. And that’s what He sends the man home to do – to “declare how much God has done for you.”
And of course that’s what He sends us to do, as well. And so I’d like to spend a little bit of time thinking about that. Because that’s the thing we can all do.
We probably don’t have a dramatic story, like the Gerasene demoniac. Anyone who’d known how he was before, and met him later, clothed and in his right mind, sitting (in the posture of a disciple) at Jesus’ feet, would have been in no doubt, that God had done something remarkable in his life.
But God has done remarkable things in your life and in my life – and that’s what we can talk about.
But when I started to think about the things that God had done in my life, I realised that perhaps to an outsider they might not sound particularly spectacular – a seemingly chance encounter here, and encouraging rainbow there; touches as light as a butterfly’s wings. But we know when we’re touched by God.
Take Elijah – he knew about God; he’d done some amazing things for God. But in today’s story he was down and out in every sense of the word. All he wanted was to die. And when he goes outside the cave to meet with God, he might have expected something spectacular. But God was not in the Spectacular things – the great wind, the earthquake, the fire – no, God gave Elijah the strength to carry on; to anoint kings, to appoint his own successor, by God’s presence in “the sound of sheer silence” - the Hebrew is hard to translate; Qu-oleth means literally “the daughter of a voice” – a sound so tiny, and so still as to be a barely, perceptible vibration,.
So what has God done in my life, in your life? – what have been some of the whispers of that still, small voice, that have enlivened our faith, and kept us going?
I can only answer for myself, but I’ll be interested to hear some of your reflections later. What God has done for me :
Is to give me, from earliest childhood, a keen sense of wonder and appreciation of natural things as a place where I simply expect to encounter God.
I’m sure we’ve all been moved by the glory of a sunset or the beauty of a flower. When we look at those things with the eyes of faith, we encounter God within them.
Something else that God has done for me, is to give me an abiding sense of God’s presence – even (and sometimes especially) in times of difficulty. One of the things that most terrifies many of us, is the thought that we are alone in an unfriendly universe! The man in today’s story was in that kind of place – he’d been cut off by his sickness from every kind of support. The reassurance that we are not in fact alone – even when it feels as though we are – is a great gift of our faith.
At times, one of the things God has done for me, has been to give me courage, not just to deal with difficult circumstances, but occasionally to stand up and be counted when it mattered, or to try something new. There are still many, many times when my own courage fails me – that’s why my family call me, ‘panic-head Penny’. But I do know that when I’ve really needed it, God has always given me the courage to do something that needed to be done. And this is the gift Jesus gives the man in today’s story, when he does not allow him to go away, despite his pleading; but encourages him to do the harder thing to go and face those whom he knew, who’d treated him badly, and he them; and say “Look what God’s done for me”.
Above all of course Jesus sets this man free – free from chains both physical, mental, emotional and spiritual. Jesus is doing that for me too – much less dramatically, much more slowly. But when I look back over my life I can see – as I’m sure you can too – the places where His liberating Spirit has been at work, to release me from unhelpful ways of being and patterns of behaviour.
And that liberation does not just happen to us as individuals. One of the things God does in our lives is to give us to each other, is the community we call the church. Just as the healing of the man in today’s story would have brought change to that whole community; so my healing, my release brings healing to those around me.
Of course it’s not always comfortable. The Gerasenes were used to their naked madman roaming the tombs. They knew how to avoid him, perhaps how to blame him for their troubles.
They did not rally know how to re-integrate him into their community – and they were frightened by the change in him to the point of asking Jesus to leave.
I wonder have you ever asked Jesus to leave? –
To leave you alone; to leave something He wants to heal in you untouched; because you were afraid?
I know I have – and Jesus will always wait – wait until we’re ready, to let Him do, those things that bring life, and healing and hope.
What is Jesus doing there? – He’s doing what He does everywhere; He’s bringing life.
May He continue to bring life to us, and to all creation. Amen.
Well you certainly found your visiting preacher a rip-roaring story to have a go at! This one really has a bit of everything, doesn’t it?
The whole scene that Luke describes is bizarre – somewhere between a hammer horror movie and a political cartoon. You’ve got this naked crazy guy, coming out from the tombs in the middle of the night; chatty demons; pigs hurling themselves off cliffs; and a small riot of freaked–out locals.
And what is Jesus doing there? – after all this is the territory of the Decapolis, the ten towns; Roman, Gentile Territory. Not somewhere a self-respecting Jew would be seen in – not even a Jew from Galilee of the Gentiles. There’s a bit of local politics in the sub-text of this story – and no doubt the Galileans who first told this story would have been delighted by it. As James Liggett has written,
“Everybody knew instantly both that it was no accident that the demons called themselves ‘Legion’ after the famous and feared Roman legions; and that pigs were a staple both of the Roman army and the Roman economy. (Both of course anathema to Jews). Caesar’s legions and Caesar’s rations were mere child’s play for Jesus – a quick flush and they’re gone. What fun! – from a Jewish point of view.”
But what is Jesus doing there? To answer that we have to remember that Jesus has just brought the boat to shore after stilling the storm. He and his disciples have just had a rough night to say the least. In those circumstances, as the saying goes, ‘any port in the storm’. But perhaps they could have wished for an easier welcome.
We’re told, “as he stepped out on land” in other words, he’s virtually got one foot on the boat - when the next trial meets him, in the shape of this crazy guy.
It’s still dark, or perhaps just getting light; this man is naked, rattling his broken chains, emerging out of the tombs - frankly if I’d been Jesus or the disciples I’d have got back on the boat sharpish!
But Jesus stands His ground. He knows what perhaps some of you already know from experience, that in the spiritual life, it seems always that just when you’ve got through some particularly difficult time; you’re perhaps a bit tired, inclined to sit back and say “whew, glad that’s over”, that the next challenge comes – and usually from some unexpected quarter. And it can be a very edgy time.
This is definitely an edgy matter – it takes place on the beach; the edge of land and water; probably at dawn; the edge of night and day; somewhere on the edge between life and death, bondage and freedom – for this man has lost everything – he’s a total social outcast, living a half-life in the tombs. Whenever others have tried to bring him in, by shackling him, he’s broken the chains – but it’s been a freedom for death not life.
In less extreme ways, we may recognise our own experiences in his. Think of the “edge” times in your life – the times perhaps of sickness, of grief, of depression – the times of “half-living”, when you felt vulnerable and helpless. We can certainly recognise them in our world. The Roman legions were not the first or the last bullies on earth. We see the violence that human beings visit on each other, and the inhumanity that can result from the action (or lack of action) of governments and powers. These are the true demons of our day, as they were of Jesus day.
So what was Jesus doing there? Well He was sending the demons packing. He was showing what God can do in the world, when we recognise it. And that’s what He sends the man home to do – to “declare how much God has done for you.”
And of course that’s what He sends us to do, as well. And so I’d like to spend a little bit of time thinking about that. Because that’s the thing we can all do.
We probably don’t have a dramatic story, like the Gerasene demoniac. Anyone who’d known how he was before, and met him later, clothed and in his right mind, sitting (in the posture of a disciple) at Jesus’ feet, would have been in no doubt, that God had done something remarkable in his life.
But God has done remarkable things in your life and in my life – and that’s what we can talk about.
But when I started to think about the things that God had done in my life, I realised that perhaps to an outsider they might not sound particularly spectacular – a seemingly chance encounter here, and encouraging rainbow there; touches as light as a butterfly’s wings. But we know when we’re touched by God.
Take Elijah – he knew about God; he’d done some amazing things for God. But in today’s story he was down and out in every sense of the word. All he wanted was to die. And when he goes outside the cave to meet with God, he might have expected something spectacular. But God was not in the Spectacular things – the great wind, the earthquake, the fire – no, God gave Elijah the strength to carry on; to anoint kings, to appoint his own successor, by God’s presence in “the sound of sheer silence” - the Hebrew is hard to translate; Qu-oleth means literally “the daughter of a voice” – a sound so tiny, and so still as to be a barely, perceptible vibration,.
So what has God done in my life, in your life? – what have been some of the whispers of that still, small voice, that have enlivened our faith, and kept us going?
I can only answer for myself, but I’ll be interested to hear some of your reflections later. What God has done for me :
Is to give me, from earliest childhood, a keen sense of wonder and appreciation of natural things as a place where I simply expect to encounter God.
I’m sure we’ve all been moved by the glory of a sunset or the beauty of a flower. When we look at those things with the eyes of faith, we encounter God within them.
Something else that God has done for me, is to give me an abiding sense of God’s presence – even (and sometimes especially) in times of difficulty. One of the things that most terrifies many of us, is the thought that we are alone in an unfriendly universe! The man in today’s story was in that kind of place – he’d been cut off by his sickness from every kind of support. The reassurance that we are not in fact alone – even when it feels as though we are – is a great gift of our faith.
At times, one of the things God has done for me, has been to give me courage, not just to deal with difficult circumstances, but occasionally to stand up and be counted when it mattered, or to try something new. There are still many, many times when my own courage fails me – that’s why my family call me, ‘panic-head Penny’. But I do know that when I’ve really needed it, God has always given me the courage to do something that needed to be done. And this is the gift Jesus gives the man in today’s story, when he does not allow him to go away, despite his pleading; but encourages him to do the harder thing to go and face those whom he knew, who’d treated him badly, and he them; and say “Look what God’s done for me”.
Above all of course Jesus sets this man free – free from chains both physical, mental, emotional and spiritual. Jesus is doing that for me too – much less dramatically, much more slowly. But when I look back over my life I can see – as I’m sure you can too – the places where His liberating Spirit has been at work, to release me from unhelpful ways of being and patterns of behaviour.
And that liberation does not just happen to us as individuals. One of the things God does in our lives is to give us to each other, is the community we call the church. Just as the healing of the man in today’s story would have brought change to that whole community; so my healing, my release brings healing to those around me.
Of course it’s not always comfortable. The Gerasenes were used to their naked madman roaming the tombs. They knew how to avoid him, perhaps how to blame him for their troubles.
They did not rally know how to re-integrate him into their community – and they were frightened by the change in him to the point of asking Jesus to leave.
I wonder have you ever asked Jesus to leave? –
To leave you alone; to leave something He wants to heal in you untouched; because you were afraid?
I know I have – and Jesus will always wait – wait until we’re ready, to let Him do, those things that bring life, and healing and hope.
What is Jesus doing there? – He’s doing what He does everywhere; He’s bringing life.
May He continue to bring life to us, and to all creation. Amen.
Sermon - 3rd Sunday after Pentecost
Sermon Luke 7:36f
Anointing at the House of Simon the Pharisee
Jesus said to Simon, “Do you see this woman”.
One day a friend paid a visit to Michelangelo. He found the great sculptor chipping away at a huge block of marble. The floor was covered with bits of marble and dust. It was not a pretty scene.
“What in heaven’s name are you doing?” the friend asked.
“I’m releasing the angel imprisoned in this marble,” Michelangelo replied.
Michelangelo, like all artists, had the gift of seeing - of seeing the potential in what others see only as commonplace or even useless and ugly.
“Do you see this woman?’ – Jesus asks – and of course the answer is ‘No”. Simon has not seen the woman at all. He has seen only his own prejudices and assumptions about her.
Simon looked at the woman and saw only that she was one of ‘those kind of women’ – someone to be avoided, lest they contaminate. Of course the fear of ‘contamination’ lies behind all kinds of prejudice in our world, which grows from fear, and leads to violence and hatred. I can still recall the language that was used at the time of women’s first ordination, which spoke of women priests ‘tainting the altars’ when they presided. We have not come so very far in two thousand years!
Commentators have for centuries implied that the woman was a prostitute. This in itself reflects a tendency to assume that a woman’s sin will be sexual. At the time Jews regarded many people as ‘sinners; for example those who worked as servants in the households of Gentiles; or those who had a disability or mental or physical illness, which was held to be a judgment from God.
We do not know the nature of this woman’s ‘sinfulness’ – what we do know was that it was obvious to Simon.
He was afraid of being made ‘unclean’ by her, and was astonished that Jesus would let himself be touched by her. For him, it was a clear indication that Jesus could not in fact be a prophet; and so he begins to judge Jesus also.
If we are honest, most of us have behaved like Simon at times. It has been useful to the evolution of the human species to be able to discern difference swiftly, and hence be ready to defend ourselves against potential attack. Our fight/flight responses are well developed.
If you don’t believe me, on your way home today just notice how often you look out for potential hazards – traffic, other people, raised paving stones. We are very, very good at protecting ourselves and keeping ourselves separate from things that we see as possibly harmful.
We are much less good at appreciating what is around us; noticing and giving thanks for things in our environment, and seeing with eyes of trust those who surround us.
It has been well said that the longest journey some of us will ever make is from our head to our heart. We can see with our physical eyes – the ones in our head; but we are sometimes quite blind, when asked to see with the eyes of our heart.
This is a contrast that is embodied in today’s reading in the persons of Simon and the woman with the alabaster jar. Simon is all in his head. He knows what is right. He keeps the law. He knows who this woman is and he is able to judge who Jesus is on the basis of his response to her. He is not a bad person – indeed he is someone as Jesus story illustrates, with little obvious need of forgiveness. But he is not living fully. He has allowed the rational and the legalistic to be so dominant, that he is blind to the appeal of the heart.
The woman on the other hand is all heart. She knows she is well outside the laws, and she has probably never received anything in life from the religious people but condemnation. Yet with her whole bodily self – kneeling, weeping, caressing, kissing – she shows her love; the love that comes from having been deeply forgiven, which let’s her receive yet deeper forgiveness and release.
Jesus has infinite compassion for them both. We see this easily in his treatment of the woman, whom he allows to touch him and anoint him, and then looks directly at her and offers her words of forgiveness and hope.
But it is true of Simon too. Jesus does not condemn Simon for his prejudice and lack of compassion. Rather he helps him to see things differently. Firstly he introduces the topic by telling a story – using the kind of teaching language that Simon could relate to easily.
Then he asks a ‘feeling’ question – “Now which of them will love him more?”
Poor Simon, he’s not used to feeling questions! But he does manage an answer – though from his head; “I suppose (thinking word!) the one for whom he cancelled the greater debt.”
And Jesus replies with gentle affirmation for his intellectual ability “You have judged rightly”.
Only then does he invite Simon to see the woman and her actions correctly, revealing how she has offered the hospitality that Simon has withheld.
In this his purpose is to build her up, and let Simon see her actions in familiar terms; not to pass judgement on Simon. He does not say for example, “You don’t think you need to be forgiven much, so you do not love much” – he says “But the one to whom little is forgiven, loves little.” Like the prophet Nathan with David, he allows Simon to come to his own place of repentance – proving, if proof were needed, his place in that line of prophetic teaching.
Now we don’t know how Simon responded, because the text does not tell us. We know that some of the others at table are unable to get past the head questions, “Who is this that even forgives sins.” they ask – missing the whole point of the encounter that has just taken place before their very eyes.
But I would like to think that Jesus redeemed Simon; that he helped him to see in ways that meant he could never go back to his narrow judgmental, excluding ways. And I think that for two reasons. Firstly Simon did in fact have some initial openness to Jesus – otherwise he would not have invited him to dinner – even if he did not give him the proper treatment that he would have given an honoured guest. Now given that Simon lived mostly in his head, it was probably an intellectual openness – a curiosity to see what this renegade teacher would actually do and say at a ‘respectable’ dinner party. But it was openness never the less. And then the story tells us what Simon said ‘to himself’. Now very possibly the author of the Gospel infers what Simon is thinking from Jesus’ responses, but logically the only person who would have known this for sure is Simon himself, whose thoughts are then recorded in a Christian document. So perhaps both the principle characters in this story found forgiveness and release that day.
We do not always see things very well. And when we act on what we think we see, it can cause all kinds of problems. I am sure some of you have had the experience of sitting in the optometrist’s chair and reading a letter ‘S’, only to discover when the lens is corrected that it was in fact a letter ‘F’. God is always seeking to correct our vision; to help us to see better with the eyes of our hearts.
At every Eucharist God invites us to supper. He bathes us in forgiveness, anoints us with His Spirit, kisses us repeatedly in the words and actions and sacraments. I wonder half the time, ‘do we even notice?” And do we come with the expectation that we will hear Him speak to us, directly, saying “I have something to say to you?”. For these are things that we can only see and hear with the eyes and ears of our hearts.
I suspect that often we do not really see at all.
Yet God in Christ continues to offer himself to us, as the woman continued to anoint Jesus, whether or not there is a response, because the outpouring of love demands it. And we come, bringing whatever we can to the table – the gifts of heads and hearts and hands, however inadequate.
As Claude Mostowik has written, at the Lord’s table,
“We give Jesus things he does not need - our despair, fear, anger, cynicism, lack of hope, inadequacy or frustration – but all are accepted along with all the better things we can give. We might come un-prepared, yet Jesus accepts our inadequate offering. Jesus reflects the passion in God’s heart.
We need to recognise that the Jesus, who dined with the people who walk on the wrong side of the street, also dined with the powerful – if he was not to be guilty of reverse prejudice. They too need to be included in God’s reign.
Today’s gospel resonates for marginalised groups: women, Indigenous people, gays and lesbians, (and) people who are living with disabilities” to name but a few.
But it resonates also for the Simons’ of our world – for those who might not think they were much in need of forgiveness. For Jesus invites everyone to the table – His is a gospel of radical inclusivity, which reaches out to the rich as well as the poor; to those who consider themselves righteous as well as those who know they are not and excludes no-one.
Today the gospel invites us to the table. Whether like the woman, we feel ourselves condemned by others, and perhaps even by ourselves and unworthy to be present; or whether like Simon our eyes are unseeing and we do not perceive our own need, we are still welcome.
And of course, both Simon and the woman are present in all our hearts, always, at one and the same time. Part of us thinks we have it right and tends to condemn others; and part of us knows our desperate need of love and forgiveness.
And Jesus constantly invites us, as he invited Simon, to look on ourselves and others with new eyes – with the eyes of compassion, with the eyes of the heart.
Jesus looks at each of us and says, “Do you see this woman? Do you see this man?” and helps us to see ourselves and each other with new eyes.
May we open the eyes of our hearts to all that He would show us. In the name of the Christ who sets us free. Amen.
Anointing at the House of Simon the Pharisee
Jesus said to Simon, “Do you see this woman”.
One day a friend paid a visit to Michelangelo. He found the great sculptor chipping away at a huge block of marble. The floor was covered with bits of marble and dust. It was not a pretty scene.
“What in heaven’s name are you doing?” the friend asked.
“I’m releasing the angel imprisoned in this marble,” Michelangelo replied.
Michelangelo, like all artists, had the gift of seeing - of seeing the potential in what others see only as commonplace or even useless and ugly.
“Do you see this woman?’ – Jesus asks – and of course the answer is ‘No”. Simon has not seen the woman at all. He has seen only his own prejudices and assumptions about her.
Simon looked at the woman and saw only that she was one of ‘those kind of women’ – someone to be avoided, lest they contaminate. Of course the fear of ‘contamination’ lies behind all kinds of prejudice in our world, which grows from fear, and leads to violence and hatred. I can still recall the language that was used at the time of women’s first ordination, which spoke of women priests ‘tainting the altars’ when they presided. We have not come so very far in two thousand years!
Commentators have for centuries implied that the woman was a prostitute. This in itself reflects a tendency to assume that a woman’s sin will be sexual. At the time Jews regarded many people as ‘sinners; for example those who worked as servants in the households of Gentiles; or those who had a disability or mental or physical illness, which was held to be a judgment from God.
We do not know the nature of this woman’s ‘sinfulness’ – what we do know was that it was obvious to Simon.
He was afraid of being made ‘unclean’ by her, and was astonished that Jesus would let himself be touched by her. For him, it was a clear indication that Jesus could not in fact be a prophet; and so he begins to judge Jesus also.
If we are honest, most of us have behaved like Simon at times. It has been useful to the evolution of the human species to be able to discern difference swiftly, and hence be ready to defend ourselves against potential attack. Our fight/flight responses are well developed.
If you don’t believe me, on your way home today just notice how often you look out for potential hazards – traffic, other people, raised paving stones. We are very, very good at protecting ourselves and keeping ourselves separate from things that we see as possibly harmful.
We are much less good at appreciating what is around us; noticing and giving thanks for things in our environment, and seeing with eyes of trust those who surround us.
It has been well said that the longest journey some of us will ever make is from our head to our heart. We can see with our physical eyes – the ones in our head; but we are sometimes quite blind, when asked to see with the eyes of our heart.
This is a contrast that is embodied in today’s reading in the persons of Simon and the woman with the alabaster jar. Simon is all in his head. He knows what is right. He keeps the law. He knows who this woman is and he is able to judge who Jesus is on the basis of his response to her. He is not a bad person – indeed he is someone as Jesus story illustrates, with little obvious need of forgiveness. But he is not living fully. He has allowed the rational and the legalistic to be so dominant, that he is blind to the appeal of the heart.
The woman on the other hand is all heart. She knows she is well outside the laws, and she has probably never received anything in life from the religious people but condemnation. Yet with her whole bodily self – kneeling, weeping, caressing, kissing – she shows her love; the love that comes from having been deeply forgiven, which let’s her receive yet deeper forgiveness and release.
Jesus has infinite compassion for them both. We see this easily in his treatment of the woman, whom he allows to touch him and anoint him, and then looks directly at her and offers her words of forgiveness and hope.
But it is true of Simon too. Jesus does not condemn Simon for his prejudice and lack of compassion. Rather he helps him to see things differently. Firstly he introduces the topic by telling a story – using the kind of teaching language that Simon could relate to easily.
Then he asks a ‘feeling’ question – “Now which of them will love him more?”
Poor Simon, he’s not used to feeling questions! But he does manage an answer – though from his head; “I suppose (thinking word!) the one for whom he cancelled the greater debt.”
And Jesus replies with gentle affirmation for his intellectual ability “You have judged rightly”.
Only then does he invite Simon to see the woman and her actions correctly, revealing how she has offered the hospitality that Simon has withheld.
In this his purpose is to build her up, and let Simon see her actions in familiar terms; not to pass judgement on Simon. He does not say for example, “You don’t think you need to be forgiven much, so you do not love much” – he says “But the one to whom little is forgiven, loves little.” Like the prophet Nathan with David, he allows Simon to come to his own place of repentance – proving, if proof were needed, his place in that line of prophetic teaching.
Now we don’t know how Simon responded, because the text does not tell us. We know that some of the others at table are unable to get past the head questions, “Who is this that even forgives sins.” they ask – missing the whole point of the encounter that has just taken place before their very eyes.
But I would like to think that Jesus redeemed Simon; that he helped him to see in ways that meant he could never go back to his narrow judgmental, excluding ways. And I think that for two reasons. Firstly Simon did in fact have some initial openness to Jesus – otherwise he would not have invited him to dinner – even if he did not give him the proper treatment that he would have given an honoured guest. Now given that Simon lived mostly in his head, it was probably an intellectual openness – a curiosity to see what this renegade teacher would actually do and say at a ‘respectable’ dinner party. But it was openness never the less. And then the story tells us what Simon said ‘to himself’. Now very possibly the author of the Gospel infers what Simon is thinking from Jesus’ responses, but logically the only person who would have known this for sure is Simon himself, whose thoughts are then recorded in a Christian document. So perhaps both the principle characters in this story found forgiveness and release that day.
We do not always see things very well. And when we act on what we think we see, it can cause all kinds of problems. I am sure some of you have had the experience of sitting in the optometrist’s chair and reading a letter ‘S’, only to discover when the lens is corrected that it was in fact a letter ‘F’. God is always seeking to correct our vision; to help us to see better with the eyes of our hearts.
At every Eucharist God invites us to supper. He bathes us in forgiveness, anoints us with His Spirit, kisses us repeatedly in the words and actions and sacraments. I wonder half the time, ‘do we even notice?” And do we come with the expectation that we will hear Him speak to us, directly, saying “I have something to say to you?”. For these are things that we can only see and hear with the eyes and ears of our hearts.
I suspect that often we do not really see at all.
Yet God in Christ continues to offer himself to us, as the woman continued to anoint Jesus, whether or not there is a response, because the outpouring of love demands it. And we come, bringing whatever we can to the table – the gifts of heads and hearts and hands, however inadequate.
As Claude Mostowik has written, at the Lord’s table,
“We give Jesus things he does not need - our despair, fear, anger, cynicism, lack of hope, inadequacy or frustration – but all are accepted along with all the better things we can give. We might come un-prepared, yet Jesus accepts our inadequate offering. Jesus reflects the passion in God’s heart.
We need to recognise that the Jesus, who dined with the people who walk on the wrong side of the street, also dined with the powerful – if he was not to be guilty of reverse prejudice. They too need to be included in God’s reign.
Today’s gospel resonates for marginalised groups: women, Indigenous people, gays and lesbians, (and) people who are living with disabilities” to name but a few.
But it resonates also for the Simons’ of our world – for those who might not think they were much in need of forgiveness. For Jesus invites everyone to the table – His is a gospel of radical inclusivity, which reaches out to the rich as well as the poor; to those who consider themselves righteous as well as those who know they are not and excludes no-one.
Today the gospel invites us to the table. Whether like the woman, we feel ourselves condemned by others, and perhaps even by ourselves and unworthy to be present; or whether like Simon our eyes are unseeing and we do not perceive our own need, we are still welcome.
And of course, both Simon and the woman are present in all our hearts, always, at one and the same time. Part of us thinks we have it right and tends to condemn others; and part of us knows our desperate need of love and forgiveness.
And Jesus constantly invites us, as he invited Simon, to look on ourselves and others with new eyes – with the eyes of compassion, with the eyes of the heart.
Jesus looks at each of us and says, “Do you see this woman? Do you see this man?” and helps us to see ourselves and each other with new eyes.
May we open the eyes of our hearts to all that He would show us. In the name of the Christ who sets us free. Amen.
Sunday, June 6, 2010
Sermon 06.06.10 - Jesus cared about widows
Pentecost 2 Luke 7:11-17
Jesus cared about widows. There is nothing particularly remarkable about that. His own Jewish tradition , especially the prophetic tradition of which he was a part, was very clear that God commands us to care for the widow and the orphan, and all who are oppressed and disadvantaged.
But Jesus seems to have had a particular care and admiration for widows. Think for example of his use of widows in his teaching. He gives, as an instance of the need for persistence in prayer, the story of the widow who hammers on the door of the unjust judge until she gets satisfaction. He also draws attention to the widow who casts her last mite into the coffers of the Treasury – not so much to commend her for her generosity, as to condemn the unjust system that would demand such a response form a poor widow.
So why this interest in widows?
Certainly in Jesus day to be a widow was to be one of the most vulnerable members of society, especially if you were poor and had no children. The Hebrew scriptures provided that a man could marry his brother’s widow – and that if a brother was not available, then a more distant relative on the husband’s side could do the same thing. This was how Boaz, in the story of Ruth, came to marry her. – and of course Ruth is one of Jesus' forebears.
However it was not an ideal system, and widows in Jesus day carried stigma – both for their husband’s death and, if no family member was found to marry them, for their circumstances. As single women, with or without children, they were regarded as the lowest of the low. This applies to many widows in our world today also – but we’ll come to that.
Jesus seems to have had a special care for widows. And I wonder if there could be some personal reasons for that. We do not know for sure, but there is a strong tradition that Joseph died young. Certainly he does not appear in our Biblical narrative beyond the story of Jesus being left behind in the temple at the age of twelve. By the time Jesus begins his ministry he is nowhere to be seen. Presumably therefore Jesus mother Mary was a widow. As such she would have been heavily reliant on her eldest son Jesus for her day to day needs. Maybe this indeed is why Jesus does not begin his ministry until he is about thirty – until perhaps his younger brother James is in a position to care for her.
We shall never know. But it does seem as though Jesus might have had a particularly strong affinity for the plight of a poor widow, whose only son has died, leaving her destitute, both physically and culturally, as she would have lost her place and standing in the community.
Jesus encounters the widow in today’s story, just as her son is being carried out of the town to be buried. In those times, burials took place outside the towns, for obvious reasons of hygiene, and as soon as possible after death. The young man’s supposedly dead body is being carried on an open bier.
When Jesus sees her, we’re told that he “had compassion for her” Now the Greek word used for ‘having compassion’ is splagisamai – it is a very strong word, and it means to be moved to the very guts and bowels. It is a word that is used only occasionally in the Gospels, but in some very significant places, both in the teaching of Jesus and on other occasions when He is described as being ‘moved to the very guts and bowels’.
It is used for example of Jesus' compassion for the crowds – both when he feeds the four thousand and when he identifies them as being ‘like sheep without a shepherd.’ It is also used early in Mark’s gospel, in Jesus' first recorded encounter with a leper. And Jesus uses it himself in the story of the Good Samaritan, who was the one who ‘had compassion’ on the man who fell among thieves; and in the story of the Prodigal son, where the Father has compassion on his errant son and runs to welcome him home. Always it is used of a compassion that issues in significant action. It's not just a matter of feeling.
Jesus ‘had compassion’ for the widow of Nain; he was moved to the very guts and bowels on her account. He could see what fate awaited her, in the loss of this only son. And he took action.
We might like to ask ourselves, what things, what people, what situations move us to such an extent? And what are we doing about them?
Jesus does something very immediate. First of all he tells her “Do not weep.” (He will say the same thing at the healing of Jairus daughter – ‘do not weep; she is not dead but sleeping’). He is telling her that her emotions – completely valid though they may be – are not what is needed. What is needed is an accurate appraisal of the situation.
So he walks up to the bier and touches it.
We have no idea in our culture of the huge significance of that action. As you may recall from the story of the Good Samaritan , for a Jew to touch a corpse or anything that a corpse was touching, was to be made ritually unclean and unable to participate in prayers and offerings until cleansed.
Jesus calmly risks his reputation and his ability to function within his culture, for the sake of a person whom he has barely even met. The widow has not even asked for his help, and there is no suggestion that she knew who he was, or had any faith whatsoever in his ability to alter the situation.
And then he tells the young man to get up. The word used is not the word for resurrection, but for getting up, waking up as from sleep. Whether in fact Jesus perceived that like, Jairus daughter, this young man was not in fact dead at all, but merely comatose – a state not then well understood – is not really material.
What matters are the two things that follow from his action, especially in terms of our discipleship.
The first is that Jesus is acknowledged as a ‘great prophet’ – he has after all repeated the action of the great prophet Elijah in healing the son of a widow. His fame and reputation spread; and we are part of the spreading of that fame and reputation. We are able to say that Jesus was someone whose compassionate action towards those least able to help themselves, brought new life.
And the second is that, as his disciples, we are called to do the same.
Now we are probably not capable of raising the dead.
But we are capable of being moved with compassion – of being ‘moved to the guts and bowels’ on behalf of the poor and the oppressed.
And when we are so moved we are capable of doing something about it.
‘Stepping up to the bier and touching it’ may mean setting aside some lesser things; like reputation or wealth or our own advantage; it may mean being laughed at or misunderstood. But the example of Jesus is quite clear – where there is need, we are not to be afraid.
Many situations in our world today command our compassion and our action to attempt to bring new life, where all seems dead and hopeless. Many of them require a cool headed re-appraisal of the situation. But in solidarity with Jesus himself I want to draw your attention to the plight of one group in particular – the widows of our world.
A recent research document prepared for the United Nations showed that there are 100million widows living in extreme poverty in our world today. Their situation in many places is not improving but rather worsening and the figures rising.
The report tells this story for example
“Twenty-four-year-old Seetha lives in a slum in Chennai, a bustling metropolis and the capital of India’s southern state Tamil Nadu. An AIDS widow, Seetha was driven out of her village on the outskirts of the city last year when her husband, a truck driver, succumbed to the disease. The onus of bringing up her two children - four-year-old Lakshmi and two-year-old Anand - fell on her shoulders.
Being illiterate, she was forced to work as a daily wage labourer at one of the various construction sites in the rapidly growing city. Now, she has lost that as well. Seetha contracted AIDS from her husband and when the labourers working with her found out her HIV status, they pressurised the contractor to remove her from the job. She wants Lakshmi and Anand to go to school so that they don’t have to suffer
a fate similar to hers but being unemployed, weak and unwell, Seetha doesn’t know if she will be able to give them the next meal, let alone a school education.
For (women like Seetha) widowhood means denial of basic human rights, brings lowering of living standards, legal obstacles to inheriting property, problems in caring for and educating children, harassment by relatives, being socially outcast, religious stigma and a host of other problems - making them and their children the most vulnerable and the poorest of the poor.”
In many parts of Africa and Asia in particular HIV –AIDS has left many widowed, and with poor understanding of how the virus is transmitted these women often carry the stigma of their husbands death and are blamed for their own sickness. In these countries as well as in much of India and South America, such widows are forced into prostitution in order to feed their families.
June 23 has been proclaimed International Widows Day but it has not so far gained UN recognition. Widows in the developing world remain some of the least regarded and most defenceless human beings on earth. So today’s Gospel is a real challenge to us, who follow Jesus.
Will we ‘step up to the bier’ and recognise their need?
Will we help that day to gain UN recognition?
Will we, like Jesus, tell them that they need weep no longer, because the possibility of new life is at hand?
Will we allow ourselves to be ‘moved to the guts and bowels with compassion’, in order that we may act to change our world, that new life may come?
Amen
Jesus cared about widows. There is nothing particularly remarkable about that. His own Jewish tradition , especially the prophetic tradition of which he was a part, was very clear that God commands us to care for the widow and the orphan, and all who are oppressed and disadvantaged.
But Jesus seems to have had a particular care and admiration for widows. Think for example of his use of widows in his teaching. He gives, as an instance of the need for persistence in prayer, the story of the widow who hammers on the door of the unjust judge until she gets satisfaction. He also draws attention to the widow who casts her last mite into the coffers of the Treasury – not so much to commend her for her generosity, as to condemn the unjust system that would demand such a response form a poor widow.
So why this interest in widows?
Certainly in Jesus day to be a widow was to be one of the most vulnerable members of society, especially if you were poor and had no children. The Hebrew scriptures provided that a man could marry his brother’s widow – and that if a brother was not available, then a more distant relative on the husband’s side could do the same thing. This was how Boaz, in the story of Ruth, came to marry her. – and of course Ruth is one of Jesus' forebears.
However it was not an ideal system, and widows in Jesus day carried stigma – both for their husband’s death and, if no family member was found to marry them, for their circumstances. As single women, with or without children, they were regarded as the lowest of the low. This applies to many widows in our world today also – but we’ll come to that.
Jesus seems to have had a special care for widows. And I wonder if there could be some personal reasons for that. We do not know for sure, but there is a strong tradition that Joseph died young. Certainly he does not appear in our Biblical narrative beyond the story of Jesus being left behind in the temple at the age of twelve. By the time Jesus begins his ministry he is nowhere to be seen. Presumably therefore Jesus mother Mary was a widow. As such she would have been heavily reliant on her eldest son Jesus for her day to day needs. Maybe this indeed is why Jesus does not begin his ministry until he is about thirty – until perhaps his younger brother James is in a position to care for her.
We shall never know. But it does seem as though Jesus might have had a particularly strong affinity for the plight of a poor widow, whose only son has died, leaving her destitute, both physically and culturally, as she would have lost her place and standing in the community.
Jesus encounters the widow in today’s story, just as her son is being carried out of the town to be buried. In those times, burials took place outside the towns, for obvious reasons of hygiene, and as soon as possible after death. The young man’s supposedly dead body is being carried on an open bier.
When Jesus sees her, we’re told that he “had compassion for her” Now the Greek word used for ‘having compassion’ is splagisamai – it is a very strong word, and it means to be moved to the very guts and bowels. It is a word that is used only occasionally in the Gospels, but in some very significant places, both in the teaching of Jesus and on other occasions when He is described as being ‘moved to the very guts and bowels’.
It is used for example of Jesus' compassion for the crowds – both when he feeds the four thousand and when he identifies them as being ‘like sheep without a shepherd.’ It is also used early in Mark’s gospel, in Jesus' first recorded encounter with a leper. And Jesus uses it himself in the story of the Good Samaritan, who was the one who ‘had compassion’ on the man who fell among thieves; and in the story of the Prodigal son, where the Father has compassion on his errant son and runs to welcome him home. Always it is used of a compassion that issues in significant action. It's not just a matter of feeling.
Jesus ‘had compassion’ for the widow of Nain; he was moved to the very guts and bowels on her account. He could see what fate awaited her, in the loss of this only son. And he took action.
We might like to ask ourselves, what things, what people, what situations move us to such an extent? And what are we doing about them?
Jesus does something very immediate. First of all he tells her “Do not weep.” (He will say the same thing at the healing of Jairus daughter – ‘do not weep; she is not dead but sleeping’). He is telling her that her emotions – completely valid though they may be – are not what is needed. What is needed is an accurate appraisal of the situation.
So he walks up to the bier and touches it.
We have no idea in our culture of the huge significance of that action. As you may recall from the story of the Good Samaritan , for a Jew to touch a corpse or anything that a corpse was touching, was to be made ritually unclean and unable to participate in prayers and offerings until cleansed.
Jesus calmly risks his reputation and his ability to function within his culture, for the sake of a person whom he has barely even met. The widow has not even asked for his help, and there is no suggestion that she knew who he was, or had any faith whatsoever in his ability to alter the situation.
And then he tells the young man to get up. The word used is not the word for resurrection, but for getting up, waking up as from sleep. Whether in fact Jesus perceived that like, Jairus daughter, this young man was not in fact dead at all, but merely comatose – a state not then well understood – is not really material.
What matters are the two things that follow from his action, especially in terms of our discipleship.
The first is that Jesus is acknowledged as a ‘great prophet’ – he has after all repeated the action of the great prophet Elijah in healing the son of a widow. His fame and reputation spread; and we are part of the spreading of that fame and reputation. We are able to say that Jesus was someone whose compassionate action towards those least able to help themselves, brought new life.
And the second is that, as his disciples, we are called to do the same.
Now we are probably not capable of raising the dead.
But we are capable of being moved with compassion – of being ‘moved to the guts and bowels’ on behalf of the poor and the oppressed.
And when we are so moved we are capable of doing something about it.
‘Stepping up to the bier and touching it’ may mean setting aside some lesser things; like reputation or wealth or our own advantage; it may mean being laughed at or misunderstood. But the example of Jesus is quite clear – where there is need, we are not to be afraid.
Many situations in our world today command our compassion and our action to attempt to bring new life, where all seems dead and hopeless. Many of them require a cool headed re-appraisal of the situation. But in solidarity with Jesus himself I want to draw your attention to the plight of one group in particular – the widows of our world.
A recent research document prepared for the United Nations showed that there are 100million widows living in extreme poverty in our world today. Their situation in many places is not improving but rather worsening and the figures rising.
The report tells this story for example
“Twenty-four-year-old Seetha lives in a slum in Chennai, a bustling metropolis and the capital of India’s southern state Tamil Nadu. An AIDS widow, Seetha was driven out of her village on the outskirts of the city last year when her husband, a truck driver, succumbed to the disease. The onus of bringing up her two children - four-year-old Lakshmi and two-year-old Anand - fell on her shoulders.
Being illiterate, she was forced to work as a daily wage labourer at one of the various construction sites in the rapidly growing city. Now, she has lost that as well. Seetha contracted AIDS from her husband and when the labourers working with her found out her HIV status, they pressurised the contractor to remove her from the job. She wants Lakshmi and Anand to go to school so that they don’t have to suffer
a fate similar to hers but being unemployed, weak and unwell, Seetha doesn’t know if she will be able to give them the next meal, let alone a school education.
For (women like Seetha) widowhood means denial of basic human rights, brings lowering of living standards, legal obstacles to inheriting property, problems in caring for and educating children, harassment by relatives, being socially outcast, religious stigma and a host of other problems - making them and their children the most vulnerable and the poorest of the poor.”
In many parts of Africa and Asia in particular HIV –AIDS has left many widowed, and with poor understanding of how the virus is transmitted these women often carry the stigma of their husbands death and are blamed for their own sickness. In these countries as well as in much of India and South America, such widows are forced into prostitution in order to feed their families.
June 23 has been proclaimed International Widows Day but it has not so far gained UN recognition. Widows in the developing world remain some of the least regarded and most defenceless human beings on earth. So today’s Gospel is a real challenge to us, who follow Jesus.
Will we ‘step up to the bier’ and recognise their need?
Will we help that day to gain UN recognition?
Will we, like Jesus, tell them that they need weep no longer, because the possibility of new life is at hand?
Will we allow ourselves to be ‘moved to the guts and bowels with compassion’, in order that we may act to change our world, that new life may come?
Amen
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)