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.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
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
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Sermon by Revd Penny Jones, 16.05.2010
ACTS 16.16-34; JOHN 17.20-26 16.05.10
"The glory that you have given me, I have given them, so that they may be one, as we are one, I in them and you in me, that they may become completely one, so that the world may know that you have sent me and have loved them even as you have loved me".
It's quite a sentence! - and it tells us, at the beginning of the Week of Prayer for Christian Unity both why we are to seek unity (so that the world may know that you have sent me); and how that unity is possible - because, we all have a common experience of God's love.
There is disunity and strife throughout our world. Human beings are capable of falling out over many things, small and great, and violence is never far away. But Christians know that there is unity in and with God; and that is our deepest, mystical connection with God, no matter what our particular religious affiliations, we will always find Divine love. And it is our Christian calling, to seek to bring all people and all things - the whole created order - into harmonious relationship with each other and with the Divine Love. For it is in that Love, and only in that Love, that we can find our true freedom.
Our reading today from Acts, explores the dimension of human freedom. It is a story of binding and loosing played out on many levels. It is told in the idiom of its day but can still speak to us.
Firstly there's the slave girl. She's bound both physically to the masters who exploit her apparent gift; and spiritually to an ability to foretell the future. She is able to see a certain spiritual truth, which is that Paul and Silas are "slaves of the most High God" - a very different king of slavery to her own.
We are told that Paul becomes "very much annoyed" - not with the girl herself: but because she is unable to leave them alone; she effectively binds herself, attaches herself, leech-like, to them with the same message over many days. Finally Paul loses patience and casts the spirit out - thus setting her spiritually "free". We are not told what happens to her - a slave-girl without a "special talent" was undoubtedly less valuable than one with an exploitable gift, so the worry is that her last condition would be worse than her first; and this may be why it takes Paul several days to address the matter. We can hope that perhaps he manages to make provision for her in the household of Lydia, where she could be cared for.
But meanwhile Paul has troubles of his own, as the owners of the girl furious at losing their source of income, have him beaten and thrown into jail. Deprived of physical freedom, Paul and Silas maintain their inner freedom, singing and praying. This is the part of the story most familiar to us. We know, don't we, of the wonderful power of divine love to transform places of human degradation and imprisonment. Usually however those so imprisoned face may days and years of suffering - think of Terry Waite, or Dietrich Bonheoffer, or Nelson Mandela. Often those so imprisoned meet their death, and it is only through the testimony of others that we hear of the transformative power of their love in such situations. Others are eventually restored to physical freedom - their spiritual stature deepened and enhanced by their ordeal.
But in the story, liberation comes within a few hours. And this is why we love this story - not only does it have everything - girl (probably pretty), vicious, oppressive baddies; prison cells - it even throws in liberation by earthquake and it all happens at break-neck speed; not time for the reader to get bored - and of course, a satisfying sense that not only do the "goodies" escape, they carry on being "good", and set their jailer free as well They set him free from the burden of guilt and fear, that was going to result in him taking his own life; and then they baptise him, thus setting him free from bondage to sin and death into the bargain.
In this story, the reader is invited to see God as liberator; setting us free from all kinds of slavery, from every prison, whether physical or spiritual. Just in case we haven't got the message, it's pointed out eg that Paul and Silas are placed in the innermost cell and their feet in the stocks - humanly there is no hope for them.
But just when everything is at its worst, there is an earthquake. There's a literary echo there that every second century Christian would I think have heard - an echo back to the story of Jesus' crucifixion and death in Matthew's gospel. At the point of His death - when there is no hope humanly speaking - we're told that 'the earth shook and the rocks were split.' The earth itself enters into the great work of liberation, that Jesus' dying and rising effects. And here again "suddenly there was an earthquake so violent that the foundations of the prison were shaken; and immediately all the doors were opened and everyone's chains were unfastened!"
What's going on here? This isn't just an escape story for Paul and Silas - that would only have required that the two of them somehow get out. No - at the theological level, this tells the reader that Paul and Silas - by their prayer and their singing, by their way of life and their choices - have entered into unity, into oneness with the Divine Love, "I in them and you in me, that they may become completely one." And by doing so, they participate in the act of total liberation of which the earthquake is the symbol - that getting free which is the gospel - the setting free of everyone (everyone's chains were unfastened) and everything (all the doors were opened) forever. The Divine Love, and the experience of that love, sets us all free, and makes us all one - the unity and the freedom are part and parcel of one another.
But, I hear you say, what about all the disunity, the war, the injustice? What about those who languish in physical prisons and emotional prisons and never get out? How do we live with the reality - the now but not yet of what some have called "the peaceable realm of God."? - the kingdom of God in Jesus words?
The answer is not easy to find; but lies I believe in choosing every day, in light; a little more of the love; till all is accomplished. And some are beacons of hope on this way. And I want to end by reading you an incredible true story, of one who did not escape his physical prison - but who by his prayer and example shows us how to live within and transcend our own prisons, for the sake of others.
Tom Fox, aged 54, was a peace activist and Quaker working for peace in Iraq - in November 2005 he was taken hostage along with 3 other members of a Christian Peacemaker Team: Norman Kember, James Loney and Harmeet Singh Sooden. Fox was eventually separated from the other 3, and his dead body was discovered in Baghdad on March 9 2006. The other hostages were rescued two weeks later. What I'm going to read you is an excerpt from James Lowey's account of the team's time in captivity, which he eventually published in July f 2007 - and the full article is available on the internet.
{During those first days of relentless, terrifying, excruciating uncertainty, Tom Fox dove into prayer the way a warrior might charge into battle. He turned his captivity into a sustained, unbroken meditation.
The chain that bound his wrist became a kind of rosary, or sebha (the beads Muslims use to count the names of God). He would picture someone: a member of his family, a member of the Iraq team or the CPT office, one of the captors - whoever he felt needed a prayer. Holding a link of the chain, he would breathe in and out , slowly, so that you could hear the air gushing in and out of his lungs, praying for the person he was holding in his mind. With the completion of each breath he would pass a chain link through his thumb and index finger. During his first breath he would say to himself, with the warmth of my heart. In the second, with the stillness of my mind. In the third, with the fluidity of my body. And in the fourth, with the light of my soul. At the end of each series of four breaths, he would pause and simply rest in the light with the person he was praying for.
On December 23, day 29 of captivity, we began the discipline of a daily check-in in which we talked about how we were doing physically, emotionally and spiritually. I led our first worship service, and Tom led our first de memoriam, Bible-less Bible study. The format was simple. The leader would recall as best he could a Bible passage, and we would reflect together on it according to a series of four questions : What is the main point of the passage to me? Is it true in my experience? What is difficult, challenging or confusing about the passage? How might this passage change my life?
Tom's prayers were profound. They brought our suffering into dialogue with the vast suffering of the world. Again and again his prayers brought to mind other prisoners - security detainees in Iraq, illegal combatants in Guantanamo, the lost and forgotten souls in American penitentiaries. And every time we heard a bomb explode, near or far, Tom would stop to pray for those whose lives had just been destroyed. Every time, without fail.
Why are we here? It's the ultimate question, really. Tom reflected on that question in something he wrote titled "Why Are We Here?" on November 25, 2005, the evening before we were kidnapped.
"We are here to root out all aspects of dehumanization that exist within us. We are here to stand with those being dehumanized by oppressors and stand firm against that dehumanization. We are here to stop people, including ourselves, from dehumanizing any of God's children, no matter how much they dehumanize their own souls."}
Copyright (c) 2007 by the Christian Century. Reprinted by permission from the July 24,2007, issue of the Christian century. For more information about the Christian Century, please visit http://christiancentury.org
Seasons of the Spirit Congregational Life Lent*Easter
"The glory that you have given me, I have given them, so that they may be one, as we are one, I in them and you in me, that they may become completely one, so that the world may know that you have sent me and have loved them even as you have loved me".
It's quite a sentence! - and it tells us, at the beginning of the Week of Prayer for Christian Unity both why we are to seek unity (so that the world may know that you have sent me); and how that unity is possible - because, we all have a common experience of God's love.
There is disunity and strife throughout our world. Human beings are capable of falling out over many things, small and great, and violence is never far away. But Christians know that there is unity in and with God; and that is our deepest, mystical connection with God, no matter what our particular religious affiliations, we will always find Divine love. And it is our Christian calling, to seek to bring all people and all things - the whole created order - into harmonious relationship with each other and with the Divine Love. For it is in that Love, and only in that Love, that we can find our true freedom.
Our reading today from Acts, explores the dimension of human freedom. It is a story of binding and loosing played out on many levels. It is told in the idiom of its day but can still speak to us.
Firstly there's the slave girl. She's bound both physically to the masters who exploit her apparent gift; and spiritually to an ability to foretell the future. She is able to see a certain spiritual truth, which is that Paul and Silas are "slaves of the most High God" - a very different king of slavery to her own.
We are told that Paul becomes "very much annoyed" - not with the girl herself: but because she is unable to leave them alone; she effectively binds herself, attaches herself, leech-like, to them with the same message over many days. Finally Paul loses patience and casts the spirit out - thus setting her spiritually "free". We are not told what happens to her - a slave-girl without a "special talent" was undoubtedly less valuable than one with an exploitable gift, so the worry is that her last condition would be worse than her first; and this may be why it takes Paul several days to address the matter. We can hope that perhaps he manages to make provision for her in the household of Lydia, where she could be cared for.
But meanwhile Paul has troubles of his own, as the owners of the girl furious at losing their source of income, have him beaten and thrown into jail. Deprived of physical freedom, Paul and Silas maintain their inner freedom, singing and praying. This is the part of the story most familiar to us. We know, don't we, of the wonderful power of divine love to transform places of human degradation and imprisonment. Usually however those so imprisoned face may days and years of suffering - think of Terry Waite, or Dietrich Bonheoffer, or Nelson Mandela. Often those so imprisoned meet their death, and it is only through the testimony of others that we hear of the transformative power of their love in such situations. Others are eventually restored to physical freedom - their spiritual stature deepened and enhanced by their ordeal.
But in the story, liberation comes within a few hours. And this is why we love this story - not only does it have everything - girl (probably pretty), vicious, oppressive baddies; prison cells - it even throws in liberation by earthquake and it all happens at break-neck speed; not time for the reader to get bored - and of course, a satisfying sense that not only do the "goodies" escape, they carry on being "good", and set their jailer free as well They set him free from the burden of guilt and fear, that was going to result in him taking his own life; and then they baptise him, thus setting him free from bondage to sin and death into the bargain.
In this story, the reader is invited to see God as liberator; setting us free from all kinds of slavery, from every prison, whether physical or spiritual. Just in case we haven't got the message, it's pointed out eg that Paul and Silas are placed in the innermost cell and their feet in the stocks - humanly there is no hope for them.
But just when everything is at its worst, there is an earthquake. There's a literary echo there that every second century Christian would I think have heard - an echo back to the story of Jesus' crucifixion and death in Matthew's gospel. At the point of His death - when there is no hope humanly speaking - we're told that 'the earth shook and the rocks were split.' The earth itself enters into the great work of liberation, that Jesus' dying and rising effects. And here again "suddenly there was an earthquake so violent that the foundations of the prison were shaken; and immediately all the doors were opened and everyone's chains were unfastened!"
What's going on here? This isn't just an escape story for Paul and Silas - that would only have required that the two of them somehow get out. No - at the theological level, this tells the reader that Paul and Silas - by their prayer and their singing, by their way of life and their choices - have entered into unity, into oneness with the Divine Love, "I in them and you in me, that they may become completely one." And by doing so, they participate in the act of total liberation of which the earthquake is the symbol - that getting free which is the gospel - the setting free of everyone (everyone's chains were unfastened) and everything (all the doors were opened) forever. The Divine Love, and the experience of that love, sets us all free, and makes us all one - the unity and the freedom are part and parcel of one another.
But, I hear you say, what about all the disunity, the war, the injustice? What about those who languish in physical prisons and emotional prisons and never get out? How do we live with the reality - the now but not yet of what some have called "the peaceable realm of God."? - the kingdom of God in Jesus words?
The answer is not easy to find; but lies I believe in choosing every day, in light; a little more of the love; till all is accomplished. And some are beacons of hope on this way. And I want to end by reading you an incredible true story, of one who did not escape his physical prison - but who by his prayer and example shows us how to live within and transcend our own prisons, for the sake of others.
Tom Fox, aged 54, was a peace activist and Quaker working for peace in Iraq - in November 2005 he was taken hostage along with 3 other members of a Christian Peacemaker Team: Norman Kember, James Loney and Harmeet Singh Sooden. Fox was eventually separated from the other 3, and his dead body was discovered in Baghdad on March 9 2006. The other hostages were rescued two weeks later. What I'm going to read you is an excerpt from James Lowey's account of the team's time in captivity, which he eventually published in July f 2007 - and the full article is available on the internet.
{During those first days of relentless, terrifying, excruciating uncertainty, Tom Fox dove into prayer the way a warrior might charge into battle. He turned his captivity into a sustained, unbroken meditation.
The chain that bound his wrist became a kind of rosary, or sebha (the beads Muslims use to count the names of God). He would picture someone: a member of his family, a member of the Iraq team or the CPT office, one of the captors - whoever he felt needed a prayer. Holding a link of the chain, he would breathe in and out , slowly, so that you could hear the air gushing in and out of his lungs, praying for the person he was holding in his mind. With the completion of each breath he would pass a chain link through his thumb and index finger. During his first breath he would say to himself, with the warmth of my heart. In the second, with the stillness of my mind. In the third, with the fluidity of my body. And in the fourth, with the light of my soul. At the end of each series of four breaths, he would pause and simply rest in the light with the person he was praying for.
On December 23, day 29 of captivity, we began the discipline of a daily check-in in which we talked about how we were doing physically, emotionally and spiritually. I led our first worship service, and Tom led our first de memoriam, Bible-less Bible study. The format was simple. The leader would recall as best he could a Bible passage, and we would reflect together on it according to a series of four questions : What is the main point of the passage to me? Is it true in my experience? What is difficult, challenging or confusing about the passage? How might this passage change my life?
Tom's prayers were profound. They brought our suffering into dialogue with the vast suffering of the world. Again and again his prayers brought to mind other prisoners - security detainees in Iraq, illegal combatants in Guantanamo, the lost and forgotten souls in American penitentiaries. And every time we heard a bomb explode, near or far, Tom would stop to pray for those whose lives had just been destroyed. Every time, without fail.
Why are we here? It's the ultimate question, really. Tom reflected on that question in something he wrote titled "Why Are We Here?" on November 25, 2005, the evening before we were kidnapped.
"We are here to root out all aspects of dehumanization that exist within us. We are here to stand with those being dehumanized by oppressors and stand firm against that dehumanization. We are here to stop people, including ourselves, from dehumanizing any of God's children, no matter how much they dehumanize their own souls."}
Copyright (c) 2007 by the Christian Century. Reprinted by permission from the July 24,2007, issue of the Christian century. For more information about the Christian Century, please visit http://christiancentury.org
Seasons of the Spirit Congregational Life Lent*Easter
Monday, May 10, 2010
Sermon - Easter VI 9th May, 2010
EASTER VI .9.05.10 Acts 16; Revelations 21; John 14.23-29
As we continue in the Easter season, and begin to move towards the giving of the Spirit at Pentecost, we move in our readings and in our thinking towards a season of vision and imagination. We move also towards those weeks after Pentecost that speak of the mission and ministry of the church. Now 'vision' and 'church' are two words that do not always sit easily alongside each other! Some would go so far as to say they were an oxymoron - ie a conjunction of direct opposites like 'living death'! Edwina Gateley, a British laywoman and founder of the Volunteer Missionary movement, tells this story;
'Once upon a time we captured God and we put God in a box and we put a beautiful velvet curtain around the box. We placed candles and flowers around the box and we said to the poor and the dispossessed. 'Come! Come and see what we have! Come and see God!' And they knelt before the God in the box.
One day, very long ago, the Spirit in the Box turned the key from in inside and she pushed it open. She looked around the church and saw that there was nobody there! They had all gone. Not a soul was in the place. She said to herself, 'I'm getting out!' The Spirit shot out of the box. She escaped and she has been sighted a few times since then. She was last seen with a bag lady in McDonald's.
(Prophetic Mission: Sniffing out the Kingdom,' Mystics, Visionaries and Prophets, edited by Shawn Madigan, Augsburg Press, Minneapolis:1998)
The Spirit and the Vision the Spirit gives, is certainly not confined to the church But - the foundational stories of our faith are still telling us that vision is of the essence. And that without vision, the church cannot be faithful to God. So today, I want to talk a little about the 3 texts that we've heard read, in relationship to the vision statement that we have as a parish. We haven't talked about this for a while, so now, (no looking) - what is our vision statement? (ok, look at the back of your bulletin)
Seeking to be
A welcoming Christian community
Sharing God's love
Creating a place to belong.
Welcoming, sharing, creating - They're all verbs - doing words; They are reminding us very clearly what it is we are seeking to do and to be about. We are striving in this direction. Now, we know quite well that we're not there yet - and never will be wholly there this side of heaven, because we're human and imperfect, and we keep making mistakes. But this is what we're striving for.
And over the next few weeks and months I'm hoping that we can focus that vision in a variety of ways. Some of you spent time at the Diocesan convention yesterday and, I know that you will have brought back resources that will help us in the task of welcoming new church members and helping them to feel a sense of belonging and incorporation. That is important work to our ability to function as the body of Christ here on the Peninsula. But within and beyond that work, is the need to open our eyes and ears to those to whom God is calling us.
Let's think back to the story from Acts. "During the night Paul had a vision". We cannot afford to discount vision. Without vision, nothing happens. And sometimes - as in this case - the vision may seem quite strange; outside our comfort zone. Being open to vision, means being willing to let go of our own ideas and assumptions. In this case, following the vision meant leaving the fruitful work in Syria, and going to northern Greece, to Macedonia. It also meant going outside the Roman city - which would still have been a fairly comfortable, familiar environment - to meet, beside a river, to meet with - of all things a group of women! - Gentile women at that - though we are told that they worshipped God. In that culture the company and testimony of women was not highly regarded. Yet, we are told God opened the heart of Lydia - a dealer in purple cloth - to listen eagerly, and to be baptised along with her household. And then she says to Paul, "if you have judged me to be faithful to the Lord, come and stay at my home."
I think we can see two kinds of 'welcome' occurring in the story. Firstly there is the welcome that Paul and Silas give to Lydia and her companions. It is a welcome to hear and share the Christian story. And it is given by them going out - out from any place of worship; out even from the 'civilised' city, to a riverbank, to meet the women, just where they were, and share the story of Jesus. And when the story is received, Lydia and her companions are at once baptised and welcomed into the church - entry into the Christian community is made very easy - and this I think is the lesson for us, as we seek to be a welcoming Christian community. How easy do we make it for others to hear the Christian story- and having heard it, how easy do we make it for them not just to be baptised, but truly to become part of us? Paul and Silas are here shown overcoming huge barriers of gender, class, culture and race - they show us indeed how to love and relate to the neighbour, who is different from us. I invite you just to reflect on the diversity - or perhaps the lack of it - present in our congregations; and just to ask "as we opening our eyes and our hearts to the needs of those who are not like us.' Maybe over coffee you'll have a few things to say about that.
That's the first kind of welcome. The second comes from Lydia as she says "if you have judged me to be faithful to the Lord, come and stay at my home' And they went - and a church established itself in Lydia's home - because not only was she happy to offer welcome; Paul and Silas were happy to accept it. Which offers another challenge to us, as we seek to be a welcoming Christian community - are we also ready to be welcomed? - realising that there is power in doing the welcoming; when we are being received by another, we have to give up some of that power, which can be scary for us. But a truly welcoming community has the king of mutuality, where welcome is sometime given and sometimes received, with equal generosity.
For that kind of mutuality, is part of the second term of our parish vision - "Sharing God's love." To share truly in God's love is to be part of the heavenly Jerusalem, that place of endless uncreated light described in our second reading, from Revelation 21. The "glory and honour of the nations" is brought there, and healing and life abound for all. It is a tremendous vision of the reconciling of all things, through the love of God. And it is a vision which needs to inspire us, as we week to share the love of God with others. For we humans have a great tendency to domesticate the love of God - to reduce it to warm, fuzzy feelings - largely towards those whom we already like. We can see a classic instance of this, in the way that : Mother's Day" has been reduced from a celebration of women's active seeking for peace, and decrying war, into a somewhat pious recognition of women's place in family life. Indeed its foundress Julia Ward Howe, protested its takeover by the forces of conservatism. I have given you just a taste of her writing in your bulletin - it is a great call to all women, eg "as men have often forsaken the plow and the anvil at the summons of war let women now leave all that may be left of home for a great and earnest day of council. Let them meet first, as women, to bewail and commemorate the dead. Let them solemnly take counsel with each other as to the means whereby the great human family can live in peace."
The women to whom she appealed would expect women to be marching in the streets today; to be protesting the war in Iraq and Afghanistan; to be demonstrating - as I'm proud to say our daughter did yesterday on Bondi Beach - the scandalous about face our government has made on refugee policy - every woman here should be marching today; not eating with their families in restaurants. This day was not by foundation, any kind of celebration of a mother's devotion to her family, however admirable that may be.
We domesticate things - but God's love is not to be so domesticated. Yes, of course, we share God's love when we are kind to one another, when we care for those we know and greet others warmly.
But the love of God demands rather more. Jesus in the gospel tells us it demands that we love our enemies; that we lend without expectation of return; that we forgive 70 x 7 and give without wanting thanks.
He also tells us that when we love we are to cleanse the temples; and is challenge corruption and deceit - which is likely to get us into all kinds of trouble - and that we are to confront with naked honesty the hypocrisies of all religions - especially our own; that we are to welcome outcasts and sinners; and that sometimes we will be misunderstood and rejected no matter how holy our efforts.
This is what it is to share God's love; no wonder that St. Theresa of Avila remarked to God, "if this is how you treat your friends, no wonder you have so few of them' - and no wonder, that in a culture of comfort and success, it is very difficult to promote the numerical growth of the church. But surely numbers are not the point - as Lydia said, "if you have judged me to be faithful to the Lord' - the real question is not, 'how many people come to church?', but 'how many of us are faithful to the command to love as God loves us?'
For when we are faithful to that command, then 'vision' and 'church', go hand in hand. But it is not always comfortable - As the great El Salvadorian Archbishop Oscar Romero wrote
'A church that doesn't provoke any crises, a gospel that doesn't unsettle, a word of God that doesn't get under anyone's skin, a word of God that doesn't touch the real sin of the society in which it is being proclaimed - what gospel is that? Very nice, pious considerations that don't bother anyone, that's the way many would like preaching to be. Those preachers who avoid every thorny matter so as not to be harassed, so as not to have conflicts and difficulties, do not light up the world they live in. They don't have Peter's courage, who told the crowd where the bloodstained hands still were that had killed Christ: 'You killed him' Even though the charge could cost him his life as well, he made it. The gospel is courageous; It's the good news of him who came to take away the world's sins.
Archbishop Oscar Romero, April 16th 1978.
That is what it takes to "share God's Love."
So, our vision is to be a welcoming Christian community, Sharing God's love - with all that implies and demands; and finally to be "creating a place to belong". All of us long for a place to belong - but so often we look for it in the wrong place; in particular locations - geographical, social, relational or professional - and the bonds and ties of place and family and friend and work are very important. But they are not of ultimate importance. Even our connection to our church - our denomination, our parish, is not of any ultimate importance. It's only a means to an end - for as Jesus says in our Gospel, "those who love me will keep my word", (we've already talked about what that kind of loving means), "and my Father will love them, and we will come to them and make our home with them”- and Jesus goes on to promise the gift of the Spirit. This tells us that our true and ultimate place of belonging, is in and with the God who loves us and makes a home with us. Imperfectly in this world, perfectly in the heavenly Jerusalem, the dwelling place of God is with human kind; God belongs in us and we belong in God -
As a parish as we seek to re-create a little of heaven on earth, we can seek only a pale imitation of the ultimate reality of total community within and with the Godhead. But if in this place, we can give those who come looking, a taste of that belonging in God, then indeed we will have fulfilled our vision; and made of the church in this place a meeting place of earth and heaven.
Amen
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Homily for Ash Wednesday 2010
Homily for Ash Wednesday 2010
The linen cupboard in our house had been in chaos for nearly two years. I could never find anything. Everything would fall out on top of me. Over the Christmas break I cleaned it out and now it is a joy to behold.
A few days ago I had a dream. As I woke I had a clear picture of shelf on shelf of op shop clothes and goods, loaded with stuff, spilling in all directions. The dream told me, what my conscious mind already knew – that I was too busy, and that I could no longer cram everything in.
As you come this Ash Wednesday to consider your life with God, what do you see I wonder? Do you see tidy shelves like my restored linen cupboard. Or is everything crammed in higgledly-piggledly?
Lent is a sacred time that let’s us look at our lives and assess what we no longer need. It is a time to sort, wash and tidy up. But this is not so much OUR work as God’s. It is not about us gaining control (this is often a mistake that can lead us to puritanical and self-punishing habits of life); it is about letting God have control. It is above all about letting go and letting God. It is about letting God re-prioritise our life and put it back the right way up .
The Desert fathers and mothers taught that sin is forgetting. Forgetting what? Not the commandments – important though those are; no, sin is forgetting who we truly are. Forgetting that we are the imago dei – the image of the living God. Forgetting that God presses God’s imprint into our dust.
The Orthodox preach that God became human that we may become divine – that as Gregory of Nyssa said, ‘the glory of God is a human being fully alive.
Lent is the chance to remember this in a really conscious way. It is the chance to become more fully alive. It is not about being sad, morose and beating ourselves up about the things we wish we had the power and control to change in our lives. It is about taking the time, in whatever way – by praying, sitting, walking, whatever works for you – simply taking the time to let God look at us with love and sort out the jumble.
It is about letting God be in charge of our re-creation. About God re-membering us – that is to say, putting our members, our limbs, back together at every level of our being. As our OT reading said it is about ‘rebuilding the ancient ruins’ and creating in us a beautiful garden, filled with running streams of living water.
When we receive the ash on our forehead today it is a gentle, intimate reminder of our mortality – that life is sweet but short, so we should live it to the full and with as much love as we can for our fellows who are also but dust –
BUT the ash is also a reminder of the glory – that we are all stardust and will one day return to that state; that we are part of God and will return to be with God. The ash recalls us to our true, glorious nature as beloved children of God.
So today and this Lent rejoice and re-member who you are. Let go of the stress of trying to be in control of your life, and let God fill you with life abundant. Amen
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