There were some shepherds...

There were some shepherds in that part of the country who were spending the night in the fields, taking care of their flocks. (Luke 2:8 T.E.V.).

There were some shepherds. Not a group of synagogue lawyers feasting sumptuously on roast lamb and good wine but a bunch of shepherds doing one of the most menial tasks of their society—tending the animals which would be slaughtered for the feasts of the rich and the sacrifices of the temple. They were not important people. In their society, they counted for very little. On the pay scale of the time, they came near the bottom and in religious circles, they were considered to be ritually unclean and therefore to be despised.

In addition, they had a reputation for being vagabonds and thieves—itinerant workers with no roots. After all you never knew just what people like them would get up to out there in the wilderness with nothing but themselves and the sheep and the sky. In an Israel dominated by Roman legions, they were one of the mass of nobodies of their society.

But, it was these ones, these nobodies, this bunch of shepherds whom Luke remembers in the story of the birth of Jesus which he recounts.

It is not the local Roman officials and garrison, nor the synagogue officials, nor even the prominent business people of the town. There is not one mention of any of them in this story, only of these shepherds, despised and looked down upon by the more important and more influential members of their society.

It is true, Israelite society was born of people such as these. The nation's ancestors were nomadic herders who wandered from waterhole to waterhole searching for food for their animals. However, in a time when Israel had become a settled nation and had been for a short time a great settled nation, the story of their beginnings had become idealised into a romantic myth.

The shepherds of those days could not possibly have been anything like the shepherds which they now saw in their midst. Why, didn't David write that beautiful psalm "The Lord is my Shepherd"! How could he have said such a thing about God if he had known these shepherds!

Like many societies, as its structures had amassed, so its understanding of itself and its pilgrimage had been forgotten. There were rules and laws for everything and a strict hierarchy of social status and prestige for everybody. The shepherds were not at the top. Like many of their class, their brand of religion was different to that practised in the Temple at Jerusalem or even by the officials of the local synagogue. The rules of Judaism defined them as nobodies. God was a being who saw some people as clean and others as dirty. The rules for ritual cleansing were complex and tedious. Religion when practised was a duty, watching sheep a way of escape. They had learnt to honour religion and fear God. Is it any wonder that their first response to an angelic confrontation was to be afraid?

For them the image of being surrounded by angels would have been something like a bunch of street kids coming face to face with a car load of police. They were a symbol of all that told them that there were nobodies, that they didn't count for anything.

But this time the message is different. This time there are no added rules, list of duties or need for ritual cleansing. They have been met in their own environment and accepted as they are within it. "Don't be afraid! This news is good. A saviour is born—one who deliver you and your people from their oppression just as it was in the days of old when Moses led the people from Egypt. God meets you at the point of your need. God offers you freedom."

Now, as always with such things, there is a sign but not a clever trick like making a bush seem to burn when it does not. No, it is something much more wonderful than that. It is the miracle of a birth: the miracle of the birth of a child to a young mother in the midst of the stench of a stable in a town crawling with thousands of people after a long journey from her home all for the sake of the records of the Roman conquerors. That is the sign.

Then the message continues changing to a hymn of praise and a greeting to God's people in that place: “Glory to God in the highest heaven, and peace on earth to those with whom God is pleased.” (Luke 2:14 T.E.V.).

I have a vivid picture in my mind of a bunch of shepherds who thought themselves to be nobodies looking around themselves to see if a couple of synagogue officials have snuck in the back. "Peace on earth to those with whom God is pleased. But there's nobody here but us."

And slowly the realisation comes that the message has been to them, for them and that they have been entrusted with being witnesses to the sign. Well, the obvious thing is to go and see it for themselves and that's just what they do. But this time, there is no need for ritual cleansing, not even a change of clothes. This time, they go to this experience as the people that they are, hoping and then knowing that that is how they will be accepted.

“The shepherds went back, singing praises to God for all they had heard and seen; it had been just as the angel had told them” (Luke 2:20 T.E.V.). They had discovered that God's message was also or as Luke sees it, especially for them.

--oo0oo—

It is Christmas day 2009. We have passed the 2000th anniversary of that miracle of birth. Our society too has its systems and laws, its hierarchies of order, of prestige and power. We have our myths about our beginnings as individuals, as dwellers in this country and as members of the Christian faith. In looking back, it is very easy to idealise our histories: to honour brave people who did this, that or the other thing and in the process, to fail to really understand the time in which we live and who we are as God’s people..

We have developed our religion as well as our society into well-ordered institutions and we constantly tell ourselves that we can never be acceptable to those institutions, to ourselves, to each other, to our God. Most of all we are afraid, afraid of the future, afraid of living, afraid of being found out to be the people that we are. The message of Luke's Christmas story is a reminder that God is with us, is among us, in the ordinary things, in the despised ones, accepting all people as they are and offering them, offering us the message of peace which is a message of hope.

--oo0oo--

Meredith is 16. (She has a dozen other names.) Last night she slept in a squat with a 6 month old baby. When the baby was born, her mother wanted it adopted. Meredith lived in a one bedroom flat for awhile but it was lonely and she had trouble managing her budget. Here she lives with her friends. It feels like home. Today it is Christmas and the bunch of street kids which she hangs around with have tried to fix up the place a bit for the kid. One guy searched the gutters all day yesterday for aluminium cans and foil wrappers to make the brightly coloured chain which is strung around the wall. Sharon, Meredith's best friend, went out in the middle of the night to raid a city park for flowers and these stand in an open milk carton filled with water from the leaky tap outside. Meredith and her friends get money however they can—stealing, selling what little they have and themselves. Their lives held little hope for the future until Meredith had her kid. Now they have grand dreams to give the child all the opportunities which they never had, the most important of which is lots of love.

They know that they are the despised ones of our society. They have never thought much of themselves but now they have a reason to survive and the pain of living isn't quite as strong. Maybe tomorrow Children's Services will take the baby but today is a day to celebrate, to be bold and unafraid, to be strong. And Meredith commits all these things to her memory so that she can think about them when times are not so good.

--oo0oo--

An angel of the Lord appeared to them, [those shepherds, those despised ones] and the glory of the Lord shone over them. They were terribly afraid, but the angel said to them, "Don't be afraid! I am here with good news for you, which will bring great joy to all the people. This very day in David's town your Saviour was born - Christ the Lord! And this is what will prove it to you: you will find a baby wrapped in strips of cloth and lying in a manger." Suddenly a great army of heaven's angels appeared with the angel, singing praises to God: "Glory to God in the highest heaven, and peace on earth to those with whom God is pleased!" (Luke 2:9-14 T.E.V.).

Emmanuel: God-With-Us

God, fully human, fully with us, fully within God’s own created order—as a vulnerable child, at the mercy of authorities who take censuses and kill potential rivals, in inadequate accommodation and facing an uncertain childhood—the incarnation is the great doctrine (teaching) of the church that we celebrate in the Christmas season.

This doctrine is one to blow our minds—God becomes human—the Creator enters the creation—the all-powerful becomes all vulnerable to the vagaries of creaturely existence. God just doesn’t watch us from a distance; God lives our life. God just doesn’t empathise with us, God knows what is to suffer as a mortal being.

The official description of incarnation is found in the Chalcedonian Definition, determined by the Council of Chalcedon (in Asia Minor) in 451 AD. It goes like this:

We, then, following the holy Fathers, all with one consent, teach people to confess one and the same Son, our Lord Jesus Christ, the same perfect in Godhead and also perfect in humanity; truly God and truly human, of a reasonable [rational] soul and body; consubstantial [co-essential] with the Father according to the Godhead, and consubstantial with us according to the Humanity; in all things like unto us, without sin; begotten before all ages of the Father according to the Godhead, and in these latter days, for us and for our salvation, born of the Virgin Mary, the Mother of God, according to the Humanity; one and the same Christ, Son, Lord, only begotten, to be acknowledged in two natures, inconfusedly, unchangeably, indivisibly, inseparably; the distinction of natures being by no means taken away by the union, but rather the property of each nature being preserved, and concurring in one Person and one Subsistence, not parted or divided into two persons, but one and the same Son, and only begotten, God the Word, the Lord Jesus Christ; as the prophets from the beginning [have declared] concerning Him, and the Lord Jesus Christ Himself has taught us, and the Creed of the holy Fathers has handed down to us.

(http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chalcedonian_Creed)

But when it all comes down to it, such high doctrinal language is saying one thing: God became one of us in Jesus. Everything we experience, Jesus experienced. God was prepared to give up all the perks of divinity (being all-powerful) in order to show us just how much we are loved—in order to stand in utter solidarity with us, God’s creatures.

Our Souls Magnify the Lord!

“Mary’s Song”, the Magnificat, from the first word of the song in the Latin Bible, the Vulgate: “My soul magnifies the Lord!” Here is the disciple par excellence, the one who has learned to praise God for God’s marvellous deeds of justice for and faithfulness to the people, the little ones, the anawim, the poor. “My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Saviour” (Luke 1:46-47).

The song itself echoes songs of great heroes of the Jewish faith: the songs of Miriam and Moses after the deliverance of the Exodus from Egypt, “Sing to the Lord, for he has triumphed gloriously” (Exodus 15:21); and the praise of Hannah at the presentation of Samuel to God in the temple, “My heart exults in the Lord; my strength is exalted in my God” (1 Sam 2:1a). As Jane Schaberg writes: “The Magnificat is the great New Testament song of liberation—personal and social, moral and economic—a revolutionary document of intense conflict and victory. It praises God’s liberating actions on behalf of the speaker, which are paradigmatic of all of God’s actions on behalf of marginal and exploited people.” (1992, 1998, p. 373).

And yet this song, like the songs of Miriam and Moses, and of Hannah comes at the beginning of the story of deliverance, not at its end. The Israelites will be wandering in the wilderness for another 40 years when Moses and Miriam sing their songs; and Samuel has not yet proved to be the prophet he is to become when Hannah raises her voice. So too, it is before the birth of Jesus (and even of John) that we hear Mary praising the liberating God.

This is a song of hope and of expectation; not one of fulfilment and completion. And it is a bold hope—justice for the poor; a new order in the world—God’s order.
But it is not a song that does not come without a sign—the Israelites have left the land of Egypt; a son has been born to Hannah; and Elizabeth greets Mary as the mother of the Lord. Mary’s song comes at a point of confirmation of the promise—at the time of a sign that what has been promised will be fulfilled. These songs mark important points in the stories of which they are a part. The suffering is not yet over, nor is the waiting; but the completed promise is glimpsed. There is some relief—a hiatus in the worry and the unwarranted expectation; the first showings of the new plant; the first fruits of a new season.

And this is the place that we find ourselves too. Christ has come. Christ has lived. Christ has died. Christ has been raised. Christ is the first fruit of the new creation—the promise for which we are waiting; but this promise is not yet fulfilled although its fulfilment has already begun. And in this place, we too are called to discipleship par excellence—to the honouring of the God who has promised and will fufil what has been promised.

Mary’s song speaks of reversals—the hungry will be fed; the rich sent away empty; the poor will be raised; the proud scattered. In her own poverty, her own weakness, her own lowliness, she has been vindicated, chosen and set upon a path within the mission of God. Her experience anticipates the experience of resurrection, of new life, of new creation in Christ; and she proclaims this good news. Her experience also anticipates the entry of God into the ordinary, into the littlest and the least, into the lowliest, the poor, the oppressed. She is a prophet of hope.

And this is the call that is placed on us too—to be prophets of hope in the midst of a world that is still waiting and perhaps does not even know what it is waiting for. In all our words, in every action, in all that we are, we are called to discipleship par excellence—to honour and praise the God who changes places.

This call is a tough call. It may be submission to God’s will, but God’s will is for profound liberation for God’s creation. What at first glance may seem to be a call to meekness, is a call to radical discipleship in the service of the God who stands in utter solidarity with all who suffer, all who are in need.

Of Leopards and Power

Sometimes I can’t think of anything to say, so I remain silent.

Sometimes I can’t think of anything to say, but I know that I have to say something so I do; but I wonder, “Would it have been better to have said nothing at all?”

John the Baptist had something to say: something to say about the behaviour of God’s people and the judgment it would bring upon them; something to say about good behaviour and what just people should do. He did not remain silent; and though his message was good news, it also had a sting in its tail. And for John, as we know, it probably would have been better had he said nothing at all; but not for the people of God.

We believe that the news of God’s reign is good news; that it is worth telling other people about. We believe that we have something to say and something worth saying. It’s just that what we have to say does have a sting in its tail, not just for others, but for us. And the sting is so potent, that there will be times when we think it probably would have been better not to have said anything at all.
The message of God’s good news in Jesus Christ releases prisoners and sets the captive free. It also binds the powerful and loads responsibility on the rich. Our proclamation of the good news is the standard by which we are charged as hypocrites and sinners. It would be easy to think that it would probably be better if we didn’t say anything at all.

But we would miss the fundamental reality that this news is good. It is the sort of good news that we can celebrate, even as we know that our joy is also tinged with the pain of knowing that we do not live up to God’s call on our lives. We can celebrate the good news that God comes and dwells with us as we are, in order that we might receive the freedom of God’s reign in our lives; and discover that what we have to say is worth saying, and what we are called to do is worth doing, when it is about God’s kingdom, God’s reign, God’s order.

Of course, sometimes, we have been a little misguided in our understanding of the proclamation; in our enactment of the good news; and our supposed “good” news has bound the poor and laid responsibility on the disadvantaged. It has released the rich and set the powerful free to evade responsibility and victimise the powerless. There are times when we have simply got the story upside down and back-to-front.
I often think about this when I remember one of the Jungle Doctor Fables that were a feature of my Sunday School experience as a child: “Little leopards become big leopards and big leopards kill.” It’s the title and the moral of one of those Jungle Doctor Fables with which many of us would be familiar from our Sunday School days. “Little leopards become big leopards and big leopards kill.”

The fable tells the story of a leopard cub brought to a village by Perembi the hunter after Perembi had killed the cub’s mother for its magnificent coat. Perembi made a gift of the cub to the children of the village, much to the disdain of the village chief who proclaimed, “Little leopards become big leopards and big leopards kill.”

Now, as it happens, the chief was right. The cub grew from a cute little pet to a sleek, full-grown leopard. And as the story goes, “one day, when the leopard cub was no longer a cub, it discovered the taste of blood by tenderly licking a scratch on one of its playmates' legs.” The inevitable happens and the cub, now a full-grown leopard is ultimately killed by the chief for the havoc it wreaks in the village.
Now the moral of the story places the blame entirely upon the leopard: “Little leopards become big leopards and big leopards kill.” And that always worried me because it seemed to me that the leopard was just being a leopard—it had been captured by a human who had killed its mother; it had been kept captive by humans who thought it was cute; and it had eventually discovered that it was a leopard after all. “Little leopards become big leopards and big leopards kill.”

As a contemporary theologian, the moral of the story worries me even more, because the story was used to promote an understanding of the message of Christianity that, to me now, seems quite upside down and particularly back-to-front—a message that binds the poor and lays responsibility on the disadvantaged; that releases the rich and sets the powerful free to evade responsibility and victimise the powerless.
The story ends with the storyteller asking two questions: “What was the name of the leopard cub and what was the name of the Chief?” The explanation said that the name of the leopard was sin and the name of the Chief was Jesus because little sins become big sins and sins, big or small, kill. But I was always left feeling sorry for the poor orphan leopard which did just what leopards do. It always felt to me like the sting in the tail of the story had somehow been turned around the wrong way; and the wrong animal had been stung. What about Perembi the hunter who killed the cub’s mother for her beautiful coat? What about the village chief who seemed to be more interested in being seen to be right than in protecting the village?

In our reading from the Gospel of Luke for today, John the Baptist is crying out in the wilderness against people who take things for granted—people who presume that they belong to God simply because their ancestors did; people who are more interested in being seen to be right than in doing the right thing; people who use their power not to protect, but to threaten and extort.

John is calling the people to a different way of being, but not a way of being without consequences. He is calling the people to repentance, baptising them in the Jordan River as a sign of their renewal as the people of God; of their turning around; of them finding their feet again on God’s solid ground after they have been living lives that are upside down and back-to-front. And it wasn’t exactly an easy life to which John was calling them, “I baptise you with water, but someone is coming who is much greater than I am ... That one will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and with fire (Luke 3:16).

John tried to explain to all of them the significance of their undertaking: “I offer you a taste of freedom, a foretaste of the Kingdom but there is another who comes who will give you this freedom and will bring in the Kingdom. But, that will be a scary sort of thing because it will completely change your world. And if you're serious about being free then let's start right here. You tax collectors don't collect more than is legal. You soldiers don't steal from others to supplement your own incomes. Those who have more than enough must share what they have with their neighbour. The powerful must not abuse the powerless.”

Of course, this message of John’s does have a sting in the tail, because if you’re really serious about it, you have to do something and something which won’t necessarily make your life easier. Not that John suggests that not doing anything is entirely an easy option either, “Every tree that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire.”

So, back to our leopard story for a moment: it never seemed to me that the leopard was the one who had the power in the story at all. Perembi the hunter killed its mother and the village chief killed it. And I wonder what John the Baptist might have made of this tale of the death of a mother leopard for the sake of its only coat; and the death of the leopard cub for the sake of it not fitting a life of captivity.

The good news story is a story of freedom and responsibility: freedom for the captive and the powerless; responsibility for the rich and the powerful. It has a sting in its tail; but it is fundamentally good news for those who need it. It is the sort of good news that we can celebrate, even as we know that our joy is also tinged with the pain of knowing that we do not live up to God’s call on our lives. We can celebrate the good news that God comes and dwells with us as we are, in order that we might receive the freedom of God’s reign in our lives; and discover that what we have to say is worth saying after all, and what we have to do is worth doing, because the order to which we’re being called is God’s; and in that order the captives go free and the powerful are bound.

Nothing to Say

Sometimes I can’t think of anything to say, so I remain silent.

Sometimes I can’t think of anything to say, but I know that I have to say something so I do; but I wonder, “Would it have been better to have said nothing at all?”

John the Baptism had something to say: something to say about the behaviour of God’s people and the judgment it would bring upon them; something to say about good behaviour and what just people should do. He did not remain silent; and though his message was good news. It also had a sting in its tail. And for John, it probably would have been better had he said nothing at all; but not for the people of God.

We believe that the news of God’s reign is good news; that it is worth telling other people about. We believe that we have something to say and something worth saying. It’s just that what we have to say does have a sting in its tail, not just for others, but for us. And the sting is so potent, that there will be times when we think it probably would have been better not to have said anything at all.

The message of God’s good news in Jesus Christ releases prisoners and sets the captive free. It also binds the powerful and loads responsibility on the rich. Our proclamation of the good news is the standard by which we are charged as hypocrites and sinners. It would be easy to think that it would probably be better if we didn’t say anything at all.

But we would miss the fundamental reality that this news is good. It is the sort of good news that we can celebrate, even as we know that our joy is also tinged with the pain of knowing that we do not live up to God’s call on our lives. We can celebrate the good news that God comes and dwells with us as we are, in order that we might receive the freedom of God’s reign in our lives; and discover that what we have to say is worth saying after all, because the message is not ours, but God’s.

Advent Light and Water

Our new church year has begun! We’re into its second week already. So, let me wish you (a little belatedly) a happy new year!

The church year begins with Advent—a time when we look forward to the coming reign of God and the coming celebration of the birth of Christ, the incarnation (the coming of God into the world as a human being).

Each Sunday of Advent has a theme—HOPE, PEACE, JOY, LOVE. We recall these themes when we light the Advent candles.

Advent is part of what is called the “Season of Light”. The Season of Light begins with Advent moves through Christmas to Epiphany. In the northern hemisphere this Season of Light occurs over a period when the days are growing shorter and the climate is getting colder. Christmas occurs at the point that it is obvious that a change has occurred—the days are getting longer and the promise of warmth ahead is assured. Lighting Advent candles comes from this background where the light of the candles offers hope and comfort in the midst of winter.

Of course, in our setting, the very opposite is happening—the days are getting longer and the weather is getting hotter.

This year we’re using the symbol of water alongside the Advent candles. Water is a sign of refreshment and relief in times of dry and heat. It is also part of one of the central acts of our faith—Baptism—with its promise of renewal in Christ. So as the days are getting longer and the weather is getting warmer, we are being reminded of God’s promise of renewal and relief in the pouring of water.

May God bless you with the renewal and refreshment made available to us through the gift of Jesus Christ and the power of the Holy Spirit! Happy new year!

Proclaiming the Vision

Many trees line the streets of Armidale in the New England region of New South Wales. It is the result of a vision implemented by residents of Armidale many years ago. A key person among those residents was Alwyn Jones, one-time Senior Circuit Steward in the Methodist church in this area. At various times, Alwyn also served on the Armidale Council, the Armidale Cemetery Committee, the local Rotary Club, Armidale High School Parents’ & Citizens’ Association, the Council of the University of New England, a range of committees related to the beautification of Armidale and as a Meals-on-Wheels volunteer. Alwyn had a real vision for community; and he acted on it.

These trees are now an important Armidale tourist attraction. Each Autumn visitors come from far and wide to see the beautiful colours. As the leaves of the trees change from various shades of green to a range of Autumn hews. The trees are also an important feature of Armidale’s environment. Their shade in summer keeps us cool and in winter when the branches are bare, they allow the sun through to heat our homes. Each year in Autumn, the Armidale Uniting Church and Armidale-Dumaresq Council remember Alwyn’s vision through the presentation of the Alwyn Jones Community Service Award to someone who has had wide, “ongoing and long-standing commitment to the Armidale-Dumaresq area” through “voluntary community service” which has added to the life of this community. The intention is to honour people of vision and commitment like Alwyn.

In the readings for the second week of Advent this year, we hear visions offered from 5 different sources about the new world offered by God. These visions come from messengers who herald that new world. From Malachi, we hear of God’s refining on the day of the coming of the Lord and the messenger who will announce it. In the first chapter of Luke, we have Zechariah’s song of hope for the future foretold by prophets and of the envisioned role of the infant John. From the third chapter of Luke, we have John the Baptist preaching in the tradition of Isaiah proclaiming the coming of a new age. From the letter to the Philippians, we have a Pauline vision of “the day of Christ” whose reality is being begun in the people of God. They are all visions of a world of compassion and peace, love and justice, salvation, liberation and freedom, and of the messengers who herald its coming.

There are new tree-plantings recently put in along the creek in Armidale—the result of the work of some more visionary people. At this stage, it’s hard to imagine what the creek bank might look like in 10 or 20 or 50 years time, but someone has had the vision, made the commitment and persevered to see the vision begin to be implemented. I’m going to be interested to watch how the results of this vision unfold.

Alwyn got to see the fruit of his vision. He died in 2005 when many of his beloved trees had reached their mature beauty. Looking at the results of Alwyn’s vision, it can be tempting to think that having and implementing such vision is easy. We can get excited about the trees and the colours, and the legacy. But on the ground floor, having and implementing that kind of vision takes an awful lot of foresight, commitment and perseverance.

Fortunately, when we’re talking about the vision of God’s new world, we’re not talking about a vision that is ours, but God's; and we’re also not talking about a vision that we implement—that too is God’s work. But we are talking about a vision that we are called to herald. We are called to be the messengers through whom God’s commonwealth of justice and peace is proclaimed, and the communities in whom it is begun. We are called to act in confident hope that God’s promises are being fulfilled.

When I look at this new tree planting, I thank God that other people have caught the kind of vision to which Alwyn was committed; and I pray that I and the congregation here in Armidale may also continue to catch and act in the vision of God’s promised realm of justice and peace for the glory and praise of God. I pray that you have caught and are willing to act on that vision too!

Be Alert, Not Alarmed

14The days are surely coming, says the Lord, when I will fulfill the promise I made to the house of Israel and the house of Judah. 15In those days and at that time I will cause a righteous Branch to spring up for David; and he shall execute justice and righteousness in the land. 16In those days Judah will be saved and Jerusalem will live in safety. And this is the name by which it will be called: “The Lord is our righteousness.” (Jeremiah 33:14-16 NRSV)

The days are surely coming… I’ll bet you’ve heard that one before… The days are surely coming… when no child in Australia will live in poverty. The days are surely coming… when Iraq or Afghanistan will be a functioning, democratic state. The days are surely coming… when poverty and disease are no more. Of course, it’s not just the positive promises that begin with that tag…

The days are surely coming… when the world will be destroyed by nuclear war. The days are surely coming… when climate change will have so affected the earth that it will be inhabitable. The days are surely coming… when the world will be so overpopulated that there will not be enough resources to feed and clothe and house everybody. And whether we want those things to happen or not, whether we think those things are going to happen or not, whether we even have half a clue of working out what is actually going on or not… we are caught up in the waiting to see if the days might surely come sometime, before we get to old or tired, or stop waiting altogether, or simply give up and die. Those words can place us in a pretty powerless, liminal, nebulous situation: the days are surely coming…

The days are surely coming… is it really worth getting up in the morning? The days are surely coming… is there anything that we can do to change it? The days are surely coming… is there any possibility that the inevitable might be prevented, or the ideal might be achieved? What on earth is the point? Why bother with such statements, such predictions, such portents and omens and signs? Why not just continue on our merry way without any thought for the future or the past? I’m okay, we’re okay, what’s the big deal?

The big deal of course is that it’s not okay. We continue to witness enormous turmoil in our world, in nations, in our communities, in ourselves. There are wars and rumours of wars. There are droughts and there are famines. There are epidemics. There is significant climate change. There are clear needs for water, for food, for medical assistance, for health care and nutrition, for education… for hope.

Even when human beings have everything we need, we cannot survive without hope. Especially when human beings do not have the things they need to survive, we cannot live without hope. Although human beings have many, many competing needs, if hope is not in the equation, then life is diminished and may even fade away…

The need for hope is fundamental to the human condition. We are aware of the past, we operate in the present and we have an eye towards the future. We gather knowledge that informs predictions. We notice signs and we analyse them. We are creatures concerned with meaning and process. We witness ourselves and the world around us; and we make judgements and decisions. But we cannot and do not make judgments and decisions for life and future without a sense of possibility or hope.

That’s why Jeremiah is concerned with giving the people a vision of something beyond where they are. The book of Jeremiah comes out of the context of exile. It’s the 6th century BCE. The temple at Jerusalem has been destroyed. The people have been scattered. Nations and communities have been broken and taken under the dominion of a superpower. It seems like God might have forsaken the people, because didn’t God give the people of Israel a promise, several promises in fact? Didn’t God make a covenant with them? Didn’t God promise that they would belong to God?

Oh the people don’t get off scot-free. This great calamity is seen very much in the context of the Covenant, and for such a momentous event to have occurred, surely the people have shown that they have strayed from their responsibility to God. There’s an awful lot of lament and judgment and weeping and gnashing of teeth in Jeremiah, but there’s an awful lot of hope too.

And the hope largely arises from the commitment of the people to God despite the great calamity, despite what is happening around them, despite any evidence that might suggest that God may have abandoned them. Their hope is founded in their faith; and their faith is founded in God. The God in whom they believe is known to be trustworthy, to be faithful, and to be powerful, to be bigger than any calamity that might afflict them as the people of God, even as the chosen people of God. God is still expected to be faithful, to be powerful, and God is expected to be just. And justice demands restoration and renewal: restoration to covenant relationship and renewal of the signs that attend that: the Temple, the city, the nation, the promise.

14The days are surely coming, says the Lord, when I will fulfill the promise I made to the house of Israel and the house of Judah. 15In those days and at that time I will cause a righteous Branch to spring up for David; and he shall execute justice and righteousness in the land. 16In those days Judah will be saved and Jerusalem will live in safety. And this is the name by which it will be called: “The Lord is our righteousness.” (Jeremiah 33:14-16 NRSV)

For the people of the exile, it is the Word of God that sustains them: the remembering of God’s promises; the reciting of the covenant; the recording of the tradition. And the tradition is one of hope. God chose us. God lived with us. God is in covenant with us. God is faithful. God is powerful. God is just. Therefore there is hope. What has been before will be again. Therefore it is worth living, and acting in faith and for justice.

Hope is pretty much Luke’s concern too. At the time that Luke is writing this account of Jesus, it’s the late 1st century. Another temple has been destroyed. A different super power is in control. And worse, the promised heir of David has been identified, crucified, and destroyed. Again it is the Word of God that sustains: the remembrance of the hope proclaimed by Jesus; the remembrance of the hope proclaimed in Jesus; the vision of the kingdom offered through him; the promise of resurrection in Christ. God chose us. God lived with us. God is in covenant with us. God is faithful. God is powerful. God is just. Therefore there is hope. What has been before is but a foretaste of what will be in the fullness of God’s realm. What has been before is but the inauguration, the beginning of what will be the culmination, the final effect of the promises of God. It is worth living. It is worth acting in faith and for justice.

In the very next chapter of Luke, Jesus gathers the disciples in an upper room, and we are reminded that for us too in the midst of our world’s turmoil and upheaval, it is the Word of God that sustains, the Word of God in Jesus. In the celebration of the Lord’s Supper we are brought once again into a foretaste of the fullness of God’s promises. We are caught up into Christ, the sign and seal of a new covenant with all people. We are re-made as the Body of Christ. And we are reminded of our hope. God chooses us. God dwells with us. God is in covenant with us. God is faithful. God is powerful. God is just. Therefore we have hope. What we share in the meal of Christ is but a foretaste of what will be in the fullness of God’s realm. What we share in the great thanksgiving is but the inauguration, the beginning of what will be the culmination, the final effect of the promises of God. It is worth living. It is worth acting in faith and for justice. In this context, and only this, we are called to be alert to the signs of the times, but not alarmed because it is God who is coming to enfold all things into God’s very being.

Faith, hope and love: this is what we long for.
Faith, hope and love: this is what we need.
Faith, hope and love: this is what we long for.
Oh, teach us how to live. (Trisha Watts

A Greeting and a Blessing for Advent

The hope of the promised One;
the peace of the sent One;
the joy of the coming One;
and the love of the One who sent Jesus into our world
for the sake of the reconciliation of all creation
be with you all.
And also with you.

The God who breaks into our lives
interrupt your summer lethargy with the refreshment of hope.
Christ Jesus, emissary of God,
bring you the relief of cooling breezes.
The Holy Spirit immerse you in the river of life. Amen.

An Alternative to Advent Candles

Advent 1
The baptismal font is placed in a prominent position. A jug of water stands nearby.

Then [Jesus] told them a parable: "Look at the fig tree and all the trees; as soon as they sprout leaves you can see for yourselves and know that summer is already near. So also, when you see these things taking place, you know that the kingdom of God is near.” (Luke 21:29-31 NRSV)

With large, strong movements, some water from the jug is poured into the font.
On this first Sunday of Advent,
we pour some water
in the name of the One who comes—
bringing God’s reign
into our lives and into our world
renewing and refreshing us,
disturbing and challenging us,
calling us outward into God’s mission
and forward into God’s future.
We wait in hope for the One who comes.

The people sing (Tune: “Light One Candle” Together in Song 286):
Pour some water for hope,
just some water for hope.
Christ is hope for everyone.
O Christ, come soon!
For congregations where appropriate: try adding actions (e.g. being a jug of water like “I’m a little teapot”).

Advent 2
The baptismal font is placed in a prominent position. A jug of water stands nearby. With large, strong movements, some water from the jug is poured into the font.
On the first Sunday of Advent,
we poured some water
in the name of the One who comes—
as we wait in hope for God’s future.

[John] went into all the region around the Jordan, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins, as it is written in the book of the words of the prophet Isaiah, "The voice of one crying out in the wilderness: 'Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight.’” (Luke 3:3-4 NRSV)

With large, strong movements, some water from the jug is poured into the font.
On this second Sunday of Advent,
we pour some water
in the name of the One who comes—
reconciling the whole creation with God
and with each other,
bringing peace with justice
and life in all it fullness,
calling us together as the people of God,
and onward as agents for reconciliation
We long for the peace of the One who comes.

The people sing (Tune: “Light One Candle” Together in Song 286):
Pour some water for hope,
just some water for hope.
Christ is hope for everyone.
O Christ, come soon!

Pour some water for peace,
just some water for peace.
Christ brings peace for everyone.
O Christ, come soon!
For congregations where appropriate: try adding actions (e.g. being a jug of water like “I’m a little teapot”).

Advent 3
The baptismal font is placed in a prominent position. A jug of water stands nearby. With large, strong movements, some water from the jug is poured into the font.
On the first Sunday of Advent,
we poured some water
in the name of the One who comes—
as we wait in hope for God’s future.
 
With large, strong movements, some water from the jug is poured into the font.
On the second Sunday of Advent,
we poured some water
in the name of the One who comes—
the One who brings peace and reconciliation.

As the people were filled with expectation, and all were questioning in their hearts concerning John, whether he might be the Messiah, John answered all of them by saying, "I baptize you with water; but one who is more powerful than I is coming; I am not worthy to untie the thong of his sandals. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire.” (Luke 3:15-16 NRSV)

With large, strong movements, some water from the jug is poured into the font.
On this third Sunday of Advent,
we pour some water
in the name of the One who comes—
celebrating God’s purpose
and revealing God’s being,
loving and giving,
laughing and sharing,
calling us to the feast of life
and wonder of God’s freedom.
We anticipate the joy of the One who comes.

The people sing (Tune: “Light One Candle” Together in Song 286):
Pour some water for hope,
just some water for hope.
Christ is hope for everyone.
O Christ, come soon!

Pour some water for peace,
just some water for peace.
Christ brings peace for everyone.
O Christ, come soon!

Pour some water for joy,
Living Water of joy.
Christ is coming with celebration—new life, peace, hope and joy.
Christ brings joy for everyone.
O Christ, come soon!
For congregations where appropriate: try adding actions (e.g. being a jug of water like “I’m a little teapot”).

Advent 4
The baptismal font is placed in a prominent position. A jug of water stands nearby. With large, strong movements, some water from the jug is poured into the font.
On the first Sunday of Advent,
we poured some water
in the name of the One who comes—
as we wait in hope for God’s future.

With large, strong movements, some water from the jug is poured into the font.
On the second Sunday of Advent,
we poured some water
in the name of the One who comes—
the One who brings peace and reconciliation.

With large, strong movements, some water from the jug is poured into the font.
On the third Sunday of Advent,
we poured some water
in the name of the One who comes—
the One who comes with joy and celebration.

And Mary said, "My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Saviour, for he has looked with favor on the lowliness of his servant. Surely, from now on all generations will call me blessed; for the Mighty One has done great things for me, and holy is his name.” (Luke 1:46-49 NRSV)

With large, strong movements, some water from the jug is poured into the font.

On this fourth Sunday of Advent,
we pour some water
in the name of the One who comes—
enfolding all creation into God’s loving embrace,
heedlessly loving for love’s sake,
calling us to tend God’s creation with care
and love God’s people with persistence.
We celebrate God’s gracious love shown to us in Jesus Christ.

The people sing (Tune: “Light One Candle” Together in Song 286):
Pour some water for hope,
just some water for hope.
Christ is hope for everyone.
O Christ, come soon!

Pour some water for peace,
just some water for peace.
Christ brings peace for everyone.
O Christ, come soon!

Pour some water for joy,
Living Water of joy.
Christ is coming with celebration—new life, peace, hope and joy.
Christ brings joy for everyone.
O Christ, come soon!

Pour some water for love,
lots of water for love.
Christ brings love for everyone.
O Christ, come soon!
For congregations where appropriate: try adding actions (e.g. being a jug of water like “I’m a little teapot”).

Christmas
The baptismal font is placed in a prominent position. A jug of water stands nearby. With large, strong movements, some water from the jug is poured into the font.
On the first Sunday of Advent,
we poured some water
in the name of the One who comes—
as we wait in hope for God’s future.

With large, strong movements, some water from the jug is poured into the font.
On the second Sunday of Advent,
we poured some water
in the name of the One who comes—
the One who brings peace and reconciliation.
 
With large, strong movements, some water from the jug is poured into the font.
On the third Sunday of Advent,
we poured some water
in the name of the One who comes—
the One who comes with joy and celebration.

With large, strong movements, some water from the jug is poured into the font.
On the fourth Sunday of Advent,
we poured some water
in the name of the One who comes—
the One who reveals God’s gracious love.

Then an angel of the Lord stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. But the angel said to them, "Do not be afraid; for see--I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: to you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, who is the Messiah, the Lord.” (Luke 2:9-11 NRSV)

With large, strong movements, water is flung from the font over the congregation.
Today we celebrate the One who has come and is coming—
the one who is our hope, our life, our joy, our salvation;
the one who brings peace, justice and reconciliation;
the one who reveals to us God’s gracious love
more fully than anything else ever known to God’s creation.
And we remember that we have been enfolded into Christ
as the people of God, the communion of the Spirit, the body of Christ,
and that we are called to proclaim and embody Christ in our world.

The people sing (Tune: “Light One Candle” Together in Song 286):
Pour some water for hope,
just some water for hope.
Christ is hope for everyone.
O Christ, come soon!

Pour some water for peace,
just some water for peace.
Christ brings peace for everyone.
O Christ, come soon!
 
Pour some water for joy,
Living Water of joy.
Christ is coming with celebration—new life, peace, hope and joy.
Christ brings joy for everyone.
O Christ, come soon!

Pour some water for love,
lots of water for love.
Christ brings love for everyone.
O Christ, come soon!

Christ, our Saviour, has come!
Living Water o’erflows.
Love, Joy, Peace and Hope abound.
Glory to God!
For congregations where appropriate: try adding actions (e.g. being a jug of water like “I’m a little teapot”).

Give It All?!

There was a widow of prayer
whose pantry was utterly bare,
when all else was spent
she gave her last cent
as God’s own daughter and heir.
© B.D. Prewer 2000 http://www.bruceprewer.com/DocB/B061112.htm

It’s a nice little ditty, a bit of a limerick from Australian writer, Bruce Prewer. It takes the story of the widow who gave “everything she had” and turns it into a bit of fun, perhaps with the intention of getting under our guard in relation to a story that we have heard many times before and yet often hold at arm’s length because we know full well the challenging demand it places on our lives. And we also know that it’s not just about a guilt trip to make us put more money in the plate. No, this story is far more demanding than that. It’s not just about money, it’s about life—everything we have, all we have to live on, our whole selves.

There was a widow of prayer
whose pantry was utterly bare,
when all else was spent
she gave her last cent
as God’s own daughter and heir.
© B.D. Prewer 2000

In relation to taking on commitments like that, we’re all in different places. Some of us are commitment shy; some of us rush in to make commitments that are just impossible to keep; some of us take so long trying to decide whether to make a commitment, that the opportunities pass us by; and some of us, perhaps just a very few of us, make and keep strong and long-term commitments to which we remain loyal the whole of our lives.

Some commitments come to us by our own decision; others are made for us by our being born into particular families or particular communities. Some commitments look like a pledge to one thing and turn out to be an obligation to something different entirely in the long run. Some commitments, perhaps a few of them, are clear and open and obvious from the beginning.

Perhaps one of the most significant commitments that any of us will make is to a life partner, a husband, a wife, a significant other.

I, N, in the presence of God, take you, N, to be my wife/husband. All that I am I give to you, and all that I have I share with you. Whatever the future holds, I will love you and stand by you as long as we both shall live. This is my solemn vow.

And I’d wager that I’d get excellent odds on the chance that none of us quite knew what we were letting ourselves in for on the days that we made such commitments.
Commitments are made when we open ourselves to the possibility that our priorities are not the only ones, and maybe even not the most important ones; when we make ourselves vulnerable to an other, to the future, and to possibilities other than we had imagined.

Commitments to each other—spouses, families, friends, communities—are part of the relational nature of who we are as humans. Different kinds of commitments are demanded in different relationships. In relation to our children and grandchildren, we know where our priorities lie—they’re number one! Others come in at different places on the continuum for a whole bunch of different reasons. But there’s no doubt, that commitments are us. Of course, that doesn’t mean we get them right.

The story of the rich people and the poor widow is a story about commitment. It’s a story about the kind of commitments that we can make when we have safe, stable secure lives—commitments which appear to be great, but which, in relative terms are just like dipping our toes in the water, rather than plunging in wholeheartedly. It’s also a story about the kind of commitments that perhaps we are only able to make from a position of vulnerability—wholehearted commitments that plunge us into an unknown future for the sake of our commitments to others.

All that I am I give to you, and all that I have I share with you. Whatever the future holds, I will love you and stand by you as long as we both shall live.

The call of God on our lives, to be the people of God, to share in the mission of God and the ministry of Christ, for the sake of the world, is a call that we probably only dare take on when we are most open, most vulnerable, most exposed. There are ways of pretending that the type of commitment that we’ve made is worth more than it really is; but it is only in our weakness, in our poverty, in our openness, in our vulnerability, that we are able to offer all that we have, everything we have to live on. For perhaps, it is only in such moments that we recognise that all that we have comes from God, all that we are is because of God, and all that we hope for is that which God has promised to us.

There was a woman of Zion
with nought but her faith to rely on,
as she came to God’s house
rich fools saw a mouse
but to Jesus she was a lion.
© B.D. Prewer 2000 http://www.bruceprewer.com/DocB/B061112.htm

Making wholehearted commitments isn’t for the faint-hearted, even as it is for those who are willing to vulnerable, willing to open themselves to unknown possibilities. The covenant affirmation which comes to us from the Methodist tradition paints a picture of just some of those unknown possibilities in the face of a wholehearted commitment to the purpose of God.

I am no longer my own, but yours.
Put me to what you will,
rank me with whom you will;
put me to doing, put me to suffering;
let me be employed for you or laid aside for you;
exalted for you or brought low for you;
let me be full, let me be empty;
let me have all things, let me have nothing;
I freely and wholeheartedly yield all things
to your pleasure and disposal.
And now, glorious and blessed God,
Father, Son and Holy Spirit,
you are mine and I am yours,
to the glory and praise of your name. Amen.

Now, don’t get me wrong—I’m not asking you to put your brains on hold, or run yourselves into burn-out, or make rash decisions without any thought for consequences. The Christian tradition has done enough of that. But if we thought that a commitment to God and God’s purposes could be a half-hearted or part-time affair, we’d be kidding ourselves—precisely because wholehearted commitments demand time and attention. Marriages don’t work without communication and communication not just on the easy things, but on the difficult things, the things that need working through. Caring for the members of our families and friends doesn’t happen when we just choose the good stuff. And working for a better world doesn’t happen when we’re only in it for ourselves. Wholehearted commitments require intentional work with long-term goals in view—goals that lie beyond our immediate circumstances, beyond our lifetimes, extending on into an infinite future. And commitment to that work and those goals requires that we recognise our own vulnerability and commit ourselves to act in the face of that vulnerability for the sake of God’s call.

There was a woman of Zion
with nought but her faith to rely on,
as she came to God’s house
rich fools saw a mouse
but to Jesus she was a lion.
© B.D. Prewer 2000 http://www.bruceprewer.com/DocB/B061112.htm

The Hope of In-Between

Jesus cried with a loud voice, "Lazarus come out!" “Lazarus come out!”

Now that’s a pretty good cliff-hanger for a story if I’ve every heard one: “Lazarus come out!”

And even though we’re pretty sure of the outcome, we’re waiting on the edge of our seats just to make sure. It’s the waiting and the hoping that gets us in, keeps us going, demands our attention. When you’re on a good cliff-hanger, you just have to wait until the next phrase drops. And the waiting can be excruciating even when we’re pretty sure of the outcome—what’s going to happen; will everything be all right; will everything fall into place as it’s supposed too?

And we wait…

The whole Christian story is a bit of a waiting game.

We have these ideas about “eternal life”, “everlasting life”, “the life of the world to come”, “resurrection of the dead”, “resurrection of the body”, “the final consummation of all things”, “the promised goal”, “the final reconciliation of humanity with God, and the renewal of all creation”, “the kingdom of heaven”, “the kingdom of God”, the eschaton. Whatever it is we’re waiting for, it certainly has a lot of names and even more descriptive phrases. It’s whatever we believe that God has promised, whatever we understand to be God’s will and God’s purpose, whatever we picture as the ultimate goal of God’s salvation, God’s liberation, God’s plan for the reconciliation of all creation.

And we wait…

Many of you know that I lost my Dad this year. We had in fact been expecting Dad’s death for a while… and that’s another kind of waiting, although similar in its own way. And in the course of that waiting, there’d been a range of conversations about the direction and destination of the journey. In the early days of his illness, the questions were like: “What would heaven be like?” Later the conversation took a different turn which seemed to centre more on acceptance of the present, and the promise of hope which it already holds.

It was Dad who first put John Williamson’s song “Cootamundra Wattle” together with the idea of resurrection hope for me—the story of Jesus’ resurrection and the hope of the new life we believe in because of Jesus.

It’s one of the gems he’s offered to me over the years: the fruit of long hours of silent reflection over the activity of pulling engines apart and re-building them; or developing the replacement part for some old engine for which you could no longer buy the bits he needed. Generally, his gems were offered after I’d spent a couple of hours in the shed with him, feeling completely useless—“Pass us the 10mm spanner would you… No, that’s not 10mm, that’s 3/8”; don’t you know the difference?”). I knew I wasn’t there for my mechanical skill, but to hear the gems when he chose to deliver them.

This gem was offered for my unpacking, and sometimes it takes me a while to do that, but I figure that’s okay because it took a while for the insight to be generated, and any good invention is worth due consideration.

In the resurrection stories of the Gospels, we see some of the unpacking by the early Christian community in relation to the hope they’d found in Jesus, the loss of Jesus’ physical presence, the loss of significant members of the emerging Christian community and the hope that they came to believe endured beyond Jesus’ death into resurrection, and beyond the death of others before the fulfilment of God’s promised reign.

The people saw Jesus as the kingdom of God in person, as the promised messiah who would not only heal their sicknesses and purify them from their sins, but would also liberate them from the foreign rule of the Romans... And then came the catastrophe… Jesus dies on the Roman cross in the profoundest God forsakenness: “My God, why have you forsaken me?” That was the end of Jesus the Messiah, the end of his message about the nearness of the kingdom of God, the end of the God whom he had addressed so intimately as “Abba”, the end of his divine sonship, the end of every trust that had been placed in him… (Moltmann 2004, pp. 45-46)

Or was it?

At the end of the Gospel of Mark, we begin to read of “appearances” and of the early Christian struggle with faith and doubt in the face of these epiphanies, in the face of those revelations. The various attempts at ending the Gospel of Mark indicate some of that struggle. In the early verses of the last chapter of Mark, Jesus appears to the women who flee the tomb and say nothing. Next, Jesus appears to Mary Magdalene who tells about her discovery but is not believed by the other disciples; similarly, another story follows about two disciples who had been on the receiving end of an “appearance” while walking in the country. They also are not believed by those whom they tell. It is not until after these 3 stories of aborted attempts to get the message of resurrection out, that we finally get a success story with the appearance of Jesus to the eleven, complete with an upbraiding “for their unbelief and hardness of heart”. Then, by the time we reach the Gospel of John, later in the first century, the profound experience of Mary Magdalene in the garden has become a powerful expression of the hope of the Christian tradition, and Mary has become the “first witness to the resurrection”. In order to make sense of:

the two experiences—the terrible experience of Jesus’ helpless, God-forsaken death on the cross and the reviving and the quickening experience of his presence in the divine glory—and in order to understand what had happened to him, they took up the ancient Israelite symbol of hope, “the resurrection of the dead”, and talked about Christ’s “resurrection from the dead”: he was the One ahead of all others as “the first fruits of them that sleep” and “the leader of life”, as Paul put it. For the disciples this was not a reanimation of someone who has died, nor was it a ghostly “return” of the dead. Jesus was not seemingly dead. He had really died and really been buried. Nor was it his spirit that appeared to them; it was Jesus himself in the transfigured form of the resurrection world. Consequently this event was for them not a past event, something in history finished and done with; it was an event in the past which still has its future ahead of it. That is to say, it was what theological language describes as an eschatological event, in which God’s future has acquired potency over the past (Moltmann, p. 47).

My Dad didn’t have a particularly easy life. He worked very hard to live, to survive, to provide for his children. He was in comfortable circumstances at the end of his life, but along the way, he’d had a few setbacks: mates who turned out not to be mates who pulled the rug out from him at various points. When Dad began talking about heaven with me, he began with a picture of a place where he might be able to get back what he’d lost. I guess he was angry: angry at his illness; angry at his helplessness; angry at the lot that had been dealt to him in life; and angry at facing the possibility of life’s end without just satisfaction. I know he was angry because, at the time, he was in a mood to have an argument. Eventually, he ended up at the story of Mary Magdalene meeting the risen Jesus in the garden and John Williamson’s song “Cootamundra Wattle”. His favourite version of this story was from The Aussie Bible.

If our life ends in nothing but our dying, and in eternal death, then in our experience of life too farewells will take precedence over all the new beginnings, since everything we experience is, in the end, transitory, and passes away. But if Christ’s farewell in his death has become the new, eternal beginning in his resurrection, then in our end we too shall find our new, eternal beginning (Moltmann 2004, p. 100).

Where men and women perceive Christ’s resurrection and begin to live within its horizon, they themselves will be born again to a living hope which reaches beyond death, and in living love will begin to experience eternal life in the fulfilled moment. They experience themselves in God, and God in themselves, and that is eternal life (Moltmann, p. 164).

Here in this moment, in the waiting, in the hoping, in the living, in the loving, we catch a glimpse of what it is that we are promised. So, "Lazarus come out!"

For Richer, For Poorer

The Gospel reading for today, like the one around the laws on divorce from last week, is one of which I think that we are more than little afraid. We’re afraid it, I think, because we’re afraid that it’s about judgement; and it is. This text is unashamedly about judgement; the judgement of God about the things that get in the road of us following the ways of God. Last week, it was about following the letter of the Law without understanding its Spirit, its undergirding its principles, the nature of the God who gave the Law as gift to human who needed it. But when the text was first read, I bet more than one of us cringed a little at the possibility that from such a text would come a sermon about the “evils of divorce”. And there’s no doubt that that text was concerned about the right response to the breakdown of very ordinary human relationships in marriage; but as we explored it, it wasn’t just about the right human response to the breakdown of human relationships, it was far more concerned with the right human response to the gifts of God in creation. Yes, there was judgement, and yes we know that God judges, but if that was all we heard in last week’s text, then we missed something of the very nature of the God who has gifted us with the scriptures. So, we come to this week’s Gospel reading… about the so-called “rich young ruler”… and we’re ready to cringe again.

We’re ready to cringe because we know we’re rich. And we know that it’s not about whether we’re on fixed or limited incomes or not, we know that it’s about relative wealth in a world where there are vast differences between the haves and the have-nots. We know that we our lifestyles, our lives and our life expectancies would be very different if we were living in Zimbabwe or remote Papua or even a remote indigenous community in Australia. We know that, by comparison, with people who live hand to mouth, or worse, we are rich. We know that, even with all our complaints about the Australian health system, we are rich in comparison to those people who still battle illnesses whose eradication we take for granted. We know that we are rich because our community has a reasonably coherent welfare system for those who do struggle and who do battle to survive even in this nation. We know that we are rich and we cringe as we hear the story of the rich young ruler, because we are afraid. We afraid that the text is about judgement, and it is. The text is about the judgement of God on the things that get in the road of us following the ways of God. And we wonder, “Is this the judgement that God brings down on us?” “Is this the judgement that God brings down on us?” Does God look at us and say, "How hard it will be for those who have wealth to enter the kingdom of God!" And we’d be kidding ourselves if we didn’t take that gut reaction to hearing the text seriously. Because the text if about judgement—the judgement of God on the things that get in the road of us following the ways of God.

And you know yourself that the judgement is true. How much time do we spend deciding what to do with our money? How much time do we spend taking the advantages we have for granted? How little time do we spend dwelling on the plight of those who, compared to us, even those of us on very modest incomes, compared to us are greatly impoverished in their access to resources, in their disposable income, in their life prospects? Of course, the judgment is true.

But if that’s the only thing we heard in this text, then we’d be making the same mistake as we might have made last week. Yes, there was judgement, and yes we know that God judges, but if that was all we heard in this week’s text, then we missed something very important about the very nature of the God who has gifted us with the story. We would miss the hope. We would miss the hope.

"How hard it will be for those who have wealth to enter the kingdom of God!" "Children, how hard it is to enter the kingdom of God! It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of God." And again, I’d like to say that we could mitigate this text, that we could water down the judgement by talking about “eyes of needles” as small holes in city walls through which a camel (a possession) was unlikely to move, but which would allow the passage of a human being, but I fear that too might both let us of the hook of God’s judgement too easily and worse—it might mean that we entirely miss the marvellous message of hope that is offered in this passage, which is so hope-filled, only because the judgement is so fitting and so right.

"Children, how hard it is to enter the kingdom of God! It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of God… For mortals it is impossible, but not for God; for God all things are possible.” “For mortals it is impossible, but not for God; for God all things are possible.”

And in this profound statement of hope, we are reminded that if we like the “rich young ruler” were to too quickly succumb to our shock and go away grieving in the face of our wealth, if we were to do what the “rich young ruler” did, we would not be hearing the hope that we are offered in God… despite our riches, not because of them… despite our apparent powerlessness to change the distribution of wealth across our globe, not because of it… despite our giving up of our wealth for the sake of others, not because of it… despite who we are, not matter how poor, no matter how lowly, no matter how rich, no matter how advantaged… despite all this, God has opened God’s realm to us in Christ and we are invited to enter it through the power of the Holy Spirit. None of it has anything to do with us, or with camels, or with eyes of needles—whatever they may be. And lest we boast, even when we think we have reason to lay claim to such a place, as Peter attempted to do so by drawing attention to what the disciples had given up, we are reminded: “But many who are first will be last, and the last will be first.” It is not then or now and never will be about us. It is all about God—God’s judgement and God’s hope. Thank God! Because of God’s gift to us in Jesus, it is not our worry where we are placed, rather it is our calling to honour the God who has given so much, by giving thanks, and by praying that our wills may be confirmed to God’s will and that the fullness of God’s reign of justice and peace will come to fruition in God’s time. And that more than anything will free us to be the people of God we are called to be.

Receive All As Gift

The story of Job is an extraordinary one. Job, “a blameless and upright man who fears God and turns away from evil”, is tested by the adversary of God, the Satan, literally the devil’s advocate. And God allows it! God allows it.

The Satan is given permission to afflict Job—with the death of his family, with the loss of his livelihood, with terrible disease, and with taunts to “Curse God, and die” in the face of such calamity—and God allows it. God allows it. At least in the story, God allows it.

But even more unexpectedly, Job accepts it. Job accepts it. It is precisely from the book of Job, that we get such aphorisms as: “Naked I came from my mother’s womb, and naked shall I return there; the LORD gave, and the LORD has taken away; blessed be the name of the LORD.” (Job 1:21) and “Shall we receive the good at the hand of God, and not receive the bad?” (Job 2:10). And though nearly the whole book of Job is riddled with diatribes from Job’s friends attempting to get Job to “curse God”, blame God, give up on God, Job never does. Right to the very end of the book, Job remains faithful to God, and God “restores his fortunes”.

Now, I don’t know about you, but for me, the story of Job is very troublesome—how on earth can we human beings be expected to accept everything that happens to us? Did God intend that Samoa and Tonga would be devastated by a tsunami? Did God intend that a typhoon would hit the Philippines and earthquakes ravage Indonesia? Does God intend our loved ones to suffer and die, and for us to be afflicted by illness and disability? Does God really want to see children die of hunger, and crops fail due to drought? Did God engineer the global financial crisis? And does God enjoy seeing the rich third of the world getting its comeuppance? And even if God doesn’t want this, must we at least agree that God allows it? And if we did understand our God to be such a God, why would we want to trust in such a being?

And it’s precisely some of those sayings from Job that have been used so often and so glibly in the past to minimise the devastation wrought in people’s lives by death and disaster, damaging relationships and chronic and debilitating illness. Accept what you’re given and live with it. You made your bed, you have to lie in it. Even this will pass.

The book of Job is yet another one of those enigmatic books of the Bible like Esther which we looked at last week. If Esther never talked about God but was intent on God’s purposes, Job is always talking about God, but the book has almost nothing to do with God’s nature. Rather, it is all about the nature of human responses to the gift of relationship with God. It’s all about the way in which we, as humans, respond to God.

These first couple of weekends in October are big weekends for marriage services in Armidale—it must be Spring, or at least school holidays! Marriage services always confront the people involved with them with questions about human relationships, about the commitments we make to one another, about the hopes we have for ourselves and for each other. We know that if we enter relationship expecting that everything will be smooth sailing, we’re kidding ourselves. Life is not like that, or as one of our previous Prime Ministers said, “Life wasn’t meant to be easy.” Well, I don’t know about “meant to”, but it certainly isn’t easy. Being in relationship takes work. You can’t ever take relationship for granted, and yet equally truly, there are always moments when the delight of being in a loving, committed relationship is far more than we might ever have expected. So it is in relationship with God. If we think that committing ourselves to live a godly life, follow in the way of Christ, seek to respond to the wind of the Spirit, is taking the easy option, we’re going to be sadly disappointed. Being committed to God is not about getting rich, or being protected from bad things, or even living a quiet life. Being committed to God takes commitment. It does mean work.

But you know if that’s the only way that we understand relationship—as hard work—we’re going to get sick of it pretty quickly. Relationship is not simply about duty, about doing what you’re supposed to do, or at least not just because you’re supposed to do it. Relationship relies on us accepting the other in the relationship as gift, as something so precious and so providential that nothing can shake our desire to be in that relationship. In a very real way, it is only when we are able to welcome what comes to us as gift, that we are able to find the resilience to meet it, the generosity to share it, and the hope to live in and through it no matter what happens.

And that’s where we come to the Gospel reading and you’re probably all wondering what I’m going to do with it. It’s been such a problematic text for the church, for individuals, for society over the centuries.

If Esther never talks about God but is intent on God’s purposes, and Job is always talking about God but is basically about our response to God, then this text, which on the surface appears to be about divorce, has almost nothing to do with divorce per se and everything to do with the way that human beings can twist that which is given as gift from God.

It is, of course, a discussion about the nature of God’s law. The Pharisees are as usual in debate with Jesus, and Jesus acquits himself admirably as a good rabbi, arguing scripture for scripture and theological concept for theological concept.

“So on the matter of divorce, what is it that you think Jesus?” And Jesus cleverly puts the question back on them, “What does Moses say?”, i.e. “What is in the Torah, the Law, God’s Law? What is in the first five books of our Bible—Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers and Deuteronomy?” The Pharisees go to Deuteronomy: “Moses says it is lawful for a man to divorce his wife.” But Jesus is not stumped, “Ah yes, but what about Genesis? What about the gift of male and female in creation? We need rules because we do not live up to God’s dream for our world, because we do not receive the gift of relationship offered to us by God and through God. The Law is gift and the Law tells us of God’s gifts to us in creation. Look at the world around. Look at the gifts given to you. Better still: look at the way children look at the world. Everything is a big adventure; everything is to be explored. The very soil of the earth is stuff for testing out, in mouths and great building projects and simply in getting dirty because they can. The way in which children receive God’s world is the way in which we should receive God’s Law, God’s creation, God’s gifts to us—with wonder and delight, awe and astonishment. Truly I tell you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God as a little child will never enter it. Whoever does not receive the kingdom of God as a little child will never enter it.”

So we are invited to received God’s creation, God’s world as gift—all of it—and maybe, just maybe if we are able to do it, we will discover how to care for it; and maybe, just maybe if we are able to do it, we will not be so worried about hoarding the resources we have, for surely the best gifts are to be shared; and maybe, just maybe, if we are able to receive God’s world as gift, we will know how to respond to each other’s pain and grief, and the needs of our communities, and the needs of those who face such hterrible disasters as the Asia Pacific region has seen this past week.

The resources for Social Justice Sunday from the National Council of Churches this year remind us that “In times of crisis, we often turn first to consider our own interests.” Our fear drives us to fear for ourselves, to fear tat we will not have the resources for us let alone anybody else. “However, when most of us are asked, we say that we would prefer better healthcare, education, roads and public transport to a few extra dollars in our pay packets. This response reflects our understanding that taxation is what we use in our society to ensure the equitable distribution of wealth and the raising of public money, our “common wealth”, our common purse.” It reflects out understanding that everything we have comes from God; and that we are responsible to God’s Law, God’s way for what we do with the resources we have. “Christianity teaches us that we have a responsibility to care for each other and share what we have so that the most vulnerable are not left wanting.” And we can only do that if we are able to accept all that we have from God as pure gift. And perhaps that is only possible when we accept that God is on our side—God loves us, God cares for us and God wants the best for us. In the face of the generosity and graciousness of God, our only response can be gratitude and generosity in turn.

But most of us are not like Job, most of us need the rules, need to know something about what is required of us, because gratitude and generosity don’t come easily to us. Whether because we’re afraid or confused, or worried or in pain, our natural tendency is to think about ourselves, just us. God invites us to enter a world that is not about “just us”, but justice; to view what we have as children with delight and awe, wonder and astonishment—receiving all we have as pure gift and longing to share it with others.

(Some sections are sourced from Hope for the Common Good: Beyond the Global Financial Crisis, Resources for Social Justice Sunday 2009, NCCA.)

Call To Worship for Year B Ordinary Sunday 27

What a gift God has given us—
to be created in God’s image.
What a responsibility God has laid upon us—
to be stewards of God’s good creation.
What are human beings that God is so mindful of us?
Everything that we have is a gift from God;
and all that we are called to do is
to honour God the giver of every good thing.
Then let’s do just that and worship God…

For Such A Time As This

So, the Jesus All About Life TV ads begin this week. They are new ones prepared for this campaign and, as you’ve seen, their catch-phrase is “Jesus has answers”. “Jesus has answers”.

Well, I don’t know about you, but that’s not been my experience. More often than not, confronted by Jesus, I have more questions than answers. And you know I’m not so sure that that’s such a bad thing. The big questions of life are not solved so quickly with easy platitudes and sentimental phrases. If Jesus really has answers, how come life seems to be just a series of questions, even for Christians? And why is it that despite the questions without answers, Jesus still seems relevant to me, to us, today, at such a time as this, for such a time as this.

What is this time that we live in and where does God fit into it? Does God fit into it at all? These are real life questions for today… for such a time as this, but more often than not these questions come out in different forms, in forms relevant to our time, in questions that don’t even mention God—questions like: Why do bad things happen to good people? Why do the best intentions have unintended consequences? What is the purpose of the fleeting nature of mortal life? What is it that we really want and where on earth can we find it? And though God is never mentioned, these questions are explorations of ultimate things. They are questions about God and about everything in relation to God. They are faith questions, questions of meaning and purpose, questions of ultimate reality.

When confronted by such questions, the Judaeo-Christian tradition tends not to offer easy answers or definitive statements. No, more often than not, Jewish-Christian responses to these important life questions about ultimate reality are answered with prayers, with honest expressions and outpourings to God—Why God? How God? When God? Who God? What God?—with lament and thanksgiving, confession and supplication, with praise and invocation—and in the wake of those outpourings, we discover something about the nature of God, the nature of ourselves and the nature of everything in relation to God—but what we discover are not glib answers, but real life wisdom discovered through prayer.

And if those important life questions about ultimate reality are not worked through in prayerful torrents, they are generally responded to with story—narratives, and tales and parables.

And thus, we come to the story of Esther—a story which never mentions God—but which deals with an awful lot of ultimate questions, questions of meaning and purpose; a story about a woman challenged to find her purpose “for such a time as this”.

The book of Esther is a novella, a short story written with great skill and artistry using the literary techniques of suspense and caricature. It "combines fairy tale, legendary, heroic, or mythic elements with a history-like orientation to daily affairs in [a] recognizable sphere of life within a smaller community [and] … in high politics" (Gottwald, 1985:551-552):

Set in the time of the Persian Empire, the book of Esther tells of "a spectacular last-minute deliverance of all the Jews within the Persian Empire from a plot to annihilate them. The plot is hatched in high government circles and it is Jews serving in those very circles who become the agents of Jewish salvation. Esther, the Jewish queen of Ahasuerus, helped by her cousin and one-time guardian Mordecai, frustrates the designs of Haman to kill Mordecai and then to slaughter the entire Jewish populace. Instead, in perfect poetic justice, Haman is hanged on the gallows he prepared for Mordecai. The enemies of the Jews who would have killed the Jews are themselves killed by the Jews.

The plot is replete with dramatic reversals: the Persian Vashti is replaced as queen by the Jewish Esther; newly promoted Haman, who cannot stand Mordecai's lack of deference toward him, in scheming to kill his rival loses his own life and his position is granted to Mordecai; an imperial decree to slaughter the Jews concocted by Haman is superseded by an imperial decree to slaughter the enemies of the Jews dictated by Mordecai.

The action is framed by court banquet scenes and audiences with the king. The driving tension in the plot is whether the anti-Jewish or the pro-Jewish forces in the court will receive the blessing of the king who appears as a manipulable power figure without decided judgments of his own (Gottwald, 1985:561).

And in the midst of all this is the figure of Esther, Jewish girl risen to the rank of Persian queen. She is caught in a dilemma: a dilemma about identity, about loyalty, about survival or herself and her people. She is facing her own set of ultimate questions—what matters? Can one person make any difference? Am I responsible for myself or for my people or both?

Esther must negotiate this dilemma of relating to two cultural homes, that of her ancestors and that of her husband and, indeed, captor, for the story is set in the time of the exile of the Jews from their homeland. Esther has experience the lifestyle of captive and captor and her position of privilege is due to the silence which is kept about her racial origin. Who am I and where do I belong? What is my purpose? Why am I here?

Esther is a special story and a special book. It is also a different piece of writing from many others in the canon of Scripture. Esther is one of what are called the Festal Scrolls. There are five of them. The others are Song of Songs, Ecclesiastes, Lamentations, and Ruth. Each of these books is related to an annual Jewish ceremony and even today, those books are read on the relevant ceremonial dates.

Esther belongs to the feast of Purim, a time when Jews celebrate the deliverance from anti-Semitic pogroms such as those conducted in the Maccabean Hasmonean times before the coming of Jesus and in Tsarist Russia and in Nazi Germany. Purim is a celebration of the overcoming of Gentile opposition to Jewish identity but the victory over the Gentiles comes in quite a different way to that in the book of Daniel and indeed, it cuts across many of the laws found in the book of Deuteronomy.
Esther is firmly bound up in the traditions of the people amongst whom she lives, the Persians. She uses their system of government and their laws to overcome the threat at hand to her own people. She is at one time a good Persian queen and a good Jew, perhaps living in a world of compromise but negotiating the boundaries of such an arrangement with artistry and skill. She does not fit the paradigm of the orthodox Jews who seek to keep themselves separate from contact with Gentiles especially through intermarriage. In addition to this, the book of Esther in the Hebrew canon does not contain "a single explicit reference to God or the religious practices of Judaism" (Anderson, 1975:566).

In the first three centuries of the Christian era, there were doubts expressed amongst Jews over the right of the book to be in the canon. Yet it was also regarded as the scroll par excellence, the most perfect of all the scrolls. In later Jewish tradition, it was second only to the Torah this story of Jewish identity, of privileged position and of victory through devious means and political power plays over those who plotted against the Jews.

Now, it would be very easy to theologise away the significance of the story of Esther; just as it’s easy to say “Jesus has answers”. Even theology is used to avoid dealing with issues of power being played out before us. Esther could be seen as an example of the role of privileged people who have recognised their identity in Christ in taking responsibility for caring or pastoring those who have not yet discovered that identity. That's an important message if heard in the right context but it is only part of the significance of Esther for us.

The story of Esther is also a story about a woman in a privileged position working with the tools she has to free her people. And that work involves her risking the very privileged position that she enjoys “for such a time as this”.

The interplay of power dynamics is of course not confined to the story of Esther. We see it played out on the world stage—in the talks about responses to climate change. We see them played out nationally—in the toings and froings of oppositional politics. And we see them locally in different community groups vying for public attention. But they are also, of course, part of our own community situation here in this congregation. The play of power dynamics is part of what it means to be human; and that doesn’t mean it’s all bad, but it is a part of our everyday lives in a myriad of ways.

Esther is a story about someone who is clearly a part of her society, embroiled in it. But the important thing is that Esther uses her position to bring salvation to her people, not destruction—to build a future for her people, not to consign them to the past, however glorious a past that was.

As Christians, it can be tempting to think ourselves separate from the things that happen around us. Some Christians choose to do that. But that was not Esther's way, she used her position of privilege to bring about social change: not by withdrawing from her society but by actively participating in it—with all its questions and dilemmas—by acknowledging her position of privilege, understanding her people's plight and by putting herself, her reputation and even her life on the line.
The action of God, the act of salvation, is very clearly seen to be performed through Esther who is willing to enter into the struggle for freedom of her people. But she could only do it because she entered into her dilemma. She faced the ultimate questions of life and death, meaning and purpose facing her and her people.
And that is the gift and the example given to us in Jesus—not glib answers to ultimate questions, but a God who dares to be with us in the midst of the dilemmas, of the ultimate questions; a God who dares to get down and dirty, to get messy, to be human, to wrestle with life and death, to want to give up, to risk everything for the sake of what’s really important. And as the body of Christ, this also is our calling—to be in the dilemmas, in the dialogue, in the conversation, in the mess, in the struggle—for the sake of what’s important.

The Jesus All About Life ads are asking people to wrestle with some real life issues. Remember we’re asked to be prepared to have conversations around these ads. Perhaps as with me, the catch-phrase “Jesus has the answers” rests a bit uncomfortably with you. Perhaps, you’d prefer to say something like “Jesus makes a difference” or “Jesus understands” or “Jesus is in the conversation about real life issues” or something else. Maybe “Jesus has answers” is the way you’d say it. However, you would want to respond to those dilemmas or talk about your understanding of the relevance of faith in Christ for those dilemmas, they are real life dilemmas and as such they are invitations to conversation about what is really important, about ultimate questions, about meaning and purpose. Jesus is all about life; and life is all about questions. We are called to risk being in the conversation, and more often than not that means risking our privileged positions in our families, our workplaces, our communities.

And that’s where I want to make one more connection into our own community here, into this congregation. We are a marvellously diverse community, but there’s no doubt about it, our demographic strength lies in the over-60s; and that’s not a bad thing. It is in fact a strength we can celebrate; and we do in the document that is the outcome of our Visioning Process. We celebrate the spiritual maturity of our congregation—maturity that comes through faithfulness and life experience and lifetimes of waiting on God. But within our strengths are also our challenges.
For older people, some of the ultimate questions that are important may be—What is my legacy? Will the things that I think are important continue? Can I trust that the others who come after me will understand what has been important to me? And can I trust them to continue to do things in the way that I have done them?

Now it would be easy to think that there were easy answers to these questions. That we could prescribe how things are always to be done and what is understood to be important. But deep down, we know that we can’t. So here too we are called to risk. In this position of privilege—of longevity in the community, of participation in processes of decision-making, of being part of the regular crowd—we are called to risk giving it all up—to risk creating the space for others to be involved, to take up the tasks that have previously been ours, to express their praise and honour of God in new and fresh ways that keep the essence of what we are on about alive. We are called to risk our future, by letting it go in outpourings of prayer, of lament and thanksgiving, confession and supplication, praise and invocation; to risk it by giving it up in story—in narrative and tale and parable; and ultimately to trust that while there are no glib answers, God is with all and in all and through all, after all.

So, let’s risk the conversations; and let’s risk our powerful positions for the sake of what’s really important. We can do nothing less if we claim that we bear the name of the one who risked everything for our sake.

Jesus All About Life

The Jesus All About Life TV advertisements begin this week. They are new ones prepared for this campaign. Their catch-phrase is “Jesus has answers”. The text of the main ad is:

Hey Jesus, thanks for the sunshine, but what about the sunburn?
Hey Jesus, how come the more I have, the more I want?
We’ve got more friends, but less friendship.
More convenience. Less patience.
We have bigger hopes, but more uncertainty.
A healthy body still isn’t good enough.
How come the best things are always have to end?
Jesus has answers.

The ads are asking people to wrestle with some real life issues. Remember we’re asked to be prepared to have conversations around these ads.

Perhaps as with me, the catch-phrase “Jesus has the answers” rests a bit uncomfortably with you. Perhaps, you’d prefer to say something like “Jesus makes a difference” or “Jesus understands” or “Jesus is in the conversation about real life issues” or something else. You can find some reflections on the life dilemmas raised at http://www.biblesocietynsw.com.au/_literature_53726/JAAL_Web_Text These reflections are just some of the ways of approaching those dilemmas in Christian ways. Remember the dilemmas are invitations to conversation and you are an important conversation partner.

Here are some sentences from the website indicated above that I thought might help conversations to open up rather than close down. I’ve added some questions of my own for you to think from your own faith perspective:

Hey Jesus, thanks for the sunshine, but what about the sunburn?

“Sunburn wakes us up in order that we can start to recognise that there are problems in this world.” What do we need to wake up to, and how does our faith help us wake up?

 

Hey Jesus, how come the more I have, the more I want?

“It is an odd thing about human nature, but no matter how much we buy it never seems to last.” What might we be looking for in our endless consumerism, and how does our faith help us to move beyond the desire for material things?

We’ve got more friends, but less friendship.

In the story of the Good Samaritan, the neighbour is the one who acts. What does it mean to be a friend, and how does our faith help us to understand and act in friendship?

More convenience. Less patience.

“We can make instant coffee in no time but we often choose to wait for and buy good coffee because we like the outcome. We appreciate good coffee so we don’t mind waiting. Impatience works against some of the important areas of life. Things like relationships, character, parenting and caring for others all take time and all require patience.” How does our faith help us with knowing what the good things are and being patient in seeking/waiting for them?

We have bigger hopes, but more uncertainty.

“Our biggest hopes are heaven on earth—health, wealth and freedom. Our big fears are hell on earth—ending up poor, sick and powerless.” How does our faith help us to live with the uncertainty of life and being human?

A healthy body still isn’t good enough.

“We have better health care than ever before in history and at the same time record levels of anxiety and depression amongst men and women at every level of society. We fear death so we worship youth. We have an unhealthy obsession with looking young.” “External image can help you in job interviews and impress people at a distance but it is who you are as a person that will determine the significant of your life.” How does our faith determine who we are and what difference does that make?

How come the best things are always have to end?

“Our existence is determined by time. Every moment of our lives are marked by the ticking clock that records the progression of time and marks the steps towards the end of whatever human endeavour we are involved in. Most humans living in developed, western and wealthy cultures resent that we can’t control all of our lives and that we can’t cheat the clock…The challenge is to look beyond the present and ask questions about what actually lasts, what goes on into the future, what will make a difference.” What does our faith tell us about what lasts and what matters? How does our faith help us to live for what lasts and what matters?

Jesus is all about life; and life is all about questions. Let’s be in the conversation!