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!