Increase our faith Jesus! Make life easier for us! Don’t make it such a leap for us to believe, to act, to live in the hope you have given us. Increase our faith! Make it easier for us to pray, to focus on you, to give our lives in your service. Surely following you wasn’t meant to be such an effort of the will. We understand about it being difficult, but surely you could at least give us some more motivation; a greater sense of purpose; a clearer drive to get involved and keep going.
So you disciples think it’s all about being highly motivated and generally keyed up—like a rock concert or a political pep rally—everyone raring to go with no doubts or second thoughts—when actually it’s really more like cooking. It’s a very ordinary, everyday thing. You don’t expect to be thrown parties just for doing your everyday jobs, do you? You have to put the effort into it, to get the benefit out of it. But just like in cooking, you don’t need much spice to rev up a dish. You know if you put a little bit of pepper, just a little bit of mustard, in a casserole, it will add a whole lot of zing. And even if you only have the faith of a mustard seed, you will be faithful servants.
The faith of a mustard seed—now that’s a familiar phrase and we’ve been told often enough that that means that you just need a tiny thing to produce a huge tree; but mustard seeds are pretty ordinary and they’re certainly not the smallest seed, nor are they the tallest tree. Mustard seeds and mustard bushes are fairly ordinary in the world of the Middle East, more like prolific weeds than the cedars of Lebanon which were so easily logged out. Mustard is a very ordinary plant; but when you put it into a cooking pot, even just one seed, the stew is livened up. And overdoing it can ruin everything.
Faith wouldn’t be faith if it came without a second thought. Asking the questions and living with them gives a strength that a naïve gung-ho approach can’t touch.
It’s not in great achievements that the people of God show their faithfulness, but in the ordinary, everyday sharing, caring, persisting and enduring that God’s enduring mercy is embraced, demonstrated and discovered by others.
The covenant relationship of marriage is such a good metaphor for the covenant in which we find ourselves with God. We want it to be all champagne and roses, but really it’s more about tea and toast—it’s about the ordinary, everyday stuff of continuing to learn to listen to and work with one another.
God’s faithfulness to us, as extraordinary as it is, is all about God being with us in the everyday, the ordinary. And God’s call to us to faithfulness is the same—a call to listening to and working with God in the everyday ordinariness of our lives, whether we feel like it or not, whether we are motivated or not, whether we feel the buzz or not. Faith wouldn’t be faith if it came easy.
And yet it’s a miracle that God believes that we can believe; that God expects that we will be faithful servants, being and acting for God, just as our employers and our families expect us to be the people that we are to them—parent, child, grandparent, uncle or aunt, niece or nephew, sister or brother—and to do the work that we are employed to do. And if that’s all we do, surely we have done something as miraculous as saying to a mulberry tree, “Move and be planted in the sea.”
Faith, just takes a modicum of ordinary, everyday living, to demonstrate its truth, its effectiveness, its reality.
Increase our faith! Surely we have already enough to achieve what it is that God asks of us; because after all, all that we need has already been achieved by God. Faith, like an ordinary mustard seed, spreads like wildfire, like weeds and extends God’s realm to the ends of the earth.
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Just Peace!
So Jeremiah goes out to buy a field, and you’d have to wonder why. As King Zedekiah points out, Jeremiah has prophesied, in the name of God, that the land of Judah will fall to the Babylonians, and, as we know, it did. But Jeremiah goes out to buy a field.
And it’s not just any field that Jeremiah buys. It’s a family field—the field of a cousin. And that’s significant for not only does Jeremiah have a right to buy the field to keep it in the family, he also has something of an obligation. He is a possible redeemer—a member of the family who is able to bail another member out in order that all members and all the property of the family stay in the family.
But still, why buy the field if the whole community is about to be uprooted—if there is little hope of avoiding the Babylonian captivity, and little chance that the land will not be taken over by others?
King Zedekiah may be at a loss in the story, but Jeremiah knows God’s plan, for God also is a redeemer and will not let the people of God be taken away completely, nor the land which God has given them be lost to them entirely. Well at least that’s the hope that is embodied in Jeremiah’s action. Jeremiah redeems a field ensuring that the title deeds will be safe for a long time—whatever the length of time there is for the people of God to be redeemed by God. Jeremiah is acting out his hope in the promises of God in an ordinary commercial transaction, and a common family practice.
The Babylonians may be besieging Jerusalem, but Jeremiah is acting out his hope in God’s peace, God’s restoration, beyond the battle raging and the captivity expected. In the midst of this chaos, Jeremiah buys a field.
I imagine that Jeremiah was not the only person doing ordinary things in the middle of the siege. People needed feeding; babies needed tending; water needed fetching; clothing and tools needed mending. Undoubtedly, anxiety and fear and insecurity were in abundance. But still the ordinary things needed doing.
It is the ordinary practices of everyday living that show where we place our hope. And Jeremiah buys a field expecting that God’s promises will be fulfilled beyond the chaos of the siege and a captivity. That’s the story of Jeremiah’s prophesy and hope—through chaos to peace.
The everyday practices of the rich man in Jesus’ story also revealed a hope; but this hope is not in a future beyond conflict and captivity. This hope is in the good things of life: fine food and fancy clothes—purple was the most expensive dye. This hope is not in sharing in community or helping out your neighbour. This hope is in status and power.
You would have thought that he might get it—Lazarus was just outside the gate with his sores and his hunger. Surely, this everyday sight was a powerful sign. And if that wasn’t enough, wasn’t the whole society based on the traditions of the Law and the Prophets, and didn’t these also speak of mercy to the widow, the orphan and the stranger—those in need of sustenance and support because they were disconnected from their families and communities.
The rich man has missed these everyday signs. He had been looking in the extraordinariness of the good life.
It’s easy to think that the signs of important things come with loud fanfares, glossy covers and rich clothing. It’s easy to look for cataclysms and Sydney Harbour fireworks displays to tell us where things are at and what’s important in life. But the real stuff of who we are and where we place our hope is in the ordinary, everydayness of routine family, community and business interactions.
Leo Tolstoy told the story of a cobbler, Martin Avdyeeich, who, having lost both his wife and child, was left in despair of life until someone pointed him to the stories of Jesus. Martin was engaged by the stories of the hospitality given to Jesus by Simon the Pharisee and the woman who anointed Jesus’ feet. He wished for the opportunity to afford such hospitality to Christ; and dreamed that he would be given it.
The next day, he avidly watched out for the coming of Christ, but there was only the old soldier Stepanuich, and Martin made him a cup of tea.
After Stepanuich left, Martin continued to look out for Christ, but there was only a woman and a child dressed too thinly for the cold, and Martin offered them some hot food.
When they left, Martin continued to look out for Christ, but there was only a widow and a young scoundrel trying to steal her apples, and Martin intervened, buying an apple for the boy and watching the boy assist the widow with her burden.
And still Martin watched for Christ until the end of the day. But he dreamt that night that Christ had come in the old soldier, Stepanuich, the woman and child dressed too thinly for the cold, and the widow and the young scoundrel.
So many times we look in the wrong places for the signs we seek when the hope we are promised is found in the routine everyday actions of an ordinary life. Jeremiah bought a field, but the rich man missed the poor man sitting at his gates.
This year’s Social Justice Sunday Statement from the Australian Catholic Bishops Conference asks Christians to ask themselves a series of questions about their everyday practices in order to counteract violence and promote peace.
1. How do we acknowledge the dignity of others?
2. How can we respond positively to anger?
3. How attentive are we to prayer and our spiritual development?
4. Are we prepared to seek help when we are not coping?
5. How can we foster strong families?
6. What can we contribute to the life of the community?
7. How does the community meet the needs of all its members?
8. How do we support and celebrate our cultural diversity?
9. Does our community reject violence?
10. Can we provide a meeting place [for reconciliation]?
11. Are we engaged in the life of our nation?
12. Are we aware of the most vulnerable?
13. Are we prepared to question assumptions and misinformation?
14. Will we defend the rights of others?
If we wait for a big sign to tell us what to do, we will wait in vain and miss out on it all together, but if every routine everyday interaction is an opportunity for living out our hope, we may just have peace, and a peace that is just!
And it’s not just any field that Jeremiah buys. It’s a family field—the field of a cousin. And that’s significant for not only does Jeremiah have a right to buy the field to keep it in the family, he also has something of an obligation. He is a possible redeemer—a member of the family who is able to bail another member out in order that all members and all the property of the family stay in the family.
But still, why buy the field if the whole community is about to be uprooted—if there is little hope of avoiding the Babylonian captivity, and little chance that the land will not be taken over by others?
King Zedekiah may be at a loss in the story, but Jeremiah knows God’s plan, for God also is a redeemer and will not let the people of God be taken away completely, nor the land which God has given them be lost to them entirely. Well at least that’s the hope that is embodied in Jeremiah’s action. Jeremiah redeems a field ensuring that the title deeds will be safe for a long time—whatever the length of time there is for the people of God to be redeemed by God. Jeremiah is acting out his hope in the promises of God in an ordinary commercial transaction, and a common family practice.
The Babylonians may be besieging Jerusalem, but Jeremiah is acting out his hope in God’s peace, God’s restoration, beyond the battle raging and the captivity expected. In the midst of this chaos, Jeremiah buys a field.
I imagine that Jeremiah was not the only person doing ordinary things in the middle of the siege. People needed feeding; babies needed tending; water needed fetching; clothing and tools needed mending. Undoubtedly, anxiety and fear and insecurity were in abundance. But still the ordinary things needed doing.
It is the ordinary practices of everyday living that show where we place our hope. And Jeremiah buys a field expecting that God’s promises will be fulfilled beyond the chaos of the siege and a captivity. That’s the story of Jeremiah’s prophesy and hope—through chaos to peace.
The everyday practices of the rich man in Jesus’ story also revealed a hope; but this hope is not in a future beyond conflict and captivity. This hope is in the good things of life: fine food and fancy clothes—purple was the most expensive dye. This hope is not in sharing in community or helping out your neighbour. This hope is in status and power.
You would have thought that he might get it—Lazarus was just outside the gate with his sores and his hunger. Surely, this everyday sight was a powerful sign. And if that wasn’t enough, wasn’t the whole society based on the traditions of the Law and the Prophets, and didn’t these also speak of mercy to the widow, the orphan and the stranger—those in need of sustenance and support because they were disconnected from their families and communities.
The rich man has missed these everyday signs. He had been looking in the extraordinariness of the good life.
It’s easy to think that the signs of important things come with loud fanfares, glossy covers and rich clothing. It’s easy to look for cataclysms and Sydney Harbour fireworks displays to tell us where things are at and what’s important in life. But the real stuff of who we are and where we place our hope is in the ordinary, everydayness of routine family, community and business interactions.
Leo Tolstoy told the story of a cobbler, Martin Avdyeeich, who, having lost both his wife and child, was left in despair of life until someone pointed him to the stories of Jesus. Martin was engaged by the stories of the hospitality given to Jesus by Simon the Pharisee and the woman who anointed Jesus’ feet. He wished for the opportunity to afford such hospitality to Christ; and dreamed that he would be given it.
The next day, he avidly watched out for the coming of Christ, but there was only the old soldier Stepanuich, and Martin made him a cup of tea.
After Stepanuich left, Martin continued to look out for Christ, but there was only a woman and a child dressed too thinly for the cold, and Martin offered them some hot food.
When they left, Martin continued to look out for Christ, but there was only a widow and a young scoundrel trying to steal her apples, and Martin intervened, buying an apple for the boy and watching the boy assist the widow with her burden.
And still Martin watched for Christ until the end of the day. But he dreamt that night that Christ had come in the old soldier, Stepanuich, the woman and child dressed too thinly for the cold, and the widow and the young scoundrel.
So many times we look in the wrong places for the signs we seek when the hope we are promised is found in the routine everyday actions of an ordinary life. Jeremiah bought a field, but the rich man missed the poor man sitting at his gates.
This year’s Social Justice Sunday Statement from the Australian Catholic Bishops Conference asks Christians to ask themselves a series of questions about their everyday practices in order to counteract violence and promote peace.
1. How do we acknowledge the dignity of others?
2. How can we respond positively to anger?
3. How attentive are we to prayer and our spiritual development?
4. Are we prepared to seek help when we are not coping?
5. How can we foster strong families?
6. What can we contribute to the life of the community?
7. How does the community meet the needs of all its members?
8. How do we support and celebrate our cultural diversity?
9. Does our community reject violence?
10. Can we provide a meeting place [for reconciliation]?
11. Are we engaged in the life of our nation?
12. Are we aware of the most vulnerable?
13. Are we prepared to question assumptions and misinformation?
14. Will we defend the rights of others?
If we wait for a big sign to tell us what to do, we will wait in vain and miss out on it all together, but if every routine everyday interaction is an opportunity for living out our hope, we may just have peace, and a peace that is just!
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