Life is a Gift

Life is a gift from God—from beginning to end; from highs to lows; from downs to ups; through the rollercoaster and along the highways. Life is a gift from God. That’s what the writer of the poem from Ecclesiastes 3 is trying to say. Everything, absolutely everything about life, is a gift—whether you find it so or not; whether it feels like it sometimes or never; whether you feel that you’re prepared for it all, or not prepared for anything. Life is still a gift from God. And that includes death.

Death is a part of the gift of life given to us, given to us as creatures, as the glorious creation of God. We are human, we are mortal. We are born, we live and we die. All of it is gift. “There is a season… for every matter under heaven (v. 1)”.

And yet there are some things in life that are not as easy to accept, not as easy to confront than others; and death is one of those things, because death reminds us that the gift of life that we’ve been given is a fragile one. The gift of life is a fragile, fleeting, even fickle one. It doesn’t run smoothly. We don’t get to choose how everything turns out for us. We don’t get to choose when we are born and when we die; and we don’t get to choose what struggles we may face or avoid, what pleasures we may enjoy or miss out on. All of it, all of life, the good, the bad, and the ugly comes to us as gift—a wonderful, bewildering, confusing gift from God.

And in the midst of this bewilderment, in the midst of this confusion, in the midst of this wonderment, we are called to live out our lives in the best way we can. The writer of Ecclesiastes continues after the poem:

9 What gain have the workers from their toil? 10I have seen the business that God has given to everyone to be busy with. 11He has made everything suitable for its time; moreover, he has put a sense of past and future into their minds, yet they cannot find out what God has done from the beginning to the end. 12I know that there is nothing better for them than to be happy and enjoy themselves as long as they live; 13moreover, it is God’s gift that all should eat and drink and take pleasure in all their toil. 14I know that whatever God does endures for ever; nothing can be added to it, nor anything taken from it; God has done this, so that all should stand in awe before him. 15That which is, already has been; that which is to be, already is; and God seeks out what has gone by.

Of course, living out the life that has been given to us is not easy. It is challenging and it is demanding. But it is what we are called to as the glorious creation of God that we are.

So today, we honour one of us who lived the life she was gifted by God. She was human like us with foibles like us; with dreams and hopes, fulfilled and unfulfilled—just like us; with achievements and failures—just like us. And all of this was gift—gift to her; and gift to us—for she was one of us.

We remember her as one of us. We celebrate her life. We mourn her death. And we honour the God who gifted her to us and created this wonderful, bewildering life for us all.

Called to Believe!

Poor old Thomas! Poor old Thomas! Poor old doubting Thomas! He really is set up. He’s the foil in this story. He’s the character without which the story would not be the story it is. Poor old Thomas!

He’s the thorn in the side; the pain in the neck (or a little lower down); the wet blanket. He’s the party-pooper; the stick-in-the-mud; the doubting Thomas; and that’s bad, right? Well, maybe, just maybe not!

You see, Thomas plays a very important role in this story. He is the one who offers the appropriate objection to the commissioning of the disciples by Jesus. It would be nice to think that Jesus appeared, issued a command and the disciples went on their merry way. But that’s not very human; it’s not very realistic; it’s not very biblical; and it’s probably not even very safe.

“God says it. I believe it. That settles it.” was a popular bumper sticker among evangelical Christians when I was a teenager. It all seemed so simple. The question of discernment never even entered the equation. The will of God was expected to be so unequivocally recognisable that there would never ever be any doubt. That’s not very human; not very realistic; it’s not very biblical; and it’s probably not even very safe.

Our parents didn’t accept the excuse for poor behaviour that somebody told us to do it. The legendary retort, “If they said to jump off a bridge, would you do that?” or something similar fills many childhood memories. We are taught very early that we don’t just need to hear and obey, we also need to think and discern before we take action.

Calls to action, calls to mission, calls to vocation need testing. They need analysis. And Thomas is the one who offers the test, the means of analysis, in the Gospel reading for today. “Okay, you say Jesus appeared, and you say he said to forgive sins. If he said to stand in the pathway of a runaway Roman chariot would you also do that?”

Thomas is the one who raises the possibility that the call is not how things should be; that the role being discussed does not belong to those of whom it is being requested; that those called are inadequate to the task; and Thomas is in good company in this respect. In the tradition of Sarah who said she was too old to bear children, or Moses who said he could not speak, or Jeremiah who said he was too young to prophesy, Thomas offers the best objection yet: I do not believe. I do not believe. And you’ve got to admit that’s a good one: I do not believe.

According to John Pilch, the author of The Cultural World of Jesus, in every good call story, there is a confrontation, a reaction, a reassurance, a commission, an objection, a further reassurance and a sign—a confrontation, a reaction, a reassurance, a commission, an objection, a further reassurance and a sign. Thomas is the one who offers the objection, who receives the further reassurance and the sign. Thomas is the one who stands for all Christ’s disciples down through the ages who dare to doubt, who dare to wonder, who dare to question whether this initial word is really God’s leading. And he’s got what seems like a good excuse, “I don’t believe!”

I hear it all the time. Why do we say the Apostle’s Creed?—I can’t believe in that! It doesn’t matter what Christians thought in the past—we can’t believe in that now! The Church has been the source of much abuse, dishonesty, corruption and other nefarious activities—how can I believe in that? I’m pretty sure I’ve said something or other like that myself at least a few times in my life. Christianity is so patriarchal—how can you believe in that?—just, for example.

But it’s not just intellectual dissension that dares not to believe; it’s the spiritual wildernesses that each of us experience at some point in our journey. Where is God? How can God exist if…? God sometimes just seems so far away. Where is justice? Where is freedom? Where is hope? Where is peace? If God is so good and so loving, why is everything going wrong? Why do I feel so empty?

And then there is the social despair that dares not to believe. When it looks like there are just a few of us who care; a few of us who love; a few of us who want to orient our lives towards God; a few of us who are willing to act, why bother at all? What right have we to believe? How can we possibly believe?

‘Unless we see the mark of the nails in his hands, and put our fingers in the marks of the nails and ours hands in his side, we will not believe.’ We object. We are not the people you think us to be.

Thomas dares to offer the objection so significant to the discernment process. And because he dares to doubt, he receives the second reassurance in the call narrative. He receives the sign.

‘Put your finger here and see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it in my side. Do not doubt but believe.’

The story does not say that Thomas did so. But this is not simply an invitation to touch a real body, and not just a real body, but a real wounded body, it is an invitation to enter into the real wounds of the risen Christ. The sign that Thomas receives is not the bouncing baby Isaac born by Sarah, or the Exodus of the people of God led by Moses, or the prophetic ministry of Jeremiah; it is the woundedness of the compassionate God who enters into the very life of humanity in all its frailty, and brokenness, its fragility and its need for healing. It is not a light invitation and not an invitation to be taken lightly.

And Thomas answers, “My Lord and my God!” In the face of such a momentous invitation, awe, admiration and evocation are the only response. And in this moment, although it does not say that he touches Jesus in the text, we are assured that he has entered the woundedness of the risen Christ and, despite his doubts, because of his daring objection, he has received the sign that he needs to believe.

Thomas is the one who receives the appropriate reassurance, the necessary sign, the confirmation of the commissioning. He is the one who is the confirmation of the commissioning and who is the one who is commissioned. Thomas is both a sign and a promise to us that despite our doubts, despite our daring objections, we too may believe, we too may accept the invitation to enter the woundedness of the risen Christ, we too may believe despite our unbelief; that belief is not a matter of seeing, but of entering into the life of the risen Christ.

And this then becomes the call on our lives.

29Jesus said to Thomas, ‘Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.’

We are called to enter the risen life of Christ: the suffering-triumph death-glory of God: to reach out our hands for bread and wine; to stretch out our hands to a neighbour or an enemy; to feed the hungry and hold the hurting; to place a finger on the lists of the dead in war; to stroke the cheek of a child in a detention centre; to offer a hand to a refugee; to feel the gaping wounds of the world; to dare to doubt; to dare to believe; and to dare to act in the audacity of that belief; to dare to touch the risen Christ; dare to doubt; and dare to pray with Thomas and all Christ’s faithful followers, “Help our unbelief.”

Called to Rise with Christ!

Sebastian was very creative. He had a wonderful imagination and, for a boy of his age, he also had a great love for reading.

Now as things go, Sebastian's wonderful imagination, great creativity and love for reading also made him the target for the local school bullies. They said he was a sissy and they wondered why on earth he would want to spend his life reading books and dreaming dreams.

Real life, for these bullies, was being macho and lording it over other people. Bravery was dumping on people to prove just how courageous they were or at least how courageous they would have liked to think that they were.

Like most bullies, they weren't brave at all. In fact, they really had no idea what courage was all about. Deep down inside they were scared of finding out who they really were and facing themselves alone.

Sebastian suffered the brunt of their fear. But that wasn't Sebastian's biggest problem. Sebastian's biggest problem was that his mother had just died.
Sebastian had been unable to come to terms with the intense grief which he felt over the death of this person who was so important, so central to his life, and someone whom he loved so very much.

His dad was trying to cope with his own grief and that meant that Sebastian was inevitably on his own in this major crisis in his life. It was hard enough for his dad to work through his feelings over such a loss let alone for him to be able to cope with the trauma which his son was also experiencing.

Sebastian and his dad were both trying to get on with their lives but somehow the reality of Sebastian's mother's death had never quite been dealt with by other of them and they both carried within them intense feelings which had never been let out.
Then one day, when Sebastian was running away from the school bullies, he found himself in an old bookstore. An old man was seated behind a huge pile of old books at a desk in the corner.

Now this bookstore was not a store for new books. It was full of old and antiquarian books. These were not just used books. They were very special used books: books that had significance far beyond the words which were formed on their pages and the time which had been take for each of them to be written. They were very special books indeed.

The old man in the shop was used to young boys not appreciating books especially old ones and at first he was on the defensive.

"Get out of my shop. These are books. They don't go beep and they don't have pictures that move. They're obviously not the sort of thing that you're interested in at all." When Sebastian had caught his breath and begun listing off the books which he had read, the old man concedes that he was wrong and recognises that it is truly an accomplished reader which stands before him.

After learning a little of Sebastian's story, the old man convinces Sebastian that the book which he is reading is really the one that Sebastian should read. But this crafty old man does it in an especially devious way, by using the line that no living person can resist, "This book is not for you."

While the old man is out of the room, Sebastian takes the book, leaving a hastily scribbled note telling the old man not to worry, he will return it. The old man has no intention of worrying. He knows about young boys who love books.

Hiding in the school attic, Sebastian begins to read the book. He becomes involved in the world of Fantasia. This world is in crisis just as Sebastian is going through his own personal crisis. The empress is ill and the Nothing is destroying Fantasia. A young boy is chosen as the one to set out on the quest to prevent the empress from dying and Fantasia from being reduced to nothing.

As Sebastian becomes involved in the story, he lives through all the emotions which have been bottled up inside him since the death of his mother—intense sadness and despair, the sense of failure at being unable to prevent her death, the desire for things to be as they were, and finally the realisation that life and death are all part of the never-ending story of living; that even in the midst of despair there is hope; that endings can also be beginnings, and that what is a part of your life can never really be lost, although you cannot experience it in quite the same way anymore.

The disciples of Jesus were going through their own crisis after Jesus' death. The dreams which they had had, the vision which they had shared, all seemed now to be so empty and hopeless. What would they do without Jesus? Where would they go? Nothing in their lives could ever be the same after the time they had spent with Jesus and now nothing could ever be the same now that he had been taken from them and killed. Worse still, he was killed as a traitor and a blasphemer to their nation and their God, betrayed by a fanatic and condemned by the institution which claimed to uphold God's law. They were desolate. For them, it was the end.

It was the women who were coping the best with the situation. Years of caring for the dying and the dead meant that they knew what rituals to perform, what actions to carry out, and somehow these helped them to deal with the reality of the death of the one whom they had loved so much.

The women knew that Jesus was dead. They had watched him die up on the ridge when the men were too afraid to be seen around. They had watched his burial and the hasty preparations made by Joseph of Arimathea. Now they have returned to the tomb to finish the preparations for Jesus' entombment. They know that Jesus is dead.
Perhaps, they, of all the disciples, had really listened to Jesus' words about his suffering and death. Perhaps, too, they knew from their own experiences of suffering, of life and of death, that Jesus' death was inevitable. Perhaps through their rituals of preparing for burial, they had been enabled to grasp the reality of the event which they had witnessed. For whatever reason, they are the ones who are most prepared for the outstanding message that Jesus is alive and it is they who bring the first news of this to the others who huddle together in the disbelief of grief, unable to comprehend the reality of the tragedy and to move onwards in their lives.

The disciples thought that it was the end. They had broken promises, betrayed and denied Jesus. Yet the women receive the good news that it is not the end; that Jesus is alive. They have let go of Jesus in death and because of that, they are now able to receive the news that Jesus is alive.

Imagine the scene: the women have been to the tomb, they have remembered Jesus' words and they have been mulling them over in their minds as they return. The significance of the past few days becomes real and their eyes are opened. Will the others believe them? The news is exciting. It's hard to explain, difficult to understand and almost impossible to believe. But like a butterfly emerging from a cocoon, the truth can be contained no longer and the story is relayed to the other disciples.

Their message is the message of the Gospel: a message of hope in the midst of despair; life in the midst of death; truth in the midst of confusion; that Jesus' life and death and new life are all part of the never-ending story of God's love and God's mercy for the people of God.

It is hard to believe, hard to believe that as respected as Jesus was, his life meant so much more than they had ever imagined—a reality which only his death could reveal and only the news of the resurrection could proclaim.

It seemed like the end and yet it was only a beginning. The first shoot from a buried seed has begun to push through to the surface of the ground; the butterfly is emerging from its cocoon and the new growth on the tree is being fed by the nourishment of the leaves which have fallen the previous year.

Jesus is alive! Jesus is alive! It's not an end but a beginning and nothing will ever be the same again! Jesus is alive! Christ is risen. Christ is risen indeed.
So today we celebrate Jesus' resurrection…

Loss and grief have shattered our world this year—cyclones and floods in Australia; earthquakes in New Zealand; earthquakes, a tsunami and a nuclear meltdown in Japan; political change and military conflict across northern Africa… And that’s without thinking about our own personal griefs and losses—the deaths of loved ones; changes in jobs or health situations; moving homes…

We too have been forced to confront our own inner thoughts and feelings. What is there left in a world where our climate and environment seem out of control; when we do not know from one day to the next what fresh challenge we may face?

The message that the women receive at the empty tomb, and proclaim to the disciples is one of hope in the midst of despair; life in the midst of death; truth in the midst of confusion. It is the message of the Gospel! And this is God’s message to us now… no matter what you face, there is hope! There is hope because in and through it all, God is with us, God has been there in Jesus, and God offers us new life and new hope in Jesus. That doesn’t take away our grief, or our responsibility to help and work for others. Rather, it encourages us to face the challenges that life throws us, and to proclaim that life and hope will prevail even in the midst of grief and despair.

The challenge to us too is to face ourselves, to respond to the message of resurrection, to face down our thoughts and our feelings even our fears for the bullies which they are. Then, despite ourselves, we will know Christ's freedom to be free. We will know too that the end is just the beginning, new life does emerge from the buried seed and Christ is risen. Christ is risen indeed! And the people of God are called to rise with Christ