Embracing the Unknown God

Who are we? What are we on about? Where are we going? We humans love these questions; and often we fill our lives with all kinds of activity trying to help us answer them. Who are we? What are we on about? Where are we going?

In our reading from the Acts of the Apostles today, Paul confronts these questions as he confronts a new culture—an influential culture; but one not wholly compatible with Paul’s Jewish roots or his profound Christian conversion; and also a culture not completely alien to the deep insights which Paul has come to Athens to share from his experience and understanding of the risen Christ.

Who are we? What are we on about? Where are we going? These were questions that very much interested the people of ancient Athens: a people who prized learning; a people much engaged in exploring big questions in science and mathematics, philosophy and literature, arts and physical culture. They were a people who continually asked why, exploring themselves and their surroundings, searching for greater knowledge of humanity and our environment. Even in their religious beliefs, they were not content that they knew everything that there was to know. Who are we? What are we on about? Where are we going?

So, Paul is depicted as entering into this enquiring culture: a Jew among Greeks, a Christian among worshippers of gods with other names, a public speaker amongst a city of thinkers. His Jewish rabbinical background serves him well. He is intent upon arguing his case, on discussing not just the finer points of theology, but the big picture. He is asking his listeners to dig deep into the big questions and not just skate across the service.

He argued with the Jews. He argued with the Greeks. He argued with the philosophers and the people in the market place. Not that that made him many enemies for the Athenians were a people used to that sort of behaviour and, in fact, quite encouraging of it. The Athenians prized new ideas and thoughts, discussion and debate. They were concerned with exploring the big questions: Who are we? What are we on about? Where are we going?

Indeed, Paul is received well by the Athenian community. The picture of his reception is very favourable indeed, because, as the story goes, he is taken to the Areopagus to speak, to explain the strange, new teaching that he is offering.
The Areopagus is a small, barren, limestone hill, northwest of the Acropolis in Athens. Historically, the Areopagus was the place where the Athenian council had met to pronounce justice. The council, the most respected of Athenian institutions, had at one time performed the function of a senate. At the time of Paul’s visit and following the growth of democracy, the earlier powers of the council were greatly reduced. They did, however, still retain responsibility for the areas of religion, morals and homicide. Whether it was to this council which Paul spoke or not, we do not know. In the time of Paul, it was unlikely that the council actually met at the Areopagus, having moved to a place in the Agora, the marketplace. Nevertheless, the significance of the site to the story should not be missed. Paul is depicted addressing the Athenians on the site of their most respected council’s original home. This discussion is significant; and it is held in a very significant place.

Because of its use, the Areopagus was also renowned for the many incidents relating to the responsibilities of the Athenian council which had occurred over many hundreds of years. Perhaps it was historically true, perhaps just a legend or more likely a mixture of both, but one of the most famous stories about the Areopagus related to the shrines to “the unknown god” or “gods”.

There were a number of altars to the unknown god or gods in Athens. The story went that six hundred years before Paul ventured there, a terrible pestilence had fallen on the city which nothing seemed able to stop. A Cretan poet, Epimenides, had come forward with a plan. A flock of black and white sheep were let loose to run through the city from the Areopagus. Wherever each lay down it was sacrificed to the god whose shrine was nearest. If a sheep lay down without being in close vicinity to the shrine of a god, it was sacrificed to “the unknown god” or “gods”.

That story not only tells us a bit about the shrine “to the unknown god” but also about the importance which the Athenians placed upon their educated people, those who explored those big questions: Who are we? What are we on about? Where are we going? It was Epimenides, the poet, who had been credited with the plan for saving the city and it is Epimenides, to whom Paul appeals, when arguing that “the unknown god” was in fact the God of Christ.

For Paul, like any good preacher, begins his address with something which he thinks is important to the gathered assembly and appeals to the authority of people whom he knows his congregation respects. Since he is speaking to people who prized education and cultural achievements, Paul presents the claims of Christianity in an intellectual and cultural way in a reasoned manner.

Tactfully, he compliments the Athenians on being ‘very religious’. Then he refers to their own poets in making his main point. He notes a nearby altar with the inscription, “to an unknown god” and tells them that this God can be known, that this God is not far from each of them. He uses the words of Epimenides, the poet who brought those shrines into being:

This God whom you call the unknown god is, in fact, “the one in whom we live and move and have our being”. This is the God whose children we are.

Knowing who we are, knowing whose we are, knowing where we come from has a huge influence on our self-understandings, and not just on what we think about ourselves, but what we do arising out of who we are. But sometimes we get it the wrong way round. Sometimes we do a lot just trying to find out who we are; and in the process, we engage in a lot of activity and risk losing whose we were meant to be.

The God whom Paul proclaims, the God whom Paul understands to have come to us in Jesus is “the God in whom we live and move and have our being”. This God is the source of our identity and purpose. This God is the God whose children we are.

The importance of knowing who we are is particularly well-demonstrated for us in Australia by the struggles of Australian Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples. Europeans moving into this land stripped them of their land, their culture and their identity. We still witness helplessly the effects of that stripping, of that loss of a sense of who they were as a people; and that’s why things like an official apology to the stolen generations, and a re-writing of the preamble to the Constitution of the Uniting Church to include a recognition of First Peoples are so important. They address the question of identity, of who the people are and where they belong.

Christian people especially must understand the importance of these thing, because who we are has never been about what we do. It’s always been about what God has done in Jesus—about whose we are. In the disconnection of people and land, indigenous Australians lost that to which they belonged.

At the Areopagus, Paul is calling the Athenians to the God in whom they can discover themselves, not because of what they do or have done, but because of what God has done and who God is. This is “the God in whom we live and move and have our being”. This is the God who is the source of our identity and purpose. This is the God whose children we are.

Since arriving in Armidale, that is the message that I have been trying to share with you as a Congregation in order to ground our identity as the people of God in this place, not in what we do, but in whose we are and what God has done for us. I have tried to invite you to rest in God’s gift to us in order that together we might discover the freedom that our identity in Christ gives us. So, there have been many times when we have affirmed our baptismal identity—affirmed that we are incorporated into the body of Christ, the life, death and resurrection of Jesus, by God’s grace. In our Elders’ meetings, we have made worship the important focus that it needs to be for the community of the Spirit. Worship is where we are formed as the people of God; and Elders sharing together in worship as key leaders in this Congregation is the most important thing we can do to remember, to remind ourselves whose we are and what God has done for us, in order that we might help this community to rest in our identity as the people of God. Worship here together is the most important thing we do together as the people of God in this place—as we turn our faces towards the God in whom, we live and move and have our being; as we orient ourselves, or rather as we allow God to orient us towards God, we are continually invited to discover the beloved children of God that we are; and out of that continual discovery to be enfolded into God’s mission in our world, not just through our activities as a church, but in our active participation as members of the body of Christ in the society around us. It is the freedom of knowing whose we are, of knowing who we are in God, of knowing what God has done, of remembering that God’s mission is God’s and accomplished in Christ, not ours and done by our own deeds, that will embody our identity in the God whose we are.

Activity is important, but not because of the activity, because of where it comes from. The work of the people of God must come from our acknowledgement of whose we are, of who we are in God; and that acknowledgement begins here, as we open ourselves to the God in whom we live and move and have our being, and invite that God to embrace us as beloved children; and as we hear the gracious words of that God again and again: “Your sins are forgiven.” “You are my people.” “I will not leave you alone.” “I have prepared a place for you.” “You are my beloved children.” “In me, you live and move and have your very being.”

Stone Upon Stone

A stone… to hurt… to shelter… to throw… to gather…
to wound… to sculpt… a weapon… a blessing… a stone…
A stone… to control… to protect… to divide… to gather…
a barrier… a bridge… a weapon… a foundation… a stone…
A stone… to build a dividing wall… to lay a roadway…
to shape an obstruction… to smooth a connection…
a weapon… a faith… a stone.
(Adapted from Seasons of the Spirit, Year A Easter 5, 22 May 2011.)

Stones… Human beings have done an awful lot with them: an awful lot for good and an awful lot for harm. So today in our readings, we have a mixture of stone imagery… Stephen, the first Christian martyr is stoned to death in the 7th chapter of Acts. In Psalm 31, God is our rock and refuge. In the first letter of Peter, the disciples of Christ are identified as “living stones” to be placed on the great living cornerstone, Jesus Christ, in order to build the people of God. And though the stones are not mentioned in the reading from the Gospel of John, the house of God is—and in that imagery stones are not far away. Stones to build… and stones that kill…

My father’s [house] has many rooms,
with room for all God’s children,
as long as we do share his love,
and see that all are free.
(Words & music by Pete Seeger. © 1966 Stormking Music Inc.)

But we are a menagerie of a people… and we are very human… stones that build up… and stones that tear down…

When I was a child, my image of God’s house was something like one of those cartoon houses with the small front door and entry at the bottom and rooms which kept popping out all over the place on the floors above. It never toppled over although it always looked like it would. And there was always more room for more rooms. They could just pop out anyway, anytime, whenever one was needed for a new member of God’s family. I don’t remember ever believing that God actually lived in a real house just like that, but it seemed a good picture to have in my mind for the type of house God would have if God needed a real house like the one I lived in. God’s house wasn’t made of weatherboard or bricks obviously, but there was always room for all God’s children, whomever, whatever, and however they presented themselves.

God’s house, God’s oikia, God’s household, is made of stones… living stones… very human living stones and we are a ragtag collection of odd-shaped rocks… stones that fit easily… and stones that stick out in odd ways…

Have you ever built a stone wall? Or perhaps you’ve visited one of the great historical stone walls like Hadrian’s Wall in the UK. Stones are not bricks… They are not neatly shaped and ready to put into an orderly pattern. They come in all different shapes and sizes; and, if they need to be put together, the act of fitting them into one another is truly and art… stones that fit… and stones that need a bit of a trim to fit… stones that need a bit of shaping in order to contribute to the stability of the wall… or the house.

My father’s [house] has many rooms,
with room for all God’s children,
as long as we do share his love,
and see that all are free.
(Words & music by Pete Seeger. © 1966 Stormking Music Inc.)

When I was fourteen, three friends and I decided that we would write a musical to be performed for our Sunday School Anniversary. The Anniversary was scheduled for October. We began our enterprise on a day late in the Christmas holidays, sometime in the previous January. It wasn’t long before we had decided that the musical would be about Stephen, the first Christian martyr. That story is contained in just two chapters in the book of Acts; and it is conveniently arranged into several short episodes which made it the perfect storyline for a musical of about 45 minutes. It was at our second meeting that we decided on a theme that began as our working title and eventually became the performance title for the musical: “In His Image”.

This title originally came out of our recognition that the story of Stephen’s death, the passage that is one of our lectionary readings for today, was very much a parallel story to the death of Jesus. In the story of Stephen’s stoning, he cries out in two very similar utterances to those which Luke also records Jesus crying out on the cross. In Luke 23, Jesus says, “Forgive them, Father! They don’t know what they are doing.” In Acts 7, Stephen cries out in a loud voice, “Lord! Do not remember this sin against them!” In Luke 23, Jesus commits his spirit into the hands of God. In Acts 7, Stephen asks Jesus to receive his spirit. Stephen, the first Christian martyr is depicted by Luke as being in Jesus’ image—a living stone in the shape of the great cornerstone. Stephen is well and truly a chip off the old block.

As we read and re-read the Biblical text of the story of Stephen and consulted commentaries and other resources, we came to see just how closely the life of Stephen recorded in Acts did reflect the life of Jesus: even more closely than we had first realised.

In Acts 6, Stephen is described as one “richly blessed by God and full of power” who “performed great miracles and wonders among the people”. Stephen is opposed by some Jews and ultimately brought before the High Priest’s Council where he delivers a long speech rehearsing the faithfulness of the ancestors of the Jews and finally accusing his inquisitors of failing to live up to this great tradition of faithfulness to God. It is this meeting which leads to Stephen’s condemnation to death: a death by one of the more horrible ancient means of the taking of life, stoning. There are very close parallels between the story of the life of Jesus and that of Stephen. Stephen is truly depicted as being in the image of Christ, a chip off the old block.

There was one more connection, however, which needed to be made before our title “In His Image” achieved its full potential as a succinct way of describing our approach to the story of Stephen. That connection is very aptly described in our Gospel reading for today, although for us it began in the text from which the original phrase “in the image” had been gleaned.

In the first creation story, in Genesis 1, the story of the creation of humanity is recorded thus:

Then God said, “Let us make humanity in our image, after our likeness... So God created humanity in God’s own image, in the image of God, God created them; male and female God created them.” (Gen. 1:26a, 27)

It is our belief as Christians that Jesus fulfilled this vision of humanity in the image of God, being both perfectly human and perfectly God at one and the same time. It is a difficult concept to grasp. In fact, it defied the rationality of the Greek philosophy which the early Church attempted to employ in order to describe such a miraculous and mysterious event and it continues to defy our understandings of scientific rationality today. Yet this is what we believe: that in Jesus, God was so truly present for humanity that in recognising Jesus, we recognise God. In the Gospel of John, Jesus is recorded as saying “Whoever has seen me has seen God” (John 14:9).

Even more miraculous is the promise that we too can be reflections of the image of God; living stones being built on the one great cornerstone; chips off the original block; stones in the house of God. The Gospel of John records Jesus as saying, “I am telling you the truth: whoever believes in me will do what I do - yes, they will do even greater things, because I am going to the Father” (John 14:12). One of very early theologians put it this way: God became human in order that we might become divine.

But we are a ragtag collection of odd-shaped rocks—a real menagerie of members of the household of God. We are rocks that need shaping and fitting together. And that is God’s wonderful promise to us:

My father’s [house] has many rooms,
with room for all God’s children,
as long as we do share his love,
and see that all are free.
(Words & music by Pete Seeger. © 1966 Stormking Music Inc.)

A stone… to hurt… to shelter… to throw… to gather…
to wound… to sculpt… a weapon… a blessing… a stone…
A stone… to control… to protect… to divide… to gather…
a barrier… a bridge… a weapon… a foundation… a stone…
A stone… to build a dividing wall… to lay a roadway…
to shape an obstruction… to smooth a connection…
a weapon… a faith… a stone.
(Adapted from Seasons of the Spirit, Year A Easter 5, 22 May 2011.)

“Father forgive us for we know not what we do…”

“Lord Jesus, receive our spirits…:”

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

A Welling Up of Life!

Tiddalik, the largest frog ever known, awoke one morning with an unquenchable thirst. He started to drink, and he drank until there was no fresh water left in the world. The creatures everywhere were soon dying and the trees were shedding their leaves because of the lack of moisture. It seemed that very soon Tiddalik the frog would be the only one alive. The animals could not think of a way out of their terrible plight, until a wise old wombat suggested that if Tiddalik could be made to laugh, all the imprisoned water would flow out of his mouth.

So everyone gathered by the giant frog's resting place. For a long time they tried to make him laugh, but in vain. The kookaburra told his funniest stories, so good that he could not help laughing at them himself; the kangaroo jumped over the emu; and the blanket lizard waddled up and down on two legs making his stomach protrude; but the frog's face remained blank and indifferent.

Then, when the animals were in despair, the eel, Nabunum, driven from his favourite creek by the drought, slithered up to the unresponsive frog, and began to dance. He started with slow, graceful movements, but as the dance became faster he wriggled and twisted himself into the most grotesque and comical shapes, until suddenly Tiddalik's eyes lit up and he burst out laughing. And as he laughed, the water gushed from his mouth and flowed away to replenish the lakes, the swamps, and the rivers. (“Tiddalik the Flood-Maker” from The Dreamtime Book: Australian Aboriginal Myths, Rigby, 1973, Text by Charles P. Mountford, p. 24).

The Aboriginal dreaming story of Tiddalik is a story about seasons: about the dry season when there seems not enough water for anything to live; and about the coming of the wet season in a bursting deluge. People who live in the north of Australia talk about the dry and the wet and the tension that builds in the environment and the human community before the rains come to break the spell of waiting and watching in heat and humidity.

Our Gospel story is also a story about seasons, about building tensions and about the release of that tension is flood of awareness of the promises of God.

In the Gospel of John, “Prior to this story of Jesus’ visit to Samaria, Jesus’ activity has centered on the people and places of official Judaism”: Jerusalem and the temple, Nicodemus the Pharisee. Now we find him in Samaria and away from the official people and places of Judaism, away from his tradition and its important institutional symbols. “At the time of Jesus, the Jews and the Samaritans were bitter enemies”, and the source of that enmity was religion. Specifically, it “was a dispute about the correct location of the [rightful] ... place of worship”. About 300years before the coming of Christ, the Samaritans had built a shrine on Mount Gerizim. The shrine stood in competition with the temple at Jerusalem: a second holy place for the worship of God. The shrine was destroyed by Jewish troops in 128 BCE. And the bitterness of religious difference had continued as only bitter religious divisions can.

So, “when Jesus meets the Samaritan woman at the well ... he meets someone who provides a striking contrast to all that has preceded” this story in the Gospel of John. “When Jesus speaks with Nicodemus in John 3, he speaks with a male member of the Jewish religious establishment. In John 4, he speaks with a female member of an enemy people.” Their conversation is a scandal and the woman knows it: “How is it that you, a Jew, ask a drink of me, a woman of Samaria?”

Now the more popular recent interpretations of this story have generally emphasised both that the woman was from Samaria—a foreigner and an enemy of the Jews—and that she was a great sinner. The first emphasis is significant although not perhaps as significant as some have made it to be, the second emphasis is a misinterpretation of the story, and, in the process of that misinterpretation, the fact that she was a woman has not been made important enough. For while Nicodemus has name and a social position; the woman is unnamed and has no social position; and both can be accounted for by the customs of the time.

“The popular portrait of the woman in John 4” is of “a woman of dubious morals” who is “guilty of aberrant behaviour”. However, everything that is reported of her can be explained by the religious traditions of her people: traditions shared by both Jews and Samaritans. “There are many possible reasons for the woman’s marital history”. We should be wary of choosing the most popular and “dominant explanation of moral laxity”. “The text does not say, as most interpreters automatically assume, that the woman has been divorced five times but that she has had five husbands.” We are given no more explanation than that, but there are many more plausible for her time than sexual promiscuity. “Perhaps ... like Tamar in Genesis ... [she] is trapped in the custom of levirate marriage.” A woman was passed on to successive male relatives after the death of her husbands in the hope that she would eventually bear the first husband an heir by a male relative who gave up entitlement to his firstborn male child in favour of the dead previous husband. If she was indeed divorced, she would have been divorced by her husbands and the prime reason for divorce of a woman by a man at the time was on the grounds of the woman’s barrenness. The text is more about how the woman has been thrown on the scrap heap by the customs of her society—the customs of both the Jews and the Samaritans—than it is about the way in which she has wandered into some kind of fictitious moral degradation.

“Significantly, the reasons for the woman’s marital history intrigue commentators, but do not seem to concern Jesus.” Nowhere in the story is there an exchange about sinful behaviour. Instead, the discussion is about the truth and meaning of life and the worship of God. It is a theological conversation entered into by a foreign woman with the one who identifies himself as the Christ, the Messiah. And their discussion is about the transcendence of the customs of both the Jews and the Samaritans. It is about a religion of “spirit and truth”, not of institutional rigidity. The Samaritan woman “is the first character in the Gospel to engage in serious theological conversation with Jesus” and when she does so, she shows that she is up with the issues: “How is it that you, a Jew, ask a drink of me, a woman of Samaria?” “Are you greater than our ancestor Jacob?” “Where is the proper place to worship God?”
“Many commentators have dismissed the woman’s words to Jesus as a psychological ploy, as a classical act of evasion to change the subject from the [supposedly] embarrassing truth about her morals. Commentators have doubted whether this woman would have been able to understand the substance of Jesus’ words to her.” But “the text presents the woman as ... unafraid to stay in conversation with Jesus [as competent in contributing to that conversation and as recognising] Jesus as [at least] a prophet [and] ... the perfect person of whom to ask her question about worship.

It is in the asking of the question and the receiving of the gift of the revelation of Jesus’ messiahship that the floodgates are opened and the woman is restored to a position of significance in her community as the one who brings her community to Jesus. It is in the asking of the question and the receiving of the gift of living water the boundaries of convention are broken and the message of Jesus that the grace of God is for all people everywhere is given. The seasons have changed and it is her time to laugh. (Quotations come from Gail R. O’Day “John” in The Women’s Bible Commentary pp. 295-296)

The gift of baptism draws us into God’s season of grace—God’s promise and present of reconciliation between us and God, God and the whole created order. Today we celebrate the gift of baptism—the season of the overflowing grace of God; and we are reminded of our baptism—our incorporation into the mission of God and the ministry of Christ in the world. We are invited to open our mouths and our lives to allow the outpouring of God’s love through those same mouths and those same lives.

Some of us want to hold God’s graciousness to ourselves; and some of us haven’t yet fully grasped that that gift of grace is fully ours. All of us are called to hear again the promises and purpose of God that

By God’s grace, baptism plunges us into the faith of Jesus Christ, so that whatever is his may be called ours. By water and the Spirit we are claimed as God’s own and set free from the power of sin and death. Thus, claimed by God we are given the gift of the Holy Spirit that we may live as witnesses to Jesus Christ, share his ministry in the world and grow to maturity, awaiting with hope the day of our Lord Jesus. (“The Meaning of Baptism” from “The Service of Baptism”, Uniting in Worship 2).

As the baptised people of God, we are called to celebrate the welling up of God’s life not just for us, but for all.

On the Mountain-Top!

There is a famous painting of the Transfiguration by Raphael. The painting depicts Jesus floating idyllically in the air above a mountain with light shining all around him. Beneath the mountain is a valley. The valley is filled with people fighting and scuffling.

Mountains and mountain top experiences have been considered to be important from very ancient times. In the Bible, many significant experiences are depicted as occurring on mountains: the receiving of the law by Moses, Moses’ call from the burning bush, Elijah’s defeat of Baal’s prophets. In ancient times as well as in not so ancient times, it was the mountains which offered protection for defenders and a vantage point for the offense; it was the mountains in which the Hebrews were forced to live while they fought the people of the plains for the promised land; it was the mountains which were seen as reaching up to God who was depicted as living in the sky. The people on the plains were vulnerable and open to attack; the people on the plains were open to the temptations offered by prosperity; the people on the plains were seen as being farther away from God in a spacial sense. Mountains were considered to be important and mountain top experiences were coveted and desired.

But when Jesus comes the message is turned on its head. When Jesus comes, the experiences of the plain and the valley are recognised as the stuff of real life. Mountain top experiences are to be enjoyed and learnt from but not lived out of because there is a danger that if you try to live out of the mountain you will miss the view all together.

In one of the most famous of his addresses, Martin Luther King Jr. talked of going to the mountain top. He spoke of having a vision of a changed world. He spoke of the effect which this had had on his perspective on life and in particular on the Civil Rights’ struggle with which he was involved. For Martin Luther King, that mountain top experience had been a reassurance of his understanding of God’s will for the world. It was a reassurance that meant that in the midst of the continuing struggle for the rights of Black Americans, Martin Luther King was able to affirm: “I’ve been to the mountain top and I don’t mind.”

At the time of his speech, there was still much change in American society to take place before black and white people could truly stand together as equals. (I guess that that is still true.) But Martin Luther King had received a glimpse of that possibility, in the community of those who were working towards that vision and this led him to say the day before his assassination: “Well, I don’t know what will happen now. We’ve got some difficult days ahead. But it doesn’t matter with me now. Because I’ve been to the mountain top. And I don’t mind.”

Martin Luther King believed that he had seen a glimpse of God’s realm in the lives of the people who were working for justice in American society in the 1960's. This glimpse of God’s community of justice and peace had given him a renewed hope, a renewed vitality, a renewed strength with which to continue in the path to which he believed that God had called him. He could continue to walk through the valley of racial hatred forging a new path for the people of God to walk along because he had seen from the mountain top a glimpse of the God’s vision for God’s people.

In the Gospel reading for today, we hear about another mountain top experience. We hear about Jesus going up a mountain together with Peter, James and John. For Jesus, it was a mountain top experience. He is depicted as communing with two of the great leaders of the Israelite people and afterwards we hear that powerful and wonderful affirmation “This is my son, my chosen; listen to him!” “This is my son, my chosen; listen to him!” Whatever happened, it must have been a mountain top experience.

For Peter and James and John, the three disciples depicted, the experience seems a little frightening, somewhat disarming and ultimately embarrassing. I mean, here Jesus is having this wonderful spiritual experience and here the disciples are, asleep. Then when they wake up, they think that they had better get in on the act so Peter rushes in with his usual foot in mouth caution and says, “Hey Jesus, let’s set up three tents—one for you and one for Moses and one for Elijah. We’ll stay here awhile. This is really great! Haven’t done anything this exciting in months.” But according to the story, he might as well have been talking gibberish because he really had no idea of what was going on. He wasn’t really in the action at all. He was just looking on.

Then, as the story goes, a cloud comes over and a voice speaks and by this stage in the story, the disciples who at first wanted to stay there, now just can’t wait to get down because this is all a little weird. Sure, they’ve been on the mountain but they really don’t understand their mountain top experience. This isn’t going to help when they go back. This mountain top experience hasn’t helped them one bit. For the disciples, this mountain top experience only leads to confusion and fear. They have no idea what to do, how to react, what the vision on the mountain top really means for them and for their lives with Jesus. Jesus, recognising their confusion, asks them not to mention the vision to anyone until “after the Son of Man has been raised from death”.

Mountain top experiences are only useful if they help us to walk through the valleys and live on the plain. If all mountain top experiences do is make you want to retreat to the safety of the hill or to pretend that you can always live on the mountain, then what use are they? The reality is down here on the plain.
When I read the story of the transfiguration of Jesus and especially about the disciples who are mentioned, I am always tempted to ask about the others—those disciples who were not depicted as experiencing this vision on the mountain. And of those people, mostly women, who are never depicted as participating in the mountain top experiences of Jesus’ life.

These ones must and do deal with the realities of day to day living without the glimpse beyond the mountain. They are the ones who are constantly there subtly and often imperceptibly woven into the tapestry of Jesus’ life. They are the ones who participate in the mundane and the distasteful. They are the ones who prepare Jesus’ meals and they are the ones who wait at the foot of the cross. They have not been to the mountain top, they are not described as seeing God’s vision in the same way that Peter, James and John are. They have not seen the vision yet they are the ones who are faithful to God’s realm. They are the ones who participate in the struggle without the glory, the mundane without the extraordinary. They too are the heirs of the God’s community of justice and peace, the children of God.

And it is not just in the story of Jesus, that we find important characters who do not experience the mountain top but who remain faithful. Moses was met by God on the mountain but pulled out of the bull-rushes by women; Elijah was champion of God on the mountain but sustained through drought on the plain by a widow.
Jesus, too, knew about mountain top experiences but he was not afraid to walk through the valley and the plain and finally to another hill where we discover that the mountain top experience and the valley road are all one in a true pilgrimage with God.

Yes, we need mountain top experiences but we cannot live on the mountain.
And for many of us, mountain top experiences are few and far between. For many of us, the valleys seem like bottomless pits and the plains like neverending steppes. For most of us, the mundane seems to be our lot. But it is here in the valleys and the plains, in the mundane that we truly encounter Christ.

On the mountain the disciples see Jesus but they cannot be with him. On the mountain, the disciples see the vision but they cannot participate in it. On the mountain, the disciples hear God’s words about Jesus but they are unable to respond to them. It is only when they return down the mountain that the disciples are again able to begin to participate in the struggle for life and to work towards the coming of God’s realm.

Mountain top experiences are useful only insofar as they equip us for our continuing journey on the plain and in the valley. Mountain top experiences are important only insofar as they give us the hope, the strength and the vitality to endure the valley path. Mountain top experiences are significant only insofar as they confirm for us God’s plan and God’s will for our lives. It is in the valley and on the plain that much of the stuff of life is worked out.

We need mountain top experiences but we also need people who are willing to translate those experiences into the valley and the plain, who can truly say that their experiences have equipped them to be effective disciples away from the wonder and awe and glory in the ordinary and even in the distasteful, who can say with Martin Luther King, “I’ve been to the mountain top and I don’t mind” because they see the stuff of eternity in the fragile world around them.

Hold fast to the mountain for what it is but remember there is much work that remains on the plain. On the mountains we may see visions, but on the plain we participate in the work of God.