Freedom in Christian Unity

In this Week of Prayer for Christian Unity, in the 10 days between Ascension and Pentecost, in the time where we acknowledge that Jesus is as fully God as he was fully human, and as we wait for the celebration of the beginning of the new community in Christ, the church, in this strange time in our church calendar, we have a strange series of stories in the book of Acts. It’s an interesting juxtaposition of tales where Paul frees a slave-woman from her demons and angers her owners; the owners have Paul and Silas thrown in jail and their jailer begs for the freedom that they know in the midst of their incarceration. It’s an intriguing combination of stories of slavery and freedom, where what we think is slavery and what we think is freedom is turned on their heads.

A woman has the freedom of an unusual gift—the ability to divine the truth—or is that really what the text is saying? This pneuma, this spirit, this pythona, this oracle or perhaps this ventriloquist speaking through its puppet, the slave-girl, is not really a gift of freedom. Someone or something is speaking through this girl and she is not free. Is it her keepers, her owners, the ones who have made her and kept her enslaved? Or is it those who speak through her, the powerful of the city who would be rid of the disruption that Paul and Silas possess? She is not her own person. She is possessed by powers and powerful people. Her cries of apparent knowledge give the illusion of freedom, but she is not free. She is bound into a system that uses women like her as pawns in games played by men who like things just as they are with them in the position of authority.

And Paul releases her. Paul sets her free—from her demons, from her owners for whom she is no longer any use if she will not spout their words, from those who use her to condemn the very people who set her free. Somehow, Paul gives her the freedom to be free; and this gift of freedom comes in the name of Jesus Christ.

But that gift is not given without a cost; and Paul and Silas find themselves the target of a different attack by powerful people—people who no longer hide behind the words of a slave-girl; but who must now show themselves for who they are and declare their interests, their intention to rid themselves of the troublemakers, Paul and Silas.

These powerful people, these could-be slave owners and would-be local authorities have Silas and Paul thrown in jail. These powerful people are trying so hard to show that they are free—by enslaving some and locking others up. It’s a funny kind of freedom that they exhibit, these people who enslave and condemn others.

So Paul and Silas end up in jail. And just when we’re thinking that now Paul and Silas are no longer free, we hear that they are praying and singing to God. What could be freer than that—being in relationship with the living God irrespective of the conditions in which they find themselves? It’s a funny kind of prison into which the powerful people think they have condemned Paul and Silas. For them it is not a place of restriction; but one where they can be free to worship and honour God. What the powerful see as enslavement, Paul and Silas know as freedom. While the powerful are proclaiming their own apparent freedom by condemning Paul and Silas, Paul and Silas are showing just how restricted those would-be freemen are as they worship God in prison.

And the second time that day according to our story, Paul and Silas have the opportunity to open the door to freedom for someone who was in jail—albeit as a jailer, but nonetheless in jail, imprisoned, not free, at the mercy of the behest of the powerful who condemn others to prison. Paul and Silas offer the jailer freedom; and once again that freedom comes in the name of Jesus Christ.

It’s a funny kind of freedom this freedom we have in Christ—the freedom to love God and do what we like, because in loving God, what we like will be the things of God, as God works God’s magic in us, not as puppets of a ventriloquist, but as believers in a reality where everyone matters, and no one should be treated like a slave, or made to do the dirty work of powerful people by keeping those who are really free in jail.

It’s a funny juxtaposition of stories that we hear in this Week of Prayer for Christian Unity, when we Christians who are so fond of proclaiming our freedom by dividing ourselves from one another are confronted by the reality that our freedom is not in the ability to do what we like, but in our common calling to love, worship and serve the Triune God. It’s a funny set of stories in this week when we remind ourselves that there is freedom in community, the community of the Spirit. There is freedom in constraints, the constraints of the Gospel. There is hope in proclamation, the proclamation that in Christ all are free as Christ is free—constrained by the wonderful freedom of relationship with God and with each other as the beloved children of God in our own right, not as the puppets or ventriloquist dolls of those who would lord over and control other people even those who belong to God.

It’s an intriguing combination of stories of freedom and slavery where everything we think about slavery and about freedom are turned on their heads and we discover that freedom is not in spouting the words of others, nor in condemning others. Freedom is discovered in God’s recognition of us as beloved children each in our own right; and together, as a diverse and unique, and multi-faceted community who cannot be condemned by others because we know the truth we have in God—that in Christ all are free as Christ is free; in Jesus, we are one because we are in Christ and Christ is in God. 

Surely, this is our freedom. This is our salvation. This is our deliverance. And no-one has the power to enslave the children of God!

The Lord is my Shepherd!

The Lord is my Shepherd. The Lord is my Shepherd. The Lord is my Shepherd. How easily the words roll off our tongues. They are so familiar. The Lord is my Shepherd.

And we have inherited cute little images of fluffy little white lambs being led by strong upright young men over rich green pastures from Anglo-Celtic and European heritages to go with those words. But Israel is a desert and shepherds were not the most well-liked people in the country even if they were necessary for its economy. Shepherds had a reputation for being vagabonds, thieves and cowards, rogues and opportunists - itinerant workers with no roots. After all you never knew just what people like them would get up to out there in the wilderness with nothing but themselves and the sheep and the sky. And if there were a few sheep missing who knew whether it was the wolves or not.

Shepherds, sheep herders, were not the most important people in their society and certainly not the most trusted. They were part of the mass of nobodies of their society—not like temple priests or court officials or kings and queens. They did one of the more menial tasks in their society and earned one of the lowest wages. Once upon a time, shepherds had been the backbone of Israel, ensuring economic stability and even the very survival of the people themselves. But now Israel was a settled nation, a people concerned more with trade than with grazing.

It was true, Israelite society was born of people such as these. The nation's ancestors were nomadic herders who wandered from waterhole to waterhole searching for food for their animals. But in a settled nation which had formulated rules about possession of land and property, they were peripheral, on the edge, unimportant and not to be trusted.

Sure Israel had its romantic myths about its origins about people such as David who rose from shepherd boy to King but that's the catch. David was depicted as rising from the very dregs of society to become the premier person in the nation - God's chosen and anointed ruler of the people of God—a log cabin to Whitehouse; or grocer’s daughter to Prime Minister kind of tale.

That's why the image of God as Shepherd was so powerful. It was cutting across both the images of shepherds and the imagery of God. It was saying to the people that the real idea of a Shepherd was their idea of God - of one who would provide for them, protect them and ultimately care for them. And that the real idea of God was their idea of Shepherd - one who did the menial tasks in their society, one who was the servant of all and yet neglected and ignored by most, taken for granted. It was an affirmation that reliance upon God meant a relationship with God based in trust. It was an affirmation that God, far from being hierarchical monarch, was rather, humble servant of the people of God. The ultimate relationship which people could experience was their relationship with God and the ultimate relationship which God could be a part of was a relationship with humanity as their servant.

Now as if this wasn't provocative enough in itself, in our Gospel reading, we have this guy called Jesus from the obscure village of Nazareth saying that he was the shepherd, the good one; that he was the very model of the Shepherd that they had affirmed God as being; that he was the very model of the God that they had talked about in the statement "The Lord is my Shepherd". And that was bound to cause all kinds of problems.

It was bound to cause problems because in that very statement, in that very imaging of himself as good Shepherd, Jesus is proclaimed as God and he definitely was not the sort of person that a lot of Israelites had envisaged as revealing God, as showing the nature of God. It was bound to cause problems because in that very statement, Jesus was affirming again that the nature of God was not overbearing tyrant but humble servant—a shepherd or a carpenter no less.

And it’s still an affront to many understandings of God today. We humans like to have a "heavy" around - someone who will take upon broad shoulders all the responsibility that is ours; all the responsibility that we would have shifted from our own puny limbs. But that is not the nature of the God who created us, nor of the God who redeems us, nor indeed of the one who empowers us for our life and work in the world. And the Gospel of John is determined to make this point. For the passage where Jesus claims the role of the Good Shepherd is also the passage where those who listen to the words of Jesus are promised that they will have life—the real fullness and richness of life; that if they can just grasp the truth the Jesus is Shepherd that they would be grasping the real nature of God; and really experiencing proper relationship with God: “My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me; and I give them eternal life.” (John 10:27 - 28)

And that's not the end of the scandal because worst of all, of course in this whole mess of confusion, Jesus, in his identification as the Good Shepherd says that shepherds are okay. Jesus says that those ignored and despised ones of the society should actually be regarded as having meaningful contributions to make to that society, and not just by doing the dirty work. The least in our world can show us what God is like. And that not only upsets everybody's theological understandings it also upsets our notions of social systems, and that more than anything gets everyone worked up because you can say almost anything you like about God except when what you say means that people have to change the way they live.

If you suggest that we need to understand God differently, thereby inferring that we need to order our lives differently and understand people differently, then you are really in hot water up to your chin. Because everybody likes things the way they are. Everybody knows his or her place and role in life. Everybody likes to know that you look up to priests and down to shepherds, that a far-off God transcends anything that we can experience in the tangible world and that the fullness of life can be gained very simply. But that's not the message of the Jesus who affirms himself as Shepherd.

The message of Jesus as Shepherd is one that says God is in our midst, closer than breathing, nearer than a heartbeat. The message of Jesus as Shepherd says that no-one holds rank over another by virtue of their social position. We are all travelling on a journey together, working with each other, serving each other and serving with each other. The message of Jesus as Shepherd says that the richness and fullness of life means not being content with the way things are, but listening for God's will for our lives, hearing the voice of the Shepherd, obeying and fulfilling the role of a servant.

So when those Jews corner Jesus and tell him to tell them if he is the Messiah, Jesus has really given them something to think about and something to be angry about because Jesus has indicated that he is equal with God and he has affirmed that God is servant. For the religious leaders, it was blasphemy, a stoneable offense and the very next verse following today's reading indicates that that's just what they intended to do.

You see to say the Lord is my Shepherd is not a sweet innocuous phrase nor is it a gentle reassuring phrase, it is provocative. The Lord is my Shepherd. God is the one in whom I put my trust. And God is the one who honours that trust. God does not fail to lead me home by being my servant. The important thing is not the political system, nor the religious institution but God as servant—it’s a very provocative statement indeed. It’s too provocative a statement to just let the words roll off our tongues as if they only indicated something simple and pure and holy when in fact they are cutting and profound and thought-provoking. The Lord is my Shepherd. I have everything I need.

In the mid-70's, it was fashionable for Christian young people to sport stickers saying "Jesus Christ is the real thing." It was an attempt to take a phrase "the real thing" which Coca-Cola had captured for their own purposes and to affirm that the real things in life were of far more consequence than Coca-Cola or the multinational company and the consumerist economy behind and around that familiar name. The real thing in life was, is Christ; and Christ was what reality was all about. That 1970s slogan is just like the statement "The Lord is my Shepherd" in the 23^rd Psalm. It was and is an affirmation that the real service in life is God's and that that service is like a Shepherd's (not glamorous and not sought after and mostly not even recognised).

What image of God might confront us as profoundly today? The Lord is my plumber; or perhaps my teacher. The Lord is my garbage collector; my cleaner or even my housekeeper.

The Lord is the keeper of my house. She prepares a place for me to sleep and ensures that I am fed and clothed. She cares for the home in which I live because she loves the people who live there. Even though I take her for granted she is still there faithfully serving her family. Although the world is a scary place, I know that a retreat is prepared for me, a place of rest and regeneration. Surely, this is goodness and this is mercy and they are with me all the days of my life—everywhere I look and right in front of me!

The Lord is my Shepherd. I have everything I need. Amen.

Lament for the Uniting Church

I’ve over it, O God! I’ve over the pettiness and the bureaucracy and the hypocrisy. I’m over the short-sightedness and the bloody-mindedness. I’m over the ignorance and the arrogance and the close-mindedmess. I’ve over the disrespect and the power games, the corporatisation, and all of the running after the latest shining bauble that glistens in any bright young thing’s corner of an eye. I’ve over the Uniting church and there is no reason for you to wonder why!

It was a dream, O God—a dream of a connected church, a visionary people, a community who would be a light to the nation and a beacon for ecumenism. We danced in the shopping centres and shivered in the June wind at its birth because it was a sign of hope, a portent of the future, a new thing that you were doing or so we thought.

But it seems to have turned out to be just the same old, same old—maybe in a slightly different guise. So instead of stultifying “traditions” that have very little to do with the real Tradition, we have everyone’s latest idea plucked out of the air as “the new” irrespective of its history or antecedents, and a disdain for “tradition” that does not know enough about Tradition to know when the baby has disappeared down the plughole with the bathwater. I’m over it, O God!

I’ve over the disrespect for ordination and ordained ministry. I’m over the expectation that anyone has the right and the ability to form the people of God, “overturn tradition” and re-invent the wheel. I’m over the ignorance that does not know that entering the story is more than knowing how to read.

We do not teach our people theology, O God; and our people do not want to learn it. They are content with the blasphemy of violence that passes as sacrificial atonement theory; or the paucity of mystery that satisfies the liberally historically-minded. People seem happy to worship the words in a book reprinted a million times over without discerning how they stand in relation to the Word who entered history, embodied, enfleshed, incarnate.

I’ve over it, O God! I’m over the “I love Jesus” romantic hit parade—as if Jesus were just another Justin Bieber not the “Thou” of Martin Buber. I’m over the surprise that worship might be more than puppy-dog eyes cast upon an Adonis of a Saviour. Where some may once have worshipped Bacchus and other Apollo, our redeemers are buff young men with bedroom eyes and bedroom voice—poor substitutes for a broken, wounded Christ “of Middle-Eastern appearance”.

We cannot self-actualise ourselves into a heaven made in the image of Bondi, nor “boot-camp” our way into a realm made up only of the robust and the strong. We have no power to manipulate our way into the fulfilment of the eschaton. We have only you—utterly loving, utterly relational, utterly hopeful, utterly patient, still waiting for your prodigal people to come to our senses and head for home.

I’m over it, O God! And sometimes that makes we think I’m over you, but I’m not…

I’m not over a God who calls us into a community of imperfection to muddle our way through as the perfect flawed glorious Creation we are. I’m not over a people called to be pilgrim, struggling on a journey of promise. I’m not over the hope that you offer in the call to servanthood and I’ve not over the body of Christ… we poor pale imitations of what it means to a communion of the Spirit.

Yet we are your people, well of part of them anyway; and our election is not of our own making. It is an undeserved, unmerited, unwarranted gift bestowed by you.

And so, we journey onwards, but not always in the right direction and mostly not even in the same direction at once—we could-be prodigals, would-be pilgrims, not noticing that we must be prodigal to be pilgrims at all; and yet always under the holy, wholly, sheltering wings of you, O God. You cannot, you will not, you shall not let us go for, fortunately, you are never over us, O God! 

Some Madeleines!

The first thing that you need to know may be obvious to some but not to all. The name MAD-e-Lena is derived from the name “Madeleine” which, in turn, is derived from the name “Magdalene” as in Mary Magdalene, i.e. Mary of Magdala.

Paul claims the place as a “late-born” or perhaps even an “abortion” of an apostle, depending on your interpretation of the text. Mary Magdalene is the apostle who is seldom acknowledged (at least in Western, and particularly Protestant) Christianity. She is the elder sister to the prodigal Paul, if you will.

Often confused with the woman who anointed Jesus’s feet (Luke 7), Mary is identified as a penitent prostitute, but that woman is never named. Mary, rather, is depicted as being healed from seven demons and as a follower of Jesus just like the twelve (Luke 8). Most importantly, she is the first witness to the resurrection (John 20).

In the Eastern Orthodox tradition, she is identified as isapostolos “equal to the apostles”. In the West, theologians like Abelard talked of her as apostolarum apostola “apostle to the apostles”. The apostle that should never have been, which many Christians never realise ever was, is in fact a model for effective discipleship.

The second thing that you need to know is that Mary Magdalene’s day is my birthday, 22 July.

Other than the fact of this date co-incidence, why would I identify with Mary? There are times when I aspire to Mary’s witness and have been times when I have felt as maligned as Mary has been.

Chip on my shoulder? Maybe. Trying to work through some of the realities of what it means to be a creative, feminist Christian thinker? Definitely.

And that’s where the third thing you need to know comes in: the reason for the unusual spelling of Madelena.

As many people discover, when you try to get an internet designation related to your name or preferred concept, somebody else has already inevitably claimed it. So, you begin to play with alternative ways of producing a similar result.

One of my ongoing concerns has been with the MAD-ness of the experienced world: MAD-ness as in Multiplicity (the multiplication of significations from the one sign), Ambiguity (the disparate significations received from the one sign) and Diversity (the variety of signs and symbols around, together with the variety of interpreters). That is essentially what my doctoral thesis is about—that and how to justify a feminist voice in the midst of the MAD-ness in a theological context.

e-lena” – well “E-Laner” what else can I say? It was a statement about the particular means of communication that a blog offered a would-be Magdalene.

I only aspire to Magdalene’s faithfulness both in following and in proclaiming the risen Christ, but I am a beneficiary of the healing power of the grace of God; and maybe, just maybe, I have some good news to proclaim from time to time in my own MAD way.

MAD-e-Lena Reborn!

MAD-e-Lena began in the closing days of my time as Lecturer in Liturgy & Theology at United Theological College. I’d been wanting to start an ongoing blog since I took to the phenomenon during my study leave in 2006. Then, it had been a way of letting friends and family know what I was up to and of reflecting on my experiences. More than 3 years passed before MAD-e-Lena emerged.

While I was minister for the Armidale Congregation of the Uniting Church, the content was easy—sermons and the occasional prayer written in the course of my work. What should it evolve to now that I am Principal of Grace College? The sermons are less frequent; and that makes the content both more open to other possibilities and more reliant on focussed attention to the blog as blog.

It has never been my intention to let it lapse. Apart from anything else, my biggest fan and self-appointed President of my Fan Club, Doug H. at Nambucca would not allow it! Ah, the pressures of celebrity status?! Satisfied that I have at least one “Gladdie” out there in the listening audience for my version of “Late Night Live”, I am encouraged to continue. And as it happens MAD-e-Lena is about to be resurrected just in time for Easter and in my third month of a new placement (rather than “on the third day”). There is something about the ancient rhythms and routines of the faith that govern our lives despite our best worst efforts.

So, I shall begin with a tale of madeleines (another not so ancient tradition of writers—this times of those with Proustian pretensions who do not know when to stop!). With apologies to Doug for the fact that MAD-e-Lena may never quite be the same again, let me tell you the story of the origin of the name.

Acknowledgement of First Peoples

We acknowledge the Jagera and Turrabal people,
the first inhabitants of this place, part of God’s good creation.
We honour them for their custodianship of the land,
on which we gather today.
You set humanity at the heart of your creation, O God;
charging us with stewardship of all you have made.
We give thanks for those who have heeded your call.

The Word Breaks Through: An Act of Wisdom

In 1980, the workers in Poland had been struggling for a decade or more to establish the right to collective organising, the right to trade unions. Their struggle was not just to meet together or to be able to bargain collectively. It was the struggle to have their voices heard at all in a regime governed by a bureaucratic communist elite. On their own, the would-be trade unionists were small pieces in the Polish system of government. They and their families were at the mercy of policies and legislation completely out of their reach to influence. Together, there was the possibility of making a real difference.

The struggle had taken its toll. As a result of various strikes prior to 1980, workers had lost their jobs, the livelihoods and their lives. Lech Walesa was just another worker active in the struggle, although not very active at work. He’d lost successive jobs because of his activism.

In mid-1980, a further price rise on food led to desperate workers staging another strike at the Lenin Shipyard in Gdańsk. Walesa was not among them. He was not a worker at the yard. Some reports say that enthusiasm for the strike was waning. Certainly, the strikers would have been under immense pressure politically, economically and psychologically. Many recountings of the story suggest that the strike wasn’t going anywhere, but then…

On 14 August 1980, Lech Walesa climbed the shipyard fence to get inside to join those who were fighting for their rights, even though he was not at the time a worker there. He’d been fired for political agitation.

Well, any of you old enough to have lived through that period will have at least a vague idea of what happened next. Other workplaces joined the strike action. The Inter-Plant Strike Committee was established to coordinate the action. The workers won their right to strike (to collectively withdraw their labour in protest of unfair employment practices) and to have an independent trade union. The coordinating committee became the National Coordinating Committee for Solidarność (Solidarity) Free Trade Union. Wałęsa was chosen as its chairperson. And Poland was on its way to democratisation—all because someone outside of the action dared to climb the fence to become part of it. All because someone had the courage to make an intervention.

I remember hearing about Walesa’s unique ability to intervene in group action to direct or re-direct its purpose in helpful ways in my first year of sociology at the University of Queensland. It was nearly 30 years and just a few years after the birth of Solidarity. The story caught my attention. The ability to analyse what was going on in a group, the imagination to know what to do to achieve a re-direction and the courage to take that action to intervene in a group situation sounded like an act not just of knowledge and awareness, but of wisdom—a timely intervention that changed the course of history.

Interventions are all the rage today in politics and counselling, preventative medicine and social policy. They’re meant to stop people doing harmful things, change the nature of society or the outlook of an individual, fix things up, speed things up or slow things down—“an intentional intercession or act to bring about change” (Opt & Gring 2009).

Our world looks for interventions that will help us battle disease and poverty, redistribute resources, make our communities healthier, happier and safer. We look for interventions that will heal us, help us, make us well, that will save us.

Today, as Christians, we celebrate what must be for us the intervention of all interventions—the mother of interventions—an intentional intercession or act that brought and continues to bring about change in our lives individually, as communities, as the wonderful, damaged Creation of God. This act, this intervention, this intercession is literally an act of God. It is God’s intervention in God’s very own Creation in and for the sake of that Creation. It is incarnation—God becoming human, God becoming creaturely, God, the Creator entering the Creation in order to bring about change; in order that we might understand a little, just a little something of what God is all about; in order that we might turn again to God who is the author of our being and our redemption; in order that we might be enfolded into real relationship with God—“our God contracted to a span, incomprehensibly made [hu]man… [so] shall his love be fully showed, and we shall then be lost in God” in the words of Charles Wesley (Together in Song 305).

This intervention was and is a real breakthrough. God reveals God’s self completely in the person of Jesus, a vulnerable baby, a teacher and healer, a prophet, a persistent problem for the authorities, a victim of Roman crucifixion, and the firstborn child of the new Creation, resurrected from the dead. In God becoming one of us, we are enfolded again into God. We are redeemed as God’s glorious Creation and re-commissioned in God’s service. It is a real breakthrough and in it, we are offered real change—change that wants the world to honour God which means loving God, loving our neighbours including our enemies, and caring for the whole of God’s Creation; change that means we know that it’s not all about us or all up to us, but that everything and everyone is in the hands of God; change that means the whole Creation will know peace and reconciliation with God our Creator. This intervention is an act of Wisdom bar none.

This intervention is an act, a movement, an complete experience—full immersion in the very thing that God has made. “[T]he Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father's only son, full of grace and truth.” (John 1:14) Theologians have wrestled with the concept from the very beginning of Christianity. God speaks and it happens. God’s Word, God’s intention is always embodied, always enacted, always alive and active. God’s Word is not just heard or seen, God’s Word is demonstrated and experienced.

And today, Christmas Day, we are invited to enter into the full experience of this intervention again—to dare to wait at the fringes of the birth scene, knowing that it is not just a glimpse that is promised, but a close-up encounter, a real life relationship with the Creator of All, a real life experience with the greatest intervention of all, the very Wisdom/Word of God; to dare to take a step forward into the scene and marvel that our God chooses to be made vulnerable in order to communicate God’s very self with us; to dare to pick up the baby and nurse it and comfort it for that is God demonstrating the greatest Wisdom of all; and even more to dare to let that baby grow up, to teach and to heal, to love and to care, to laugh and to cry, to live and to die on a cross prepared for the One who knew what any real intervention would take to bring real change for a wonderful, damaged, redeemable Creation—“our God contracted to a span, incomprehensibly made [hu]man” for the sake of the whole Creation.

A Funny Kind of Good News

“So, with many other exhortations, he [John] proclaimed the good news to the people” (Luke 3:18). With exhortations like "You brood of vipers!” (v. 7) and “one who is more powerful … will baptise you with fire” (v. 16) and “His winnowing fork is in his hand… the chaff he will burn” (v. 17), John proclaimed the good news.

Now, I don’t know about you, but being addressed as a “brood of vipers” hardly sounds like “good news” or does it?

John’s preaching is not the namby-pamby platitudes of a preacher who wants only to be liked by his audience. John’s preaching is not the preaching of a minister who thinks that pastoral care is only about making people feel comfortable. John’s preaching is challenging and threatening. John’s preaching makes people feel decidedly uncomfortable; John’s preaching demands that people examine themselves; and John’s preaching threatens the status quo. And the Gospel of Luke says, John’s preaching was the “good news”. And maybe is the good news that we really need in a world where being comfortable is proclaimed as value for which to aim; where we get so caught up in examining others and finding fault, we neglect to face up to the realities of ourselves; where those asked to monitor our laws and our finances seem to be more concerned about making those things work just for them.

This good news challenges the powerful to use their power responsibly. It challenges the rich to use their resources for the good of the community. It challenges the financial monitors to act ethically.

And lest we think this good news is not for us. Let’s remember the riches we have, the power we have, the responsibility we have, in relation to many, many others—our families, our friends, the people we work or volunteer with, the billions of people in nations that have much less in terms of resource than we do in Australia. The thing is that even if we think we are acting responsibility, this good news asks us to think again, and to think harder, and to act even better. And essentially it makes that challenge in the context of community. So you may have the power to buy what you want and spend what you like, but is that what is the best thing for the community not just in which you live, but the community of the whole Creation? So you may have the power to make others acquiesce to your opinions, but is that what is the best thing for the community not just in which you live, but the community of the whole Creation? So, you have the power to demand what you like of others by force of the authoritative position you hold in a community (whether formally or informally), but is that what is the best thing for the community not just in which you live, but the community of the whole Creation? This good news is not news of individual rights and freedoms. It is good news about the common good. And for those who have power and money and position, that good news is threatening. And whether we like it or not, that means that good news is for us. It is for us who live in a wealthy nation. It is for us who are used to seeking our own way. It is for us who think we know and understand; and who believe we therefore have the right to dictate to others—not just individual others, but a whole community. This good news is for all, because it is for us.

The Gospel of Luke says the crowds flocked to John. For some reason, they were energised by his preaching. Maybe they really were from the poor and the downtrodden. Certainly, they were looking for a new freedom from the lives which were theirs. But what if they were really the middle classes, the ones who found themselves between rocks and hard places—neither very wealthy, nor very poor—the very place that we tend to see ourselves occupying. What if they flocked to John because they didn’t think the good news was them, but for others? What if they saw the good news as another way of getting what they wanted, of having what they felt entitled to, of telling others how manipulative and power-mongering they were? What if they were really just humans like us?

The good news is for all, not for them. The good news is for all, not for some. The good news is for us, not just for others. And this good news is challenging and threatening. This good news makes us feel decidedly uncomfortable. This good news demands that people examine themselves. This good news threatens our status quo.

It’s easy to jump on a bandwagon that appears to be in our interests. But we are being asked to jump on a bandwagon that, in times of many of the values of today’s world, is not our own interests. It will not make us rich. It will not bring other people under our control. It will not justify lifestyles of consumption. It will not justify claims to the rights of individuals to do what they like and to hell with others. This good news is not in our own interests. It is in the interests of the community of the whole Creation; and that is the reason it is for us—not that it justifies ourselves, but that it frees us from self-preoccupation; not that it frees us to operate as we like, but that it opens us to act for the common good; not that it allows us to use our power as we want, but that it asks us to use our power in the interests of others. This is the good news; and because it is good news for us, it is good news for all—good news for the whole of Creation.

“So, with many other exhortations, he [John] proclaimed the good news to the people” (Luke 3:18). It’s a funny kind of good news in the values of today’s world that demands more of us, rather than less; that curbs our power, rather than expands it; that challenges and questions us, rather than comforts us and leaves us complacent. But this is the good news of a Saviour who comes with a baptism of fire. And this is the good news that we say is for us! May it be so in this Advent season!

All Flesh Shall See the Salvation of God!

The “word of God came to John son of Zechariah” (Luke 3:2). John proclaimed “a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins” (v. 3). It was just like the prophet Isaiah said: "The voice of one crying out in the wilderness: 'Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight. Every valley shall be filled, and every mountain and hill shall be made low, and the crooked shall be made straight, and the rough ways made smooth; and all flesh shall see the salvation of God.'" (vs 4-6)

“All flesh shall see the salvation of God”—all flesh, all humanity, all mortal beings, all material things, all physical existence, all Creation--“All flesh shall see the salvation of God.”

This is a grand vision—a big picture: “Every valley shall be filled, and every mountain and hill shall be made low…; and all flesh shall see the salvation of God.'" (vs 5-6)

“All flesh shall see the salvation of God”—the deliverance of God; the redemption of God; the reconciliation of God—a process, not an event; an activity, not a completion—a grand vision of a grand course of action—a promise, a proclamation that everyone and everything will be involved in the very action of God.

John is caught up into God’s word, God’s action in the world, and John proclaims that that is the destiny for all of God’s Creation. “All flesh shall see the salvation of God.”

This is what the prophet Isaiah proclaimed: “the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all people shall see it together, for the mouth of the Lord has spoken.” (Isaiah 40:6) The mouth of the Lord has spoken and God’s speech is never just words. God’s words are living and active—God says and it happens; God speaks and it is God’s action; God expresses God’s self and it is the very nature of God.

This is what has been happening—the salvation of God—the process of God’s deliverance of a Creation made by God, loved by God, and in continual relationship with God. John proclaims the living word, the living action of God. And all flesh has been witnessing it, is witnessing it and will continue to witness it for it is God’s intention and God’s work and God’s nature poured out in and through Creation.

We are waiting for its completion; but, more importantly, we are involved in the process of its happening.

This process, this action is bigger than any idea of individualised salvation, of single creatures being brought closer to God. This promise, this revelation, is about what God is doing with and for and in the whole Creation. “All flesh shall see the salvation of God.”

John invites his listeners into this bigger picture, into this broader understanding of God’s purposes for everything they are and everything they know.

But entering the vision, entering God’s vision, the grand vision proclaimed by God involves a profound word/action of our own—not a word/action to ensure our salvation (salvation is of God!); but a word/action that opens ourselves to the big picture—a word/action of humility; a word/action of responsibility; a word/action that indicates a change in our worldview, a change in our understanding of ourselves, of Creation and of God—an acknowledgement, a recognition that we do not see what God sees, and we do not understand how God acts, and we cannot determine how God works—an act of repentance, of metanoia, an act of changing our minds, in order that we might be open to catching a glimpse, just a small glimpse, of the mind of God—a word/action that makes it possible for us also to be witnesses to and proclaimers of the action of God; for us also to be proclaimers of the grand vision of John, son of Zechariah, and of Isaiah; a grand vision that is most fully and completely revealed in the very entry of God’s Word into God’s Creation in the person and work of Jesus. “All flesh shall see the salvation of God.”

And John is proclaiming that God is about to make it as easy as it can be to catch that glimpse of God’s work--through the profound gift of Jesus; God’s personal entry into the Creation itself.

Now we sit on the other side of that profound revelation and the words of Isaiah, and of John, echo down the ages to find us still waiting, still looking, still hoping, still expecting something grand to happen; and still being asked to see that it is, that it is and has been happening, that it is and will continue to happen as the work of God goes on in and through Creation, in and for the sake of the whole Creation.

What does it take for us to see? What does it take for us to catch a glimpse, just a small glimpse, of what God is doing?

Let’s not look for the grand cataclysms, the spectacular apocalypses, the special effects end of the world. Let’s open our minds to a change. Let’s open our eyes for a different revelation. Let’s at least suspect that we may not understand it all. Let’s wait quietly and hopefully for a God who has been and is at work in our midst—a God who comes in vulnerability, not in triumph; a God who begs us to notice, not demands our attention; a God who enters our world in the pain of childbirth, and the wonder of a baby’s first cry. Let’s dare to open ourselves to the profound word/action of God--“All flesh shall see the salvation of God.”

A Different Kind of Kingdom

Grace to you and peace from him who is and who was and who is to come, and from the seven spirits who are before his throne, and from Jesus Christ, the faithful witness, the firstborn of the dead, and the ruler of the kings of the earth. To him who loves us and freed us from our sins by his blood, and made us to be a kingdom, priests serving his God and Father, to him be glory and dominion forever and ever. Amen. (Revelation 1:4b-6)

Jesus Christ—the one who “made us to be a kingdom”—a kingdom, but what type of kingdom? What type of government operates in this place?

At first glance, we might say an “absolute monarchy” of course. Jesus is king. What Jesus says goes! That’s what it’s all about—autocracy—one king, one ruler, one way of doing things, one will which commands and all are forced to obey.

There are 2 problems with that, well actually 3. Firstly, what happens with the other 2 persons of the Trinity if Jesus is that kind of king? The very nature of our God is to be relational. The nature of God is not to have one part of God reigning absolutely over another; but that God, God’s self, is actively engaged in relationship all the time—and calls the people of God to be similarly engaged. The nature of God is not to be an absolute monarch—the Creation would have been a very different place if that were the case.

The second problem with the idea of absolute monarchy as the government of the kingdom is that we know that Jesus is not that kind of king! That kind of king does not make himself vulnerable to the vagaries of the world by giving up what he has and undergoing the kind of passion that Jesus undergoes. That kind of monarch does not enter the world of his subjects as an ordinary child, at the mercy of the will of others. That kind of monarch does not seek to persuade through love and mercy and openness and vulnerability, because only love and mercy and openness and vulnerability can bring about the type of kingdom that Jesus in on about. An absolute monarch rules absolutely and no dissent is permitted, because dissent and unrest are a threat to the reign. Jesus is not a king who is worried about such a threat to his reign.

The third problem we have with the idea of Jesus as an absolute monarch is that we know that we are not those kind of subjects. God did not create us to be automatons—robots to follow directives without any thoughts or initiative of our own. We are rebellious and dissenting and God does not bring us under control with water cannons and riot shields, but with invitation, and care, and love. No, the imagery of Jesus as absolute monarch is not the way to understand the kind of governance model operating in the kingdom made by Christ.

So, then is governance in the kingdom of Jesus democratic. Do we all get our say and the majority rules? Is it just what you or I think is good as long as we have the numbers? That idea doesn’t sound right either. Majority rule doesn’t guarantee that the reign of Christ is in place. We are a varied and disparate people. We are a stupid and wayward people. Democracy is a secular system of government that assumes that the collective opinion of people will give us the best possible governance result and perhaps that is true for nations of people (as long as popularism doesn’t hold sway), but it doesn’t help us to understand the kind of governance that operates under the reign of Christ.

Right now, you might be wondering why we would even want to persist with the question. Isn’t government in the kingdom of Christ some kind of future reality that really has no bearing on what we’re doing now? Isn’t it just an esoteric question—something akin to how many angels can you fit on the head of a pin?

Well, no, the question of governance in the kingdom of Christ is a question of what we are called to be engaged in now as the foretaste of that kingdom which is the body of Christ, the church. And we only need to look around at our sister and brother Christians to be reminded that the church chooses to operate under a variety of human governance systems, because the question is not so much how we organise ourselves as what we think we’re engaged in as we do so.

Whether a particular part of the church chooses to operate under an episcopal system (a system of personal authority) or a conciliar system (a system of collective authority) or some kind of combination of both is not what is at stake here. What is at stake is, “How is it that Christ reigns in our hearts, our lives, our communities, our families?” And that has almost nothing to do with the question of who gets to vote! It has everything to do with what we think we are aiming to achieve.

In the Uniting Church’s Manual for Meetings (Section 1.1), we are reminded that “When a council of the church makes decisions, it is aiming to discern the guidance of the Spirit in response to the word of God.”

Our deliberation and decision-making as the people of God is never made in a vacuum, or from off-the-top-of-our-head how we are feeling now. Our deliberation and decision-making as the people of God is always done in the context of our understanding of who God is and who we are before God. In that, we are guided by our theological tradition—the church’s understanding of God and everything in relation to God. We are guided by good and deep reflection on that tradition in the light of “the inheritance of literary, historical and scientific enquiry which has characterised recent centuries” in the words of the Basis of Union Para. 11, i.e. in the light of our contemporary human experience also reflected upon deeply and critically.

When a council of the church makes decisions, it is aiming to discern the guidance of the Spirit in response to the word of God... [The Manual for Meetings continues] discernment is not something for which we can set down the rules.

But the processes we use to create community and communicate in our meetings can themselves assist in the discernment process. This will be enhanced if people come expecting to be open both to the Spirit and to each other. By creating and sustaining effective communications in the context of a Christian community, we will be more likely to discern the guidance of the Spirit and reflect this in our decision-making.

That is not to say that community should be ‘nice’ all the time. We will struggle through pain and difficulty together as well as experiencing the joy of open and honest communication, being unified in our brokenness and our common identity under God. When members are left hurt or the community is broken, poor decisions are likely to be made and the church has failed to be true community. (Manual for Meetings Section 1.1)

A professor of mine used to talk about this type of governance as “Christocracy”. It cannot be brought about by any particular kind of human system of governance. It can only be the product of the work of God amidst a people who earnestly and sincerely submit themselves to the task of seeking God’s will and not just the expression of their own desires. Its presence is not determined by whether you or I like the outcome of any particular deliberations or decisions. As the Manual for Meetings says: “In retrospect …some decisions are considered to have been visionary and innovative, others inappropriate and destructive, whether or not they were seen that way at the time.” (Section 1.1) Nor is the presence of the reign of Christ determined by whether you or I have had “our say”. The presence of the reign of Christ is signified in our midst by our willingness to participate in the process as determined by our church for the sake of the community of Christ, in pursuit of God’s will for our world, and under the promise of God’s reign. And that is what we are called to do today, as we meet as one of the councils of the Uniting Church, the Congregation.

Grace to you and peace from him who is and who was and who is to come, and from the seven spirits who are before his throne, and from Jesus Christ, the faithful witness, the firstborn of the dead, and the ruler of the kings of the earth. To him who loves us and freed us from our sins by his blood, and made us to be a kingdom, priests serving his God and Father, to him be glory and dominion forever and ever. Amen. (Revelation 1:4b-6)

Only God Builds God's House

Unless the LORD builds the house, those who build it labour in vain. (Ps. 127:1a)

And in the book of Ruth, God is intent on building a house, a particular kind of house of God’s own—not a building of stone or wood, or even a tent, but a people, a dynasty; and not a house of new and perfect pieces, but one of imperfect and mixed ancestry—not pure, not wholly of the chosen people, but chosen nevertheless. And the Gospel of Matthew understands the intent because it is that Gospel that carefully remembers the story, the dynastic line of the house of David, and of Jesus according to that Gospel—the dynastic line of Ruth, a foreigner, an alien, and a part of the family, the house of God.

Unless the LORD builds the house, those who build it labour in vain. (Ps. 127:1a)

Ruth is the foreign daughter-in-law of Naomi, widow of Elimelech of Bethlehem. Ruth is a widow too. All the men in the family have died. Naomi attempts to release Ruth from her commitments, to send her back to her family in Moab; but Ruth re-commits herself to Naomi, to Naomi’s people, and to the God of that people. But they are widows and they are on their own.

Unless the LORD builds the house, those who build it labour in vain. (Ps. 127:1a)

Financial independence for women at the time was rare, although not completely unheard of in the upper eschelons of society. Ruth and Naomi were not of that class. Generally then, women were required to be and needed to be under the protection of a male—a father, a husband, even an uncle would do. Not only that but women were generally not seen as independent people, they were always considered as someone's wife or mother or mother‑in‑law or daughter‑in‑law.  The worst position for a woman to be in was to be a widow with dependent children and no other family or at least no other family who would take seriously the role of the "go'el".

The "go'el" was the next of kin—the one who according to Jewish law was responsible for caring for the widows and the orphans. The responsibilities of the "go'el" even extended to marriage of the widow, if that was possible, and the procreation of children on behalf of the deceased husband in order that the family line might be continued. In a world where women and children were treated as possessions, it was the go'el's task to redeem these people just as one would redeem property which is in danger of being lost to someone else or lost altogether to the family.

Now at the beginning of the story of Ruth, the situation looks hopeless, Ruth and Naomi are on their own left to fend for themselves, a feat they do achieve rather well given their circumstances. But at the beginning of chapter 2, we read the fateful words "Now Naomi had a relative on her husband's side, from the clan of Elimelech, a man of standing, whose name was Boaz."  And here although the story doesn't say it yet, you must think with a Hebrew mind and say, "Ah, is Boaz the one who is supposed to take on the responsibilities of the go'el. If that is so, why hasn't it happened?  Sure, Naomi is old but the responsibility must be filled." And the intrigue begins and the story continues.

Unless the LORD builds the house, those who build it labour in vain. (Ps. 127:1a)

Ruth, relegated to the role of gleaning, of the picking up the leavings of the harvest, so that she and Naomi might live, determines to go to the fields and glean after the harvesters. Naomi suggests that she go to the fields of Boaz. Whilst in the fields, Boaz notices Ruth, discovers who she is, and offers her his protection. Via the threshing-room floor incident, Ruth and Naomi persuade Boaz to take on the role of the "go'el".

Eventually we discover that Boaz is not the closest kin of Naomi but that another person who is, has not performed the role of "go'el" either. Boaz takes on the task, marries Ruth a child is born. A Moabite women has been welded into the Hebrew people through the ancient and honourable tradition of the "go'el" even if the women had to do a bit of work to call their own family to task to achieve it.

Unless the LORD builds the house, those who build it labour in vain. (Ps. 127:1a)

So God builds an unusual dynasty of odds and sods to produce the great King, David, and to establish the Davidic line.

And the Gospel of Matthew understands it so well, when Ruth is included as one of only 4 women in the genealogy of Jesus.

Unless the LORD builds the house, those who build it labour in vain. (Ps. 127:1a)

And there’s a lot of labouring in vain observed by Jesus at the treasury—scribes parading looking for respect and places of honour; rich people making great shows of the money they give. But none of these attract his attention so much as the widow who contributes so little and yet so much out of her poverty, not out of abundance.

Unless the LORD builds the house, those who build it labour in vain. (Ps. 127:1a)

And when you have so much that you think you’re building the kingdom of God on your own, you’re completely missing the point; but when you recognise that you like everyone else are in need of God’s love, God’s redemption, a proper Redeemer, a proper “go’el”, then you have been enfolded into that house of odds and sods, of lepers and the lost, that is really the household of God. Because it is not what we do or who we are, but what God sees in us, and the way in which God claims us that gives us life. 

Being in Conversation with God

In the last chapter of Job, Job speaks, recalling some of the words that God has spoken out of the whirlwind: “Who is this that hides counsel without knowledge?”; “Hear, and I will speak; I will question you, and you declare to me.” In recalling these questions and declarations from God, Job addresses the God who has spoken out of the whirlwind. He enters into dialogue with God.

Job speaks a number of times throughout the book: to curse the day of his birth; to tell his friends that he would prefer that God would kill him; to resist entering into conversation with God about the justice of his situation; to complain about his torment; to suggest that perhaps if he could find God, he would argue with God; to capitulate, to back down before the God who speaks out of the whirlwind; and finally, finally…

And there is our problem… What does Job finally do? The end of the book of Job continues to be an enigma, a puzzle for scholars and ordinary people of faith alike. Is it a bid to repentance? Is it an admonition to silence? Or is it something else…? What does Job really do?

In order to think about that question, we need to re-visit the speech of the God who speaks out of the whirlwind and to have a bit of a conversation with that God ourselves.

Who measures the dimensions of the earth? Who knows on what its bases were sunk? Who knows what it was like “in the beginning”? God inquires of Job.

Let’s see how we would respond: Well, actually God of the whirlwind, we have a pretty fair idea what the beginning of the universe was like and what we don’t know, we probably will one day. It’s only a matter of time.

Who causes the floods? Who is able to send forth lightning? Who can number the clouds and shift the waterskins of the heavens?

Well, actually God of the whirlwind, we’re not bad at affecting the weather and the climate either, and pushing around or hoarding water supplies willynilly is something you’d have to say we’ve excelled at in recent times, even if on some days, we’re prepared to admit that more in shame than in honour.

Who provides for the wild beasts? Who knows what endangered species need? Who seeks to provide for their wellbeing?

Well, actually God of the whirlwind, we do. Yes, actually, we do.

The questions that the God of the whirlwind asks aren’t questions that frighten us or drive us into submission or send us to our knees in awe and admiration any more. In fact, they spark our imaginations and scientific inquiry. We know so much, and what we don’t know we expect that we will some time. We know that we are doing things that once were thought of as only belonging to God. And what’s more, we know that we can no longer shrink away at that reality, or shrug our shoulders at that possibility, or even act as if it somehow were an act of defiance against God. It’s just our reality: that we play God and know that we are doing it. That we offer answers to God’s questions out of the knowledge and skills we have been given; and we seek out the possibility to respond to yet more difficult questions. But Job did not get to that point until the very end of the book.

The blind man by the roadside at Jericho who called out to Jesus was there. He was certain that Jesus could do something about a situation that was patently unfair: “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!” “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!” You who represent God, you who stand in the line of the God’s chosen ones, you who understands the ways of God, surely you will look at me and see that I am in need of mercy. I need help. It is not just that I am this way; and furthermore, it is just that I should challenge God on this situation.

The people around him are not so sure that this is a conversation that should happen. They want the man to be quiet. But Bartimaeus, the blind beggar, does not cease wanting to enter the conversation with Jesus. He persists: “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!” And eventually, Jesus hears him, continues the conversation with a question “What do you want me to do for you?” and acknowledges the faith of this one who has dared to enter into conversation with God.

Surely, God does want to engage us. God does want to be in conversation with us. And God does want us to be real conversation partners. God asksquestions not to belittle or silence us, not to gobsmack us or smack us into submission, but to be in conversation, to be in dialogue, to be a part of our world, our work and our play. When I was a small child, my mother used to read me a story about that: The Way of the Whirlwind by Mary & Elizabeth Durack

Nungaree and Jungaree had a baby brother called Woogoo. One morning, Nungaree and Jungaree decide that Woogoo “was old enough to go with them on their walk-about to the river”. They had a lovely time playing together and feasting on bush foods. Early in the afternoon, they “curled up in the shade of the river trees and went sound asleep”. When Nungaree and Jungaree awoke, Woogoo was nowhere to be seen. They looked “for his footprints in the river sand, but they saw nothing, for a wind had come past as they slept and swept the sand clear of all marks”. They looked and looked along the river, “but Woogoo was nowhere to be found”.

To cut a very long story quite short, a crocodile takes Nungaree and Jungaree to Old Father Bremurer, “the spirit father of all the children of the dream country” who suggests that the wind that wiped away Woogoo’s tracks was the Whirlwind who actually took Woogoo away. Now they must find “where in all the world … the Whirlwind [goes] to sleep”.

“Here-and-there [the Whirlwind] was one of the most unpopular sprites in the whole of the dream country. He was a thief and he was a tease and he carried his mischief far beyond even the dark people’s idea of a joke.” “Even though he had never been known to steal a child from them before, they always believed him quite capable of doing so”. So Nungaree and Jungaree set out to find this much feared and illusive baby thief.

As one does in stories such as this, they consult many other of the dream country inhabitants on their way: grandfather flying-fox; the stick-man; the brolgas, Bubba Piebi “who fished by night to feed the terrible spirits, and had the power of turning human beings and animals into fish”; Mother Mopoke; an old lizard; kangaroos… Until, at last, Father Bremurer, the rainbow serpent, provides a rainbow bridge to the end of somewhere where Here-and-there the Whirlwind sleeps.

There, they find Woogoo, but not sad, afraid and crying, gurgling, chuckling and playing with Here-and-there the Whirlwind. They discover that Here-and-there is lonely, not scary, and that Here-and-there really only wants to play and be loved. Nungaree, Jungaree and Woogoo cannot stay in the place at the end of somewhere, but they promise to play with Here-and-there whenever the Whirlwind comes “twirling and twisting … whirling and swirling … laughing and rustling and hissing with joy in the long yellow grasses”. Because it is play, not fear that is the way of the whirlwind.

In his book, Playing God, Andrew Dutney reminds us that we live in a “risk society”: a world where we know a lot about the challenges that confront us, where risks “can be predicted, calculated and, consequently, reduced or possibly even eliminated by the decisions we make now”. Whatever their probability, those risks require management because of our knowledge. Our knowledge calls us into a different relationship with the world around us. In the past, the kinds of things we do to “manage risks” have been called “playing God” and the term has been used derogatorily, as if “playing God” is a bad, unfortunate, even sinful thing. In our contemporary context, for Dutney, it is simply what we must do, what we do do and what we are able to do. Dutney writes his book out of the background of the death of his and his wife Heather’s only child in very early infancy from a disease that is not yet preventable, not yet curable, but can be managed to a certain extent.

Because of the knowledge we have and the ability to make choices that comes with it, we do play God, but play, in this context, for Dutney:

is not a frivolous waste of time or simply a rest from work, but a necessary part of the way we fit and re-fit ourselves for effective living—whether or not we know we are doing it. In play we take the exercise we need—physical, emotional, intellectual, creative, social and cultural—to tone and maintain the selves we become through the living of our lives. In play we also tend to our abused or damaged selves, finding comfort and healing. In play we keep our selves open to inspiration, experiment and new growth, making us ready for the unforeseen developments and unprecedented challenges of a life and a world that is in constant change (p. 27).

Play demands relationship with our world, with other people, with God. We cannot rehearse who are in the world without a world. We cannot rehearse who we are in relation to others without being in relation with others. We cannot rehearse who we are in relation to God without being in relation with God. When we dare to respond to God’s questions, we dare to enter into play with God. We dare to be in relationship with God and to be adults in that relationship, not simpering children, or submissive slaves, or spineless lackeys. We dare to prompt hard questions and to respond as best we can, even when we may not know all that our response will entail. We dare to enter the way of the whirlwind, out of which our God speaks. And that just might be what Job actually does at the end of the book, to turn towards a God who wants to be in a real relationship with him. Is this not what God wants for us too?

Open up!

Ephphatha! Be opened! Open up! ‘Then looking up to heaven, [Jesus] sighed [or perhaps Jesus groaned] and said to [the deaf man who had an impediment in his speech] , "Ephphatha," that is, "Be opened." (Mark 7:34 NRSV) Ephphatha! Be opened! Open up!

There are a few times in the Gospels where we have words not in the koine Greek of the Gospels nor even in the Hebrew of the Old Testament, but in the Aramaic that is probably what Jesus and his disciples actually spoke. Aramaic is a Hebrew variation. Like Hebrew, it is one of those languages that belongs to the Middle Eastern family of languages which includes Arabic.

In our Gospel story for today, we hear one of those times when Aramaic is used: Ephphatha! Be opened! Open up!

Now when we run across these Aramaic words, scholars have been inclined to think that perhaps it is in these stories that we come closest to hearing something of the actual words that Jesus spoke: Ephphatha! Be opened! Open up! Because if the word is there in Aramaic, then perhaps it has been transmitted from its first use and the first observers of the ministry of Jesus.

Ephphatha! Be opened! Open up! Here, in this story in the Mark, the command is firstly to a deaf person with a speech impediment. It is a story of physical healing. Open up! Be healed! Be whole! Participate in the world around you fully!

But the fact that those words seem to have endured would indicate that they don’t just relate to one particular incident—however miraculous that incident may have been. The fact that the Aramaic word has persisted in the Greek text suggests that it had and indeed has a powerful, symbolic role in talking about and explaining the significance of Jesus, not for that one person, but for all of humanity, for us.

That word would appear to have said something and indeed say something not just about what Jesus might have done on one occasion, but something about what the ministry of Jesus offered and offers as a whole. Ephphatha! Be opened! Open up!

There are people who look into Christianity from outside who don’t see what that Aramaic word is all about. They see Christianity as something that doesn’t open things up, but rather closes things down. They may understand Christianity as being about being put in a straight jacket, rather than wearing practical, comfortable clothing that protects and allows for good movement. They may think about Christianity as a set of rules, rather than a way of living that is open to God and the things of God.

But this Aramaic word preserved in the Markan text speaks of a different understanding of what Christianity is all about: Ephphatha! Be opened! Open up! It speaks of an approach to life with God that is freeing and healing; that brings hope and wholeness; that prompts the full participation of people in the life with which we have been gifted.

Just prior to the use of this word in the text, we have heard another story of freedom: the story of a Gentile woman who claims for herself and her daughter a place at God’s table; and of a Jesus who opens himself up to the possibilities that God offers for all people and not just for some. Ephphatha! Be opened! Open up! This life is for all!

Christianity is about opening up: opening up to God; opening up to others; opening up to those who are most closed off; opening up for those who are most closed off; opening up those who are most closed off. The imagery of the healing of a man who is deaf and mute is also the promise of giving voice to the silent and opening the ears of those who do not listen. It is a picture of people being able to enter fully into the life for which they have been created. Ephphatha! Be opened! Open up!

So, what does that mean for us now? Where are we being called to be open in our lives? In what ways are we being called to open up to the fullness of the life with which we have been gifted?

The Ephphatha rite is part of the sacrament of baptism. When today, I said to Archer, “May the Lord open your ears to hear God’s Word and your mouth to proclaim God’s praise!”, and touched his ears and his mouth, I was technically doing the Ephphatha rite, the ritual that is drawn from this very Gospel text. None of you thought that what was happening was a physical healing, because we know that Archer is a healthy baby who can hear and can speak, or at least make his voice heard, very well! Rather, we were offering God’s blessing upon Archer to participate in God’s life fully, to hear God’s Word and do it, to know God’s goodness and proclaim it in word and deed.

And that is what we have been called to in our baptism—the hearing and doing of God’s Word, the knowing and proclaiming of God’s goodness—in order that others might also hear and do and know and proclaim; in order that others might fully participate in the life with which we have been gifted by God. Ephphatha! Be opened! Open up!

That opening up is an opening up for all people, not just for some; even for those people whom we sometimes wonder about. Everybody, Jew and Gentile; slave and free; male and female; gay and straight; married and unmarried; young and old and in-between; Anglo and Asian, African and Islander, Arabic and Aboriginal; Green and Labor, Liberal and Independent--the Ephphatha is a blessing for everyone and a promise for all. Ephphatha! Be opened! Open up! This is the freedom for which we were created; the freedom to which we have been called; the freedom which has been accomplished in Jesus for us; and the freedom into which we have been baptised—the freedom of full participation in the life with which God has gifted us!

Strengthened & Equipped!

Give up or keep going? Give up or keep going?! Give up or keep going…

How many times have you confronted that question in your life? That’s the question confronted by the disciples in our Gospel reading today—give up or keep going? And Jesus is the one who poses it.

When others who were following him decide that what he is saying is too hard and leave, Jesus turns to his inner circle and asks whether that’s what they want to do too. “What about you? You’re free to join them if you want to give up on me too.” “Have you had enough? Are you ready to give up too? Or are you prepared to keep going?” Give up or keep going!

Now that’s confronting! This is the rabbi they been following around for a while—someone who seemed to offer some hope for people who were really, really in need of hope. And now this guy is giving them a kind of ultimatum or at least the chance for them to get off the hook: “If you want to go, you can go too.”

And I know that there have been times in my faith journey when I’ve wanted to go, I’ve wanted to give up, because the story is too hard, the news is too difficult to convey, the messenger is so often misunderstood, and there’s so much baggage that has accrued to Christianity that what people sometimes think is Christian is hardly Christian at all. It’s too hard, too difficult—it’s like pushing a boulder uphill.

So just what has Jesus been saying that seems to have turned so many away? It’s pretty graphic stuff. Chew on me and I will become part of you, and you will become part of me. God is the source of my life; and I will be the source of yours; and not just the source of human life now, but of eternal life, of life in God forever.

This stuff is hard. This stuff doesn’t make a lot of sense. And maybe it’s hard for us to understand just how hard this stuff in the Gospel of John might have sounded because the imagery is so steeped in our Christian tradition; but in the first century it’s the emerging Christian story and it’s working with the Jewish story, but changing it, and change is hard!

Give up or keep going?

The disciples are confronted with a changing tradition; and it’s hard to know what’s the right way forward when the ground seems so slippery. What if you put your foot wrong? It’s not just about stumbling, it’s about whether you’re in relationship with God or not, whether you are walking in God’s way or not, so when things seem to be changing, how can you know what the right path is?

And when the way seems so uncertain, it can be very discouraging. We like nice maps, good directions, an accurate GPS. We like to know that we’re on the right path; we’re not being led astray; we are walking the path that has been set for us… by God.

Give up or keep going?

But Jesus has given them a clue—a clue to the discernment of the Spirit’s leading. He’s already given them (and us) a clue when he’s been speaking to those others who chose to leave and to those who remain, at least for the time being. “Everything I’ve said to you is life-giving. Everything I’ve said to you is life-giving.” That’s the clue! That’s the way to know the way! The good news of Jesus is life-giving!

Give up or keep going? What is the path that leads to life; and not just the sort of life guaranteed by bread, but the life guaranteed by God—life that is fulfilling and abundant and freeing—real life, the life that comes with freedom, proper freedom—not the freedom to do what I like, the freedom of acting in accordance with God’s intent without being afraid that you might not be on the right path—the freedom of being in God. Now that’s scary!

Because at first it sounds very much like I’m not in control, like I can’t plan my destiny, like I’m going to be in a straight jacket, but it’s not! It’s the only proper freedom there is. No wonder “When the people who had been following Jesus heard him say these things, many of them began to say, ‘Who can stomach what this man teaches? It is too tough by far.’” And the shutters were up! Because it barely sounds like freedom at all.

So Jesus wants to see if the disciples’ shutters have come up too. And Simon Peter responds and essentially his response is that the disciples who remain have caught on that Jesus’ words are life; and that Jesus’ life is God’s life; and that they are being invited to enter into the life of Jesus, the life of God.

And that is the invitation to us: give up or keep going? And when you’re making your decision, make sure you choose life, make sure you know what life you’re choosing—the only real life that there is, life in Jesus, life in God. Whether something is life-giving or death-dealing is the clue to whether it is of God! That is the struggle in which we are engaged—the struggle for that which is life-giving and the struggle against that which is death-dealing. That is the reality that Jesus is checking out with his disciples—do they know what it is that gives life? Do they know whom it is who gives life? Because if they don’t, they might as well leave now; because they will be defenceless. They will not be able to discern the life to which they have been called, let alone the armour which it provides them for the journey—an armour not of military might and physical strength, but of the things of God—truth and righteousness, peace and faith, and above all salvation.

So in order to keep discerning the right path, in order to keep connected to the way of life, we need to keep in relationship with God; and for the disciples, that relationship is firsthand with Jesus; and the disciples of Jesus that firsthand relationship is made possible because of Jesus who is God and did enter God’s world in order to show what real life is, in order to demonstrate what real life is, and in order to give that real life to all who only choose to ask. Give up or keep going? Live life or succumb that which hinders and even extinguishes life.

“Lord, who else could we turn to? Your words have opened our eyes to life without limit. You have won our trust and we are convinced that you are God’s Holy One.”