The Real Thing

My husband’s name is Russell Morris. Now if you’re of a certain generation, you don’t think of my Russell, when you hear that name, you think of the Russell Morris who sang the Johnny-Young-penned and Ian-Meldrum-produced hit song of the late 1960s, “The Real Thing”—very funky, very 60s, very mellow, very psychedelic. In fact, when I tell people my husband’s name, they often say, “You don’t mean the Russell Morris, do you?”; and my standard response has become, “No, but he’s the real thing to me.” “He’s the real thing to me.”

But, at least from the words of the song, you wouldn’t have thought “The Real Thing” was the real thing, that is, that it would be anything like a hit song in the reading. It actually only has 5 statements in the whole song:
1. “Come and see the real thing”
2. “Tryin’ hard to understand the meaning that you’ll see in me”
3. “There’s a meaning there, but the meaning there doesn’t really mean a thing”
4. “I am not seeing you”
5. “I am the real thing”

These 5 statements are repeated a number of times in succession, interspersed with the 1960s version of scat “oo mama mow-mow, oo mama mow-mow” and extending for 6 minutes—the 1960s’ equivalent of Michael Jackson’s 13 minute Thriller film clip. And perhaps it wasn’t the real thing in its original acoustic guitar version either, but by the time $10 000 AUD had been spent on studio mastering it, the song “The Real Thing” was destined to be an “Australian rock classic” and one of the limited number of Australian popular songs which has found success in the US market, particularly in the cities of Chicago and New York. In 2001, the Australiasian Performing Rights Association named “The Real Thing” as one the top 30 Australian songs of all time. It may not read like the real thing, but “The Real Thing” was and is the real thing in terms of being a hit song; and it continues to draw attention when covered by artists as diverse as Kylie Minogue and Midnight Oil; and is a must-have in regular post-mortems of Australian popular music during the end of the 20th century. Who would have thought that “The Real Thing” was the real thing? Apparently, at the time, it was just a handful of people who saw it through to the legendary status which it enjoys today.

Now as we regularly hear from pop music gurus and as we regularly witness through shows such as Australian idol, although there’s a formula for success in popular music to be followed, that formula doesn’t always guarantee that any particular song or any particular artist is destined for the success of legendary hits such as “The Real Thing”. Choosing stand-out performers and performances isn’t as simple as we’d like to think; and there are few people who can claim any record of discerning what the real thing is and where it will come from, and most of them are successful because they have had success with a few pieces out of a whole basketful that they have shepherded through the production process over a lifetime. It’s not so easy to put your hand on the real thing every time.

Which in a curious kind of way brings us to our readings for today: the reading from 2 Samuel where the people of Israel finally acknowledge David as their leader following the deaths of Saul and Jonathan and the defeat of Abner and the remnant of the House of Saul; and the reading from the Gospel of Mark where Jesus is rejected in his own hometown and subsequently sends out the Twelve to face the same possibility of rejection where they go. Both of these readings raise questions about how we discern what is real, what is acceptable, what is true; and for us, that question is not about making hit records, but about discerning the will of God. How do we and will recognise the real thing when it is in our midst or outside our door, or on the other side of the world?

Now often that question is posed for us as we consider future directions for ourselves and for our community. Certainly it is posed for us when we seek to elect representatives or leaders in our society. We know that what we like isn’t always necessarily what’s best for us. We know that the best-willed people in the world will still get it wrong sometimes; and even their best-willed intentions will have unintended consequences. And we know that we don’t have a direct line into the mind of God to know exactly what is required of us in the detail. We are not God (as much as any of us might like to wish we were). So how is it that we say we seek to discern and to follow God’s will, to travel the path of the real thing?
Christian theologian and ethicist, H. Richard Niebuhr, suggested that when the Christian community was discerning the call of God, it had to be aware of at least 4 important elements of that call on any person’s life (and particular on those who are called to the ordered ministries of the church). In The Purpose of the Church and its Ministry (1956), Niebuhr spoke firstly, of the most general and fundamental call or vocation of every Christian person: “the call to be a Christian … the call to discipleship of Jesus Christ, to hearing and doing of the Word of God, to repentance and faith, et cetera”. This is our primary vocation and it is the primary location out of which we seek to discern God’s will—the call to follow Christ.

For Niebuhr then, against this general vocation of Christ’s followers, when the specific vocation of a Christian person was being considered there were three aspects to consider. The first aspect was the “inner persuasion or experience whereby a person feels … directly summoned or invited by God to take up the work of the ministry”. Niebuhr described this as the “secret call”; and perhaps that a clue to what it’s like. God’s still small voice or silent promptings in our hearts to take up a particular yoke offered to us in the name of Christ. I’m always a bit suspicious about those who regale us most loudly about their personal call by God; and perhaps Niebuhr was too. This aspect of discerning God’s will is about tending to the personal, implicit call of God; and perhaps for our best leaders, that call is found in the secret places of their wrestling with God. We might think about the psalms of lament, of calling out to God attributed to David, the Shepherd King; and the wrestling with God by Jesus depicted in the Garden of Gethsemane and in the face of his rejection in his own hometown.

But Niebuhr was aware that a personal sense of vocation was not enough, just as the general vocation of the Christian was not enough for someone called to be a leader in Christian community. In relation to personal vocation, a “secret call” needed to be supplemented by a “providential call”, that is, by the “invitation and command to assume the work of the ministry which comes through the equipment of a person with the talents necessary for the exercise of the office and through the divine guidance of [that person’s] life by all its circumstance”. Saying that you have a call to a particular ministry and believing that you have a call to a particular ministry is not enough. In order to discern whether this perceived call is actually the call of God, attention is required to the gifts we have, the talents we exercise and to the opportunities for education and development of those raw gifts and talents to be moulded by God for God’s purposes. The story of David that we read today comes 18 chapters after Samuel anointed David as King; and 17 after the story of David’s defeat of Goliath; and in the meantime, a number of exploits and situations are recorded through which David is challenged and moulded. We may wonder what Jesus was like before he turns up being baptised by John. What does the response of his hometown suggest of the potential they did or did not see in this boy from Nazareth? And what had happened in the meantime for him to be received by so many outside his hometown as a special minister of God? What brought Jesus out of Nazareth and set him on the path to Jerusalem? And what was the purpose in sending out disciples and receiving back their reports?

But again Richard Niebuhr reminds us that the general call and the secret call and the providential call are not sufficient if we are truly to discern the call of God. The fourth aspect that requires attention is the “ecclesiastical call”—“the summons and invitation extended … by some community or institution of the Church to engage in the work of ministry”. We might also call this the corporate or the communal call. It concerns the recognition of the personal and the providential aspects of Christian vocation by the community of Christ. It is the communal call that we see very much in the story of David read today. Samuel may have anointed him; he may have defeated Goliath and been challenged by many other exploits, but it is not until this moment, when he is recognised by the people and makes a covenant with them, that David is finally declared King. The story of Jesus read together is not yet there. In that story, we still hear something of the testing of the communal call—of Jesus’ seeing how he is received in his hometown; and how his disciples are received when he sends them out. There is a long and difficult road ahead before a community affirms Jesus’ call and proclaims the most audacious political and religious claim that “Jesus is Lord!”

How do we discern the call of God? How do we know the real thing to which God is calling us? We attend to the general call to all Christians to follow Christ. We listen to the personal, secret call God plants in our hearts and minds. We heed the discernment of others in recognising our gifts and talents; and in providing opportunities for us to test and develop those strengths. And we listen to the voice of the community when it asks us to respond and recognises us for a particular role. And maybe, just maybe we will find ourselves surprised to discover that that which we weren’t quite sure was the real thing, is the real thing to God.
(H. Richard Niebuhr The Purpose of the Church and Ministry 1956 http://www.religion-online.org/showchapter.asp?title=407&C=152)

Conciliar Decision-Making

The Uniting Church makes decisions in councils. Members of those councils (Congregation; Church Council; Presbytery; Synod and Assembly) meet together to “discern the guidance of the Spirit in response to the word of God” (UCA Manual for Meetings 2004, p. 7). Conciliar decision-making is an ancient practice of the church. It’s the way in which the Christian faith was defined through the Apostles’ and Nicene Creeds in the first 5 centuries of the Christian church.

Conciliar decision-making is community decision-making. Decisions are made through a process of community interaction. Councils meet together. “Christian community develops when members of a group share the life they have in Christ. Community is strengthened as members are open to each other’s insights and feelings in pursuit of the ideals and practices around which the group is formed” (Manual p. 7).

The central practice of the Church as a decision-making community is that of worship. In and through our worship, we are formed as the people of God, the Body of Christ, the Communion of the Holy Spirit.

Ecclesial (church) decision-making is about discerning God’s will in community. Because we are human, we won’t always get our decisions right. “In retrospect… some decisions are considered to have been visionary and innovative, others inappropriate and destructive” (Manual p. 7). That’s part of the community decision-making process too. It’s not just our immediate community, but the community in continuity that is involved in discerning God’s will.

Our decision-making is governed by our primary theology (our worship) and our secondary theology (our developed systematic understandings of the nature of God and all things in relation to God). Worship and theology are key to making decisions that are faithful to who God is and who we are in relation to God. “The communal nature of the relationship expressed in the Trinity and re-expressed in the Body of Christ provides a model for the type of community we become, and both enlightens and sets limits to our agenda; for the church is a community created by Christ and sustained by the Spirit” (Manual p. 7).

We Belong To God

So where were you 32 years ago less a day? Where were you on the day of the inauguration of The Uniting Church in Australia. There was lots of excitement where I was. The crowd for the North Brisbane presbytery service marking the occasion was so big that it overflowed the fairly recently built Aspley High School assembly hall into the concrete undercroft of one of the classroom blocks. It was a freezing night in June and we Queenslanders aren’t much used to the cold, but the people remained seated in the whistling, piercing wind through that undercroft, hanging off the words transmitted from the main hall to the overflow. (There was no convenient data projection feed—it was audio only.) It was my job to manage the volume.

On the other side of Brisbane at the Brisbane Presbytery celebration, the now Revd Dr Andrew Dutney, one of the Uniting Church’s most prominent theologians, was among the crowd at the open air service at the Milton Tennis Courts. In his book, Where did the joy come from?, he describes the night as “excruciating”, running an hour overtime on “one of the coldest nights of the year”. Nevertheless, Andrew remembers it as “worth being out that night” for the sake of watching the sheer joy of one of the architects of the Basis of Union and the preacher for the evening, Revd Prof Rollie Busch. Andrew describes it this way:

I don’t remember much of what he said any more but I remember its effect. Whatever was burning in him, he shared it with us. The cold and the tedium were forgotten and we were warmed and enlivened as he read his careful, scholarly sermon… The impression he made that night seemed thoroughly improbable to me. The transparent joy of one small man using the most conventional, conservative and … dull instrument of Christian witness [preaching] did what all the rest [including massed choirs, musicians, dancers, actors, banners and processions] couldn’t. It made it worth being out that night, sitting in the cold. (p. 7)

Andrew is writing in the midst of one of those turbulent periods in the history of the Uniting Church when jibes and insults are being thrown across party lines around issues of sexuality. He looks back to that inauguration night to wonder at the vision of those who worked towards it and of their joy at achieving such a union. He looks back and asks, “Just where did that joy come from?” and “What on earth does it have to do with us now, decades after the inauguration, decimated several times over by the attrition of controversy, age and dissolutionment?” and “Is it all still worth it now in the cold nights which we experience in our time?”

I wonder, I wonder whether the disciples were similarly reflective as they looked back upon the inauguration of the ministry of the Jesus people—perhaps a decade or two down the track with the success of some missions and the difficulties of others. I wonder whether they too could look back and wonder… where did the joy come from? Where did the hope come from? Where did the peace come from… in the midst of the difficult and stormy time that was the ministry of Jesus… in the centre of the storm? And how is it that it had sustained them so far? Did the disciples ever wonder how God had been marvellously at work despite the deprivations of discipleship, the humiliations of failed following and the painful road to the cross; despite the storms in the temple and on the Sea of Galilee, the wrath of the Romans and of the religious leaders? Did they look back after the horrific debates of their day (on eating meat offered to idols and whether circumcision was required), did they look back and wonder at the awe of the vision and mission imparted in that time of beginnings?

I think the community of Mark did; and I think they must have loved the story of the calming of the sea: a story which reminded them of the wonder and awe of the work of God in the midst of stormy and difficult times. For this story depicts Jesus as being very much enfolded in God, as belonging to God, as being God—the one whom wind and sea obey; the one who discerns order in chaos; and who brings calm to troubled seas.

The Gospel of Mark is intent upon imbuing followers and prospective followers of Jesus to come with the joy and the hope and the peace that Jesus instilled in the first disciples and which they passed on to the generations of followers after that. The story has been kept and repeated and probably at least another lifetime after the death of Jesus, it has been written down—in continuing attempts to keep the story alive of where the joy and the hope and the peace had come from. And it’s a powerful story, just as the memory of Rollie Busch is a powerful memory for Andrew Dutney.

The Uniting Church has endured some stormy seas; some troubled times. This congregation has had its share of its own storms both as part of the Uniting Church and as a congregation in its own right. And it is easy to become disheartened when people move out of the community, or things we don’t understand happen, or when we just don’t seem to be able to attract other people to this God whom we care for so much.

Mark’s story of the calming of the sea invites us to see the work of God through it all—to have faith that God is at work; to look back over our history and to say, “Despite the storm, despite the cold, despite the turbulence, God was, is still and will be here.” Andrew Dutney invites us to risk again and again the journey which is faith in the unfolding work of God. Towards the end of Where did the joy come from?, he writes:

Like many other people I have been deeply troubled by the conflict that has come upon the Uniting Church. I love the Uniting Church. I am glad to be part of it. I believe that ours has been a Spirit-led adventure of faith, and that Christ still calls us onward if we have the courage to continue. And like most other members of the Uniting Church, I have been disappointed by those who have set about, or unintentionally managed to devalue and discredit what God has been doing among us and through us.

I don’t believe it’s about sexuality, or even about biblical authority any more. However it started, now it’s about whether we have the trust, the patience, the mutual commitment, the nerve to really “wait upon God’s Word”—and to keep waiting, together, as the risen Christ meets us and forms us for service “in his own strange way” [Para. 4 Basis of Union]. (pp. 37-38)

Our foundational document, the Basis of Union reminds us:

The Uniting Church affirms that it belongs to the people of God on the way to the promised end. The Uniting Church prays that, through the gift of the Spirit, God will constantly correct that which is erroneous in its life, will bring it into deeper unity with other Churches, and will use its worship, witness and service to God’s eternal glory through Jesus Christ the Lord. Amen. (Para. 18)

Happy Birthday UCA!

On 22nd June, 1977, the Congregational Union of Australia, the Methodist Church of Australasia and the Presbyterian Church of Australia, in communion with the whole Church Catholic, and seeking to bear witness to that unity which is both Christ’s gift and will for the Church, entered into union under the name of the Uniting Church in Australia. They prayed that this act would be to the glory of God the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. They gave praise for God’s gifts of grace to each of them in years past; acknowledged that none of them had responded to God’s love with a full obedience; and looked for a continuing renewal in which God will use their common worship, witness and service to set forth the word of salvation for all people. (Adapted from Para. 1, Basis of Union 1971.)

Today we celebrate the 32nd anniversary of that union as we honour the God who continues to lead us forward together.

The emblem of the Uniting Church in Australia shows the cross of Jesus Christ, in its light and love, standing over a darkened world—redeeming it through grace and truth. By that cross people are bound to Christ and each other. The Holy Spirit, symbolised by the dove with the wings of flame, empowers and guides us to be witnesses to Jesus Christ. The wide U at the bottom points to the fact that we are uniting; as a semicircle it also reminds us that the renewing of both church and world are as yet incomplete. The emblem symbolises something of the vision we have glimpsed and the hopes we hold for the future. In particular it reminds us:
• that the gospel message is central in all that we seek to do;
• of the need for constant reform and renewal;
• of our commitment to worship, witness and service.
(From “Guidelines For The Use Of The Uniting Church Logo”, Assembly Standing Committee, July 2005)

God of heaven and earth,
you make us one in Christ.
Inspire us with new vision
and the wisdom of ancient dreams.
Give us strength to walk together
until we come to our eternal home.
In Christ’s name. Amen.
(From Uniting in Worship 2, 2005)

Prayers - Adoration, Invocation, Lament, Confession

Christ, calmer of fear,
and pacifier of storm,
quieten our minds
soothe our emotions,
allay our concerns.
Ease us into a sense of awe at God’s grace,
a sense of peace in God’s presence,
a sense of security in God’s purpose.

God, keeper of the stronghold of the weak,
champion of the oppressed,
disturb our hearts,
challenge our attitudes,
prompt us to action.
Spur us into renewed vigour for your purpose,
renewed vitality in your grace,
renewed wonder in your presence.

Spirit, advocate for justice,
counsellor for reconciliation,
prompt our speech,
invoke our silence,
challenge our complacency.
Fill us with your purpose,
your enthusiasm,
your patient persistence…

… for we are afraid that we do not have faith.

We are confronted by overwhelming concerns O God:
—the future of our globe, its many species including our own—
We are afraid that we do not have faith.

We are confronted by enormous concerns O God:
—the future of the world economy, the fate of the rich and the poor—
We are afraid that we do not have faith.

We are confronted by pressing concerns O God:
—our individual futures, the fate of our children—
We are afraid that we do not have faith.

O God, grant us faith and peace,
forgiveness for our part in bringing such crises,
courage to meet the challenge of change,
and grace to face the future with hope.
In the name of Christ. Amen.

The stronghold of the weak does not forsake
those who seek God in humility and trust.
Trust in God’s name. Be assured of God’s presence.
Know that God hears our cries of pain and fear.
Hear Christ’s word of grace to us:
“Your sins are forgiven.”
Thanks be to God.

Call to Worship for Year B Ordinary Sunday 12

Who is the one whom wind and sea obeys?
Christ the bringer of peace to troubled lives.
Who is a stronghold for the oppressed?
Our God who confounds the strong with the weak.
God indeed gives shelter and strength.
Open your hearts to our Servant Lord.
We worship the God who accompanies us
in trial and in celebration.

Holy Things for Holy People

Classical Eastern Orthodox liturgy brings the worshipping assembly to a focus in the invitation offered to the people over the gifts prepared for communion: “Holy things for holy people.” It’s the equivalent of our “The gifts of God for the people of God.”

Immediately, in the Orthodox service, the response reverberates back from the gathered congregation: “One alone is holy: Jesus Christ our Lord.” “Holy things for holy people.” “One alone is holy: Jesus Christ our Lord.”

In a sense, the congregation is rebuking the priest and in this rebuke we hear both the profound tensions of our faith and the profound tensions within our faith.

Within the Christian faith, we, an unholy people, discover holiness in God. We are made holy through God. Awe-struck, awe-inspired, awe-ful, we confront the sublime, the terrible, the tremendous, the amazing holy one, only to discover that somehow we have been made holy ourselves in this very confrontation with and through the holy power of God.

In the Orthodox tradition, the gathered congregation stands in the symbolic marketplace. The holy things are prepared in the holy place by holy go-betweens who then cross the threshold of the sanctuary to enter the marketplace and offer holy things for people about to be made holy through their participation in Christ. (and indeed already made holy through their participation in Christ’s baptism)

Holy things for holy people
One alone is holy: Jesus Christ our Lord.

The rebuke of the congregation focuses the attention of the worship on Christ. It highlights the transformational focus of the sacrament, and firmly places the gathered congregation as Christ and with Christ in the world.

“Hey priest don’t get too carried away. You may live and act in this ethereal world on our behalf, but we know that that world is not the world we live in daily. When you get carried away with the ordinary beauty of holiness, we are here to remind you that the holy is extraordinarily aweful.

“We may be a holy people, but if we are it is only because of Christ. We receive these gifts because Christ makes us worthy to receive them. And if we are worthy because of Christ, we are worthy as we are, where we are, in the world in Christ.”

[Shift material to doorways of chapel.]

Within the Reformed tradition, the gathered congregation is gathered as a holy people on holy ground: a priestly people who no longer require priests; a holy people who no longer require other holy people to prepare the meal for them; a holy people who gather to share a meal in order that they may enter the marketplace as a priestly people for the world.

Occasionally, and perhaps even more than occasionally though, something is lost in the translation. In our Reformed joy at claiming our place as holy people we forget the rebuke “One alone is holy: Jesus Christ our Lord”. And in forgetting the rebuke we cross the threshold to the holy in the opposite direction not in humble service but in petulant invasion.

We are holy people and we demand holy things.

The rebuke is especially important for us then: “One alone is holy: Jesus Christ our Lord.” And yet sadly it is often lost to our tradition at least at this point in the worship service.

So let us ponder a moment on the orthodox rite. Ordinary people have been set apart for holy tasks. This setting apart makes them holy. They participate in the holy on our behalf. They confront the holy, a frightening thing, on our behalf, and they bring the holy to us in a form that we can confront ourselves: holy things for holy people.

When all is prepared they bring the holy gifts to us, crossing into the ordinariness of our world just as Jesus did in order to make the holy available to us.

The priests do what they do in order to bring the holy things to the people: a sobering lesson for our tradition that claims such a mission orientation.

If we, in our Reformed tradition, maintain that we as the people of Christ are holy and participate in holy things, then it is incumbent upon us to participate in the holy in order to make that holy available to others: to dare to confront the holy in order to mediate the holy beyond ourselves.

We may be a holy people, but if we are it is only because of Christ. We receive these gifts because Christ makes us worthy to receive them. And if we are worthy because of Christ and in Christ, then we are called to Christ’s mission in the world.

The invitation to participate fully in worship—to take up holy things as holy people—is implicit, if not explicit, in every worship experience. But this is not a simple invitation to be accepted blithely, and it is not just an invitation for the length of the worship time. It has implications.

Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts
The whole earth is full of God’s glory.
Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord.
Blessed are we who come in the name of the Lord;
and what a responsibility we bear.

Confronted by the holiness of God in a vision, Isaiah confesses his unworthiness, only to discover that the holy one continues forward bearing live coals and a commission to take a holy message with a profound sting in its tale. The prophecy assigned Isaiah is not one which the people will receive with joy. God’s message through Isaiah is: “Keep listening, but do not comprehend; keep looking, but do not understand.”

Nicodemus approaches Jesus with troubling questions of meaning and purpose. “What must I do to be holy?” And that answer is not easy either and perhaps does not even make sense. “You must be born again.”

[Throw material into air and leave as heap beneath communion table.]

More recent theologies concerned with questions of ecology, justice, the dignity of all people (Christian or not) ask us not simply to confront the making holy of ordinary things and ordinary people in the power of Christ, but the being holy of the whole of creation in the totality of God.

Here it is not simply about bearing holy things out, but baring (uncovering) the holy things that are already out there. We, the holy people of God, dare to move beyond our holy community, beyond our holy ground to a place where, in the past we have believed the holy not to be. Unexpectedly, we find the holy in that place.

Even as we have chosen to utter the invitation at the threshold of both holies, “Holy things for holy people”, the cosmos, the material, the whole of humanity and creation itself rebukes us with “One alone is holy”.

Looking back over our shoulders, we may hesitate in confusion. If God is holy and God is one, and God is here and God is there, what on earth are we doing?

This new birth, this birth into holiness from holiness, is not new. It is experienced anew a myriad of times as we both affirm that we are holy and discover we are not, discover the holiness in others where we thought it not to be, experience the presence of God in that which we were told was God-bereft, discover that we are holy when we thought we were not.

Unpalatable, confusing, confounding, awe-ful, amazing, impossible—as unpalatable as live coals, as confounding as bitter prophecy, as impossible as being born again, as unimaginable as a triune singular God, as amazing as the call to mission of an unholy, holy people. The holiness of God confronts us in Christ Jesus on our own turf wherever that may be, here in the midst of the muck, the mess, the ordinary, the unholy—the holy. Holy things for holy people. One alone is holy. And the experience of the holy impels us out to mediate the holy beyond this place, and to discover the holy anew outside what we had assumed was the holy ground, and even within our very selves.

Holy things for holy people. One alone is holy.
Even yet Jesus Christ; and we together, in the great miracle of re-birth, are the body of Christ. May we share holy gifts be found in Christ and Christ in us.