Life is a Gift

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Called to Believe!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And this then becomes the call on our lives.

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

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

Called to Rise with Christ!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Welling Up of Life!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

On the Mountain-Top!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Working from the Whole Plan

So, I’m sure you’ve heard the story about the men who can’t see and the elephant. It comes in various versions from a variety of religious traditions: Hinduism, Jainism, Islamic Sufism, Buddhism… I’ve heard it often enough in Christian contexts and it’s even been used in scientific contexts to talk about the way in which different perspectives on the same phenomenon produce different theoretical tools, such as the need to understand light as both waves and particles.

The story isn’t exactly the same in every version. The versions differ as to whether the men are blind or simply in the dark; the way in which the body parts of the elephant are described; how aggressive the conversation between the mean becomes; and whether the problem of their varying experiences is resolved or not.
Perhaps the most famous version of the story in the Western world is the poem by 19th century American poet, John Godfrey Saxe:

I.
It was six men of Indostan
To learning much inclined,
Who went to see the Elephant
(Though all of them were blind),
That each by observation
Might satisfy his mind.

II.
The First approached the Elephant,
And happening to fall
Against his broad and sturdy side,
At once began to bawl:
"God bless me!-but the Elephant
Is very like a wall!"

III.
The Second, feeling of the tusk,
Cried: "Ho!-what have we here
So very round and smooth and sharp?
To me't is mighty clear
This wonder of an Elephant
Is very like a spear!"

IV.
The Third approached the animal,
And happening to take
The squirming trunk within his hands,
Thus boldly up and spake:
"I see," quoth he, "the Elephant
Is very like a snake!"
 
V.
The Fourth reached out his eager hand,
And felt about the knee.
"What most this wondrous beast is like
Is mighty plain," quoth he;
"'Tis clear enough the Elephant
Is very like a tree!"

VI.
The Fifth, who chanced to touch the ear,
Said: "E'en the blindest man
Can tell what this resembles most;
Deny the fact who can,
This marvel of an Elephant
Is very like a fan!"

VII.
The Sixth no sooner had begun
About the beast to grope,
Than, seizing on the swinging tail
That fell within his scope,
"I see," quoth he, "the Elephant
Is very like a rope!"

VIII.
And so these men of Indostan
Disputed loud and long,
Each in his own opinion
Exceeding stiff and strong,
Though each was partly in the right,
And all were in the wrong!
 
Moral.
So, oft in theologic wars
The disputants, I ween,
Rail on in utter ignorance
Of what each other mean,
And prate about an Elephant
Not one of them has seen!

Jesus is in the middle of a dispute with the religious people of his day about just such an elephant. This particular elephant is God’s Law—God’s plan for the people of God; and in our Gospel reading for today, in the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus is talking to the disciples about his approach to that elephant. And it’s a very particular approach.

It’s not about coming up upon the elephant groping in the dark from one side or another and making judgments from a limited perspective; it’s about getting a whole picture—working off a whole plan—to understand what God’s requirements are all about.

Now it’s easy even today to get bogged down in one part of God’s plan just as Jesus was observing that the religious people of his day were doing. We pick and choose which bits we like and which bits we don’t. Maybe when we were listening to the Gospel reading today, we were feeling particularly uncomfortable when anger seemed to be equated with murder, looking at another person was likened to adultery, and oaths of any kind were compared with making false declarations. And if we were to pick any of the interpretations of the Law that Jesus is offering and not look at the big picture of what he is doing with his interpretations, we would be just as in the dark as those 6 men trying to work what it is that they have discovered.

Jesus uses a familiar rabbinic pattern: “You have heard it said…, but I say…” These are interpretations that have been offered of God’s Law; and my considered reflection is… And in each and every case, Jesus’ interpretation does not discuss mitigating circumstances or generous loopholes, rather it points to a stricter and more rigorous interpretation than what has been offered previously. Is this the same Jesus that defies the Sabbath laws to heal wounded people?

Well, of course, it is—because in both situations, Jesus is trying to raise people’s visions, broaden their outlooks, open up the whole plan for them; rather than allowing them to stay stuck in one particular rule or regulation, law or precept. It’s not about the laws; it’s about the Law. It’s not about the individual, practical guidelines that have been provided for us; or that we have written ourselves to help us understand what being part of the people of God is all about—it’s about understanding the big picture, the whole plan—catching a glimpse of who God is and what God wills for the whole of God’s creation.

It’s never been about following rules because the rules have been laid down. It’s always been about searching for, seeking after, aiming for the justice, love and compassion of God—the justice, love and compassion that God gives us and that we are called to offer to others. And if we ever think that working from the whole plan is easier than following the rules, then maybe we don’t understand just what an extraordinary hope that it is that God calls us towards.

We can’t rest on our laurels just because we know we’ve never physically killed or injured someone, we have to think about the injuries that we cause each other each and every day simply by being the people we are in the families and communities that we try to build. We can’t pretend we are perfect, simply because we’ve apparently lived in a faithful relationship for a long time, we have to remember that the going hasn’t always been easy, that sometimes we probably could have cheerfully killed each other for some minor hurt or another. We can’t think that because we’ve never made a false declaration, we are completely upright, we have to remember the times when we have made promises that we have been unable to keep, for any number of different reasons. We have to remember that we are no better than anyone else; that all of us are under the judgment of God’s Law which calls us to a world of ultimate justice, perfect love and unfailing compassion.

And that bring us to the other side of the whole plan that we cannot forget. God’s judgment is heavy; and the more that we are confronted by the heaviness of God’s judgment, the more we will understand the amazing depth of God’s love, God’s mercy, God’s grace.

God’s Law calls us to not to a world of human ideals and standards but to God’s world—a world that only God builds, only God plans, only God brings to fruition. Confronting God’s judgment forces us to confront God’s love. And maybe, because of that, we catch just a glimpse, unfold just a little more of the whole plan, we understand just a little better what God’s Law is really all about.

VIII.
And so these men of Indostan
Disputed loud and long,
Each in his own opinion
Exceeding stiff and strong,
Though each was partly in the right,
And all were in the wrong!

Moral.
So, oft in theologic wars
The disputants, I ween,
Rail on in utter ignorance
Of what each other mean,
And prate about an Elephant
Not one of them has seen!

Jesus is daring us to unfold the whole plan, to see the big picture, to capture an impression of the elephant, not in its parts, but in its totality. And that whole plan is both far more demanding, and far more freeing than we might ever imagine, especially if we become obsessed with just one small part.

Today, we are going to say together the Nicene Creed. It is one of the 2 ecumenical creeds shared by the whole church. It is traditionally recited when the Eucharist or Holy Communion is celebrated because it recounts the story of our faith—the big picture of who God is and who we are. It is our agreed understanding of what the faith is all about. And yet I know that for some of you, it is an uncomfortable statement of faith.

At various times in our faith journeys, each of us can get bogged down in part of that faith story. Perhaps we are concerned about the historical reliability of the story, or the scientific possibility of it. Perhaps we find some of the language archaic. We certainly don’t want to buy into left-handed discrimination by interpreting the “right-hand” where Jesus sits too literally. Nevertheless, whether we want to read the story literally or metaphorically, historically or symbolically, this story is the big picture for us; and yet it is only a vague impression of the whole story that is who God is and what God wants. It is only part of the whole story, and it is written in the limited language and concepts that humanity has at its disposal; and had at its disposal at a particular time in history.

It is more a narrative than an historical treatise. It is about theology and not about science. It is about trying to catch something of the big picture of who God is and who we are before God. It asks us not to give 21st century intellectual assent to a set of scientific principles; but to enter the story of a God who is always far more demanding, and far more gracious than we can ever fully grasp.
Sometimes the most complex things can only be shared in the simplest of language forms – that of story – because from a story there is always more to be drawn, more to be shared, more to be interpreted, more to be explored. And if we only ever relied on our own explanations of what the story itself means, we would lose the story all together.

That is what Jesus is warning against in a very roundabout way in the Sermon on the Mount and our Gospel reading for today. Don’t get lost in the outworkings; don’t get lost in the interpretations; don’t lose your way in trying to be perfect or get things perfectly right and in order in your head. Rather, remember that the whole plan, the big picture is always about the justice, and love, and mercy, and compassion of God—a justice, a love, a mercy, a compassion that we can never hope to emulate fully; and that we would gravely misrepresent if we thought it was only about following a few rules.

Let us affirm our faith in our God who is just, loving, merciful and compassionate beyond our ability to describe and our capacity to be.

You have heard it said... but we say...

You have heard it said,
“There is no god; existence is a matter of chance”;
but the people of God say,
“Praise our God, the Great Creator!”
You have heard it said, “God is dead or never was!”,
but the body of Christ says,
“God is with us—Emmanuel!”
You have heard it said, “God is a figment of the human mind!”,
but the community of the Spirit says,
“Come Holy Spirit. Great is the faithfulness of God!”