A sermon for the Second Sunday in Advent

Readings: Luke 1:68-79;  Luke 3:1-6

What drives your greatest fear?  On a personal level, do you worry about not having enough money, enough love, enough security?  On a broader scale, do you worry about the global financial crisis, global warming, escalating nuclear capabilities?  And, what impact do the familiar words of the Christmas angels have on your fear?  “Fear not ... for behold I bring you tidings of great joy which shall be for all people ... Glory to God ... and peace for all people on earth.”  It is my firm belief that if the Good News of Jesus Christ is to be more than some sanitised Christmas jingle; if the essential story of Christmas is to have any bite at all; it must address those deep fears we hold. 

So, let’s try and place our feet in the shoes of our faith ancestors, with their particular hopes and fears. To do that, let’s first not go back – but allow our imaginations to enter some future time for this country.  Imagine, if you will, the army of China – or America – Indonesia or Fiji taking Aotearoa New Zealand into their Empire.  Imagine our country being ruled not from the Beehive, but by the Pentagon, or by the President of Indonesia, the Emperor of China, or Chief of the Fijian military.  Imagine our army and police, our city councils, stock exchange, reserve bank and media, our health and education services being in the control of a foreign power.  Imagine how leadership might be exercised by people probably not English speaking, certainly not NZ enculturated, not seeking to make NZ a better place for its people – but foreigners whose interest is in maintaining and growing the power of their Empire – powerful foreigners building their kingdom.  Imagine, on top of city and regional council rates, on top of income tax and GST, there’s another hefty tax for maintaining the US army, for building Indonesia’s border protection programmes, or developing Fiji’s nuclear capability, or supporting China’s infrastructure.  Imagine, no elections, a ruling elite making all the decisions and acquiring most of the wealth – and many church leaders supporting the foreign government – even declaring the structures to be ordered according to God’s will....How would you feel? What fears would you experience?  I guess it would depend where you sat within the hierarchy.  Do you have friends in high places?  Is your investment portfolio secure?  Do you speak Mandarin, Cantonese, Indonesia, Fijian or American?   

This imagined future is something like the reality of those living in the Ancient Near East in the time of Jesus In that world, only 1-2% of the population were in the ruling elite – so, if we were there, most of us would be experiencing political and economic oppression, often religiously legitimated.  In his Gospel, Luke locates the story of Jesus’ public activity very specifically within this context:

-          It’s the 15^th year of the reign of Emperor Tiberius

-          during Pilate’s Governorship of Judea

-          while Herod ruled Galilee

-          and Annas and Caiaphas were high priests.

At that time “The collision between Roman imperial...domination and the Jewish social world led to a variety of Jewish responses...from active collaboration to resigned and often resentful acceptance.  Some harboured hopes for an imminent dramatic divine intervention: God would soon act and set things right.  Others – and these responses often overlapped – were determined to preserve Jewish identity in spite of the pressures to assimilate.  Still others followed the path of violent rejection, ranging from social banditry to armed rebellion.

This is the world that shaped Jesus – the world in which he grew up and the world that he addressed.” [1] A world long on fear and short on peace.

Although it is a very different world from the one in which we live – there are enough echoes to invite comparison:  Like our ancient faith ancestors, we too are confronted with decisions about economic injustices and abuses of power (in our country and beyond our shores).  Will we collude with, or be resigned to, oppressive structures?  Will we sit back and hope God will act – will we resort to violence and hatred?  Or will we take up the challenge of the Gospel – to live and act as Jesus did: filling up valleys of poverty with hope and bringing down mountains of oppression into peacefulness?  The cry of Isaiah, the cry of John “prepare the way of God” is every bit as urgent today as it was 2000 years ago.  Out of the wilderness, out of the desert, out of the dungeons of life, we are called to join in bringing about God’s salvation.

We can listen to the familiar biblical words, we can sing along Tuesday night with the City Choir: Every valley shall be exalted, the crooked straight and the rough places plain – and all flesh shall see it together – the mouth of the Lord has spoken it – this salvation of God is at hand. Hallelujah! 

But singing along is not enough – we have to live the song.  And, oh this is where we can so easily get caught into old familiar and unhelpful models – assuming salvation is about a “wretch’ like me being saved from my bad deeds – assuming that after I’ve died, if I’ve been good enough, I will go to a heavenly place in the sky.   Such a view of salvation is escapist, selfish and a travesty of the Gospel.

God’s salvation comes from walking the path walked by Jesus, the one we name as saviour.  It’s a path of lived-out compassion, justice and peace.  God’s salvation – saving us from personal and communal fears– comes when we cooperate with God to bring about peace. 

I can’t stress this enough:  this salvation happens in the here and now – as a result of what you and I do in our everyday lives – about how we respond to the fears which surround us.   Peace on Earth will not come, while we live out a scarcity mentality – fearing we don’t have enough money, enough love or enough security.   No matter how much we experience oppression, abuse or injustice in our own lives, Peace on Earth will not come, if we respond to those who hurt us by way of violent actions or violent thoughts.   We follow the one who calls us not just to love God, not just to love ourselves, not just to love our neighbour, but to love our enemy.  If we do not practise loving kindness to all people on a day to day basis, there will be no peace on earth and God’s salvation will not come.

And this is not an easy task – Christianity has never been for the faint hearted, or for the ones who grasp to themselves, or desire riches, benefits and privilege.

And so I want to speak personally for a minute – because I know this call to live as inhabitants of God’s salvation, God’s shalom is challenging – it’s counter cultural – but when we live this way, the joy and blessing we give and receive is nothing short of a miracle.  I have found that making small changes can make huge differences.  Recently, I’ve been following a little spiritual exercise in loving kindness – it might be one you find helpful – in releasing fears and offering compassion, as you seek to cooperate in the bringing about of God’s salvation.  I often do this while I’m walking – or driving – or waiting for traffic lights to change.  First I offer myself a blessing:  May I be happy and healthy, safe and at peace.  I then bring to mind those whom I love – and offer that same blessing to them – may you be happy and healthy, safe and at peace.  I then extend that blessing to those I see around me – a young Mum struggling with a crying baby, a cyclist in the midst of busy traffic, or a person who comes to mind (far too often) because of the perceived hurts they have inflicted on me – may you be happy and healthy, safe and at peace.  And finally I shift my attention to people I don’t know – people in many parts of the world who struggle; people in armies, those in hospital, those struggling to make a living, those on whom we focus for this year’s Christian World Service Christmas Appeal in India, or Haiti, in South Sudan, or Palestine – may you be happy and healthy, safe and at peace.  And I find as I offer blessing, my heart and mind turn away from fear towards compassion and understanding ... and almost miraculously, as my focus shifts away from my own personal stuff, I find the people around me also change – and my own focus becomes much clearer about how my day to day living and giving helps bring about God’s salvation for all people.  Of course, it doesn’t always work, sometimes my own painfulness or self-centredness gets in the way.  But the echo of the angel’s song and the voice of the one crying in the wilderness summon me – and summon us all – to continue preparing the way of God so that the miracle of Peace on Earth might be known to all people.

In the silence, which follows, I invite you to consider how your life in these present days, might contribute to God’s salvation, God’s peace, God’s shalom,  The words Shirley Murray’s hymn – printed on the front of your Order of Service – may be helpful

“Let there be a moment held, as in one breath, when all the earth turns away from death, peace nursing creation, peace spreading her wing, O that we could know what Christmas is meant to bring”

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[1] “The shaping of Jesus” from Jesus: Uncovering the Life, Teaching and Relevance of a Religious Revolutionary by Marcus Borg, 2006

A Sermon for Advent Sunday

Readings: Jeremiah 33: 14-16; 1 Thessalonians 3:9-13

Today is the 8^th time, within this congregation, I’ve offered a sermon to launch the Christian World Service Christmas Appeal.  And, of course, that’s just during my ministry with you.  The Christmas Appeals have been running since 1945 – all of my life time and a little more.  Eight times we have considered together how healing and hope might be brought to the world.  And then, of course, there have been countless other times – on the Sundays in between - when we have focussed on the unfair and unnecessary deprivation and suffering experienced throughout the world, caused by crippling poverty, unjust systems and oppressive structures – and Jesus’ call to change this situation.   It all feels a little overwhelming – because if there’s one thing that’s sure, the poverty, deprivation and suffering have not gone away in those eight – or sixty-seven years.  People still suffer, people are still treated unjustly, people still live in appalling circumstances in this world where, if resources were allocated fairly, there would be enough for everyone’s need – just not enough for everyone’s greed.

Within this life-time context, it’s possible that we might all feel just a little hope-less. “What’s the point of yet another Appeal?” Why preach another Christian World Service sermon?  With poet Hayden Carruth, we might wonder whether there is any point in saying anything more about what seems a hopeless case...  Carruth’s poem comes out of the US context – at the time of the American war in Vietnam.  It’s entitled “On being asked to write a poem against the war in Vietnam”[1]

Well I have and in fact

more than one and I'll

tell you this too

I wrote one against

Algeria that nightmare

and another against

Korea and another

against the one

I was in

and I don't remember

how many against

the three

when I was a boy

Abyssinia Spain and

Harlan County

and not one

breath was restored

to one

shattered throat

mans womans or childs

not one not

one

but death went on and on

never looking aside

except now and then

with a furtive half-smile

to make sure I was noticing.

Reflecting on Carruth’s poem, and writing for today – for this HIV-AIDS Awareness Day – yes, more misery and anguish – Art Ammann, who founded Global Strategies for HIV Prevention writes “Upon reading the poem I felt an immediate sympathy, realizing that I too was having difficulty in writing a commentary about the pain and suffering of HIV because Ihad written about it so many times before — and the pain and suffering was still there.”

Ammann continues “I haven't written any poems, but I've written many narratives about an epidemic that seemed so perverse and persistent, with the horror of HIV taking its special toll on defenseless women and children. “Surely God would hear their pleas,” I often thought. But I do not pretend to understand these things. I only know that in spite of the intensity of the pain and suffering, the people I met could only endure with a belief and hope in God.”

On this day on which we are invited to be aware of the way in which HIV-AIDS continues to devastate people’s lives in the poorest countries; and

on this day when we are invited to focus our attention on the way in which Christian World Service – particularly with its partners in Haiti, India, Fiji, Palestine and South Sudan – works toward healing and wholeness for the whole world,

on this day - we focus on that theological concept of hope.  It’s a hope we’ve sung about

Never alone, though human error, turmoil or terror shake every bone,

hope is our song: hope that is joyous, born with Christ Jesus, where we belong –

for nothing, nothing in all creation can separate us from the love of God.[2]

It’s a hope that goes way back in time – belief and hope in God, even when life is held by the merest thread.  The book of the prophet Jeremiah has, as its principal subject, survival.  It is an attempt to come to terms with and move beyond the destruction wrought by Babylon’s three invasions of Judah and its chief city, Jerusalem in the 6^th century before the Christian Era.  This prophetic book “sears the soul, challenges the conscience, and promises hope to the wounded in body and spirit” [3]

The days are surely coming, says the Lord, when I will fulfil the promise I made to the house of Israel and the house of Judah. … I will cause a righteous Branch to spring up for David; and he shall execute justice and righteousness in the land.

It’s this hope for justice and righteousness in the land, to which Christian World Service calls us this year.  This year, the Christmas Appeal theme is “Save my Place: my place to till and keep”.  We’re being asked to recognise “the powerful and profound desire for people to have a place to call “my place”.  When this need is met, it provides security and hope.  Deny this need to have a land or place, and the reverse is true.  Despair and fear result. We see it in our shared Judaeo-Christian heritage, where the bloody repercussions continue in a so-called Promised Land where assumptions were made of ownership while indigenous inhabitants ignored. It’s part of our shared history here in Aotearoa-New Zealand.  Land loss drove many European ancestors here, while for Maori the theft of land is still an issue.” 

“Globally, this battle about owning land continues to rage.  Land grabs are robbing people of their place to till and keep – in the Pacific, Africa, the Middle East, South America and Asia.  “My place” turns into ‘their place”, a modern scandal.  Commonly owned land is being seized or sold into private hands.  The equivalent of eight Great Britains, that is about 200 million hectares of land, has been land grabbed in the last ten years.”

“In Columbia, the UN reports that an area the size of Switzerland has been stolen from its rightful owners.  In Uganda a farmer woke up one day to find his ancestral land had been ‘sold’ when the bulldozers began crushing his crops.  Tragically, it’s a common story. Places ‘to till and keep’ are unjustly stolen again.  Big business ... big agriculture is pushing small farmers out of the way for monoculture and bio fuels. CWS tells us that in a world where we grow 50% more food than we need, nobody should go hungry, or lose ‘my place’. [4]

On this Advent Sunday – on this day in which we focus on hope – we’re not just being asked to write another poem or preach another sermon; we’re not being asked just to speak about the atrocities of land grabbing – or the lack of medication available for AIDS sufferers in Africa; and we’re certainly not being asked to have a warm fuzzy hopeful feeling.  As Christ’s body, we are being invited – encouraged - implored to be the Good News of Jesus Christ – to recognise the decisions we make in our lives can make a difference in bringing about justice and righteousness in the lands of this planet, our place, which we share with such a diverse community of peoples.

As Art Armann continues to work tirelessly for HIV prevention – and especially trying to reduce suffering and death for women and babies who suffer from this dreadful disease –he acknowledges that hope is not so much about waiting for God to intervene, as in recognising that God is waiting for us to intervene – to be the hands and feet, the hearts and minds of Christ, to bring about justice and righteousness for the land and its peoples.[5]

In spite of the overwhelming challenges, transformation can and does happen.  People like Art Armann – groups like CWS and its partners – Churches like Knox are standing up to and confronting the massive injustices of the world.  We have before us today, a banner and candle signifying Hope – to be joined by peace and joy and love in the weeks to come.  Let’s not leave these lying on the Table as pretty symbols; rather let their images burn into our hearts so that we may join the way of Jesus - becoming the hope for the world – preparing a place of welcome in the land where all can live in justice and peace.

---

[1]  "On Being Asked to Write a Poem Against the War in Vietnam" by Hayden Carruth,  quoted in A Season of Difficult Hope http://www.journeywithjesus.net/index.shtml for 1 December 2012

[2] Shirley Murray “Nothing in all creation” Hope is our Song

[3] Kathleen M. O’Connor “Jeremiah” in The New Interpreter’s Study Bible 2003, p.1051

[4] Quoted from ”Save my Place” Christian World Service resources for 67^th Christmas Appeal 2012

[5] Art Ammann “A Season of Difficult Hope” http://www.journeywithjesus.net/index.shtml for 1 December 2012  Art Ammann, the former Director of the Pediatric Immunology and Clinical Research Center at the University of California Medical Center in San Francisco. ...In 1982, he documented the first cases of AIDS transmission from mother to infant, and also the first blood transfusion AIDS patients.  In 1998 Ammann founded Global Strategies for HIV Prevention, where today he ministers around the world. With a special focus on women and children to reduce maternal and infant mortality, Global Strategies implements simple, inexpensive interventions with high impact in the poorest regions of the world.

A sermon for "Reign of Christ/Christ the King" Sunday

Readings: Revelation 1:4b-5a, 7-8; John 18:33-38a

Just as some of us were surprised last Sunday by being asked to sing an Easter Day hymn in November, we might be surprised again today to hear a Gospel reading focussing on Jesus’ trial before his crucifixion.   (Some of you might be wondering whether your aging minister is losing the plot ... has she forgotten the calendar is racing towards December?  Has she not heard the Christmas music playing in the Meridian; has she not seen Christmas decorations going up around the city? Hasn’t she been aware of shops counting days down towards Christmas for the last two months?  Hasn’t she seen how Easter eggs and bunnies have been replaced with chocolate elves and santas!) 

Of course, some of you won’t have been surprised – either last week or this.  Some of us have become familiar with the long established patterns of liturgy within the church.  We know that at the heart of every Sunday service is an Easter celebration of hope and love overcoming brokenness and vulnerability.  We know that on this last Sunday before Advent, Jesus’ reign as King is celebrated. We know the lectionary, which sets down the readings for each Sunday, offers a window into this “Reign of Christ” Sunday ...and the choice of Pilate’s interrogation of Jesus as King is most appropriate.

   

This surprise we may (or may not) have had, provides a useful reminder of the dissonance which rings through our worship today – and most Sundays.  The Reign of Christ Sunday is a day of unsettling paradox.  This is a day to remind us that just when we think we have our image of Jesus clear, settled and right, it becomes disturbed, uncomfortable and challenging.

“Delores Williams, wise theologian and teacher ... grew up in the South[ern States of America].  [She] remembers Sunday morning [worship] when the minister shouted out: “Who is Jesus?” The choir responded in voices loud and strong: “King of kings and Lord Almighty!” Then, little Miss Huff, in a voice so fragile and soft you could hardly hear, would sing her own answer, “Poor little Mary’s boy.” Back and forth they sang – KING OF KINGS…Poor little Mary’s boy. Delores said, “It was the Black church doing theology.” The answer to the question: Who is Jesus? Cannot be “King of Kings” without seeing “poor little Mary’s boy.”

In her reflection for this Sunday, Barbara Lundblad[1] picks up on the dissonance in these two songs (not unlike the many dissonances we have experienced in our music this morning with images of majestic king intermingling with those of the One who transforms life through love, non-violence and service.)   “The images clash” writes Lundblad.    “One is big and powerful, the other small and poor. Christ the King Sunday is a dissonant day. Some congregations have changed the name to Reign of Christ Sunday to avoid the male image of “king.” But that doesn’t make much difference if we forget that Jesus is “poor little Mary’s boy.””

Those of us, brought up on the old Apostles Creed, will remember how the ancient church placed Mary and Pilate alongside each other – “almost in the same breath”:  ‘I believe in ... Jesus, born of Mary, suffered under Pontius Pilate.’  Perhaps this juxtaposition might help as we consider this theme of Christ as King, using John, the Gospel writer’s rich theological text as our window and framework.  Standing with John, on the other side of Easter, we contemplate this one we call King of Kings, this one whom we claim has “changed the world’s direction – and can change the human heart.”[2]

John’s description of Jesus’ trial before Pilate is much richer and more developed than Matthew, Mark and Luke’s portrayals.  John provides a full stage drama with seven scenes shaped around Pilate moving in and out of his headquarters as he deals with a political nightmare – running back and forth from inside the Beehive to outside into the media scrum in the corridors – from interrogation to appeasement.   In Scene 1, religious leaders and political leaders debate: under whose jurisdiction will Jesus be tried.  In Scene 2, this morning’s reading, Pilate has drawn the short straw, and so his interrogation commences.  For Pilate, Jesus’ kingship is political – he’s dealing with a possible act of treason against the power of Rome.  “He needs to know who this Jesus is, because “king” is a political term, and Pilate is a political person...“Are you the king of the Jews?” If so, you’re guilty of treason because the emperor in Rome is the king of everyone everywhere, [whether you like it or not – and that includes all of you] Jews, [including you Jesus].”

Already handcuffed and beaten, handed over as a criminal to the state by his own religious leaders who will soon shout loyally “We have no king but the emperor!” this man, whom Christians declare is King, seems more closely allied to a terrorist than a ruler.  “Poor little Mary’s boy”– the Mary whose song is about bringing the powerful down from their thrones, lifting up the lowly, filling the hungry with good things and sending the rich away empty. (Luke 1:52-53) The dissonance resounds through the ages.  

For Gospel writer, John, Jesus’ kingship is a theological category that redefines the world’s understanding of power.  “So you are a king?” asks Pilate.  “You say I’m a king,” Jesus replies.  “I was born for this, and for this I came into the world, to show the truth.”

And we, like Pilate may well ask: What is truth – “a question left hanging in the air.”

“Was [Pilate] being sarcastic or was he searching for answers nobody else had given him? The answer [confounds, in being neither] philosophical proof nor creedal proposition. Truth was the person standing in silence before Pilate.

[Perhaps unsurprisingly], John’s gospel began with claims that shocked the philosophers. “In the beginning was the Word,” [this Gospel begins], “and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.” The philosophers nodded their heads and pulled their chairs closer to listen. They knew this Word. It was logos in Greek. This was the cosmic, eternal prime-mover, beyond time and space. This was logic they could understand and affirm [....] but they weren’t prepared for the next part: “And the Word became flesh and lived among us…full of grace and truth” (John 1: 14).

“No, that couldn’t be! Eternal Word clashed with earthly flesh. [The jarring] dissonance [found] in the beginning [features again near the end of the Gospel].The truth is a person, the Word made flesh. This Word [this Source of all that is,] living, dwelling with us – literally, “pitching his tent” among people of earth.”

And just as those philosophers are stopped in their tracks, so might we be as we consider what it means to follow this paradoxical king with his challenging, alternative approach to life.  Our desire to be top dog, our tendency to seek revenge, our refusal to offer forgiveness, our sense of entitlement, all sit much more easily with the kind of king we would like Jesus to be – a king made in our image.  King of Kings and Lord of Lords – that’s much easier to affirm – Hallelujah!

Theologian Carter Heywood reminds us that God is likely to meet us often in images [with which we are not so comfortable – images] associated with children, poor women, women [of colour], lesbian women, battered women, bleeding women.... Dark images. Like Mary's poor little boy,” Carter writes, “God is seldom welcome in reputable places. The story is not a nice one. Good theology is not respectable.^[3]

Today, Jesus the king, poor little Mary’s boy, is found offering shelter to victims of violence and abuse – he’s there in women’s refuges, binding up the broken hearted.  Today, he has pitched his tent with the many people of Haiti who nearly three years after the devastating earthquake still do not have homes in which to live.  Jesus the king, stands handcuffed before the Syrian authorities, declared a terrorist in his home county.  Jesus the king is the baby born and bombed in Gaza and Jerusalem. 

If we are truly to be his disciples, we will go into these places with him ... with our prayers, with our wealth, with our politics, and with the choices we make in our daily lives, pitching our tents with the strange and counter-cultural king...even – and especially – as we end this liturgical year and commence our journey towards Christmas – a journey that to be authentic must not – and cannot – lose sight of the Easter story with all its dissonance – its pain and its joy and, at the heart of which, is a poor little Mary’s boy- king whose extraordinary ways transform the world.

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[1] This sermon quotes from and relies on the ideas in A Different Kind of King: John 18:33-37 Barbara K. Lundblad http://odysseynetworks.org/news/onscripture-the-bible-john-18-33-37

[2] Shirley Murray “Christ has changed the world’s direction” Hope is our Song NZHBT

[3] Carter Heyward “The power of God-with-us” http://www.religion-online.org/showarticle.asp?title=440

A sermon for 18 November

Readings 1 Samuel 1:4-11, 20; Mark 13:1-8

 ‘Here is our hope’, we sang this morning – ‘in the mystery of suffering is the heart beat of Love.’  Hannah’s story is an example, of that hope from within the Jewish faith tradition. 

As we turn to hear a word from the Christian tradition, a word of warning:

Many people have used this morning’s Gospel reading as a way of talking about the signs of the end of the world (in my opinion, neither helpful nor hopeful – but rather an irresponsible way – of listening for God’s word of life for today).

So, I invite you this morning to hear it differently – to place this text in conversation with our own context, and within this morning’s theme of finding hope even in the midst of suffering.

We might, for instance, place the opening verses within the context of Deacons’ Court meetings, where we struggle with the very serious and difficult questions about how we continue to maintain our beautiful, but incredibly and increasingly expensive buildings.  You might imagine Jesus present at those meetings – and joining the Deacons, as they go outside into the carpark, and before returning home, pause to gaze up at the floodlit spire.  “Look Teacher”, we might say, “what large stones and what a large building!”

And we listen for the Teacher’s word of hope – and it doesn’t sound very hopeful.

Buildings will be destroyed.  World leaders will deceive people – promising theirs is the way of the future, when we know they bring no real hope for the world. 

We listen for a word of hope, in the midst of present realities of war, famine and earthquake throughout the world…

And it all seems quite hopeless – unless we listen for - and cooperate with – that heartbeat of love found in the midst of the suffering.  If we listen carefully, we will hear Jesus’ reminder that suffering and destruction are real, but they do not have the last word; new life can and does emerge out of anguish.  It may not be the life we are expecting; it does not in any way discount the pain; but we can attest to its truth that new life does come out of suffering.  We see this demonstrated most clearly, day after day, in the Queen Mary maternity ward just down the road. 

Yes, the Teacher says, the contractions have started, there’s no getting out of this … the pulse of new life is upon us. We listen to the Gospel....

Writing to the Church in Rome, speaking out of his own personal suffering, the Apostle Paul could also be talking about our present 21^st century situation. 

“At the present moment all creation is struggling as though in the pangs of childbirth.  And that struggling creation includes even those of us who have had a taste of the spirit.  We peer into the future with our limited vision, unable to see all that we are destined to be, yet believing because of a hope we carry so deep within.”[1]

In reflecting on this letter of Paul, Marina Wiederkehr[2] writes about her own personal experience of being born. 

“My own birth into this world”, she writes, “began with a proclamation of death.  I was proclaimed dead ... set aside as not living. The nurse, I am told, took me, worked with me, believed in the spark of life in me.  She convinced me I could breathe.

Meditating on this story, I am filled with a mixture of anger, tenderness, gratitude, and hope.  How easy it would be to throw someone away right in the middle of their birth.  I speak not only of that first birth, but of the many ways we are born each day.

Our vision is limited. We need so desperately to learn how to hope more completely in all those little bits of life scattered through our days.  We need to be so very careful lest we throw someone away because of our lack of hope in their potential, their possibility to be.  We need to believe in that mystery within, even when the mystery seems so pale and small we can hardly call it by its true name, life....”

Wiederkehr offers a reflection, which she offers as an encouragement into hope. 

“There was a day in July

many mornings ago

(7.15 A.M. to be exact)

when my hope was so small,

I didn't know I was alive. 

The doctor placed me aside

and announced the sad news of my death

right in the middle of my birth.

But God was good

and gave someone enough hope

to believe in me. 

She leaned forward,

believing in darkness

what some folks refused to believe

in the light.

She believed in me;

and she held me as though

the stirring of the eternal

had just begun, 

as though the mystery within

was just being born.

And the joy of it is:

She was right!

Because of her hope in me

I live!

And ever since the day in July

the mystery within me has grown. 

The eternal within keeps stirring anew

like a fountain of living water

like a spring that never runs dry.

Could it be true

that some folks die

because our hope is too small

to bring them forth?

It is good to remember:

We do not give birth to ourselves. 

We give birth to others

by believing in that first, small spark of life

the spark we can barely see.

It is called hope. 

It is immensely helpful

at birth.”

---

[1] Romans 8:22-25, paraphrased

[2] Marina Wiederkehr Seasons of the Heart 1991 p.42-44

A sermon for Remembrance Day

Readings: Ruth 3:1-5; 4:13-17; Mark 12:38-44

Today is a day of remembrance – a day when a significant portion of the Western World remembers the signing of the Armistice, which led to the end of what we call now the First World War.  Sadly, peace did not last long; another Great War was to follow in what has since been described as “the most war-torn and destructive century in human history”. 

Remembrance Day – a day of memory.  And yet, memories are such strange things – so necessary for self-understanding, so very flexible and sometimes quite fickle.

“Memory is the seamstress, and a capricious one at that” writes Virginia Woolf in her novel Orlando. “Memory runs her needle in and out, up and down, hither and thither. We know not what comes next, or what follows after. Thus, the most ordinary movement in the world, such as sitting down at a table and pulling the inkstand towards one, may agitate a thousand odd, disconnected fragments, now bright, now dim, hanging and bobbing and dipping and flaunting, like the underlinen of a family of fourteen on a line in a gale of wind. Instead of being a single, downright, bluff piece of work of which no [one] need feel ashamed, our commonest deeds are set about with a fluttering and flickering of wings, a rising and falling of lights.”[1]

Depending on where we stand and what our life experience has been, the seamstress can take us in so many directions.  On this Remembrance Day, our first thoughts might fly towards those who made what has been termed ‘the supreme sacrifice’.  Rolls of Honour, such as those found in our church entry porch, monuments standing in cities and small towns throughout our country, all call us to remember young men and women who put their lives on the line in the name of a grand expectation; and whose individual deaths broke hearts and destroyed hope for so many families.  Bobbing and dipping memories will take some of us along the paths of strengthening patriotism, the shared cause, the tight comradeship found amongst those who fought side by side in the trenches; we might regard the courage and cowardice of those dark days.  Some of us will bring to mind those who fought bravely and well; some of us will weep for the horrendous loss of what could have been; some will bring to mind the abuse and suffering of people considered ‘collateral damage’ or of the maligned conscientious objectors.  We each bring memories, sometimes contradictory, but none the less providing us with raw material with which we might come to understand ourselves better. 

For memories are not just about dwelling in the past.  They have the potential to restore – or to destroy – the future.    “They [can provide us with] links with the future, [as] our way of learning the lessons from the past in order to guide us in our living in the present.  Memories [can be] the source of our hopes and vision of a better world for our children and our children’s children.”[2]  But, it’s not guaranteed they will lead us in positive directions.  It’s possible for our dipping and flaunting recollections to drive us – and thus the world – towards hatred, revenge, and more war.

Is it possible to take these disconnected fragments of our lives to enable positive transformation – or must we leave them tossed about in the gales of life?

Some of you may have read in the newspaper last week about Nicholas Day’s research on memories from infancy.  He suggests “the average earliest ‘fragmented and lonely’ memory, ...goes back to around age 3....What interests Day in particular is what makes the first memories stick and he believes it’s actually more to do with parents than the maturity of neural pathways.  Children with the earliest memories have parents who talk a lot to them about past events.  They narrate these events, ask questions about them, often answer those questions and generally talk about them in general conversation.  This reinforces the memories.... It’s not surprising then that Day regards Maori as having, at age 2, the earliest memory of any culture because of the elaborate way the past is shared orally.”[3]

We have a similar heritage in Judaeo-Christian community, where memories and stories have been shared orally through faith generations.  As Christians we believe that remembering, (i.e. “re-membering) not only helps us to live in the present and orientates us towards the future, it is also the opposite of dis-membering.  Re-membering is ‘a putting together again’; it’s about healing and reconciling.  As we come together as a people of faith, we draw on this ability to take our brokenness and to re-member ourselves again as a people of hope and transformation. Both biblical stories we heard this morning, re-call us into this process of re-membering.   In both the story of Ruth and the Markan gospel account of the poor widow, we are [re-minded] [of] God’s concern for the dis-membered in our society – for the poor, the dis-abled, the outsider – for the ones overlooked by the powerful.  Here, once more, we are invited to be re-membered into a community where generosity, compassion and survival are celebrated; where hopeful stories reconstitute a broken people into those who walk the way of God’s transforming kin-dom.[4]

That’s what the Choir will be assisting us in doing tonight as they present, for Remembrance Day, the beautiful and challenging Mass for Peace – the Armed Man – composed by Karl Jenkins.   To understand what lies behind this Mass, we must take ourselves first to Britain’s oldest national museum, The Royal Amouries’, which grew out of the arsenal of the medieval monarchs of England housed in the Tower of London.  [The museum’s] main purpose [is to] display the hardware of war – and through this, [to encourage] an understanding of what war really is, and what it means and does to the people involved in it. ... We were looking for an appropriate way for the Royal Armouries to commemorate the millennium” writes Guy Wilson, Master of The Armouries. The theme, of the 15^th century song “L’homme armé” - that ‘the armed man must be feared’ “seemed painfully relevant to the 20^th century and so the idea was born to commission a modern ‘Armed Man Mass’.  The framework of a Christian musical and liturgical form, seemed the best way both to look back and reflect on the most war-torn and destructive century in human history, and to look ahead with hope and commit ourselves to a new and more peaceful millennium. And so the idea developed to combine within the basic mass form a variety of poetry and prose and a wide range of musical styles reflecting the multi-cultural global society in which we live” [5]  – re-membering a broken people into hope.

This Mass for Peace has certainly done that.  Commencing his composition as the tragedy of Kosovo unfolded, and calling on re-membering texts as diverse as poetry from Hiroshima, gems from English Literature and worship resources from Muslim, Jewish and Christian sources, Jenkins demands the listener face the menace and horrors of war before considering their choices for the future.  After being re-minded: “The Armed Man must be feared”;   “Better is peace than always war”, listeners are asked to consider, “Do we want the new millennium to be like the last? Or do we join with Tennyson when he tells us to “Ring out the thousand wars of old, Ring in the thousand years of peace”? 

When we come to the Litany of Remembrance at the end of the service this morning, we bring with us our many memories – fluttering and flickering, taking shape around this Table of Remembrance which calls us to be members of the Body of Christ.  And so we will re-member the broken bodies and the spilled blood, recalling the pain of the past – and also our strong commitment to live fully and faithfully within the present so that God’s vision of justice, peace and hope – God’s Shalom - might be a reality in our personal lives, in the life of our community and for the life of the world.  “Ring out the thousand wars of old and ring in the thousand years of peace – Ring in the Christ that is to be”[6].

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[1] Virginia Woolf, Orlando, Feedbooks.com p.46

[2] Clare McBeath, “This is a Day of Remembrance” Timeless Prayers for Peace, compiled Geoffrey Duncan, 2003, p.93

[3] Ian Munro, “Sharing makes a memory stronger” Otago Daily Times: Weekend Magazine Saturday 3 November 2012, p.46

[4] Clare McBeath p.94-95

[5] Guy Wilson, Master of The Amouries, “The Armed Man: A Mass for Peace: The history of the commission

[6] Lord Alfred Tennyson, “In Memoriam”