Sermon for 29 July 2012 - with Sandra Turner

Resilience in Vulnerability 2

Readings: Luke 15:11-32; “The Guest House” Jelaluddin Rumi (13^th century mystic)

This morning our focus is on the parable traditionally (but rather restrictively) called ‘The Prodigal Son’. There’s more to it than that.

Like the parable of the Good Samaritan, on which we focussed last week, it’s a key parable for Christianity – without these two parables, Christianity would not be the same.[1] And yet (and this is the beauty of parables) even with its critical significance to Christianity, there are multiple ways of interpreting the story. 

Such multiplicity presents not a problem, but boundless gift, as we place our hopes and longings for full, liberated and resilient lives within the Holy Mystery that is God. 

The concept that there is no ‘one official line’, no ‘one correct version’  is not some wishy-washy meaningless liberal concept, but rather an invitation to explore honestly and openly the complexities of life within the much broader complexities of God-ness.

Jesus’ parables were – and still are – exceptionally helpful, because behind them lie everyday life realities.  We have before us, not just a story told by Jesus, but in many ways, ‘our story’ too.  Parables have a way of engaging us within the drama – inviting us to be “a participant, not a spectator, in what is going on”. [2]  Here, we can ‘try on’ and develop various roles; for it doesn’t take much effort to realise that at different times, and in different parts of our lives, we are the younger brother, the elder brother, and the father of this story.  

This morning, we invite you to take your place as an active participant within this well known parable of Jesus – changing roles, questioning and adding to traditional interpretations – and in doing that, opening yourself to different ways of telling your own faith-life story – with all its challenges, complexities and complications.  As we enter this Parable, making it our story, we find both

resilience within our complexities and

alternative personal narratives –

all held within the much bigger, even more complex, story of the Source of all Being in whom we live and in whom we may flourish. 

It’s most commonly known as the Parable of the Prodigal Son.  A familiar story – a dominant story – of a prodigal – a selfish wastrel –demanding what is not his to have – spending it all on riotous frivolous living – and, when the money runs out, turning penitent – returning home to the all loving father.  We might hope we would never act like this prodigal….

Hang on here. What about

Prodigal son

·        This was my OE. I needed to breathe, I am an adventurer at heart. I wanted to see the world. Staying here I would have suffocated

·        Teenagers and young men ask – that’s what we do. We want to be out in the world doing stuff. It wasn’t such a big thing to ask for some help from the family. You could have said no and maybe that would have been good for me – maybe.

·        Do you think it has all been a bed of roses? I’ve worked in foreign lands where I’ve been on my own and I’ve not known the language. There have been times when I was very lonely but I kept going.

·        You say I squandered everything and lived a debauched life. But you don’t know what happened. You haven’t even asked. You have listened to what others have said and made up your mind. Life is more complicated than just one thing.

·        I have come back knowing more about life than if I had stayed here in the village. I know what it is to be with your back against the wall. I’ve come home not expecting anything.

·        This is all a bit over the top – the big feast and all - though I am relieved there is still a place for me here in this family.

It’s not that black and white…

Occasionally, it’s been called the parable of the Lost Son and Lost Brother.  A familiar story – a dominant story – the Elder Son – the stay at home, bitter, jealous and resentful one –  refusing to welcome his younger brother – angry with both his father and his brother – knowing he’s missed out, been mis-treated – and it is just not fair.  We don’t particularly like his response …but perhaps we understand it most…

Hang on here. What about

Eldest son

·        I know I’m not an adventurer, I don’t have it in me the way my brother does.

·        It has suited me to stay at home, I need the familiar, to know where I belong

·        Yet I envy my brother for being able to get away. I wish I were more a bit like him. I like the regular, to know where I stand and what the rules are. I am obedient. This way of living suits me.

·        I need recognition too – it’s hard being taken for granted. I’m a hard worker, I don’t often ask for much. Yet I have become used to not getting much recognition. Dad only sees me when something hasn’t been done properly.

·        Fairness is a value I live by. So when he came home and got treated like a prince I really lost it. I ranted and I know what I said was extreme. Accusing him of devouring your property with prostitutes was a bit over the top

·        I want you all to see me too

It’s not that black and white…

It’s sometimes known as the Parable of the Forgiving Father.    It’s a familiar story – a dominant story – a story about a generous and loving father, mistreated and misunderstood by both his sons – and yet, consistently, constantly and compassionately accepting and embracing them – to the extent that he will open up his purse, his home and his heart to them, no matter what.   The Parable of the forgiving, giving and welcoming father.  We can only dream that we might be like that….

Hang on here. What about considering this:

Father

·        I’ve been too focused on work and I can see that I’ve made mistakes. I didn’t mean to hurt anyone

·        I didn’t see that my eldest needed recognition

·        I don’t see that my actions are inequitable

·        I am ready to welcome my son home, despite what others say about him. There are those who want me to punish and push him away. I’ll not do it.

·        I’ve made mistakes too but I’ll not make that one. I know this place.

·        My family is more important than holding a grudge

It’s not that black and white…

And those are the characters of the story … unless of course you want to think about the fatted calf …

Hold on here.

What about me - Mother

·        I have missed this son so much. I didn’t want him to go but I knew he needed to. He is an adventurer at heart; he has to breathe, to be himself.

·        I wish my eldest had some of the adventurer in him. I wish he would stand up to his dad sometime and get what he needs. He’s not really angry with his brother – he’s angrier with his father.

·        I don’t have much influence in this family. I haven’t learnt to have my voice – I tend to keep myself in the background.  I love them all and I know we’re not perfect. We could do things better – all of us.

The story ends with no happily ever-after line; we don’t know if the anger continued to be nursed, or if there was reconciliation … and does that matter? 

What are the stories that you tell? Is it the dominant story, the cliché one or do you get interested in finding out about the bigger story, the back ground story, the untold story? Finding out more, giving up the established and known story requires humility in all of us. It requires us each to live with the complexity of our lives. 

No one ever actually knows all of what happened.

The lingering question is ‘where are you?’  Are you inside joining in the celebration, stuck outside hearing the music and dancing but too angry and resentful to go in, silent and voiceless in your pain?  Can other perspectives enable you to move? 

And even more challenging, how comfortable are you with a God who is this foolish?  Can you cope with a complex God …whose love is so extravagant and un-calculating; who gives the freedom, bears the pain, aches in the despair and is so indulgent of human failing as this?[3]  For it is in this complex God, that our hope for resilience lies.

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[1] Brendan Byrne, The Hospitality of God (2000) p.127

[2] Byrne p.8

[3] Byrne p.131-132.

Sermon for 22 July 2012 - with Sandra Turner

Finding Resilience in Vulnerability:  A three-part series of worship and exploration.

Led by Sandra Turner and Sarah Mitchell.

For the Sunday mornings of July 22, 29 and August 5, using biblical stories, the topic will be opened within the context of worship and reflection as we seek to build resilient selves in the midst of our (so often challenging and painful) life realities. On the Monday evenings there will be the opportunity to explore, at depth, the implications of these stories for our lives.
Sandra Turner is a member of Knox Church, Dunedin and a Psychotherapist who has a long standing interest in developing spirituality within the context of vulnerability and resilience. She is the author of To Rakiura & Beyond, which explores keeping going in the face of the unknown.

Readings:  Luke 10:30-37 and “Paying it Forward” from To Rakiura and Beyond by Sandra Turner (2011)

Sarah

There’s probably not one of us here this morning, who doesn’t know the parable of the Good Samaritan.  For many Christians, this is the story which sums up the faith – being a good neighbour – being the Christ to others with the same amazing compassion offered by this unlikely, rejected and despised outsider – the Good Samaritan.  He doesn’t have a name – in fact, none of the characters do – and yet, each has a role to play in inviting the listener to place their life story within the parable narrative.  The Samaritan, the Priest, the Levite, the Innkeeper – all provide different perspectives and viewpoints from which we might consider how we understand ourselves and how we relate (or don’t) to our neighbour. 

Today, in this first of three services in which we explore the developing of resilience in the face of vulnerability, Sandra and I invite you to focus on the one who probably receives the least attention in most interpretations of this parable; let’s consider the one, who in this story is probably the most vulnerable: the one who has been beaten up – and left for dead.  Let’s step into his shoes for a moment...

He was taking the road from Jerusalem to Jericho … it was not a particularly safe route… a bit like life…  Little did he know, as he set out that morning, he wouldn’t make it to his planned destination.  Isn’t this our story too?  The day starts just like any other, when – out of the blue – disaster strikes.  A betrayal, a death, a diagnosis comes out of nowhere; we are robbed of our confidence and our security; our lives are changed for ever.  Our battered selves lie, half-dead, at the side of the road... abandoned and ignored by others, unable to help ourselves; and we’re not quite sure that we have the strength to get through. We observe those representing the Church and the State (the ones we might reasonably expect to provide help) walking by on the other side; we’re alone.  And sometimes, it’s at that moment, when hope is at its lowest ebb, the unlikely one comes, the despised one, the one we wouldn’t be seen dead with – holding out their hand, offering us their help.

Sandra

She offered nothing except the irritation of form filling and the gathering of baseline recordings: temperature, pulse, respiration and blood pressure. Her meek approach hardly seemed enough for this place where the stakes were high. I flicked her off as quickly as possible. Only the strong and vital captured my attention.

The call had gone out “Save the Hickmans”. An infection was lurking in the tubing that protruded from my chest wall and a great deal of effort was now being mobilised to shore up my struggling white blood cells. The Hickmans' line needed to be securely in place before everything could proceed; the stem cell harvest, the high dose chemotherapy and finally the bone marrow transplant.

Within a half hour the routine of life had vanished. No longer was it my schedule or even my life that ruled but the schedule and routine of the hospital. There was little to do but comply. I hunkered down, pulling myself three inches inside my skin, keeping all distress and worry at bay, donning on what good behaviour I could muster. Yet perfunctory dismissal, displays of irritation and arrogance hardly constitute good behaviour.

But this woman is persistent; she is determined to do her nursing care plan. I hardly hear her question, I’m not that interested in giving this mouse any more than the minimal attention I can get away with. She refuses to give up.

“What is it that bothers you about being in hospital?”

Eventually her words penetrate and despite my need to be self-contained, I begin to speak. I tell her what it is like to feel well; to have appointments scheduled for the week, to feel fully competent and then once again lose all independence, all ability to shape my own life. This place has been hard won. Twice now I have closed my practice and then bit by bit built up a confidence, in others, and in myself that I am robust enough and reliable enough for this work.

This is not just an admission for antibiotics. The big picture is of being in control or not being in control. No little thing. If I could stop long enough I would know that this was a spiritual crisis but I’m not yet ready to know that one. That comes later.

“So you need to be able to go home when you are not getting the antibiotics. Would that help?” The shock of being seen opens me up and my precious self-sufficiency begins to drop away. I accept her help and the nursing plan is written. Surprisingly the arrangement holds. The afternoon staff nurse arrives and announces she is organising teatime leave for me. No asking is needed, no good reasons are sought, this is what is needed, the nursing plan says so. Ah yes, this is a need, not a frivolous want. I do need to stay connected up to my life, to have time with my family at home. I will be better for this.

Returning to the ward after a few hours leave at home, a woman comes towards me from down the corridor. She is frail and shuffles along leaning close to the wall, seemingly for support and maybe even comfort. Her clothes hang on her and she wears what seems like a knitted tea cosy on her head. Any semblance of femininity has long since gone. Her features are gaunt, her eyes are dull. She hardly knows that I exist as she channels all her effort into this semblance of shuffling. Yet her very existence blares out at me, stopping me in my tracks.

Instantly my bile rises up. Does she not have any dignity? Surely she can do better than this? At least she could have the decency to get into a wheel chair or even use the utility corridor and stay out of sight. I want her away from me, I do not want to know that she exists. Her vulnerability disgusts me. I do not want to see her. I definitely do not want to see me or where I am heading. I want to be in a world that is okay.

This woman is possibly the last person whose hand I would accept as an offering of help. Maybe I might offer her my hand, be the person who is okay. From that place I can safely be the one who offers comfort. Life now is following the right order. I am helping someone who needs help. I do not even stop to consider that she has something to offer me. In this moment I have already dismissed her as someone of little worth to me though I could be of worth to her. Arrogance knows no bounds.

Who are the people you are comfortable enough to have them help you? Who will you let take your hand and who are the ones for whom you keep your hands firmly in your pocket. When someone asks you, “how are you?” what is you automatic response?

Will you let them know or will you keep them safely at a distance? Are you “fine”, “great”, or do you retreat to that old reliable place of “I’ve been really busy” as if being busy is the marker of well being. Is it easier to be alone and bruised rather than let any one see your vulnerability? Being willing to be seen requires courage and wise choices.  After all not everyone knows how to take your hand easily, to listen without intruding or adopting a one up position.

But how do you choose? Does the person you let in have to be someone from your family, or not from your family, someone like you, same status, same position in life, a woman, a man, or even someone you will never meet again. We all limit our choices, sticking with the familiar, narrowing down, hunkering down, making do and keeping on going – not seeing there are other options.

When you look in the mirror do you turn away? Are you harsh in your appraisal or are you willing to embrace this person in front of you, flaws and all? Will you take your own hand and not turn away?

Having the strength to be vulnerable is an odd paradox? Will you let the Samaritan come into your life and take your hand?

Sarah

Developing such vulnerable strength takes practice.  And so today, I invite you into a beginning moment of spiritual practice – a practice in which we cooperate with God in making the choice not to stay in the despair of isolation, but to enter the risky vulnerable place of being known and seen.  Before we exchanged the Peace this morning, we sang about placing peace into each other’s hands as a treasure – each reaching out to the other – looking each other warmly in the eye – having the strength to be vulnerable to one another – and thus accepting peace from the most unlikely people.  And so, in the minute of silence, which we will now keep, I invite you to get up from your seat, and without words, reach out your hand to someone and, looking them warmly in the eye, put peace into their hands and accept peace from them – give this treasure of peace a chance to flourish – so that love may enter the unexpected place, here on your road from Jerusalem to Jericho.

Sermon for Bible Sunday - 15 July 2012

Guest Preacher:  Rev. Dr. Judith McKinlay

Today is Bible Sunday. I’ve been marking essays on the biblical book of Job, and what’s impressed me - even surprised me  - has been people writing & saying how helpful – not just interesting - but helpful - they’d found it - long time church members, who’d never really read Job before.

I was reminded too of being at a conference some years ago – where we were let out one afternoon to go exploring. One of the group – a NT scholar and a bishop – couldn’t do that physically. When we got back he said he’d spent the afternoon reading Job. I asked him why – but he gently turned the question back: why not? I felt just a little foolish!

But have you read Job lately? Have you ever read Job?

It’s a very old story. It begins with God up in heaven with all his angels, saying to one of them, who’s been going to and fro on the earth, noticed that good guy Job lately? There’s nobody quite like him. Well, yes, he says - but he’s only good & faithful because you’ve blessed him so well – do you really think he’d still be faithful if you took everything away? That’s the key question.

So God agrees to a test – Job loses everything including his children - is covered in sores from head to foot & his wife says, Still faithful? Then she makes a famously ambiguous challenge – the word she uses can mean either curse or bless. It can’t really be translated – she’s posing the question: will Job curse God or bless God - & will he just give up altogether and die.

That’s the plot. We know it’s a set up – a wager in heaven to test Job, but Job doesn’t know this at all.

And now his friends appear - & they’ve got all the answers. They’re well schooled – they all know the dogma – they’ve all read the books & they know if disasters happen, it must be Job’s fault - he must have sinned. Well, of course, Job has also been well brought up - he knows about doctrine and dogma too. I could also talk as you do if you were in my place (16:4).

He knows human beings are fallible – always getting things wrong & doing what we shouldn’t – but he knows he hasn’t been this bad! And suddenly we realize this is a book about theological debate. Suddenly we realize the bible is entering our world. We know about theological debates.

But this is a very ancient book.

It’s shock & despair for Job. He wishes he’d never been born. Why did you bring me forth from the womb, would that I had died before any eye had seen me (10:18).

But there’s no stopping the friends. No question: Job must have deserved this.

Think now, who that was innocent ever perished?

            Or where were the upright cut off? (4:7)

And they have the right prescription: Job must accept what’s happened as just, agree with God - according to their view of God - and be at peace (22:21)

When Job counters this, they’re scandalized: your own mouth condemns you (15:5-6) & shows you’re guilty!

Job’s response - miserable comforters are you all with windy words (16:2-3).

We, of course, know why Job is suffering, - that wager up in heaven - but he doesn’t, crying out to God Why do you hide your face, and count me as your enemy? (13:24)

 And he protests: I was at ease and God broke me in two. God seized me by the neck and dashed me to pieces (16:12).

But one thing he feels sure about: that he will be heard: even now, my witness is in heaven (16:19). I have … prepared my case. I know I shall be vindicated (13:18)

As the to-ing and fro-ing continues, the issue becomes wider: why is it that the wicked live on … and grow mighty in power (21:7).

It’s that persistent question: why do bad things happen to good people?  Where is God in the midst of it all?

Then in chs.29-31 Job considers his life – when he was a big shot – how when he went out in public, the young men all stood back, the top people stopped talking, even the elderly stood up for him, and my word dropped upon them like the dew. It was all good. He gave money to charities. He wore justice like a garment. That was life as it was meant to be. Very good for people of substance like Job, not so good for the blind, the lame and the needy – those receiving his charity. Sounds familiar?

But this is an ancient book.

The point is Job believes this is how the world should be. As Carol Newsom puts it, Job needs to change his moral imagination.[1] This is key for the book of Job.

Think about it. Is our world running any better – the wealthy receiving tax cuts - some gaining more from bonuses than others have to live on –so many children living in poverty, and rest home care givers shamefully underpaid. Is this what is needed today - a change in our moral imagination?

But Job is still wanting to bring his case before God. The youngest of his friends – the last on the scene, just scoffs. God does not regard any who are wise in their own deceit (37:24). i.e. you don’t really think God is going to take any notice of you.

And then – dramatically, God answered Job out of the whirlwind.

But - big but - God doesn’t talk about Job – or Job’s condition. "What God offers to Job are images … of the intrinsic goodness of the natural world.”[2] Not Job’s world of social inequalities. Not Job’s world centring on human society & status.

Is it by your wisdom that the hawk soars, and spreads its wings toward the south? Is it at your command that the eagle mounts up and makes its nest on high? (39:26).

Who has cut  … a way for the thunderbolt to bring rain on a land where no one lives, on the desert which is empty of human life, to satisfy the waste and desolate land and to make the ground put forth grass? (38:25-27)

This is not Job’s world  - this is the starting point for changing Job's moral imagination, and it’s creation theology! In a very very ancient book!

What does Job learn? That there are limits to human understanding, that God is not ‘handcuffed" by us,[3]  that creation is a mystery – but - & I am quoting -with “an order of rightness” and “intrinsic goodness.”[4]  And today we might add, held together by the so-called God particle.

And finally Job admits he’s been speaking without understanding (42:3). Then, in what we might expect to be key, Job’s final statement is quite ambiguous. The NRSV has him say therefore I despise myself, and repent in dust and ashes. Lowly worm stuff. But the word “repent” can also mean “comforted”, so Job can be saying, I am comforted concerning dust and ashes. I’m OK now about being human in God’s created world.

God hasn’t accused Job - of sin or scandalous talk. Surprise for the friends. In fact, God says you have not spoken of me what is right, as my servant Job has (42:7)! Surprise again - they thought they were defending God against Job!

But according to the book of Job, protesting & challenging God is OK. More than that: wrestling with the God questions is not only OK it’s a must, especially over issues of justice.

So - it’s a book about theology – about faith when everything’s gone wrong – about the goodness of creation & our place in it – about our moral imagination. All of this.

Or, as one writer puts it: it’s like “a tangram, one of those puzzles with pieces that fit together in countless ways … but no combination can be said to be ‘right’ or ‘wrong’.” The point is in the ‘handling’ which “is itself a learning process.” So “those of us willing to wrestle with the book of Job, will never arrive at the meaning” but will “learn something about the meaning of our own lives.”[5] 

That’s what my students have been telling me, about this very very ancient biblical book. Have you read Job lately?

Knox Church. 15/7/12 am.                                                   Judith E. McKinlay

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[1] Carol Newsom, "The Moral Sense of Nature: Ethics in the Light of God's Speech to Job," The Princeton Seminary Bulletin xv/1 (1994): 9-27.

[2] Newsom, "The Moral Sense of Nature,” 16-17.

[3] Gustavo Gutierrez, On Job  (Maryknoll: Orbis Books, 1987), 73.

[4] Newsom, "The Moral Sense of Nature,” 17-18.

[5] Alan Cooper, "Reading and Misreading the Prologue to Job," JSOT 46 (1990): 67-79

A Sermon for 8 July 2012 - Pentecost 6

Readings:  Ezekiel 1:1, 21-5; Mark 6:1-13

"A time is coming," said the desert dweller saint Anthony, "when [people] will go mad, and when they see someone who is not mad, they will attack [them], saying, 'You are mad, you are not like us.'"    It sounds like an Orwellian, or sci-fi perspective: the world going so crazy that it perceives madness as truth; wisdom as insanity.  But this is not Orwell, nor 20^th century science fiction, it’s St. Anthony in the 3^rd century.  Perhaps things don’t change.

Maybe even in Anthony’s times, the confusing of wisdom with folly was well entrenched.  For certainly, his sainted actions could be seen as crazy.  An “uneducated Copt born in 251 AD into a Christian family of peasant farmers, [Anthony] was eighteen, [when] his parents died, leaving him to care for his younger sister. Six months later, the gospel reading in church one Sunday was Matthew 19:2: "If you would be perfect, go, sell what you possess and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven." Anthony put his sister into the care of nuns, sold his possessions, and attached himself to an ascetic on the fringe of his village. Later, he went deep into the desert alone. [But] people followed him there for advice; and for a while he [provided a form of 3^rd century spiritual direction]. Later still, he returned to his life of solitary spirituality in the vast loneliness of the Egyptian desert.” [1]   Were his actions crazy?  I imagine plenty of his contemporaries thought so – and a number of us today would agree.

Just a few centuries earlier, the one they called Jesus of Nazareth seemed to have a similar problem; his actions were also considered crazy.  They’d known him since he was little; they knew his family; they’d played together as children; their mothers and fathers knew his mother and father; they had him sussed, this local boy; he was just the village carpenter.   Where did he get all his airs and his so-called wisdom?  In some ways, this morning’s reading is a repeat of what we read four weeks ago in Mark chapter 3, where we heard how his family and the scribes from Jerusalem had each separately come to the conclusion that Jesus was out of his mind.  You will remember how his family tried to take him into their custody – to protect him from his own madness and its inevitable outcomes.  And, now in today’s reading, as Mark, the gospel writer puts it, those who knew him best – the people with whom he had grown up, patronised him, refused to listen and ‘took offence at him’ - literally, they were scandalised by his behaviour.  His family didn’t believe in him; his neighbours thought him insane; the religious leaders said he was a glutton and a drunkard who mixed with the wrong people; those on the edge of society seemed to get his message more clearly than those in the centre; and that message provided a threat to the establishment; it’s not all that surprising he was executed. 

This One, whose actions and teaching seemed to many people to be plain madness, this is the One on whose life we pattern our own.  How wise is that – or, are we too insane?  (Risk management strategy almost compels me to put up a hazard-warning sign at this moment – for the gospel is extremely dangerous territory)

There’s a story told about “a colony of ants with only five legs.  Whenever they walked, they went ONE-TWO-HITCH, ONE-TWO-HITCH, all along the path. These ants lived on decayed banana leaves and nothing else.  I shouldn’t say they lived, for many of them died.  Banana leaves, especially in their rotten state, are rather hard to find, and so the ants had a very hard life.  Many of them died young from over-exertion and starvation.

Now, it happened one day that a very strange ant was born among them.  This ant had six legs. All the ants clicked their tongues in consternation.  Many tried their best to console the parents on their child’s deformity.  Some suggested that for the good of the community they ought to kill him in infancy, but the mother pleaded hard, so they let him live.

Strangely enough, this little ant was soon rushing around faster than his elders.  And, worse than that, he had a very awkward way of walking.  “Look,” they tried to tell him, “You don’t know how to walk correctly.  You have to go ONE-TWO-HITCH, ONE-TWO-HITCH.  Now, try it properly.”

So the little ant would try to put a little hitch in his step, but every time he tried, that sixth foot would come down [without a hitch] and he’d leave his teachers far behind. They gave up in disgust.  When he was half-grown, his elders noticed another peculiarity.  He was eating breadcrumbs.  ‘Stop’ they cried.  “They’re poison.  You mustn’t do that.  If you eat even two little pieces you’ll die.”  But the little ant continued eating.  They waited for him to fall over dead, but nothing happened.  Instead, as the days went by, he grew strong and big, bigger even than the biggest of grown-ups.  This was outrageous.

But the real crisis didn’t come until he was fully grown.

The colony had been told to move quickly from their home to another place, for the dreaded driver ants were marching against them.  The job of moving was very slow, for in order to move the nest, an egg had to be loaded on the back of an ant.  Then two other ants climbed on his back, holding the egg in place.  They had to keep it from rolling off at every hitch, you see.  So the egg was carried along and the ant under the egg would be more dead than alive when they arrived.

They had just started moving their eggs when they noticed the six-legged monstrosity coming towards them at a rapid rate.  “Hurry up, you lazy thing,” they cried between puffs, “You have work to do.”  They had barely got the words out of their mouths when he passed them on the double and was back again carrying an egg between – of all places – his two front feet.  “You can’t do that,” they screamed, “You’ll break it.  And anyway, you’ll never get there.”

“I’ve already been there and back twice,” he replied, “and I haven’t broken one yet.  Let me show you how to do it.”

This was the last straw. Almost choking with rage, they dropped their eggs in a heap and rushed at him.  “He has a devil,” cried his enemies.  “He is perverting the peace.  He is spoiling the nation.  He is teaching others this treason.  It is better that he should die than that our whole nation should perish.  Away with him.  Kill him.”

“There,” they growled in grim satisfaction some time later, “he’ll never try to teach us again.  We’ll solve our own problems, thank you.”

Then they went back to work.

ONE-TWO-HITCH, ONE-TWO-HITCH   ONE-TWO-HITCH.....[2]

As people of faith, seeking to live out the Way of Wisdom, these stories of St Anthony, Jesus and, yes, also the Ant colony, challenge and confront us.  They bring us to a compulsory stop – demanding that before we proceed, we consider where in our lives we catch glimpses of this ONE-TWO-HITCH-like madness attempting to supplant gospel wisdom.  Where are the places in our culture, our government, our families and our church that lead us into madness – even as they lay claims their way to be of the Truth?  Is it possible that, without realising it, our life patterns might be more aligned with Jesus’ family, his village, his faith community, the religious leaders of his day than with Jesus himself?  Could it be that we have been seduced into confusing wisdom with insanity? 

Where does the Christ-wisdom reside?

In an innocent and vulnerable baby, watched over by peasant folk,

gifted by foreigners, recognised by the very old

– a child who will bring destruction for some but liberation for many.

Speaking in the synagogue, preaching from the prophets,

discovering how his words do not please religious people.

Who does he think he is?  We’ve heard quite enough! 

Show him the door!  Show him the hill!

He’s walking through the streets which most decent folk avoid. 

Listening to the cries of all those who go unheard.

Touch me ... heal me ... let me see again ... make me well again .... it’s my child!

He’s confronting his fiercest critics. They have tongues as sharp as razors. 

They have plans in case their tongues are not enough.

Why do you eat with the riff-raff? Why do you violate our traditions? 

Why don’t you take us seriously?  Judas, Judas, we’ve got a job for you.

That’s him,

from Bethlehem to Bethany,

from Jerusalem to Jericho, from Capernaum to Calvary,

from Golgotha to the grave, from heaven to hell and back again; saying

I am the Way – follow me

I am the Truth .. believe me;

I am the Life ... receive me.[3]

I am the antithesis of madness, I am Holy Wisdom – come walk my way...

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[1] http://www.journeywithjesus.net/index.shtml Dan Clendinin, “They Took Offense at Him" Losing Your Mind to Find Your Way

[2] “Parable of the Ant” Stories for Sharing, Charles Arcodia, 1991, p.30-31

[3] “Behold the Lamb of God” Wild Goose Worship Group Present on Earth: Worship resources on the life of Jesus, 2002, p21-23. adapted .