A final sermon - for Transfiguration/Evolution Sunday Feb 10 2013

In deciding nine months ago to set my retirement date, I deliberately chose to retire on Transfiguration Sunday.  With the luxury I had of choice, in viewing the church calendar, it seemed to me there were only two appropriate dates on which to conclude this journey we have shared together.  One possibility was the Reign of Christ Sunday – that final Sunday of the Liturgical Year immediately prior to Advent. (But I wasn’t quite ready to let go one last opportunity to celebrate Advent and Christmas within this community).  The other possibility for ending was today – on the ancient feast of Transfiguration and, the beautifully linked, much more recent addition to our church calendar – Evolution Sunday, where we celebrate the ever emerging realities of life in this evolving cosmos.

There’s a very good reason why the Reformed Church celebrates Jesus’ Transfiguration on this Sunday at the end of Epiphany and before the beginning of Lent.  Over these past weeks since Christmas, we’ve been dwelling in the season of Epiphany – during which we have been reminded of how Love breaks into our lives, transforming us into a people of hope, joy and peace.   During Lent, which commences this Wednesday, we turn our faces towards Jerusalem, walking a journey with Jesus – daring to face all our doubts, our fears and our sufferings; walking with the one who shows us how Love transforms even the deepest pain of the world. Transfiguration Sunday provides a hinge holding together these two aspects of what it means to be fully alive human-beings.  Today we are invited up the mountain to take a longer view of the past and future; to consider – at a time when roads run out and signposts end – where and how we might be alive to the presence and purpose of God.  Transfiguration is a time in the Church calendar, when we might catch a glimpse of Love’s glorious possibilities, which emerge from our mountain-top experiences – and also provide strength in those hard and difficult times, when all hope seems lost.

As the Gospel writers tell it, the disciples thought the road was running out and the signposts ending.  They had heard him say he was going to die.  They’d listened to his teaching about losing their life in a way that brought new life.  They struggled to understand.  And then, up there on the mountain, they were granted one of those amazing moments of insight – and they saw him as he truly was ... a human being carrying the star-dust of his ancestors, embracing past traditions and shining with the transforming light of God ... and although they were tired “weighed down with sleep”, they kept their eyes open long enough to catch a glimpse of this glory of a human being pulsing with all the possibility, light and love of the cosmos. And, naturally, they wanted to hold on to it all; to nail it down... they wanted to build shrines, dwellings in which to hold the vision safe and keep it protected for all time; they wanted to stay at the top of the mountain confining the vision to the safety of glorious certainty.

 But that wasn’t to be; mountain-top experiences are only that, because the mountain has been climbed.  If we’ve never been down in the valley, the mountain-top experience doesn’t make much sense.  And even more important, if the shrines get built, then what has happened on the mountain remains there – it’s of no use for the ongoing journey – it won’t be of any help when the going gets tough.  If the shrines are built, the vision is confined and even destroyed.  

And so, the well-meaning disciples are coaxed away from their plans.  If we’d heard the longer reading set down for today, we would have gone down the mountain with them – into the pain and suffering, where healing hands and loving words were so desperately needed.  Wanting to remain on the mountain-top, the disciples were abdicating their responsibility.  They were afraid, they misunderstood and they kept silent (at least, until, just a few verses later they find their voices to squabble over which of them is more important)....They’d forgotten they too carried the tradition of their ancestors, they too could shine with the light and glory of God.  They too could fully alive human beings. They too could be the Light and Love of the world.^[1]

Jan Philips^[2] tells a story about the victim of a car accident – one whose experience was very much one of transfiguration as the signposts ended.  One moment, he was standing by his car, taking photographs – caught up in the beauty of birds in flight; the next moment he was slammed into, by a passing car.

“When he came to, he was underneath his car, lying prostrate and facing the rear wheel.  He lifted his head enough to see his outstretched arms and feared immediately that he was paralyzed.  He tried to wiggle his fingers and was amazed when they moved.  Then he tried his feet and his toes.  They moved too.  “I can get out of here” he thought.  He tried to drag his body forward, but he couldn’t move, he was under the exhaust, pinned to the ground ... [he thought he was going to die]... it was time then to let go ...but he wanted to live and he started to fear not so much the unknown, but the end of the known...  gradually, he closed his eyes, took one last deep conscious breath, and began to slip backwards, into silence, he felt myself leaving through the soles of his feet, and was almost out when heard the shouts.  “Is anybody there?  Is anybody alive?”  He zipped right back into his body and suddenly he was back under the car again.  The frantic voices continued to call “Is anybody there?  Is anyone alive?”  And in a voice barely audible, he called out “I’m here”.. He looked up and saw four legs – two men – “Oh my God! They cried out.  Wait there!  We’ll go for help!”  “Don’t go”, he pleaded, “you are the help.  Just lift up the car.”  There was a terrible silence, then they yelled back, “we can’t!  We need help!”  “Yes you can”, he cried.  “You can, you’re the help.  Just lift it up ... now.”

And in one miraculous moment, they became the gods we are capable of being.  They put their hands under the bumper and on the count of three, lifted the car as if it were a feather.

In later times, he reflected - I never knew it like I know it now – that we are the help and we need reminding.  When those men approached the wreckage, the first thing they experienced was their helplessness.  They did not believe in their own powers and wanted to run off in search of help.  They were caught in the story we’ve been told all our lives – that help is somewhere else, power and strength are somewhere else, the solutions are somewhere else, beyond us, outside of us.  But when they heard that voice “You are the help”, some shift happened. In the place of doubt rushed a huge and mighty force, a new belief that rippled through every cell in their bodies and infused their beings with whatever strength was called for.

Whatever is needed at this time in history to right this world, to right our own personal and precious lives, we have these things within us.  We do not need science and technology to save us.  ... We do not need more information and faster computers to save us.  What we need is to abandon our notions that solutions exist [up mountains, in shrines] some [place] else.

Coming to grips with the power we are is a necessary step on the evolutionary journey.  It means being the ones we came here to be, [believing, even in the midst of our deep unknowing  that it is Love-in-action, which holds the world together] believing in the words of the Master Teacher, “Anything I have done in the name of the Creator, you can do, too ... and even more. ”^[3]

On this Transfiguration-hinge Sunday, we are invited to open our eyes to see Jesus, transformed, transfigured to a beam of light – the light of the world – God’s light, which continues to shine through us, the ongoing Body of Christ.

We open our eyes to see Moses and Elijah (and perhaps John Knox, Dr Stuart and Sister Gladys)  – representing the traditions and stories of our ancestors, providing words which speak to us and now speak through us in a new, transfigured way.

We open our eyes and we see a misty cloud –the cloud of God’s presence, the cloud of unknowing –which assures us we do not know everything and that we do not need to fear that.

We open our eyes and we see Peter and his friends with their plans – like our best plans – often missing the point, losing the way - forgetting the invitation to join Jesus down the mountain, being the Christ to others.

We open our ears and we hear the voice of Spirit – reminding us that the whole point of being church is to be alive to the presence of God in all times and in all places; Spirit, announcing Jesus as God’s beloved – one to whom we are to attune our hearts and minds – and whose life we must emulate.^[4]

And, that is enough, more than enough for the journey ... even when the sign posts end, even when we come to the edge of today, walking a lonesome valley to Jerusalem ... For we know that we have what is needed for the journey – we are not alone.  Thanks be to God. 

---

[1] “The glory of God is a human being fully alive; and to be alive consists in beholding God.” (Irenaeus 2^nd century Christian bishop)

[2] Jan Phillips, No Ordinary Time: The rise of Spiritual Intelligence and Evolutionary Creativity. 2011

[3] Jan Phillips, No Ordinary Time: The rise of Spiritual Intelligence and Evolutionary Creativity. 2011

[4] Shaped by William Loader, “Transfiguration Prayer” http://wwwstaff.murdoch.edu.au/~loader/TransfigurationPrayer.htm

A Second Sermon for 3 February 2013

Preached at St Paul's Cathedral, Dunedin at Evensong 3 February

Readings: Haggai 2:1-9; John 2:18-22

I’ve been heard on occasion to remark that the Holy Spirit has a sense of humour; and tonight I want to affirm that.  A word of explanation: when I say the Holy Spirit has a sense of humour, I don’t mean to suggest that the Spirit of God is human-like with emotions and ideas like us; I don’t believe, for one minute, that Spirit is made in our image.  But, I find using the language of humour to describe Spirit invites us to consider what is happening around us from a viewpoint not confined by self- interests, ego and control.  Saying the Spirit has a sense of humour provides language to describe that mysterious, intuitive and pulsing force, found at the heart of the cosmos, through which, when we are attuned, we find wholeness, healing and abundant life for all.   In my experience, it is when we tune in to that surprising Spirit-space of holy creativity and serendipity, we discover Spirit’s transforming fire, light and love, which overturns our self-serving elitism and self-affirming importance; Spirit beckoning, tricking and enticing us into a new horizon of life where love, justice and peace offer a surprising and totally different framework for humanity’s way of being within this world.

My short hand for that rather ‘winded’ explanation is that Spirit, God’s Spirit, the Holy Spirit does have a sense of humour. 
Eight years ago, I had a full-blown experience of that sense of humour when, completely ready to settle in Sydney for the rest of our days, with our retirement home nearly paid off and having fallen in love with the beguiling Australian life-style, the winds of Spirit rippled across the waters – and cyber-space – drawing me here to Dunedin, where I have been so fully blessed these last seven-half years.  Yes, the Holy Spirit has a sense of humour and I’ve learnt over the years, to listen carefully for those ripples of laughter and to trust their overturning power.

And tonight, as we gather in this beautiful Cathedral – members of congregations of the four inner-city churches with old, glorious and challenging buildings, I think Spirit is having another belly laugh.   As I understand it, we are here tonight on the invitation of the St Paul’s Cathedral Vestry, which suggested a combined service between our four churches.  In the Dean’s letter of invitation, he wrote, “When the suggestion [for this service] was made it was also pointed out that our churches shared some common challenges, not least being questions related to insurance, earthquake strengthening and the dwindling congregations of ‘mainstream churches ... Opportunity for some discussions across our congregations would be appreciated.” The Dean ‘s letter continued, “It was realised that these concerns affect other denominations and congregations but it was nonetheless suggested that we begin with a discussion among our four to see if we find merit in the idea.”  And so here we are tonight in response to that invitation – a date chosen because it suited most of us ... certainly not chosen because of the readings set down in the Anglican Calendar for evensong on this day ...But, can you hear Spirit’s deep rumbling chuckle inviting us to address our present common challenges about beautiful historic buildings within the context of ancient readings, speaking about the Temple in Jerusalem – a magnificent and changing Temple – Solomon’s Temple built more than 900 years before Jesus was born; some 300 years later razed to the ground by the Babylonian Empire, then re-built after the Exile and destroyed again by the Roman Empire a few decades after Jesus died – and never to be built again – at least, not yet.   As we consider our challenges and choices concerning shoring and insuring up against destruction, we hold these texts before us –– and, if we listen, we might hear echoes of where Spirit’s laughter can lead. 

I imagine not many of us would have heard tonight’s reading without other echoes resounding.  For many, the words of Haggai cannot be heard on their own without the magnificent music of Handel’s Messiah reverberating in our heads Yet once a little while, the bass soloist sings, and I will shake the heavens, and the earth, the sea, and the dry land; and I will shake all nations.  And, of course, these words take on even more meaning in the context of recent earthquakes, volcanoes and tsunamis, where the shaking of the earth, the sea and the dry land, are very much our reality – and provide us with those common challenges, which have drawn us together tonight. 

The little book of Haggai comes out of the post-exilic period (that is, after the destruction of Solomon’s Temple and after the return of the people of Israel from Babylon).   At the beginning of Haggai’s prophecy, we learn of a difference of opinion between different groups.  Some believed it important to rebuild the temple immediately; others argued “the time has not yet come to rebuild the LORD’s house” (1.2).   Those differences are the reality in times of change and chaos and the rumbling laughter of the Holy Spirit is not guaranteed to be comfortable or welcome.  In fact, some have been tempted to detect a hint of menace in the mirth.  For certainly, there is no guaranteed protection from the forces of nature or the weapons of empire. The earth and nations do quake; temples and cathedrals are reduced to rubble and ruin.  We’ve seen it with our very own eyes.  But is this the work of the Spirit?  I think not! For our tradition does not teach that Spirit brings destruction and death – but rather that Spirit hovers creatively over chaos, Spirit reveals the presence of God, Spirit brings new life, healing and hope.

In writing his Gospel, John knew these traditions.  By the time he wrote his Gospel, he would also have known about the destruction of the second Temple – and that knowledge shapes his telling of the good news.  His deeply theological Gospel, wrought within the newly forming church, centred on the one known as the Christ – and it provides a transforming view.  In his Gospel, John places the overturning of the moneychangers in the Temple at the beginning of Jesus’ ministry – not the end as for the Synoptic writers.  Give us a sign, the unconvinced religious leaders taunt as Jesus drives the merchants and bankers from the Temple.  Ok, says Jesus ‘Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up.’ ‘This temple has been under construction for forty-six years, and will you raise it up in three days?’ the incredulous leaders respond.  But, reflects John, he was speaking of the temple of his body – the place where Eternal Word has become flesh – making its home with humanity and bringing abundant life for all.

We, who are Christian, have taken John’s symbolic understanding of God’s presence among us to speak of the Church as the Body of Christ.  Each time we celebrate the Eucharist we “receive what we are and become what we receive, the Body of Christ”.  Another way – perhaps not even the final way - of knowing and experiencing the Eternal Presence of God.

Yes, we do have many challenges before us.  We don’t know what the future holds. As our faith ancestors discovered, God’s eternal presence is not limited by the symbols we call on to remind us of that presence.  God in the burning bush, God in the pillar of fire and pillar of cloud, God in the ark of the covenant, God in the first and second Temples – all have been just that, symbols of the presence of God.  While yearning for a new Temple, Judaism has continued to flourish without one.  Let us never lose sight of the fact that the buildings of First Church and Knox, the cathedrals of St Joseph and St Paul are just that, symbols of the presence of God. 

We certainly face big challenges in the years ahead.  But the words of the prophet Haggai continue to ring true:  “Take courage, says God; work [we might say - as being the body of Christ – but take courage], for I am with you, according to the promise I made you when you came out of Egypt.  My spirit abides among you; do not fear.”

Friends, I assure you, laughter is the one of the greatest antidotes to fear … So travel into the future with courage, listening for that laughter – and hear what the Spirit is saying to the Church.  Amen

A sermon for 3 February 2013 - Epiphany 4

Readings: Jeremiah 1:4-10; 1 Corinthians 13

 

Our exploration of our ongoing faith story left us last week in a place some of you might have found a little discomforting.  You may remember, we were exploring that wonderful and challenging sermon which, according to Luke, Jesus presented at his village synagogue – a sermon which led people to anger and a desire to cause harm to their hometown boy, closing their hearts and minds to his message – letting him, as Thom Shuman put it “slip through their souls”, finding themselves unable to follow as he continued on the “winding road of grace^[1].

 That experience of so long ago is still ours – the challenge to follow this man Jesus’ dreams and vision for humanity is often too large for our commitment.  Part of the reason we come to church each Sunday is to restore that vision, to rekindle the fire, so that the commitment to follow can become a reality in our lives.  Today, through the words of the (sometimes less than helpful) apostle Paul, we encounter a key to unlock the prison, which keeps us from that miracle of full, abundant and meaningful life, for which we yearn and to which Jesus points the way.

 Alongside Psalm 23, 1 Corinthians 13 has to be one of the most well known passages of scripture – perhaps too well known.  The familiar words can ripple over our conscious minds with little effect – oh yes, we say, I know that one - it’s that hymn about love – they read it at weddings.  But sometimes, just sometimes, the words wriggle into our subconscious, taking root and enabling us to discover their transforming power. 

I remember one wedding, where the couple asked for this reading and, as I struggled to try to make it meaningful for them, I invited them to hear the word Love - first as just that “Love”,

“Love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the truth.  It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.”

Then, I invited them to listen again, but this time the word Love was replaced with the word God:

“God is patient; God is kind; God is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude, does not insist on God’s own way; God is not irritable or resentful; does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the truth.  God bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.”

I think they got the point.  But then, I invited them to hear their own name in place of Love as I addressed them

“You are patient; you are kind; you are not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. You do not insist on your own way; you are not irritable or resentful; you do not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoice in the truth.  You bear all things, believe all things, hope all things, endure all things.”

And I could sense in the congregation, and see on the face of the young couple a “you must be kidding me” look.  Even on wedding days, genuine love seems an impossible ideal. 

 But, the one we follow, the one who is the ‘fleshed-out Word of Love’ teaches that this Love can become flesh in each of our lives.  “[While] the ego is blind – all it can see is itself...Love is not blind.  Love is pure vision! God seeing through us!  The more we allow God to see through us, the more we will notice a great healing taking place in our world.” [2]

 In his book “Spiritual Evolution”, George Vaillant claims that human beings are hard wired for the positive emotions of Faith, Hope and Love, which he argues “arise from our inborn mammalian capacity for unselfish parental love.  [These positive emotions] emanate from our feeling, limbic mammalian brain and thus are grounded in our evolutionary heritage.  All human beings [he says] are hardwired for positive emotions, and these positive emotions are a common denominator of all major faiths and of all human beings.”[3]

 But, tapping into this hardwiring requires a connector. 

This week, as our street has had its turn in being dug up to install the high speed broadband cable throughout the city, I learned that the cable stops in little boxes on the telegraph poles.  There will be no high speed broadband in our house unless we make the connection to that little box on the telegraph pole.  In a similar way, there will be no Love, if the connection is not made between our ‘positive emotion’ hard wiring and the healing, transformative pulse of Love found at the heart of the cosmos.  That why the development of spiritual disciplines is so very important – it’s why I’ve encouraged you to explore the breadth of spiritual disciplines – for it is through these that connection is made.

If there was to be one connector more important than any other, I would argue – as I believe Jesus did – it is that of forgiveness.    As one writer puts it “To not forgive is to choose to suffer”[4]   The Buddha expressed the same sentiments, when he said: “Holding on to anger is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die.” It is through forgiveness that love fully blossoms; and through love that forgiveness is possible.

“Here’s a true story told by Jack Kornfield, a clinical psychologist.  Travelling by train from Washington to Philadelphia, Dr. Kornfield found himself seated next to the director of a rehabilitation programme for juvenile offenders, particularly gang members who had committed homicide.

One fourteen-year-old boy in the program had shot and killed an innocent teenager to prove himself to his gang.  At the trial, the victim’s mother sat impassively silent until the end, when the youth was convicted of the killing.  After the verdict was announced, she stood up slowly and stared directly at him and stated, “I’m going to kill you.” Then the youth was taken away to serve several years in the juvenile facility.

After the first half year the mother of the slain child went to visit his killer.  He had been living on the streets before the killing, and she was the only visitor [in jail] he’d had.  For a time they talked, and when she left she gave him some money for cigarettes.  Then she started step by step to visit him more regularly, bringing food and small gifts. 

Near the end of his three-year sentence, she asked him what he would be doing when he got out.  He was confused and very uncertain, so she offered to help set him up with a job at a friend’s company.  Then she inquired about where he would live, and since he had no family to return to, she offered him temporary use of the spare room in her home. 

For eight months he lived there, ate her food, and worked at the job.  Then one evening she called him into the living room to talk.  She sat down opposite him and waited.  Then she started, “Do you remember in the courtroom when I said I was going to kill you?” “I sure do,” he replied.  “I’ll never forget that moment.”  “Well, I did,” she went on.  “I did not want the boy who could kill my son for no reason to remain alive on this earth.  I wanted him to die.  That’s why I started to visit you and bring you things.  That’s why I got you the job and let you live here in my house.  That’s how I set about changing you.  And that old boy, he’s gone. 

So now I want to ask you, since my son is gone, and that killer is gone, if you’ll stay here.  I’ve got room, and I’d like to adopt you if you let me.” 

And she became the mother he never had.

....What had happened? [The connections between human hardwiring and the heart of the Universe had been made.] Unselfish love had conquered both [what has been described as] Darwinian ‘selfish’ genes and Kantian pure reason.  The transformative [and healing] power of [forgiveness and love] had interceded.”[5]

 Love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the truth.  It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.  Love never ends.

 Mystic, Sufi poet Hafiz from Persia tells how “Once a young woman asked him:  Teacher, what is the sign of someone who knows God?  The teacher became very quiet, and looked deep into her eyes, then replied, “My dear, they have dropped the knife.  A person who knows God, has dropped the cruel knife that most, so often use upon their tender self and others.”[6]

 When the knife is dropped, when forgiveness becomes the way, those listening to Jesus’ teaching do not let him pass through their angry midst, instead they discover a way of walking with him on the ‘winding road of grace’ where faith hope and love abide, these three, and the greatest of these is Love.

---

[1] Thom M. Shuman, 2007

[2] Macrina Wiederkehr Seasons of your heart, 1991, p.91

[3] George Vaillant “Spiritual Evolution: How we are wired for Faith, Hope, and Love 2008, p.2

[4] Course on Miracles

[5] George Vaillant “Spiritual Evolution: How we are wired for Faith, Hope, and Love 2008, p.2

[6] A year with Hafiz, Daily Contemplations January 31

A sermon for 27 January 2013 - Epiphany 3

Readings: 1 Corinthians 12; Luke 4:14-21

 

I’ve not been to Nazareth[1] – and that leaves me at a definite disadvantage.  When I try to imagine myself into the Bible, it’s difficult to get past the pictures that used to hang on the Sunday School wall or were found interleaved between the pages of my Bible – pictures of a peaceful, gentle community, where Jesus was welcomed and loved.  The Nazareth of today is a long way from that perspective.  Since the 1947 UN partition plan, Nazareth has become what is known as the Arab capital of Israel – where the population is made up, predominantly, of Arabian citizens, 70% of whom are Muslim and 30% Christian.[2]   You don’t need to have visited Nazareth to imagine the tensions that are part of the context of this city today. 

A few years ago I spoke about how recent archeological diggings near Nazareth suggest present day tensions might be closer to the reality of Jesus’ day than what was depicted in those well-intentioned Bible pictures of 1950s. 

Just 6-7km northwest of Nazareth is Sepphoris, which has been the capital city of Galilee throughout many periods. Archaeologists[3]  have laid bare its 4000 seat amphitheatre, its elegant mansions, markets, banks, armoury and basilica – all set out on a hill giving panoramic views of Lower Galilee – including Nazareth. 

When Herod the Great died in 4 B.C., his son Herod Antipas made Sephhoris his capital, rebuilding and fortifying it and creating an administrative centre worthy of his pretensions.  First century historian Josephus described this cosmopolitan city as “the ornament of all Galilee”.  If Jesus grew up in Nazareth, then the Roman-style re-construction of Sepphoris was happening at the same time – and within an hour’s walk of his home village.  The demand for labourers would have been great.  It’s possible that Joseph and Jesus, living so close and being builders by trade, were part of the construction crew.

Even if they hadn’t worked there, those living in Nazareth would have been fully aware of all that wealth and fortification that was being poured into the rebuilding process.  The peasants had good reason to hate the city – where absentee landlords, owners of estates, and chief tax collectors enjoyed friendly relationships with the Romans and lives of wealth and ease - at the cost of those who worked the land[4]. 

About the time that Jesus was born, there had been a riot in Sepphoris - part of the city was destroyed – and then not that long after Jesus’ death, the Roman defenders were forced out of Sepphoris – the city was burned and looted by peasants from the surrounding countryside.   The Sunday School picture of Jesus quietly at work in his father’s carpenters shop in peaceful Nazareth is being blown away!

In the generation between all that rioting, looting and burning, Luke tells us that Jesus – filled with the power of the Spirit – returns to Galilee, where he gets rave reviews for his preaching and teaching.  When he came to Nazareth, where he had been brought up, he went to the synagogue on the sabbath day, as was his custom.  In the shadow of Sepphoris, controlled by the Romans, whom the people fear and despise, his congregation knew all about oppression and slavery to an administration and economy where the rich get richer and the poor, poorer – one that doesn’t take much imagination from our context today.  And in that place, Luke tells us, Jesus stood up to do a reading, and the scroll of the prophet Isaiah was given to him. So he unrolled the scroll and found Isaiah 61, the place where it says

        The spirit of the Lord is upon me,
        because the LORD has anointed me;
        he has sent me to bring good news to the oppressed,
        to bind up the broken hearted,
        to proclaim liberty to the captives,
        and release to the prisoners;
        to proclaim the year of the LORD's favor,
        - and the day of vengeance of our God.
...But no, I’ve got that wrong – I’ve read further than Luke said Jesus did. Did he censor the reading?  For those listening in the Nazareth synagogue – they knew what was coming and what Jesus had left out.  They also knew about “the year of the Lord’s favour” – the law proclaimed a “jubilee” every fifty years – a time when prisoners were freed and the land would revert to its original owners.  Great idea – and desperately needed – but so far, it hadn’t happened.

Into this context Jesus preaches his sermon.   “Today – right now – this scripture is being fulfilled”.  Ah – you can hear the collective sigh that went through the congregation - at long last, the tables will be turned – and – wow!  One of our own – has come home to lead the revolution – good old Joseph’s son.   We’re going to get our land back!   This time, we’ll be successful – we’ll kick those Romans out.   Can you hear their minds racing – planning to go home to gather their grenades and Molotov cocktails – or, at least their ancient equivalents?  Sepphoris is doomed!

But then it hits them - Jesus left out that line about God’s vengeance – he left out the ‘good’ part about revenge and punishment and enemies getting their just desserts.
 Instead, in what he says and doesn’t say – what he does and doesn’t do – Jesus preaches about God who brings not revenge, but love and healing – even to foreigners! – love even for the Romans in Sepphoris; even the Romans who murder him. 

And, that’s not what his congregation wants to hear – they are so angry, they drive him out of town and want to throw him over the cliff!  And then comes the saddest line in the story; from the part we didn’t hear this morning.  "He passed through the midst of them and went on his way."   Were they so angry they couldn’t see the possibilities for the whole community – including their enemies.  Did their rage and desperate need for revenge blind them from the offer of God’s favour – of full and abundant life?  ….. Jesus passed through the midst of them and went on his way. The greatest opportunity possible had just come to them, and they got so angry they lost sight of it.  How very sad…..

And just a generation later Sepphoris, Jerusalem, the great Temple, the whole countryside, all that was left of this great nation dissolved in flame and fury and blood.  And it didn’t stop in that generation – for even today Nazareth, and all the land around it, is dying in a spasm of hatred, fear and war.  But this hate and fear is not only confined to Israel.  All over the world, the rage grows.   When the life-style of the greedy minority prevents the needy majority from access to basic essentials, the powerless turn to terrorism and revolution – and the level of violence escalates.    We know the rage of those who are poor and have nothing to lose.  We’ve seen the anger in our own streets – anger that vandalises buildings, destroys relationships and makes our streets unsafe – anger that attacks people with beliefs different from our own – anger that stabs young people and murders elderly widows.

It’s very easy to be sucked into this fear and anger - so easy to lose sight of Jesus, the teacher, living and travelling in a violent land – Jesus, who said, “turn the other cheek, carry the other person's coat, love your enemies.”  Jesus, who points out that God loves the stranger, the weak and the poor.  It's too easy, when we're following our own agendas of revenge and punishment, too easy to ignore his message, too easy to leave him on Sunday School posters and between the leaves of an ancient book.  While our focus is on punishing our enemies, Jesus and his message don't seem that relevant.

And since we also live in a country growing in fear and  anger, filled with people--even Christians, especially Christians-- who have their own agendas and have rejected Christ's message of love  for everyone, we have reason to be scared that  Jesus will also pass through our midst and go on his own way.  Is that what we want?

A poem by contemporary writer, Tom Shuman

what to do, what to do?

we don’t know
what to do with you,
Jesus!

home from [university]
on [mid-term] break,
you stand up in church
and read the scriptures
with such wonder and awe,
all we can do is nudge one another:
“I had him in kindergarten,
he was always ahead of everyone else!”
“he was always helping the younger kids
when he was in youth group.”

We can hardly wait to hear
your sermon . . . until
you start talking about
how we are
    to welcome the immigrants,
    to open the jail doors,
    to give more to those
       who will only squander it.
Then we whisper (in a stage voice):
“whose bright idea was it
to ask him to preach?”
And so,
we close our hearts to you,
and let you slip through
our souls,
as you go to fulfill
God’s hopes for us,
wishing we would follow you
on that winding road
of grace.[5]

E te whanau, it doesn’t have to be that way ...  it’s not too late for the scripture to be fulfilled. Today the jubilee can still be proclaimed. This can be the year of God’s favour.   Imagine what it might be like if we did follow him on that winding road of grace.

 

---

[1] I am indebted to Don Hoffman (who has been to Nazareth!) and whose sermon is quoted from extensively and has formed the basis for mine.  Don Hoffman, Creston Christian Church crestnch@televar.com Creston, Washington, USA - sermon posted on Preaching the Revised Common Lectionary, Thursday, 25 January 2007 5:11 a.m.

[2] http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nazareth

[3] www.centuryone.org/sepphoris.html

[4] According to Josephus, the peasants hated the city – and the city people were fearful of the villagers.

[5] © 2007  Thom M. Shuman

A Sermon for 20 January 2013: Epiphany 2

Readings: Psalm 36; John 2:1-11; 1 Corinthians 12

 It would have made a good episode for “Border Control.”  A traveller crossing the border from Mexico to the United States was having his bag searched.  The US customs official drew out of his bag a one-litre bottle of liquid.  The official asked the man what it contained and the traveller replied, “It’s just holy water.  I took it from a shrine I was visiting.  They say it causes miracles.”  The customs inspector was suspicious.  He opened the bottle and took a sniff.  “Ah-ha,” he declared, “this is not water – it’s wine!”  And the traveller lifted his eyes to the sky and cried out, “Good heavens!  Another miracle!”

 According to the Gospel writer we call John, the miracle Jesus performed at the wedding of Cana was a sign – the first of Jesus’ signs – the first act, according to John, that Jesus performed in his ministry.  And yet, even though “stories about the miraculous production of wine by gods or religious figures were known in the ancient Mediterranean world”[1], none of the other gospel writers describe anything like this particular one.  I hope that for some, this might intrigue you and draw you into a careful reading and reflection on the theological structure and meaning of this particular Gospel – so different from Matthew, Mark and Luke.   

 Using the language of ‘sign’ rather than miracle, John reminds us that his accounts of Jesus’ miracles are not to describe some form of magic, but rather (as all signs do) to point beyond themselves to a truth which goes way past any discussion about the historical accuracy of a particular narrative.  A sign – we might even call it a sacrament[2] – pointing us to a reality beyond our limited vision.

 Last Sunday we celebrated water – that amazing gift of God which makes up 80% of our bodies and which covers 70% of this Earth’s surface – water that we use in the sacrament of baptism as a sign of God’s overflowing and overwhelming love for us.  Water – which John tells us is life-giving and which can be transformed for love and celebration. 

 In terms of literal accuracy, this miracle of the wedding at Cana is nothing short of spectacular!   For, if the numbers are correct, then this report of Jesus’ action describes how more than 300 litres of water are turned into wine – not just any wine, but the very best, top quality, Villa Maria Chardonnay,  Bannockburn Pinot Gris or Marlborough Sauvignon Blanc.  So, if there were a hundred guests, that’s more than 3 litres for each person,....even if 300 guests, a litre each ... and, remember, this was after people had been drinking for some time ... all the wine provided by the wedding host had already gone.   Jesus doesn’t seem to be taking seriously the importance of responsible service of alcohol here.... or do we miss the point, if we go down that path, and is John pointing us to something more – something much more?   It’s almost as though John is playing with us – telling us a good joke – surprising us with an extravagant outcome we would never have thought of ourselves ... Good heavens!  Another miracle!

The Gospels are full of stories of God’s extravagant, generous, overflowing gifts, love and mercy: the open-armed welcome for the prodigal child, a catch of fish so great that it overwhelms the boats, the feeding of a multitude of people, with so much leftover; signs of abundance and celebration.   Good heavens! More miracles!  We can almost hear Jesus saying “what part of abundant life don’t you understand?”

And in our heart of hearts, we might reply – “get real Jesus – there’s not much to sing about in this world of shortages.  Don’t you realise we have to live with limits, that we have to protect our patch?  There’s only so much food, so much water and so much oil – and it’s being used up at a great rate.   There’s only so much rain forest, and we’re cutting it down. There are only so many fish in the sea, and we are fighting over quotas. There are only so many jobs, and we’re struggling to keep them in our own country. There’s only so much to go around, and if others get more, it means I get less.  Signs of overflowing generosity just aren’t the way of the world.” 

That’s right; the way of the gospel is not the way of the world.  The signs to which John calls our attention point to the way of the Gospel, which is about over-the-top, extravagant love. In God, there are always surpluses.  It may be worth asking ourselves: are we thinking too small?  Are we doling out the wine by the teaspoon, while Jesus is pouring it out by the 50 litre flagon?

We catch a glimpse of how God’s surpluses emerge, in today’s reading from the letter of Paul to the Church in Corinth.  Here Paul reminds the people of the various spiritual gifts they have been given – gifts perhaps unrecognised, but gifts, which shared together amongst a community, bring about abundance.   Paul writes: “there are varieties of gifts, but the same Spirit; and there are varieties of services, but the same Lord; and there are varieties of activities, but it is the same God who activates all of them in everyone.  To each is given the manifestation of the Spirit for the common good.”

Some of you will have noticed that, for some weeks now, I have included in each order of service, a spiritual practice for the week.  The reason for doing this is to help each of us to identify and develop this variety of gifts which we all have, and which, in God’s abundance, can be activated for the common good – for the common good of you and your friendship/family circle, for the common good of this faith community and the Dunedin community, and for the common good of the cosmos.

The practice for this week is ‘Hope”.   To live within a context of hope is to live within a mind-set of abundance.  “Hope is a positive and potent spiritual practice with the power to pull us through difficult times. It is usually described with light metaphors — a ray, a beam, a glimmer of hope; the break in the clouds; the light at the end of the dark tunnel. It is often discovered in unexpected places.”  One way of developing this practice is to close your eyes, let one breath out, and then see yourself in a long tunnel with nothing but darkness behind and ahead of you. Moving forward, see a dot of light in the distance, which is getting larger and larger the closer you move toward it. Walk out of the tunnel into the light. [3] Then open your eyes to the miracles you will see – for living in hope opens us to God’s surprise of abundance and enables us to offer that abundance to others.

Many of you will know the story of CS Lewis; as told in the movie Shadowlands.   For a very long time Lewis’s life had followed the same comfortable patterns as a teacher and writer, a pipe-smoking bachelor, living in his book-lined Oxford home with his brother.  Shadowlands tells about the wonderfully surprising, late blooming romance involving this lay theologian, writer of children’s books, an older settled man, and American poet, Joy Gresham, a young divorced mother. Turning water into wine might seem simple in comparison to the ways of this developing relationship. They meet after Joy wrote Lewis an admiring letter; their correspondence led to her visiting England with her son Douglas. Lewis received Joy with courtesy, but was so totally settled in his lifelong professional routine, he hardly knew what to do with her – especially as it became clear, even to himself, that he was falling in love.

Their courtship was an odd one. He issued invitations lamely, as if sure she would not accept. Then Joy had difficulties with immigration – and it was likely she would have to return to America. And so Lewis offers marriage to cover the technicalities of immigration – a secret arrangement which allows Joy to remain living in London, while Lewis continues his life style in Oxford. But then, when expectations are at their lowest, when life appears predictable, when the wine is running out – a surprise transforms their lives.   Joy becomes terminally ill with cancer and in his hospital visiting of Joy, Lewis suddenly awakens to the reality of the abundant love they have for each other. The best is surely kept until last.   There in the hospital, another wedding ceremony is performed – a religious and public occasion; a celebration of deep and abundant love.   On being discharged from the hospital, Joy and her son Douglas are welcomed into Lewis’s home in Oxford where they live as a married couple and a family.  It is there that Lewis learns how to nurse his wife and to become a father to Douglas. 

In Joy’s dying days, the water is indeed turned into abundantly flowing and gold medal winning wine.  While their time as a married couple was short, this newly formed family found in those brief days an intense and extremely happy time together. CS Lewis was later to write a book entitled “Surprised by Joy”.

Good heavens!  Another miracle!  Will they ever end?  I hope not....

 

 

---

[1] Gail R. O’Day “The Gospel according to John” The New Interpreter’s Study Bible 2003 p.1910.

[2] Rubem Alves suggests “When things awaken longing remembrance and cause the memory of love and the desire for return to grow in the heart, we say that they are sacraments.  This is a sacrament: visible signs of an absence, symbols which make us think about return.”[2]

[3] http://www.spiritualityandpractice.com/