Prayers for Mothers' Day

Prayers for Mothers' Day

On this Mothers’ Day we picture the greetings cards that speak of love and tenderness and while we give you thanks for such love and tenderness, we recognise that for some, their experiences have not been loving or tender and that the reality is far from the ideal pushed at us by the hearts, the flowers and the chocolates of the advertisers. We recognise that many have mixed emotions about today. So, we pray for those mothers we have let down and we pray for those mothers who have let us down. We pray for those mothers who have forgiven us and we pray for those mothers who need our forgiveness. We give you thanks for the mothers who loved us and ask you to heal the wounds caused by the mothers who have not loved us.

God our Creator, we pray:

for new mothers, coming to terms with new responsibility;

for expectant mothers, wondering and waiting;

for those who are tired, stressed or depressed;

for those who struggle to balance the tasks of work and family;

for those who are unable to feed their children due to poverty;

for those whose children have additional physical, mental or emotional needs;

for those who have children they do not want;

for those who raise children on their own;

for those who have lost a child;

for those who care for the children of others;

for those whose children have left home;

for those who are self-isolating today and who are missing loved ones

and for those whose desire to be a mother has not been fulfilled.

 

John 4.5-42 Jesus and the woman at the well

John 4.5-42

 

So he came to a Samaritan city called Sychar, near the plot of ground that Jacob had given to his son Joseph. Jacob’s well was there, and Jesus, tired out by his journey, was sitting by the well. It was about noon. A Samaritan woman came to draw water, and Jesus said to her, “Give me a drink.” (His disciples had gone to the city to buy food.) The Samaritan woman said to him, “How is it that you, a Jew, ask a drink of me, a woman of Samaria?” (Jews do not share things in common with Samaritans.) Jesus answered her, “If you knew the gift of God, and who it is that is saying to you, ‘Give me a drink,’ you would have asked him, and he would have given you living water.” The woman said to him, “Sir, you have no bucket, and the well is deep. Where do you get that living water? Are you greater than our ancestor Jacob, who gave us the well, and with his sons and his flocks drank from it?” Jesus said to her, “Everyone who drinks of this water will be thirsty again, but those who drink of the water that I will give them will never be thirsty. The water that I will give will become in them a spring of water gushing up to eternal life.” The woman said to him, “Sir, give me this water, so that I may never be thirsty or have to keep coming here to draw water.” Jesus said to her, “Go, call your husband, and come back.” The woman answered him, “I have no husband.” Jesus said to her, “You are right in saying, ‘I have no husband’; for you have had five husbands, and the one you have now is not your husband. What you have said is true!” The woman said to him, “Sir, I see that you are a prophet. Our ancestors worshiped on this mountain, but you say that the place where people must worship is in Jerusalem.” Jesus said to her, “Woman, believe me, the hour is coming when you will worship the Father neither on this mountain nor in Jerusalem. You worship what you do not know; we worship what we know, for salvation is from the Jews. But the hour is coming, and is now here, when the true worshipers will worship the Father in spirit and truth, for the Father seeks such as these to worship him. God is spirit, and those who worship him must worship in spirit and truth.” The woman said to him, “I know that Messiah is coming” (who is called Christ). “When he comes, he will proclaim all things to us.” Jesus said to her, “I am he, the one who is speaking to you.”  Just then his disciples came. They were astonished that he was speaking with a woman, but no one said, “What do you want?” or, “Why are you speaking with her?” Then the woman left her water jar and went back to the city. She said to the people, “Come and see a man who told me everything I have ever done! He cannot be the Messiah, can he?” They left the city and were on their way to him. Meanwhile the disciples were urging him, “Rabbi, eat something.” But he said to them, “I have food to eat that you do not know about.” So the disciples said to one another, “Surely no one has brought him something to eat?” Jesus said to them, “My food is to do the will of him who sent me and to complete his work. Do you not say, ‘Four months more, then comes the harvest’? But I tell you, look around you, and see how the fields are ripe for harvesting. The reaper is already receiving wages and is gathering fruit for eternal life, so that sower and reaper may rejoice together. For here the saying holds true, ‘One sows and another reaps.’ I sent you to reap that for which you did not labour. Others have laboured, and you have entered into their labour.” Many Samaritans from that city believed in him because of the woman’s testimony, “He told me everything I have ever done.” So when the Samaritans came to him, they asked him to stay with them; and he stayed there two days. And many more believed because of his word. They said to the woman, “It is no longer because of what you said that we believe, for we have heard for ourselves, and we know that this is truly the Saviour of the world.”

We’re jumping about in Jesus’ timeline quite a bit in the lectionary readings. At the services on Wednesday we saw Jesus towards the end of his ministry as recorded by Matthew and this morning we’re back at the start of his ministry as recorded by John.

At this stage in John’s account, Jesus has already upset the religious authorities by turning over the tables of the money changers in the Temple and causing uproar and a near riot. He’d had a secret visit from the Pharisee, Nicodemus who, it turns out was close to discipleship himself and Jesus has been out and about in Judea, teaching and baptising – and we’re only in chapter 4.

So, we join Jesus this morning as he sets of from Judea to return to Galilee, and we’re told this was because the religious authorities were getting very agitated about his success with the ordinary people. To get back to Galilee, though, Jesus had to pass through Samaria, an area where the people followed a form of semi-Jewish religion that made them unacceptable to the Jews of Judea and Galilee who despised them and looked down on them.

Jesus and his friends had arrived, tired and hungry at a small village: the disciples had gone off to buy food, leaving Jesus on his own by a well, footsore and weary, and it’s here that Jesus meets a local woman, coming to the well with her water jar to collect the household’s water.

A typical and unremarkable event in itself.

Jesus, without the means to draw water for himself, asks the woman to give him a drink and this request stuns her. Here’s a Jewish man, not only talking to an unaccompanied woman, socially unacceptable itself, but a Samaritan woman at that, and asking her for help. 

Presumably having drunk his fill, Jesus strikes up a conversation with the woman, turning the conversation to the spiritual as he talks about living water, which of course meant nothing to her until Jesus explained that the living water he would give would come gushing up to eternal life. The water she’d been drinking only satisfies the thirst temporarily. The water Jesus was offering would never leave her thirsty again.

It’s possible that the point of this story is blunted a bit because we take access to water for granted don’t we? But just think for a moment about all the ways you use water in a day. Showering or bathing, cooking, dishwashers and washing machines, garden watering, car washing, numerous cups of tea or coffee, and so on. We take it for granted but our lives would be very different without the easy access we have. Can you imagine for a moment having to get all the water you need for the day from one trip to a well? If we think of it in those terms, the story has greater impact.

So we have Jesus and the woman deep in conversation. This says something about the person of Jesus. At the Lent group, we’ve touched on the cynicism people have when we talk about matters of faith and salvation. Put yourself in the position of this woman for a moment. You’re alone with a stranger who starts to talk to you about God. What’s your reaction?

Jesus, though has charisma: he speaks with authority but in an engaging way that leaves the woman at ease and wanting to know more. She’s clearly weighed him up and decided that he’s not just some random nutter with a religious obsession – and those people existed than as now – and she wants to know more.

She asks for the water Jesus speaks of and in the conversation that follows, he peels back the layers of her life, moving into the secret places of her personal history. What follows is quite a theological discussion about the differences and similarities between the Jewish and Samaritan understandings of salvation but there was common ground: a belief in the coming Messiah and Jesus leaves her in no doubt. I who speak to you am he.  

When the woman left Jesus, she went into the town, leaving behind her water jar in her enthusiasm to spread the news, and told anyone who would listen, Come and see a man who told me everything I have ever done. Can he be the Messiah?

So where does that leave us? We’ve heard the story, and probably not for the first time. What’s John’s message to those who hear about this event?

Well, to a greater or lesser extent, this woman represents each of us here. John knew this from his own experience: he’d had an encounter with Jesus which had changed him and here he’s holding up a mirror to us. And what do we see? We see ourselves in the Samaritan woman. We too live lives where we hold our own secrets tightly hidden from other: those things which cause us shame, and one day we encounter Jesus and we realise that he knows us and regardless, he still loves us. God looks into our souls, sees our dark side, divines our secrets, knows our guilt, discerns our motivations ….. and loves us anyway.

The next step’s up to us, of course. If we open ourselves to that encounter Jesus offers us the living water of salvation and we come to realise that the wells we’ve been drinking from only satisfy for a while, whether the well we’ve been drinking from is the bottle or the needle, a desire to be popular, to have the esteem and respect of those around us, an ambition for promotion, the acquisition of more and more stuff, transient relationships, and so on. They leave us empty and are ultimately unsatisfactory and yet we still yearn. Here Jesus tells us that we’re yearning for the living water - whether we recognise it or not.

This woman wasn’t actively looking for the Messiah, she was just getting on with her life. But when she wasn’t especially looking for it, Jesus offered her the living water that would gush up to eternal life and I think there must be a message there for our witness to others in word and deed: we all know people who are just getting on with life, who aren’t particularly looking for a Messiah, but who are drinking from wells that are ultimately unsatisfying. You know who they are in your lives as well as I know who they are in mine.

What are we going to do about it?

In the latter part of this story, Jesus moves on from discussing water and turns instead to food: I have food to eat that you do not know about he tells the disciples and, of course, this confuses them. Surely no one has brought him something to eat? they ask. But Jesus’ next focus is on the fields that are ripe for harvesting, not in an agricultural sense but in a mission sense.

So I return to the earlier question, what are we to do about it? And here again the Samaritan woman offers us a model: she talked to her family, her friends and neighbours and we’re told many Samaritans from the city believed in him because of the woman’s testimony.

We have a testimony, each one of us. It may not be dramatic or exciting like the one you heard from John a couple of weeks ago but we have a testimony nevertheless. Who says it has to be dramatic or exciting for others to listen and be touched by the Holy Spirit.

When did you last share that testimony?

 

Matthew 20.17-28 James and John get it badly wrong

Matthew 20.17-28

 

While Jesus was going up to Jerusalem, he took the twelve disciples aside by themselves, and said to them on the way, “See, we are going up to Jerusalem, and the Son of Man will be handed over to the chief priests and scribes, and they will condemn him to death; then they will hand him over to the Gentiles to be mocked and flogged and crucified; and on the third day he will be raised.” Then the mother of the sons of Zebedee came to him with her sons, and kneeling before him, she asked a favour of him. And he said to her, “What do you want?” She said to him, “Declare that these two sons of mine will sit, one at your right hand and one at your left, in your kingdom.” But Jesus answered, “You do not know what you are asking. Are you able to drink the cup that I am about to drink?” They said to him, “We are able.” He said to them, “You will indeed drink my cup, but to sit at my right hand and at my left, this is not mine to grant, but it is for those for whom it has been prepared by my Father.” When the ten heard it, they were angry with the two brothers. But Jesus called them to him and said, “You know that the rulers of the Gentiles lord it over them, and their great ones are tyrants over them. It will not be so among you; but whoever wishes to be great among you must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you must be your slave; just as the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life a ransom for many.”

So, we’re quite late on in Matthew’s gospel and we find Jesus on his slow journey to Jerusalem and the fate he clearly knows awaits him there. We’ve had numerous accounts of conflict with the religious authorities and we’ve had a series of parables and more direct teaching about the nature of salvation: just before today’s passage Jesus dealt with the rich young man leading the disciples to wonder, Who then can be saved?

Matthew generally portrays a much more on-the-ball group of disciples than Mark’s group of slow learners and by this time they’d accepted Jesus’ Messiahship and seemed to be getting a better grip on the nature of his mission and its inevitable outcome.

I say “seemed to be” because then we meet the mother of James and John channelling the full-on pushy Jewish mother stereotype. Declare that these two sons of mine will sit, one at your right hand and one on your left, in your Kingdom. Does her demand for special treatment for her sons come from her own initiative? After all, who here was never embarrassed by a mother’s inappropriate intervention? (Oh, just me then.) But we don’t see the brothers cringing in mortification: quite the opposite. They seem to be fully on board with their mother’s demand for special status. Maybe they even put her up to it. Are you able to drink the cup that I’m about to drink? Jesus asks them – and I’ve read this a number of ways and can’t decide which tone of voice to use here. Is it anger? Amazement at their sense of entitlemet, or deep disappointment, because their response was Yes we are able – and again I’m struggling to interpret the tone of voice. Is this a defiant “Yes we can” or an “Oops, but we’ve gone too far to back down now” response, or just ignorant bravado? Either way, despite all that Jesus has been teaching the disciples and preparing them for what follows, these two at least haven’t grasped the full implications of either what’s about to happen or the nature of discipleship.

Then we hear that the other disciples were angry with James and John. Angry, and perhaps embarrassed, at their lack of understanding or outraged at the idea that they might just lose out to these two in importance in God’s Kingdom?

Matthew doesn’t tell us about Jesus’ mood as he takes them all on one side and explains about the nature of servanthood as opposed to status. Is it a patient, if slightly weary, explanation or a sharp putting in their place? I’m opting for the latter: It will NOT be so among you!

Servanthood’s not a very popular characteristic is it? Who wants to be at everyone’s beck and call? If we examine the way Jesus is portrayed throughout the gospels though, that’s exactly the persona we see him adopt, the servant of all. Greatness with Jesus has little to do with success, reputation or wealth. Were the disciples, or at least James and John, still influence by the popular model of the Messiah that led to political power and authority with top jobs handed out to faithful supporters?

Jesus was facing imminent torture and death. Given that, what was on offer for James and John was the ‘cup’ of persecution. They didn’t see it - yet.

There’s a sense of doom and destiny in Jesus’ words. The anticipation of personal catastrophe’s chilling. When Jesus foretells the Passion, he mentions not just the handover, but the flogging and mocking. It’s hard to imagine the terror he must have experienced in those last weeks.

This walk to Jerusalem is heavy with foreboding. Jesus tries to tell the Twelve of the fears that fill his soul: he’ll be betrayed by friends, delivered to his enemies; he’ll hear the death sentence read over him; he’ll suffer injustice, mockery, humiliation and insults; he‘ll undergo torture and scourging and finally face a horrific death. Jesus describes vividly the degrading ways in which he’ll be treated in his Passion. He does this to prepare his disciples but at this stage they  still seem to be in total denial about the prospect of his suffering and dying.

Where does that leave us today? We’ve heard about the idea of servanthood over time, probably more than the disciples ever did, and with various forms of explanation, so we should avoid their mistake. Status. One-upmanship. Backbiting and jealousy. These are all things which we know are anathema to Jesus and not characteristics of the Kingdom. In many ways these are things that St. Paul often railed against in his letters and he deliberately targeted those fledgling Christian communities when he got news that such behaviour had become an issue.

That’s not the case here: in my observation this congregation isn’t riven by petty jealousies and outrageous ambition or a total ignorance of the servant-like nature of discipleship, even though I’m sure we all have our moments.

Today’s passage I see more as an appropriate reminder, an object-lesson in getting it wrong, something we need to hear from time to time, just to keep us focused.

After all, unlike the disciples at this stage in Jesus’ ministry, we DO know the nature of Jesus’ Messiahship, so have no excuses for self-promotion or expectations of advancement as a consequence of our discipleship.

Here in the west, we may not face the cup of persecution as some of our brothers and sisters do elsewhere, but we still have the responsibility, the expectation of humble service towards each other and beyond this congregation. But servant-hood isn’t a one-size-fits-all characteristic. Here we are with a variety of personality types and skill-sets which the Holy Spirit will use to express the servant-like nature of discipleship in a myriad of different ways. Let’s allow the Spirit to do her thing in our lives as we ask for help to lay aside our petty jealousies and ambitions for the sake of the Kingdom.

Mark 8.22-26 Jesus heals a blind man

Mark 8.22-26

 

They came to Bethsaida, and some people brought a blind man and begged Jesus to touch him. He took the blind man by the hand and led him outside the village. When he had spit on the man’s eyes and put his hands on him, Jesus asked, “Do you see anything?” He looked up and said, “I see people; they look like trees walking around.”  Once more Jesus put his hands on the man’s eyes. Then his eyes were opened, his sight was restored, and he saw everything clearly. Jesus sent him home, saying, “Don’t even go into the village.”

So, a bit of context for today’s passage: as we read Mark, we need to remember that we’re reading the very first written account of Jesus’ ministry. At this point Mark has just recounted the event where Jesus fed a multitude with someone’s packed lunch and the section following this relates Peter’s recognition of Jesus as the Messiah. Up until now we’ve had Jesus followed by crowds of the curious, the needy and the newly faithful and, inevitably, we’ve also seen Jesus in conflict with the religious authorities in the shape of the scribes and Pharisees. That’s all familiar ground to us.

What may be less familiar is this story which is certainly one of the oddest miracles and a pretty baffling event in the Gospel of Mark, even considering that we’ve already seen Jesus cast demons out of a disturbed man and into pigs that run head-first into the sea.

The story begins normally enough, but the longer it goes on, the stranger it becomes: Jesus and his disciples come to Bethsaida and someone brings a blind man to him and implores Jesus to touch him.

So far so good. Jesus then takes him by the hand, which is itself a lovely picture of Jesus’ personal care and compassion for a helpless sufferer, leads him out of the city, spits in his face and touches him.

That’s not the strangest part of the story: we see Jesus touching people’s eyes during healing in all the gospels. The odd part isn’t that Jesus spits in the man’s face: this isn’t the first time Jesus has used saliva. It’s what happens next that seems strange: Jesus says something we don’t expect. Do you see anything? We expect Jesus to make an authoritative statement that the man’s actually been healed. Instead, Jesus asks the man, Do you see anything? as if to say, “Did it work?”

This is strange because miracles aren’t really a problem for Jesus. As we read this question, we almost wonder if he was going through a bit of a slump in his miracle working.

What’s even stranger than Jesus’ question is the response of the blind man. The man says, I see people… The blind man can now see. Obviously, something miraculous has happened. Jesus touched the man and he was healed. Or was he? The man continues though, I see people … like trees, walking around. Somehow the man is seeing, but he’s not seeing clearly. His sight is restored-partially. He can see-but not clearly.

So, Jesus tries again. He lays His hands on the man’s eyes and he sees everything clearly. This second action of Jesus seemed to fully heal the man and Jesus, aware that the man’s been healed, tells him not to go back to the village and not to tell anyone what happened. After two attempts, the man finally saw clearly.

This is a strange story. What do we do with a story like this?

Could it be that Mark uses this story, a story that he alone records, to illustration a point? Could it be that there’s a deeper meaning to this story that we can’t yet see clearly?

In his Gospel, Mark spends eight chapters trying to answer one question: who is Jesus? And this gospel’s been leading up to the moment in the section immediately following, where Peter recognises Jesus as the Messiah. Now the question’s been answered: Jesus is the Messiah, and Mark never goes back to it. Up to this moment, the disciples sort of get that Jesus is Godly and therefore special, that he has charisma and authority and exceptional powers, but they don’t yet understand fully who he is. But from Peter’s declaration onwards, Mark’s trying to answer a new question: what kind of Messiah is Jesus? And that’s a question they clearly need to have answered.

So here, at the centre of this Gospel, when Mark’s transitioning from one question to another, from “Who is Jesus?” to “what sort of Messiah is he?”, when the disciples see, but don’t see clearly, we’ve this strange, often over-looked or intentionally skipped story of a man who could see, but not clearly.

The point of the story is simple: the disciples are at a stage where they see Jesus, but don’t see him clearly and Jesus tells them and the man he cured, not to tell anyone about him. He knows they see, but he also knows they don’t see clearly and the last thing he wants is for them to go out and share with people an unclear picture: their idea of Jesus, not the real Jesus. Just like the blind man from Bethsaida, they see, but they don’t yet see clearly.

Lovely.

Interesting story – or not, depending on your point of view.

So what?

What’s it got to do with us and our discipleship?

Well, it seems to me that many people are like the disciples at this point in Jesus’ ministry, including people in our own congregations, and that’s not to be critical: people are at different stages of spiritual maturity. Some of our people like Jesus, are fascinated with Jesus and are familiar with the things he’s done. They acknowledge the great things he’s done but haven’t yet reached the point of accepting or fully understanding that liking, admiring and recognising a role model is only part of the nature of discipleship. They’ve yet to reach an understanding that discipleship involves accepting the forgiveness and grace Jesus makes possible, and offers through the atonement. It’s not that people have decided that the cross doesn’t matter, they’ve yet to realise that commitment to Jesus involves a recognition that his death and resurrection are central to our salvation.

Who’s going to tell them, to help them see more clearly?

Our congregations also include people who fail to see the inseparable connection between the life that Jesus lived and the life he calls his followers to live.

Who’s going to tell them, to help them see more clearly?

Have you found it to be the case in your personal experience of discipleship that learning often takes place gradually rather than suddenly and you have those “Aha!” moments? If people don’t see Jesus clearly, they don’t see the full Jesus.

Who’s going to tell them, to help them to see more clearly, to move on to a deeper understanding?

Amen

 

Matthew 6.25-34 Worry

Matthew 6:25-34

 

“Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? Look at the birds of the air; they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? And can any of you by worrying add a single hour to your span of life? And why do you worry about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they neither toil nor spin, yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not clothed like one of these. But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which is alive today and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will he not much more clothe you—you of little faith? Therefore do not worry, saying, ‘What will we eat?’ or ‘What will we drink?’ or ‘What will we wear?’ For it is the Gentiles who strive for all these things; and indeed your heavenly Father knows that you need all these things. But strive first for the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. “So do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring worries of its own. Today’s trouble is enough for today.

So, here we are, still on the hillside with Jesus as he develops, in the passage we’ve come to know as the Sermon on the Mount, his theme of what it means to be a true man or woman of faith to the crowds who had come to listen. If you use your imagination you can see that it is spring time in Galilee.  Jesus had no rows of chairs to set up or pulpit to preach from, so he moved among the crowd as they sat on the ground and listened. Walking around he can see the flowers, he can hear the birds, and they provide him with a theme which he uses to talk about worry.

Interestingly verse 24, which is usually included in this lectionary reading, has been missed out. It’s the verse about not serving two masters and ends with the phrase, You cannot serve God and wealth. I’m pleased it’s been missed out because including it tends to skew our understanding of the passage as being all about money and worrying about it.

So, let’s be clear: Jesus is addressing the basis for excessive worry and anxiety that can result from a life out of kilter with God. We worry about our food and our clothes.  We worry about our houses and how we fit into society and any number of things but the text calls us as disciple to a different set of values, different priorities, a life characterized by a way of being that’s aligned more and more to the priorities of the Kingdom, a kingdom not of power, not of might, but a kingdom of mercy, justice, and grace.

It doesn’t mean that we shouldn’t acquire possessions or need food, clothing and other necessities. Rather, once we become disciples, we adopt the values, behaviours and priorities that God affirms. God knows our needs before we ever ask him.  God hears our wants and Jesus is warning us of the danger of forgetting God's role in our lives and the importance of depending on him. When our wants are shaped into God's will, then our contribution to bringing the kingdom closer becomes more focused.

I have a friend who lives with anxiety: it comes and goes, but at its worst, the smallest thing can throw his equilibrium and lead him down paths of paranoia as he looks for some motive or outcome that’s designed to do him down. In his mind he has what he calls the reverse Midas touch – you remember that everything King Midas touched turned to gold? So reverse Midas? Well, I’ll leave that to your imagination. That’s not only emotionally challenging for him but it’s also draining for those of us he unburdens on. He looks inwards all the time and rarely seems to look outwards.

I can’t imagine what it’s like to live with that level of worry and yet worry seems to be an inescapable fact of life. Just take a moment to think about what your worries are.  It seems to me that worry is a continuum and we’re all on that line somewhere but what does worrying accomplish? An ulcer? Sleepless nights? Added stress? Is that how we want to live our lives?

Yes, of course significant events can push us further along that line but most of us live relatively worry-free lives in that we’re fed, we’re clothed, we’re housed, we’ve parented reasonable effectively and most of us have enough money to cope, even if sometimes it feels a bit nip and tuck. We also live in a society that, whatever its shortcomings, has various social safety-nets in place for the most vulnerable. Where does that leave our personal concerns – the one’s we’ve just considered? How many of them I wonder, are just … well, a bit trivial in the wider scheme of things? 

Knowing that, of course, isn’t much of a consolation if you happen to be prone to anxiety or are going through a particularly difficult patch at work or with the family or have a serious health problem or an unexpectedly large bill. Being told to get a sense of perspective because other people elsewhere are much worse off than you is at best trite and at worst downright insensitive.

My mother’s mantra was always, “Remember the starving children in Africa.” Strangely, remembering them didn’t make me feel any better. And how well do we take to the suggestion that we should count our blessings in times of personal trouble?

However, Jesus’ statement, … can any of you by worrying add a single hour to your life span? is clearly true because medical studies suggest that prolonged anxiety significantly shortens our lives.

I was thinking this week of one of the men who regularly came to chapel in the prison. I was remembering a conversation where he’d had a very rocky couple of weeks: he’d lost his job in the prison kitchens for snacking on the food, and therefore his major source of income; his partner had gone off with someone else: he’d started dabbling with drugs again and had lost his two front teeth in a fight. (Those of you who’ve watched any of the recent documentaries on prison life will have some inkling of what I’m talking about.) His take on things was very interesting. “I’ve hit rock bottom because I took my eyes off the Lord.” His main worry wasn’t all the woes he faced but the fact that, in his own words, he’d ceased to be a pillar for the Lord but had become, instead, a pillock for the Lord. He’d stopped looking inwards and was looking outwards.

His troubles had driven him to some extreme behaviour but his main concern was for his compromised Christian witness. His concern wasn’t what people thought of him but what people thought of the God he follows because, he feared, people judged God through his discipleship. “Call yourself a Christian?” And his response? “I’ve given it all to the Lord. It’s my only option. I’m back on track and I’m going to use this as part of my testimony of what God can do in your life.”

“I’ve given it all to The Lord. It’s my only option.”

That led me on to remembering another man I’d been spending some time in the prison: a man who had murdered his wife. There had been serious provocation, but murder is murder. I’ve never met anyone as remorseful, and he’d attempted suicide so was on a constant watch because he might have tried again. In the early stages of our conversations he saw suicide as his only solution. However bad life his in prison she’s worse off, was his reasoning, and he couldn’t rationalise that while he was fed, clothed and warm, she was lying in the cold ground. “There is no punishment good enough for me.”

He asked if I could take him to the chapel at the exact time of her funeral and there’s a short liturgy for those unable to attend a funeral. Distraught as he was, it was a profound experience for him and it shifted the way he saw things: he wanted to start coming to chapel regularly; he was starting to understand that God has forgiven him and that’s the first step to being able to forgive himself. There’s a way to go yet for him, and I’d be grateful if you’d keep both these men in your prayers, Delroy and James - and they’re happy for you to know their stories - but I use these examples because for me they illustrate today’s Gospel in a way that most of our lives probably can’t. For both of them the way out of worry and anxiety and, indeed, self-loathing, has been to turn to God: either to turn back or to begin that journey. Out of the depth of their experiences, their pain, their guilt, their messed up lives and their bad choices, is a sense that hope comes through faith in God. They had started looking outward rather than inwards.

Now, I don’t want to suggest that to experience what Jesus is saying in today’s Gospel needs each and every one of us to plumb the depths and I know that what I’ve said comes perilously close to saying, “Look, other people have it worse than you so get a grip”,  but the context of these stories shows how true Jesus’ words are when he says, … do not worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? …. You of little faith …. your heavenly Father knows that you need all these things. But strive first for the kingdom of God and his righteousness ….  The Kingdom of God: our spiritual lives and how we live as disciples should be the focus of our concerns. Instead of turning our worries inwards, we should have a wider concern for how we bring God’s Kingdom closer to others.

For Delroy, the witness that he was so concerned he’d compromised is part of bringing the Kingdom of God to others: he’s striving for it for himself and for others – and prison is not an easy place to be a man of faith. For James, it’s about learning that no one’s beyond redemption in God’s eyes and, as he undertakes a basic counselling course, he’ll become the go-to man for other prisoners who believe that no punishment is good enough or who are deeply remorseful, to speak to and gain support from. That too will serve the Kingdom of God.

Can we take a leaf out of their books? Can we trust that despite our woes and worries God is in control? And if we believe that, can we leave those worries behind and concentrate on the job at hand, our witness as disciples and the part that plays in bringing the Kingdom of God closer? Looking outwards and not inwards.

 

Matthew 5.13-20 Salt and Light

Matthew 5.13-20

 

You are the salt of the earth; but if salt has lost its taste, how can its saltiness be restored? It is no longer good for anything, but is thrown out and trampled underfoot.

‘You are the light of the world. A city built on a hill cannot be hidden. No one after lighting a lamp puts it under the bushel basket, but on the lampstand, and it gives light to all in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven.

‘Do not think that I have come to abolish the law or the prophets; I have come not to abolish but to fulfil. For truly I tell you, until heaven and earth pass away, not one letter, not one stroke of a letter, will pass from the law until all is accomplished. Therefore, whoever breaks one of the least of these commandments, and teaches others to do the same, will be called least in the kingdom of heaven; but whoever does them and teaches them will be called great in the kingdom of heaven. For I tell you, unless your righteousness exceeds that of the scribes and Pharisees, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.

We start today part way through Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount. Prior to this passage, Jesus had been encouraging the poor and marginalised by telling them how blessed the downtrodden and powerless are in the section we call The Beatitudes, Blessed are the poor in spirit, blessed are those who mourn, blessed are the meek, blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, blessed are the merciful, blessed are the pure in heart, the peacemakers, the persecuted and the reviled.  This isn't written for everybody everywhere, whoever, wherever. Neither is it intended for people with a casual interest in God. It's meant for people who are committed: much of the Sermon on the Mount makes no sense unless you’ve already decided to follow Jesus. It's a text for pilgrims, for people on a journey of faith.

You are the salt of the earth, Jesus says to his disciples. That’s a commonplace statement today isn’t it? “So-and-so is the salt of the earth” we say, and to me it seems an odd phrase. What does it mean, particularly at a time when health-conscious people are advised to avoid salt? We live in a culture – certainly in the West – where salt is seen as rather a bad thing: high blood pressure, strokes, heart-attacks etc. Nevertheless we instinctively know that when we describe someone as the salt of the earth we mean that he or she is a simple, down-to-earth, good person – someone dependable, approachable, reliable, and responsible: someone we can trust.

We need to dig a bit and, as twenty first century people, come to an understanding of some of the realities of the first century.

The Old Testament speaks of 'covenant of salt' which means a permanent relationship; eating salt with someone meant to be bound in loyalty. So there’s a significance that’s lost to us today but might help us to understand what Jesus was driving at. The people of God, then as now, were, by agreement, in a relationship of loyalty, the covenant of salt.

In Jesus’ day, at a time without refrigeration, people used salt to prevent food from spoiling and no doubt people also used salt as we use it, to enhance flavours and to add zest to our food but another thing about salt is that it gives us a thirst. Do we behave as if we’re thirsting for what God wants for us and the societies we live in, or do we behave as if we’re full? Full to our own satisfaction rather than God’s?  In those respects salt’s a very appropriate metaphor for discipleship, which can and does lose its vigour over time if care isn’t taken to keep it alive. If we fail in our discipleship, we’re as useless as flavourless salt. 

Bland. Food without salt is bland. Are we bland Christians?

Maybe there’s a message for us there.

In the same way, Jesus says that his followers are to be a light in the world. No one can hide a city set on a hill, and no one lights a lamp and places it under a basket: that makes no sense at all. Jesus’ friends are to let their light shine out in the world, so that everyone will see that light and glorify God. Why? Because the light’s revealing God through the actions of his followers who are lighting the dark places and practices of our societies and working to bring God’s Kingdom closer.

I find these analogies of discipleship a real challenge because they talk of a distinctiveness about Christians and the Christian way of life that I don’t really see very much of in our society, and I include myself in that analysis. The saltiness and the light are there in us to make a difference: certainly a personal difference in the people we are: our attitudes and behaviours; our spirituality and so on, but we are also to make a difference to those around us by the very fact of our being who and what we are: disciples.

We should no more escape notice than a city set on a hill . 

Are we that visible as Christian witnesses to those around us? Are we really? By our deeds, we who call ourselves disciples are to influence the world for good. And by inviting us to be “light,” Jesus invites us to make him present in the world, not just locally, but nationally and internationally as well.  We radiate Christ’s light, divine light, and that searching light shows up not just where individuals have to change, but where the church has to change and where society has to change.

Are we up for that?

And what does it mean in practice?

The God we know is passionate about justice; the God we know is passionate about truth – it was a passion that took him to the cross, it’s a passion that the Holy Spirit fires up within us, it’s a passion that sends us to the world and to the church with the message that things should be different.  How can we be quiet if we’re so passionate?  How can we be quiet when there’s so much injustice around, how can we stop saying things until people hear, really hear, and are challenged to change as a consequence?

We live in interesting times: BREXIT; a president on one side of the Atlantic and a prime minister on the other ignoring the law or trying to change it in their favour, seeking to undermine democracy and control the press; arms sales to some of the most despotic regimes around; a growing tide of racism, anti-Semitism, Islamophobia and homophobia, fuelled by hate filled newspapers and the phenomenon of fake news and alternative facts; social inequality on the up for the first time in a generation with zero hours contracts - to name just a few nasty current issues. At the same time it seems to me that the sort of people that are disproportionately affected by these issues are the very people Jesus was talking about where we picked up this morning: the poor in spirit; the meek; the persecuted and the reviled.

Being a light surely means revealing these dark places and practices, otherwise what is our light as disciples for? Are our voices being heard? If not, why not? Are we speaking out? Are we being prophetic voices to others over the issues of our age?

The German Theologian and martyr, Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s life was shaped by the conviction that the church is only truly the church  when it lives for all God’s children in the world and that Christians fulfil their faith as Christians only when they live for others, and he called on Christians to “speak out for those who cannot speak”. When we realise that he said this in 1934, in the midst of deeply troubling times in Germany, it should make those of us who also live in deeply troubling times pause for thought, because he went on to say that the church has, “an unconditional obligation towards the victims in society even if they don’t belong to the Christian community.”

Is that us? Because it seems to me that that’s exactly what being salt and light means in practice.

When I was much younger, there used to be a question that regularly circulated like a spiritual checklist, it asked: if you were accused of being a Christian, would there be enough evidence to convict you? I do sometimes wonder whether we’re in danger of going with the flow to the extent that we‘ve become the very type of bland, saltless Christians that Jesus warned about.

We’re in a covenant with God. What does God require of us in return? The prophet Micah gave us an answer that encompasses our dealing both with God and with our neighbours,  … To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God.

Perhaps our prayer as we approach the season of Lent should be to ask God to help us to look at our society and it’s marginalised and downtrodden, those who Jesus called blessed, and while we seek to walk humbly with God, to ask that we do indeed act justly and love mercy in our dealings with them: not in a passive, but in an active way as advocates for them.

Amen.

Luke 2.22-40 Candlemass - Jesus is presented in the Temple

Luke 2:22-40

 

When the time came for the purification rites required by the Law of Moses, Joseph and Mary took him to Jerusalem to present him to the Lord (as it is written in the Law of the Lord, “Every firstborn male is to be consecrated to the Lord”, and to offer a sacrifice in keeping with what is said in the Law of the Lord: “a pair of doves or two young pigeons.” Now there was a man in Jerusalem called Simeon, who was righteous and devout. He was waiting for the consolation of Israel, and the Holy Spirit was on him. It had been revealed to him by the Holy Spirit that he would not die before he had seen the Lord’s Messiah. Moved by the Spirit, he went into the temple courts. When the parents brought in the child Jesus to do for him what the custom of the Law required, Simeon took him in his arms and praised God, saying: “Sovereign Lord, as you have promised, you may now dismiss your servant in peace. For my eyes have seen your salvation, which you have prepared in the sight of all nations: a light for revelation to the Gentiles, and the glory of your people Israel.” The child’s father and mother marvelled at what was said about him. Then Simeon blessed them and said to Mary, his mother: “This child is destined to cause the falling and rising of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be spoken against, so that the thoughts of many hearts will be revealed. And a sword will pierce your own soul too.” There was also a prophet, Anna, the daughter of Penuel, of the tribe of Asher. She was very old; she had lived with her husband seven years after her marriage, and then was a widow until she was eighty-four. She never left the temple but worshiped night and day, fasting and praying. Coming up to them at that very moment, she gave thanks to God and spoke about the child to all who were looking forward to the redemption of Jerusalem. When Joseph and Mary had done everything required by the Law of the Lord, they returned to Galilee to their own town of Nazareth. And the child grew and became strong; he was filled with wisdom, and the grace of God was on him.

I don’t know whether any of you ever have the opportunity to look at the Lectionary: it’s the set programme of readings the church has chosen for each day of the year and of course, on a Sunday, we, like many churches, don’t tend to look at all the designated readings generally ignoring the Psalm, for instance and in the prison I rarely touched the Old Testament reading.

There is, I’m sure, some logic in the selection of passages but I struggle, sometimes, to find those links and I’m often perplexed by why those four passages have been chosen to go together: but that might just be me being a bit thick.

Today, though, I can see that theme very clearly.

The Old Testament passage for today is taken from the prophet Malachi and includes this phrase, the Lord whom you seek will suddenly come to his temple. The messenger of the covenant in whom you delight—indeed, he is coming, says the Lord of hosts.

Today’s Psalm, 24, fills in some more of the context: Lift up your heads, O gates and be lifted up, O ancient doors that the King of glory may come in.

It is into this theological context that today’s Gospel passage sits. As we’ve seen, Luke talks about the presentation of Jesus in the Temple and that event is regarded by many as the fulfilment of Malachi’s prophecy, When the time came for their purification according to the law of Moses, they brought him [Jesus] up to Jerusalem to present him to the Lord [in the temple]. To underline this we have the two revered elders, Simeon and Anna who, much to Mary and Joseph’s amazement – and possible disquiet, seize on this child – one among many brought to the temple that day for this ceremony, and identify him as God’s chosen one.

As we read the passage we may have been guilty of assuming this was a quiet, personal family event with just Mary, Joseph, the infant Jesus, the priest and these two Holy elders as random worshippers. Not so.

Picture the scene: the solemnity of this awesome and imposing building, the centre of Jewish religion, with its history of centuries of worship; its peace and quiet shattered by countless families, their new-borns and their doves for the required sacrifice. Perhaps the best comparison might be York Minster with a rolling multiple baptism: chaos, noise and bustle - but without the doves.  Far from being a personalised family occasion, it must have been a conveyor-belt of ritual and, like any regular ritual, you might imagine the danger implicit in a well-worn routine with the priests sleepwalking through something they’ve done so many times they could do it with their eyes closed!

Personal as it may have been to them, Mary and Joseph bring Jesus to this commonplace ceremony only for the commonplace to be turned on its head and made into something unique and profound. Simeon and Anna descend on Jesus and Simeon, a total stranger, takes him from Mary’s arms and begins to proclaim loudly about him. My eyes have seen your salvation, which you have prepared in the presence of all peoples, a light for revelation to the Gentiles and for glory to your people Israel. “Now I can die in peace.” And as if that wasn’t enough, Anna begins praising God, and to speak about the child to all who were looking for the redemption of Jerusalem. They don’t do this for any other family and if you were one of those other families you might feel a bit put out. Why them? Why that little boy? What’s special about them? What’s going on here?

At the end of the Gospel passage we read, The child grew and became strong, filled with wisdom; and the favour of God was upon him. Luke, very deliberately here, sets out Jesus’ credentials as God’s chosen one, the Messiah, and the passages all begin to make sense together as they look forward to what Jesus would do in his ministry.

Then we have St. Paul, writing in his letter to the Hebrews, looking back and explaining how Jesus’ mission was completed and its implications for each of us …. through death he might destroy the one who has the power of death ….. and free those who all their lives were held in slavery by the fear of death. For it is clear that he did not come to help angels, but the descendants of Abraham. The descendants of Abraham? Well that’s us: not genetically but through our faith.

So what can we take from this passage that will help us to develop as disciples? What comfort and reassurance does this passage offer to us today? Well, there’s a lot of deep theology there and we don’t have the time to unpick it in detail or this sermon will be in danger of turning into a hostage situation!

I think the first thing that stuck me was the idea that Jesus, despite all the talk of Kingship in the Old Testament passages, and his role as God’s servant, was like you and I. ….. he had to become like his brothers and sisters in every respect, Paul tells his readers – his readers then and now. Paul talks about Jesus’ suffering, not just the ultimate suffering of his death but his suffering in the daily experience of life which means that in our daily experience of life we have someone we can identify with and who can identify with us as a fellow sufferer: one who knows what we go through because he shared our humanity and has been there too. Sadness? He’s been there. Bereavement? He’s been there too. Disappointment, unjust treatment, temptation, rejection, fear and so on: the full range of our human experience? He lived that too. When I struggle, when you struggle we know that Jesus went through it all and so understands our pain and unhappiness. That surely must be a huge encouragement because we never face uncertainty, fear and loss alone. As Paul concludes, Because he himself was tested by what he suffered, he is able to help those who are being tested.  That’s us, in our various times of need.

And that leads into the second thing that always strikes me about my – our – relationship with Jesus, For the one who sanctifies and those who are sanctified all have one Father. For this reason Jesus is not ashamed to call them brothers and sisters …

How often do we consider that? Again, despite all the talk of Kingship and Messiahship, Jesus isn’t some distant figure: he counts us as brothers and sisters of the same Father. Jesus is my brother, your brother. He is close and walks with us on a daily basis. Perhaps that’s our challenge: do we act as if he walks with us as a sibling? Do we recognise and act on the resource of loving support from him or do we somehow think of him more in his divinity as unapproachable? Jesus our brother or Jesus the incarnation of God? Well there is no “or” actually. They are one and the same but we are sons and daughters, as he is a son, of the same Father, God, and that’s what sets our faith apart from all the others: we can have a relationship with God through Jesus our brother. That, of course, demands a response: do we want that? Have we got that? Do we live as if we’ve got that because that, flagged up in the Old Testament and misunderstood by the culture and religious expectation of the Messiah in his own time, is Jesus’ mission to us, in the service of God as Paul reminds us.

Jesus' presentation in the temple and his recognition by Simeon and Anna set those credentials.

Well, there’s something to ponder in the coming week.

Let’s pray:

Help us, Jesus, to recognise you as one of us: as fully human and one who knows our trials and sufferings. Help us to recognise that you walk with us daily as our brother and as we get to know you better, help us to enter into a fuller relationship with God, your Father and ours.

Amen.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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