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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Matthew 4.12-23 Fishers of men

Matthew 4:12-23

 

Now when Jesus heard that John had been arrested, he withdrew to Galilee. He left Nazareth and made his home in Capernaum by the sea, in the territory of Zebulun and Naphtali, so that what had been spoken through the prophet Isaiah might be fulfilled: “Land of Zebulun, land of Naphtali, on the road by the sea, across the Jordan, Galilee of the Gentiles— the people who sat in darkness have seen a great light, and for those who sat in the region and shadow of death, light has dawned.” From that time Jesus began to proclaim, “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.”

As he walked by the Sea of Galilee, he saw two brothers, Simon, who is called Peter, and Andrew his brother, casting a net into the sea—for they were fishermen. And he said to them, “Follow me, and I will make you fish for people.” Immediately they left their nets and followed him. As he went from there, he saw two other brothers, James son of Zebedee and his brother John, in the boat with their father Zebedee, mending their nets, and he called them. Immediately they left the boat and their father, and followed him.

Jesus went throughout Galilee, teaching in their synagogues and proclaiming the good news of the kingdom and curing every disease and every sickness among the people.

In today’s Gospel reading from Matthew we have an echo of last week’s reading from John’s Gospel where we read how Andrew, a disciple of John the Baptist, began to follow Jesus and in his turn brought his brother Simon to discipleship. We hear, too, an echo of John’s preaching from his regular one-point sermon, “Repent, for the Kingdom of God has come near” taken up by Jesus himself. John had been arrested and this seemed to be the cue for Jesus to take up his ministry to develop the religious revival that John had started. But we see too the new emphasis in the words that Jesus adapted from the Baptist’s message – Jesus came preaching repentance, as John had done: the message of repentance is less about remorse over sins one has committed and more about a reorientation of one’s whole life. Neither Jesus nor John simply wanted people to feel bad about their sins and to want to do better. They were saying that their audience needed to turn their entire lives in a new direction, which we see when Jesus adds something to John’s message: that the vision and presence of God has come near.

Although the detail of how these two fishermen became Jesus’ disciples varies between the two gospels, the key point remains the same: these two men had an encounter with Jesus which changed them. We also hear now of the brothers James and John and how their encounter with Jesus also brought them to faith. These four were not necessarily the cream of the intellectual or religious crop in those days. Jesus seems to go about recruiting his disciples in all the wrong ways in terms of modern recruitment principles. He doesn’t wait for those who are interested in his teaching to approach him and apply for a position as his disciples: Jesus goes to them. He doesn’t examine their credentials and discern their worthiness for association with him. He simply chooses two fishermen he sees hard at work in a lowly job that’s thankless and without success most of the time and finds these to be great qualities in would-be disciples.  Maybe there’s a learning point for us there. How often have we rationalised our unwillingness to act as disciples with the excuse, “I don’t have the skills? I’m not good at that”? Maybe following Jesus is less about knowing intellectually exactly what the path ahead looks like than simply knowing with the heart that the way we want to walk forward into the future is with Jesus at our side.

All four moved from what they were, to become something very different; from fishermen to disciples – and we catch a glimpse of the pattern of that discipleship as they followed Jesus around the area, “teaching in their synagogues and proclaiming the good news of the kingdom and curing every disease and every sickness among the people.”

Perhaps what we should remember is that Jesus’ mission is often referred to theologically as The Missio Dei, the Mission of God, God’s mission and all disciples of Jesus, then and now, share in that mission, that overall ministry. It’s not my personal ministry. It’s not your personal ministry. However that ministry is worked out in each of us, it remains God’s ministry and we are merely partners in it.

So, maybe we can imagine them as they began that ministry, moving incrementally from raw recruits and apprentices to an increasing partnership with Jesus in his ministry. When Jesus looked at those four, he realized that something about fishing was what he wanted in Christian discipleship. I believe Jesus chose the image intentionally. Fishing remains one of the great models of Jesus for the growth of the kingdom of God. Maybe in our age and culture we’re in danger of losing the image because we no longer go fishing - just like we no longer herd sheep or know what a shepherd does. We no longer plant seed in the ground and know what growth is. We no longer draw water from wells and know what living water is.

These fishermen surely represent all future believers whom Jesus summons to follow him. It may not be necessary for all to leave professions and possessions behind, but all must leave their world behind and enter the new world into which Jesus invites them. It’s a sobering and challenging idea: to what extent does each of us believe we’ve done that? To what extent as disciples have we left our own worlds behind us? To what extent have we entered into the new world Jesus invites us into? Well, the good news is that Jesus’ followers didn’t give up homes and families never to return. Galilee was a small area and they rarely travelled outside it. A far more likely scenario is the group gathered around Jesus and were out on the road, returning to their homes and towns regularly.  The group was rarely more than a half a day to a day's walk from their traditional homes.

In a sense, it might be easier to physically leave all the old behind and live our new, Christian lives somewhere else, but that doesn't happen to most of us. We remain living in our local areas, with our families, friends, colleagues and social networks and, like the disciples then, those are the focus areas for God’s ministry and mission through us.

Taken as a whole, then, these twin stories of the calling of four disciples make it clear that Jesus summons people from their relationships - brother, sister, daughter, son, father, mother, friend  - and from the midst of their everyday lives – fishing for them, but an infinite variety for us -  into a new set of relationships and to a new vocation. In these stories of the calling of the disciples, then, Jesus disrupts family structures and disturbs patterns of working and living. He does so, however, not to destroy but to renew. Peter and Andrew don’t cease being brothers; they are now brothers who do the will of God.  James and John don’t cease being sons; they are now not only the children of Zebedee but also the children of God. All four of these disciples leave their fishing nets, but they don’t stop fishing. They are now, as the kingdom of Heaven comes closer, fishers for people. Their past hasn’t been obliterated; it’s been transformed by Jesus' call to follow. We know that they have given up much, but they have gained more.

The passage gives us a little context: Jesus begins his preaching in Capernaum. Shouldn't the Messiah have begun his work as he ended it, in Jerusalem? Why Capernaum? Why the land of the Gentiles?" And Gentiles here means not just the non-Jews, but the non-religious. We’re to be like Jesus and his immediate followers in that we’re to be a light to the Gentiles, ministers to those who‘ve not already had an encounter with God. Jesus locates himself amongst the people on the fringes. How many people do we know who are on the fringes? Capernaum was also strategically located on a crossroad connecting the two major trade routes between Egypt and Syria.  Then, as now, news travels fast along the super highways.  Whatever Jesus said and did in Capernaum was quick to be heard far and near.

John Wesley, the founder of the Methodist church, understood this text well when he wrote: “Christians are to go into the hills and dales, the highways and hedges, the markets, the fairs, the barns and the villages. Christians are to go out everywhere with the Gospel.” Indeed, to the people on the fringes. For two centuries, the Methodist church was good at doing this. Have we lost some of that urgency in our dealings with others? We don’t seem to be spending much time fishing anymore. We talk about the importance of evangelism; we pray about it, we preach sermons about the role of Jesus as saviour, but not many people are actively fishing anymore in our congregations.

Most mainline denominations, work under a broad assumption that the development of personal faith in Jesus has already occurred in people's lives elsewhere and that church growth merely involves assimilating these "already converted" into the ongoing life of the congregation: we have “back-to-church Sundays” for instance.

Most denominations are unprepared and ill-equipped to reach out to non-Christians and engage them in a process that leads to an active faith in Jesus Christ. We tend to see ourselves as nurturers of the faith, rather than as catalysts in any process of spiritual transformation in the lives of others. We seem to work on the basis that if we serve our own people well, outsiders will see this and want to become insiders. What’s often missing is any desire to find out about the spiritual needs of outsiders.

We are the fish and what God promises us, who are dragged out of the water in the nets to die, is a resurrection, a new life, a new family, a new future, all under God's control, all within the Kingdom of Heaven, which has come near in Jesus.

We have very little control over our own lives, but as fish caught in the net of God's love, we can trust that we’re under God's control. We have to believe that being captured by God's love, that responding to the command to repent and die to self, that being raised to a new life by God, is not only right for us, but a message we need to share with others.

 

 

Jesus heals a man with a withered hand

Mark 3.1-6

 

Again he entered the synagogue, and a man was there who had a withered hand. They watched him to see whether he would cure him on the Sabbath, so that they might accuse him. And he said to the man who had the withered hand, ‘Come forward.’ Then he said to them, ‘Is it lawful to do good or to do harm on the Sabbath, to save life or to kill?’ But they were silent. He looked around at them with anger; he was grieved at their hardness of heart and said to the man, ‘Stretch out your hand.’ He stretched it out, and his hand was restored. The Pharisees went out and immediately conspired with the Herodians against him, how to destroy him.

So, we’re quite early on in Jesus’ ministry and Mark flags up for us the ongoing theme of conflict. On this occasion we aren’t told who the mysterious “they” are: over officious Synagogue leaders or the ubiquitous Pharisees? It doesn’t much matter because what we learn is that even at this early stage Jesus had ruffled enough feathers that the religious authorities were looking to accuse him. In more modern terms it must seem a bit MI5 or the East German Stasi, the Iranian Savak or the Russian NKVD. You can imagine dossiers being prepared, witnesses being interviewed, spies and informers sent out and so on. Perhaps the man with the withered hand was a plant, wittingly or unwittingly placed where Jesus would see him. If that is what happened, then there are two important admissions on the part of the Pharisees: firstly they believed that he had power to heal the sick. There isn’t any indication in all of scripture that they doubted the miracles. They couldn’t, because there were so many examples.

And secondly they acknowledged that when a helpless man was placed in his path, he would have compassion on him and heal him, even if it was the Sabbath.

I sometimes think when we read the Gospel stories that we don’t fully appreciate the implications of what we’re reading. This plot is more than a few over-zealous Pharisees getting a bit overwrought about an uneducated peasant getting his religious observance wrong. This is serious and nasty stuff.

And of course this incident looks odd to us, but then isn’t hindsight a wonderful thing? The idea that doing good, any form of good, would be seen as wrongdoing is just bonkers to us today and the fact that this story has a healing at its core makes it seem even madder. Surely healing someone must be right up there in the ranking of good deeds? Who could possibly take offence at that? Well, the religious authorities because in their theology of the Sabbath, the only healing which might take place on that day was one that saved life. This man had had a withered hand all his life, what difference would one day make? That was the logic. Theology verses compassion and the age-old conflict between vested interest and change.

What we mustn’t do here is think of Jesus as an innocent abroad who walked unknowingly into a trap. Trap or not, Jesus new what he was doing: he took up the challenge because he wanted people to see what he was doing. Rather than track down the man later privately so as not to make waves, he chose to cure him in public, in full view of all.

Should we be surprised by this? Well in Mark’s first chapter we hear that after John the Baptist’s arrest Jesus tells his followers that “….The Kingdom of God has come near” and up to this point we’ve already seen examples of Jesus teaching, healing and forgiving sins – which also upset the religious authorities – and another breaking of the Sabbath rules when Jesus and his disciples plucked ears of corn to eat. All of these things were done, and seen to be done in public. This wasn’t a man who was frightened of publicity. What would be the point of trying to usher in a new order quietly and in private?

What I find ironic is that the Pharisees weren’t able to answer him: not just on this occasion but on numerous others throughout the gospels, but rather than take time to reflect and to re-evaluate their own position they doubled down. “We must be seen to be right. He must be seen to be wrong and if we can’t shut him up, he has to go!” Vested interest again. And Jesus knows what they’re thinking. Mark tells us that he, “….looked on them with anger, being grieved for the hardness of their hearts.” Their hatred proved their hypocrisy. Men who were supposed to teach and promote the ways of God, conspired to kill an innocent man. They proved they’d stop at nothing to advance and protect their cause. These were not servants of God; these were sinful men hidden in self-proclaimed righteousness.

So what are we to make of this passage? How does it speak to us today? In order to make this passage real we have to see an application or it remains just an interesting piece of religious history.

What are we going to do about it?

For me there are two main themes, but of course there may be others.

The first thing that strikes me is the importance of Jesus having liberated someone from something that was holding him back. If we think of the people we regularly come into contact with or, indeed those we may just bump into, how many of those are in need of Jesus’ healing touch, his touch of liberation? What are the blocks to that release? It may be a lack of faith, “I don’t do God.” Do we have a role there as latter-day disciples as in our witness we seek to live and speak the Gospel?

Are they held back because of institutional issues? Look around us at poverty, the use of food banks, social inequality and every sort of prejudice you care to name. Do we have a wider role as disciples to be prophetic in our challenge to political vested interest? Should we be more overt in our criticism of government policy - governments of any colour, I’d add - where “the least of these my brothers and sisters” are being held back through social injustices?

What is our role as disciples in situations which are complex and sometimes scary to get involved with? What’s our role as disciples when legitimate groups such as Greenpeace and the Campaign Against the Arms Trade have been identified by the Home Secretary as extremist organisations alongside neo-Nazis and jihadists? And I’m afraid I can’t answer that question for you because in the words of St. Paul to the Philippians we have each to “work out our own salvation with fear and trembling.” What is the Spirit leading each of us to do or say in such situations?

My second thought was about being Christ-like agents of change in our own churches as we challenge some of those outdated ideas and attitudes that get in the way of the Kingdom of God coming closer. The Pharisees are alive and well and living in our midst.

We talked about truth and post truth/fake news last week and how the new normal seems to be political leaders who have no shame in indulging in bare-faced lying to their adoring followers. How have we come to this? But it exists in the church too as most of us have encountered. The church too often seems to have been slow to react and has found itself on the wrong side of history. I’m not sure what we do about the great tides of history as individual disciples except to acknowledge that the church - or perhaps to be entirely fair, some of its members - does get it wrong from time to time, and at the heart of those problems are often the modern Pharisees who want to put tradition or an inauthentic application of theology as a justification or who worry about rocking the boat, so don’t take the action they should. Don’t believe that National Synod is all Christian love, sweetness and light. Synod is full of religious politicians pushing their agendas and sometimes those agendas are about resisting change and keeping the status quo, perhaps even pushing back on some things to the way things used to be. There are cliques and alliances – some unlikely but temporary.

In the context of today’s passage I wonder what Jesus would say.

It’s one thing to have a long held antipathy to women priests or to believe that gay men and women shouldn’t be in ministry if those views are held as private matters of conscience, perhaps only ever discussed with the priest. It is when the holder of those views attempts to make them a public rallying point for dissent that the rest of us need to sit up and take notice. Silence is often seen as a form of agreement, of tacit collusion.

“We can’t possibly have guitars in church. It’s unchristian.

“We have to have choral evensong. It’s part of our tradition.”

“I think we should go back to 1662 for all services. The language is beautiful.”

“You can’t remove the pews in this church. We’ve always worshipped this way.”

Hymn books; children in church; a minor change to the liturgy and so on.

I’ve heard all of these arguments at some time or another and I guess many of you have too.

These things aren’t wrong aspirations as such but what might be the vested interest in these common examples? It’s a vested interest against change and development, much as the attitude of the Pharisees in today’s Gospel segment. And just like the Pharisees in that story, the modern Pharisee wishes to close down debate and have things as they always have been because change is threatening.

What’s our role as disciples when we encounter behaviour in the church which we know is damaging to the Gospel and which will damage the faith of some and hold others back from faith? St. Paul in Romans, “I urge you brothers and Sisters to keep an eye on those who cause dissentions and offence ….. avoid them.” And that’s probably enough for most of us should the occasion ever arise: we don’t want to cause discord over petty disputes and arguments – or we’d never have another PCC meeting: more serious issues should be left to parish priests and arch-deacons in the first instance but we should never be afraid to challenge bullying or any expression of prejudice and discrimination or we should  raise concerns discretely with the clergy about inappropriate behaviour, particularly when we perceive that someone is trying to groom other members of the congregation to a particular side. Vested interest exists in the church, in individual congregations, in deaneries and dioceses: the Pharisee tendency is alive and well in the church and we shouldn’t give such people an easy ride when we encounter it.

Jesus asked, “Is it lawful to do good or to do harm? And he was grieved at their hardness of heart.” Let’s ponder on that in the week to come.