Notes for Reflection

October 27                             NOTES FOR REFLECTION

Texts: Jeremiah 14:7-10, 19-22; 2 Timothy 4:6-8, 16-18; Luke 18:9-14

Theme:  It's quite a struggle this week.  Every time I thought I had an idea based on one of our readings, it seemed to be contradicted by one of the others.  I started with the gospel: what about "No Boasting Allowed" (I resisted "No Boasting Aloud" after a prolonged struggle), but then read the epistle and found St Paul on the edge (to be kind) of self-satisfaction.  I was briefly attracted to "The Undiscriminating God": it would work quite well for the gospel passage, but what might it mean in terms of the first reading?  I have opted for "There But for the Grace of God", if only because it came to me, and despite many attempts to work out a better one, it stayed with me.

Introduction.  We start with a bone-chilling example of the Hebrew understanding of God as the One who lays down the law, demands obedience, and stands ever ready to punish those who transgress the law.  [Break free from Nanny Lectionary's overly-protective embrace and read verses 11 and 12 for the full impact of this.]  It also shows their understanding of their relationship with God as being primarily one between the nation as a whole and God, rather than between the individual and God.  St Paul is at the end of his faith journey and expresses confidence in his record, and the righteousness of the Judge before whom he will soon appear.  It is a few verses later that he remembers to give glory to God.  And in the gospel story we see the Judge in action, "acquitting" one defendant and, by implication, condemning the other.

Background.  Some years ago I started a sermon by proclaiming how much I hated the Pharisees.  I don't remember the details of the charges I levelled against them, but they were drawn from various episodes in the gospels where the Pharisees featured, almost invariably in a bad light.  I could see from the reaction of the congregation that the approach was having the desired effect: people were looking shocked at such strong language: surely a priest shouldn't be admitting to hating people, even Pharisees?  Then came the punch-line:  "Most of all what I hate about the Pharisees is how much they think and behave like me."  What I didn't add that day – either because it hadn't occurred to me at the time or because the pulpit was too far from the nearest door – was that the Pharisees bear a striking resemblance to just about every other person I have met during my time in ministry.

Now, before you work out how to unsubscribe, please take a moment to ponder this story.  It is a true story about a wonderful, faithful woman who had been brought up in, and who had faithfully served, the Church all her life.  She was just the sort of person every small, struggling country parish needs to keep going.  Cleaning, flowers, opening and closing the door, putting the heaters on, arranging rosters, keeping minutes, catering and washing-up – over the decades she had done it all, and, in her seventies, she was still doing it.  But, in keeping with the views of many Anglicans of her generation, she felt strongly that her faith was a private matter, and had never spoken about it.  Then one day, completely unexpectedly, she came to a meeting of our Scripture Reflection group.  It happened that the parish was at that time reeling from a particularly brutal murder that had been committed in the neighbouring township.  Whether or not it was that outrage that had prompted this woman to come I don't know; but it was clearly on everyone's mind that evening, and so we abandoned our topic and discussed the case.  There were many expressions of condemnation, and some very creative suggestions as to what form of punishment might be appropriate for such a low-life as this particular offender.

It was well-past our usual finishing hour when someone raised the issue of forgiveness.  Foolishly I thought this was one of those "teaching moments", and launched into a mini-homily about how we must hope and pray that the offender is moved to repentance so that he might receive God's forgiveness and be restored to the kingdom, etc.  This was too much for our new member.  Was I really saying that all this beast has to do is repent and "he will receive the same package as the rest of us after all we've done for the Church"?  Yes, of course that's what I was saying – that is the Gospel, after all – but is that what I was believing?  At that moment, were not all of us feeling exactly what she was – appalled at the sheer injustice of the Gospel?  Or rather, refusing to believe that was the Gospel?

Okay, let's calm down, take a deep breath, count to ten, have a coffee – and then have another look at today's gospel passage, in which the "hero" is the Tax Collector.  Granted that we are not dealing with the perpetrator of a brutal murder, we should also be clear that we are not dealing with a New Zealand public servant who happens to work in the Inland Revenue Department.  While it is possible that there was the odd good apple in every barrel of tax collectors, this story works in part because everybody knows that tax collectors were collaborators with the occupying force, and extortionists for private gain – think pay-day loan sharks with treasonable tendencies and we're not far off.  And people like that (to say nothing of "thieves, rogues, and adulterers") get the same deal as upright men like this Pharisee who fasts, tithes and could well be on the lawn-mowing roster?  Is that fair?

As I have been struggling with this story yet again I have come to the realisation that it strikes such a raw nerve with me precisely because it forces me to accept that there is a fundamental clash between justice and grace.  It's partly St Paul's fault: when he contrasts grace and law it sounds rather nice and comforting, doesn't it – particularly if we have just read a passage like this week's first lesson.  But if St Paul had said, "But we are no longer under justice, we are under grace", we might have been a bit slower to warm to his argument; and if he had said anything like  "in the Court of our God those who plead guilty shall be acquitted, and those who seek to defend themselves shall be convicted and punished harshly" we might not be so keen to have him as our FaceBook friend or follow him on Twitter.

Could this fundamental opposition between human justice and divine grace be the real reason why the Gospel is such a hard sell in the modern world?  Or is it just the Pharisee in me that makes me ask that question?

Jeremiah.  Even in New Zealand we know the horrors of drought, but we do not usually see them as an indication that the relationship between our country and the God we ask to defend us needs some fine-tuning.  Things were different in Jeremiah's time.  Religion was not banned from the public arena as it is in our time: it was fundamental to the nation's image of itself.  To be the Chosen People was not understood as an advertising slogan for the tourist industry – their version of "100% Pure" – but as a statement of an historical fact.  There was a covenant between their nation and God, and any breach on their part of the terms of the covenant laid them open to penalty.  The drought was one such penalty: worse were still to come.  Jeremiah pleads for mercy, but in vain.  Here there is no bargaining, as there was with Abraham.  The offence is too great: the offenders (the whole nation) must get their just deserts.  It's only fair.

Taking It Personally.

• As you reflect on this story, what are your feelings towards God?  Is he being fair?  Is he being merciful and loving?  Do you recognise in him the One Jesus called "Abba"?
• Read slowly through verses 7-9, phrase by phrase.  Remember that Jeremiah is praying.  How would you describe his attitude towards God?  How would you describe his prayer?  How does it compare with your own?
• Now do the same exercise with verses 19 to 22.
• Spend some time in prayer for our own country.  What sort of "drought" is afflicting us?
• Is God's presence evident among us?  Is God like a stranger, a traveller – we might say a tourist or sight-seer?
• What is your plea to God for this country at this time?

 

Timothy.  If St Paul did write this letter (which is generally considered unlikely), it must surely have been towards the very end of his life (verse 6).  He looks back with some clear sense of satisfaction, not so much for what he has achieved, but for sticking at it to the end (verse 8).  Is he boasting, or simply stating a fact?  Verse 8 is interesting.  At one level it seems that St Paul is sure he will now receive the reward he so richly deserves; or is he merely asserting the belief that those who believe in Jesus are credited with his righteousness?    Verses 16-18 seem a little out of place in a letter to his protégé – it is almost as if he has forgotten he is addressing someone and is "thinking things through for himself".  There is more than a hint of bitterness in verse 16, the second sentence of which seems to have a "gritted teeth" tone to it.  But from this comes his doxology of thanks and praise to the Lord, his protector and redeemer.

 

Taking It Personally.

 

• Read verse 7.  Looking back on your journey so far, what claims would you make for yourself?  On the spectrum of flaky-steadfast, whereabouts would you sit?
• Read verse 8.  What is your ultimate hope?
• Read verse 16.  Can you recall a time when you felt abandoned by everyone?  Were you aware of Christ's presence with you?
• What counsel or encouragement would you give to someone who feels abandoned by everyone?  Would it make any difference if you felt the person was his/her own worst enemy?

 

Luke.  If this story really is as simple and as straightforward as it's usually portrayed, why did St Luke feel it necessary to write a preface for it (verse 9)?  That aside, what are we to make of the Pharisee's opening words: "God, I thank you that I am not like other people..."?  Doesn't that suggest that he is aware that, but for the grace of God, he might well have been like those others – thieves, rogues, adulterers or even like that tax collector?   (Perhaps he has in his head the three-fold daily prayer that Jewish males used to pray, thanking God for not being born a woman, a Gentile, or a slave?)  Some of the most horrific crimes are often committed by people who themselves are seriously damaged, sometimes from birth, and often by the terrible assaults to which they were subjected in early childhood.  Would it be perfectly proper to thank God that I was not born a paedophile, for example, and not subjected to horrific violence as a child causing me to inflict similar cruelty on others?  And here's another question: granted that the Tax Collector has thrown himself on the mercy of God, will he now turn over a new leaf and turn away from his sinful practices?  (And by the way, we don't know what sins he has committed or is seeking forgiveness for, do we?  We are leaping to the conclusion that he is confessing his sins as a tax collector, but perhaps he isn't.)

 

Taking It Personally.

 

• This is a really interesting story with which to pray with your imagination.  Imagine that, instead of the Temple, this scene is played out in your local church.  Focus on the Pharisee first.  Be aware of your first impressions, and your own reactions.  Now listen to his prayer.  Is he speaking loudly?  Are you angry/embarrassed/shocked?  Now turn your attention to the tax collector, and go through the same procedure.  Where do your sympathies lie, or are they both as bad as one another?
• Re-run the story on the understanding that the tax collector has been abusing his wife or children, and that's what he's confessing.  How do you feel towards him now?
• Now spend time in self-examination.  Are you inclined to be too hard or too soft on yourself?
• Remind yourself of your feelings at the time of some high-profile murder.  How often since have you prayed that the killer may come to God and seek & obtain forgiveness?

Notes for reflection

October 20                             NOTES FOR REFLECTION

Texts: Genesis 32:22-31; 2 Timothy 3:14-4:5; Luke 18:1-8

Theme:  A clear central theme this week is persistence, so any variation of that would be a good choice.  Something short and to the point might be "Hold On", or the slightly more modern-sounding "Hang in There"; or the surprisingly resurgent "Keep Calm and Carry On".  Those Kiwis with DYI in their DNA might prefer "Keep on Keeping On", although its association with Rolf Harris might rule that out.  Those who (like St Paul) have ironman fantasies might favour something more athletic such as "Wrestling with God" (although its association with Lloyd Geering might rule that one out), or "Faith is a Marathon, Not a Sprint".  If I had to choose I would go with the last one, I think.

Introduction.  We start with one of the most intriguing passages in the Old Testament, with Jacob wrestling all night with a person who may be human, angelic or divine, in what might be a dream, a vision, a psychotic episode or simply reality.  Whatever it is, it has its roots in Jacob's own character, his intense sibling rivalry with his brother, Esau, their parents' appalling inability to love both boys equally and desist from playing favourites, and the skulduggery of Jacob's father-in-law, Laban, whose personal ethical code is remarkably similar to Jacob's.  In our second lesson, Timothy (and through him the rest of us) are reminded to persist in the truth of the gospel and not to become distracted by false teaching, however attractive it may sound.  Sandwiched between the first lesson and the gospel it has a pleasing tone of calmness and reasonableness.  The gospel passage soon shatters this, seemingly transporting us back into a world where squeaky wheels get the good oil.  Is that really the way to a better prayer life?

Background.  What an extraordinary week this has been (so far), with local body politics in our so-called Super City plunging to depths previously reserved for Democratic and Republican primary campaigns in the so-called Land of the Free; and we are assured by the high-minded guardian of all that is right and proper, Cameron Slater, that "there is more to come".   I for one have had more than enough already: my incredulity is at breaking-point.  We are supposed to believe that the timing of this revelation is purely coincidental, and has nothing to do with the election victory of Len Brown over his principal opponent, John Palino, whose campaign manager was John Slater, Cameron Slater's father; and that the scarlet woman in the case was chosen as a candidate on the same "party ticket" as Mr Palino for election to a community board for reasons that had nothing to do with the testimony she was about to give in a sworn affidavit to Cameron Slater, which she now claims she was pressured to give by one of Mr Palino's staff members!  Do you not feel a Tui-ad moment coming on?  And all this in the same week (by sheer coincidence, of course) that Len Brown's chief opponent in the previous mayoralty election is committed for trial on a charge of electoral fraud.

And once again we find the extraordinary ability of Scripture to speak to our contemporary circumstances.  What is going on in Auckland at the moment is in many ways a modern version of the original "Jacobean" drama that makes such compelling reading in Genesis from 25:19 onwards, virtually to the end of the book.  As regular readers of the ODT court pages will know, a term much favoured by defence counsel these days is "conflicted character", which is a dog-whistle term for "my client is more sinned against than sinner", a claim that is difficult to make directly when the client has just been found guilty of 36 offences over a period of 18 months, and has a criminal record extending over a further period of 20 years.  Well, Jacob is surely the archetypal conflicted character.

Which gives this biblical soap its drawing power.  (Next time you are watching Coronation Street, Shortland Street, or, dare I say it, Downton Abbey excuse yourself on the ground that the bible created the genre.)  Some years ago, during this long period of Ordinary Time, I decided to preach a series of six sermons on successive Sundays on the Jacob saga.  During the week leading up to the fifth session one of the parishioners rang me up in much distress to ask if I could keep a copy of my next sermon as she would not be able to attend on the Sunday and she really wanted to know what was going to happen next.  Now, tell me, how often does that happen?  (Answer in my case, nothing like that has ever happened before or since.)  From pre-birth to death Jacob holds our interest, as he did and always will do for the Jewish people.  They liked their patriarchs and kings (the greatest of whom was David, a conflicted character if ever there was one) to have at least one flaw in their character: I guess it made them seem so much more human, or something.  (For more, google "Bill Clinton+charater").

But in the Bible, if not in Auckland, skulduggery has spiritual consequences, and this is what we see in today's reading.  Jacob is facing a pending re-union with his much-wronged twin brother, Esau, and he is convinced it will end badly.  Having made some typically pragmatic arrangements for a series of "peace-offerings" (the cynical among us might use the term "bribes") to be offered to the advancing Esau, who is accompanied by 400 men, Jacob settles down for the night to await whatever the morrow might bring.  He knows the moment of truth is at hand, and we can imagine his inner turmoil.  Perhaps for the first time he recognises the outrages he has inflicted on his brother, and his own image of himself slowly crumbles.  He recognises his damaged self, his inability to stand tall, perhaps symbolised by this strange assault on his hip.  And at the heart of this particular drama is his desperate desire for a real blessing, to replace the fraudulent one he had obtained from his near-blind father.  When at last he receives that blessing from his mysterious contender,  the darkness of the night gives way to a new dawn: Jacob realises for the first time that he has been wrestling with God; and notice what is not said in this story.  There is no reference to this mysterious figure leaving the scene of the encounter.  God remains with Jacob for the rest of his life.

Genesis.  Once again there is so much in this short narrative.  It seems from verse 32 that this story has a mythopoeic character – that it has been preserved to explain the strange dietary habit among the Jews of not eating the thigh muscle of their animals; but this surely should not detract from its supreme importance as a record of a major encounter between God and the people of Israel.  After all, it is in this encounter that "Jacob" becomes re-named, and so embodies or personifies "Israel".  The story in this way encapsulates the whole "conflicted character" of the relationship between God and his chosen people.  It is the faith story par excellence for all of us.  It speaks to our very identity as people of God, called, forgiven, humbled, and loved by God "while we were yet sinners".  And one thing more:  for all Jacob's faults, he desperately desires the blessing of God and won't give up until he receives it.  Persistence brings its own reward, whether we are talking about regular practice for the musician, regular training for the athlete, or regular prayer for people of faith.

Taking It Personally.

• Read slowly through Genesis 25:19 to the end of this passage.  Note the intrigues, plots, sub-plots, rivalries, weaknesses and other manifestations of the dark side of our human nature.  Reflect on the central role that Jacob has in the unfolding of God's plan for his people.  What do you make of that?
• Review your own relationships with your family members.  Is there anyone who might have reason to feel animosity towards you?  Do you have any complaint against any family member?  Is there a family member you would not want to meet face to face at the moment?
• Include in your review family members who have died.  Is there someone you need to forgive?
• Do you feel blessed by God at this time?  Reflect on the importance of that term "blessing".  Are you a blessing to others?  Do you pray regularly for God's blessing to fall on others?

Timothy.  A lovely, wise and helpful lesson to Timothy and to all followers of Christ, particularly for those who are called to teach the faith to others.  It seems to me that there are two main emphases here.  First, in verses 14-17 we have a wonderfully sane view of Scripture as a whole.  It is not dictated by God – correct in every detail – a handbook to be slavishly followed on every occasion, in every circumstance, and without prayer, thought, or hesitation.  Nor is it to be disregarded or dismissed as hopelessly out of date, of antiquarian interest only.  Verses 16 and 17 should be memorised by all Christian teachers, and applied accordingly.  Its composition has been inspired by God, is to be used as the guide to godly living generally, and is the means to equip all Christ's followers for the works to which we are called.  Secondly, we must hold fast to the truth of our faith, even though we may be in constant danger of being drowned out by other voices saying things with more appeal to "itching ears" (wonderful phrase!) all around us.  In short, "Keep Calm and Carry On".

Taking It Personally.

• Read slowly through verses 14-17.  How important to your faith is the Bible?  Do you spend time regularly pondering Scripture?  Is it more important or less important to you now than when you first became a Christian?  Do you enjoy reading Scripture?
• Have you known the sacred writings from childhood (verse 15), or are you a later convert?  Do you remember from whom you first learned your faith (verse 14)?
• Have you encouraged others to spend time with the Scriptures?
• Are you persistent in unfavourable as well as favourable times?
• Ponder verses 3 and 4 (chapter 4).  Have there been such times in your life?  Are you tempted now to go along with other teaching to suit your own desires, or to wander away to myths (verse 4)?

 

Luke.  For those who yearn for consistency and coherence Jesus can be a difficult teacher to follow.  This is particularly so for those who try to develop a healing ministry based on Jesus' teaching and practice.  Sometimes a patient is brought to him, sometimes he does a house call, and sometimes he has no contact with the patient at all.  Sometimes the healing requires faith on the part of the patient, sometimes the faith of someone else is sufficient, and sometimes the healing takes place in the absence of faith.  Sometimes a word is enough, sometimes some sort of laying-on of hands or other action is required, and sometimes the patient's action is sufficient.  Well, a similar problem arises when we try to consolidate all Jesus says on different occasions on prayer.  We might most easily remember that the disciples asked Jesus to teach them to pray, and in response he taught them "the Lord's Prayer", but he taught them a few other things about prayer as well, didn't he, including this strange little parable in this week's reading.  The first mystery is why this story appears here, instead of back in chapter 11 where it would seem to belong with its parallel story of the friend at midnight.  Perhaps the question with which Jesus ends this teaching in verse 8 gives the answer: it is linked in with the return of the Son of Man in final judgment, and therefore comes later in the narrative than the main teaching on prayer.  Be that as it may, the image of the persistent widow nagging the unjust judge into submission strikes us as a rather odd one.  Of course, we are to suppose that this is a "contrast" parable:  God is in complete contrast to the judge.  Yet the fact remains: God responds to his chosen one "who cry to him day and night".  The key here is in what his children are seeking: they are seeking justice or vindication.  We must go on seeking it in confidence that it will be granted eventually.  But when that time comes, will there still be people of faith, or will we all fall away?

 

Taking It Personally.

 

• Reflect on your own practice in prayer.  What do you most often ask for?  Do you get discouraged when it appears your prayer has not been granted? 

Notes for Reflection

October 13                             NOTES FOR REFLECTION

Texts: 2 Kings 5:1-3, 8-15c; 2 Timothy 2:8-17a*; Luke 17:11-19

[*The Lectionary has 2:8-15, but I beg to differ; verse 17a is too important to leave out.]

Theme: A good range to choose from this week: our first lesson this morning on its own might suggest something about healing (physical, social and spiritual); humility; pre-conceived ideas; and thankfulness.  Our epistle might add to the list something about the basics as in "Back to Basics", and the importance of good work habits in the service of God.  And the gospel will chime in with "The Ins and Outs of Community".  I'm going for something really clever: how about "Healing is Supposed to be Contagious".

Introduction.  In the nicest possible way, I'm tempted to suggest that we don't really need an epistle reading or a gospel passage this morning; this wonderful story in our first lesson is enough to feast on for weeks, let alone a (reasonably) short sermon.  It's all there in a story so brilliantly told that the author must surely be a direct ancestor of St Luke.  In short, healing involves so much more than physical well-being.  The epistle also contains a bit of a picture, which, on inspection, looks remarkably contemporary.  It seems that already Christians are "wrangling over words" and even indulging "in profane chatter", and all this before synods had been invented.  And in the gospel passage we have a community of people brought together by illness and about to be torn apart by healing.  What are we to make of that?

Background.  Over the last few weeks we have had a number of stories that have been variations on the theme of separation and exclusion, and what can and cannot be done to break down the walls (and gates) that divide.  And we have been reminded that, while external walls and gates may be solid enough, they are usually only symptoms of our inner desires to shut out and exclude those we want nothing to do with.  Or, as the Bible maddeningly refers to them, our neighbours.

In fact, the first story featured a son who decided to exclude himself from the family home, thereby excluding his father and the other members of the family from any further consideration – we might say, he chose to shut them out of his heart.  Happily, he came to his senses in time.  Then we had the Unjust Steward a.k.a. the Dishonest Manager whose lack of interest in earning interest for his master lead to the termination of his contract of employment, and the exclusion from his master's business.  Finally, we had the frightening story of the Rich Man and Lazarus, where the rich man's choice to exclude Lazarus from his heart led to a permanent breach between them of eternal significance.

Today we have further variations on that same theme.  Take the gospel story first.  Ten lepers have seemingly formed a small community of their own.  Excluded by their leprosy from mainstream society, it is precisely their disease that has overcome their social and ethnic divisions.  We might, perhaps, overlook that aspect of Jesus' astonishment that the one man who came back to thank him was a Samaritan, a foreigner; but equally astonishing is the fact that (we assume) the others (or, at least some of them) were not – they were Jews, who normally would have no social relationships with Samaritans.  Would all ten, healed of their terrible affliction, remain friends after their healing?

The patterns of inclusion and exclusion are far more complex in our first lesson.  Let's start with verse 1.  We are first introduced to this great military commander; and we immediately form a picture of him in our minds, don't we?  We can just see him painted in oils in all his military glory – black leather boots almost up to his knees, tight-fitting crimson jacket with an absurd number of highly polished gold buttons, with rows of medals hanging from their striped ribbons on his chest, those weird things that look rather like clothes' brushes on his shoulders, stripes of rank on his sleeves, and of course, an extraordinary hat of some extravagant design that only the military mind thinks is more likely to impress than to convulse with laughter.  So here he is, this great man, this man in high favour with his king; surely Naaman has arrived; Naaman is the ultimate insider?

Well, yes and no.  It depends on which society or country we're talking about.  For he is not one of us (remembering that this is a Hebrew story) – he is the commander of a foreign army, the army of Israel's neighbour Aram, better known to us as Syria; and this is where the story takes a weird turn (even before we have finished with verse 1).  For this great military icon is in high favour with his king because of his great success on the battlefield, a success, we are told, due to the divine intervention of the Lord, the Lord God of Israel, that is.  Which side is God on, one might start to wonder, if one forgot that there are no national, ethnic or other borders or boundaries in the heart of God.  God is not on any side because God does not believe there are any sides: to him there are only people.

One of whom, Naaman the great commander has leprosy.  Notice how well the author allows us to share in the shock Naaman must have felt when he first became aware of his condition.  More shocks and surprises are immediately set before us.  Continuing the theme of God's refusal to recognise borders and boundaries, a healing process is set in motion that starts with a slave girl who was captured in Israel by a raiding party from – yes, Aram.  Far from smouldering with anger and racial hatred towards her captors – far from secretly savouring the thought that her enemies' Big Chief has got the Big L – she it is who discretely points him in the right direction – where his healing will be effected by a Hebrew prophet with a slightly unorthodox approach to the medical arts.

But before that he has to clamber over a number of hurdles of his own making.  He might have leprosy but he also has his pride.  He is blowed if he is going to be treated in such an off-hand manner by this supposed holy man with the healing hands; and he is certainly not going to make a complete spectacle of himself doing a wet yo-yo impersonation in some skungy river in Israel in front of his own entourage.  He would rather barricade himself within a wall of his own hubris than submit to that.  This time it is his own servants who break down that barrier and make his healing possible.

Then comes an almighty crash as the largest barrier of all gives way.  His paganism, his belief only in the gods of his own people, falls down and he sees the glorious truth that has been hidden from him until now: he "sees" there is only one God, the God of all peoples.  And he does what he thinks is the right thing to do.  He offers the gifts he has brought with him to Elisha.  Even though they are refused, what started life as a bribe has become a thank-offering.  Good things spread – goodness can be contagious.  Sadly, so can wickedness; if we went further with the story we would find Gehazi, Elisha's servant, infected by greed and leprosy, in that order.

Kings. There is so much more in this wonderful story, which is really a parable about power and powerlessness.  In addition to the use of servants (slaves) as the sources of helpful advice to this powerful military commander, we also have the wonderful spectacle outside Elisha's home.  Naaman arrives with his horses and chariots, only to be met by Elisha's servant with a message from the prophet (verses 9 and 10).  And notice that when this great man is healed of his leprosy he has the skin "o f young boy", hardly the image a military tough-guy would crave, perhaps.

Taking It Personally.

·        Notice how many prejudices and preconceptions Naaman had to abandon in order to receive healing – relating to rank, class, ethnic or national identity, as well as his understanding of how a healer should exercise the gift of healing, and what is and what is not reasonable.  Which of those would you own, and which would you disown?

·        Do you have any sympathy for Naaman?  Why?

·        Is it any more credible to believe in healing by the laying on of hands or anointing with oil than by dipping seven times in a muddy river?  How would you explain the difference to a sceptical friend?

·        Ponder what changes in the relationship between Israel and Syria might have ensued from Naaman's healing?  Perhaps Naaman would counsel against any further wars against Israel.  Is healing intended to be contagious?

 

Timothy.  Our first verse today gives us a new take on the idea that, vast Christian bookshops and libraries to the contrary, our faith is really pretty simple.  We remember Jesus Christ, who was raised from the dead and was a descendant of David.  That's basically it.  All the rest is interpretation and elaboration!  Perhaps that's taking simplification too far; but "wrangling over words" is of no use to anyone and "ruins those who are listening".  We must stick to the truth – the gospel truth, to coin a phrase.  And look at the image he gives for the damage caused by wrongful language – it "will spread like gangrene", he warns.  (That's why we need to keep this bit in the reading.) Leprosy, like barriers and gates can take many forms.  Gossip, malicious talk, etc is contagious – it spreads by contact from person to person, from mouth to ear.

Taking It Personally.

 

·        Read verse 8 again.  Apart from his resurrection, and his descent from David, are there any other essential matters that you would put in a one-sentence long statement of your faith in Jesus?

·        Are you tempted to wrangle over words (of Scripture)?  "Well it all depends on what you mean by "heaven"/"hell"/"judgment"/"punishment"...

·        Do you consider yourself a "worker for God"?  In the context of the campaign for a "living wage", how might we apply that term to Christians working for God?  (No, don't think stipend – think eternal life.)

 

Luke.  I suspect this story is a little more complicated than it looks.  After all, Jesus tells all ten to "go and show yourselves to the priests".  All of them do so, but on the way all ten are "made clean".  Notice the use of this phrase in verse 14.  Usually this means "ritualistically clean".  But the one who immediately turned back to Jesus could not be ritually clean, no matter the state of his skin (leprous or not) because he was a Samaritan.  Notice that he found that he was "healed" (rather than "made clean") – verse 15.  Notice, too, that he returned "praising God", rather than praising Jesus, the man with the gift of healing.  At the end of the story, "the community of ten lepers" has become separated into nine healed Jews and one healed Samaritan.  And Jesus is with the latter.  Shades of Rich Man and Lazarus stuff here, surely.  And yet, the uncomfortable fact remains that the nine who carried on the journey, presumably all the way to the priests, were doing Jesus' bidding.  Perhaps there's something here about the New Covenant in Jesus and the Old represented by the priests.  Did only this Samaritan have the spiritual insight to see in Jesus the new thing that God was doing in the world?

 

Taking It Personally.

 

·        Read through the passage slowly, monitoring your feelings as you go.  A good passage for lectio divina.

·        Notice Luke's attention to geographic detail in verse 11.  This is border country – life on the edge.  What does this image give to this story?

·        In verse 12 all ten "keep their distance" from Jesus.  At the end one of them is close to Jesus and the other nine are going away from him to the priests.  Does that get us anywhere?

·        Do you need healing in any part of your life?  Pray to Jesus for the healing you need.

·        A good day to pray for all those still suffering from leprosy today, for those who work with them, for ongoing research into the treatment and causes of leprosy, and for the work of the Leprosy Mission.

·        What are you "spreading" among your contacts?  Is your faith catching?

Notes for Reflection

October 13                             NOTES FOR REFLECTION

Texts: 2 Kings 5:1-3, 8-15c; 2 Timothy 2:8-17a*; Luke 17:11-19

[*The Lectionary has 2:8-15, but I beg to differ; verse 17a is too important to leave out.]

Theme: A good range to choose from this week: our first lesson this morning on its own might suggest something about healing (physical, social and spiritual); humility; pre-conceived ideas; and thankfulness.  Our epistle might add to the list something about the basics as in "Back to Basics", and the importance of good work habits in the service of God.  And the gospel will chime in with "The Ins and Outs of Community".  I'm going for something really clever: how about "Healing is Supposed to be Contagious".

Introduction.  In the nicest possible way, I'm tempted to suggest that we don't really need an epistle reading or a gospel passage this morning; this wonderful story in our first lesson is enough to feast on for weeks, let alone a (reasonably) short sermon.  It's all there in a story so brilliantly told that the author must surely be a direct ancestor of St Luke.  In short, healing involves so much more than physical well-being.  The epistle also contains a bit of a picture, which, on inspection, looks remarkably contemporary.  It seems that already Christians are "wrangling over words" and even indulging "in profane chatter", and all this before synods had been invented.  And in the gospel passage we have a community of people brought together by illness and about to be torn apart by healing.  What are we to make of that?

Background.  Over the last few weeks we have had a number of stories that have been variations on the theme of separation and exclusion, and what can and cannot be done to break down the walls (and gates) that divide.  And we have been reminded that, while external walls and gates may be solid enough, they are usually only symptoms of our inner desires to shut out and exclude those we want nothing to do with.  Or, as the Bible maddeningly refers to them, our neighbours.

In fact, the first story featured a son who decided to exclude himself from the family home, thereby excluding his father and the other members of the family from any further consideration – we might say, he chose to shut them out of his heart.  Happily, he came to his senses in time.  Then we had the Unjust Steward a.k.a. the Dishonest Manager whose lack of interest in earning interest for his master lead to the termination of his contract of employment, and the exclusion from his master's business.  Finally, we had the frightening story of the Rich Man and Lazarus, where the rich man's choice to exclude Lazarus from his heart led to a permanent breach between them of eternal significance.

Today we have further variations on that same theme.  Take the gospel story first.  Ten lepers have seemingly formed a small community of their own.  Excluded by their leprosy from mainstream society, it is precisely their disease that has overcome their social and ethnic divisions.  We might, perhaps, overlook that aspect of Jesus' astonishment that the one man who came back to thank him was a Samaritan, a foreigner; but equally astonishing is the fact that (we assume) the others (or, at least some of them) were not – they were Jews, who normally would have no social relationships with Samaritans.  Would all ten, healed of their terrible affliction, remain friends after their healing?

The patterns of inclusion and exclusion are far more complex in our first lesson.  Let's start with verse 1.  We are first introduced to this great military commander; and we immediately form a picture of him in our minds, don't we?  We can just see him painted in oils in all his military glory – black leather boots almost up to his knees, tight-fitting crimson jacket with an absurd number of highly polished gold buttons, with rows of medals hanging from their striped ribbons on his chest, those weird things that look rather like clothes' brushes on his shoulders, stripes of rank on his sleeves, and of course, an extraordinary hat of some extravagant design that only the military mind thinks is more likely to impress than to convulse with laughter.  So here he is, this great man, this man in high favour with his king; surely Naaman has arrived; Naaman is the ultimate insider?

Well, yes and no.  It depends on which society or country we're talking about.  For he is not one of us (remembering that this is a Hebrew story) – he is the commander of a foreign army, the army of Israel's neighbour Aram, better known to us as Syria; and this is where the story takes a weird turn (even before we have finished with verse 1).  For this great military icon is in high favour with his king because of his great success on the battlefield, a success, we are told, due to the divine intervention of the Lord, the Lord God of Israel, that is.  Which side is God on, one might start to wonder, if one forgot that there are no national, ethnic or other borders or boundaries in the heart of God.  God is not on any side because God does not believe there are any sides: to him there are only people.

One of whom, Naaman the great commander has leprosy.  Notice how well the author allows us to share in the shock Naaman must have felt when he first became aware of his condition.  More shocks and surprises are immediately set before us.  Continuing the theme of God's refusal to recognise borders and boundaries, a healing process is set in motion that starts with a slave girl who was captured in Israel by a raiding party from – yes, Aram.  Far from smouldering with anger and racial hatred towards her captors – far from secretly savouring the thought that her enemies' Big Chief has got the Big L – she it is who discretely points him in the right direction – where his healing will be effected by a Hebrew prophet with a slightly unorthodox approach to the medical arts.

But before that he has to clamber over a number of hurdles of his own making.  He might have leprosy but he also has his pride.  He is blowed if he is going to be treated in such an off-hand manner by this supposed holy man with the healing hands; and he is certainly not going to make a complete spectacle of himself doing a wet yo-yo impersonation in some skungy river in Israel in front of his own entourage.  He would rather barricade himself within a wall of his own hubris than submit to that.  This time it is his own servants who break down that barrier and make his healing possible.

Then comes an almighty crash as the largest barrier of all gives way.  His paganism, his belief only in the gods of his own people, falls down and he sees the glorious truth that has been hidden from him until now: he "sees" there is only one God, the God of all peoples.  And he does what he thinks is the right thing to do.  He offers the gifts he has brought with him to Elisha.  Even though they are refused, what started life as a bribe has become a thank-offering.  Good things spread – goodness can be contagious.  Sadly, so can wickedness; if we went further with the story we would find Gehazi, Elisha's servant, infected by greed and leprosy, in that order.

Kings. There is so much more in this wonderful story, which is really a parable about power and powerlessness.  In addition to the use of servants (slaves) as the sources of helpful advice to this powerful military commander, we also have the wonderful spectacle outside Elisha's home.  Naaman arrives with his horses and chariots, only to be met by Elisha's servant with a message from the prophet (verses 9 and 10).  And notice that when this great man is healed of his leprosy he has the skin "o f young boy", hardly the image a military tough-guy would crave, perhaps.

Taking It Personally.

·        Notice how many prejudices and preconceptions Naaman had to abandon in order to receive healing – relating to rank, class, ethnic or national identity, as well as his understanding of how a healer should exercise the gift of healing, and what is and what is not reasonable.  Which of those would you own, and which would you disown?

·        Do you have any sympathy for Naaman?  Why?

·        Is it any more credible to believe in healing by the laying on of hands or anointing with oil than by dipping seven times in a muddy river?  How would you explain the difference to a sceptical friend?

·        Ponder what changes in the relationship between Israel and Syria might have ensued from Naaman's healing?  Perhaps Naaman would counsel against any further wars against Israel.  Is healing intended to be contagious?

 

Timothy.  Our first verse today gives us a new take on the idea that, vast Christian bookshops and libraries to the contrary, our faith is really pretty simple.  We remember Jesus Christ, who was raised from the dead and was a descendant of David.  That's basically it.  All the rest is interpretation and elaboration!  Perhaps that's taking simplification too far; but "wrangling over words" is of no use to anyone and "ruins those who are listening".  We must stick to the truth – the gospel truth, to coin a phrase.  And look at the image he gives for the damage caused by wrongful language – it "will spread like gangrene", he warns.  (That's why we need to keep this bit in the reading.) Leprosy, like barriers and gates can take many forms.  Gossip, malicious talk, etc is contagious – it spreads by contact from person to person, from mouth to ear.

Taking It Personally.

 

·        Read verse 8 again.  Apart from his resurrection, and his descent from David, are there any other essential matters that you would put in a one-sentence long statement of your faith in Jesus?

·        Are you tempted to wrangle over words (of Scripture)?  "Well it all depends on what you mean by "heaven"/"hell"/"judgment"/"punishment"...

·        Do you consider yourself a "worker for God"?  In the context of the campaign for a "living wage", how might we apply that term to Christians working for God?  (No, don't think stipend – think eternal life.)

 

Luke.  I suspect this story is a little more complicated than it looks.  After all, Jesus tells all ten to "go and show yourselves to the priests".  All of them do so, but on the way all ten are "made clean".  Notice the use of this phrase in verse 14.  Usually this means "ritualistically clean".  But the one who immediately turned back to Jesus could not be ritually clean, no matter the state of his skin (leprous or not) because he was a Samaritan.  Notice that he found that he was "healed" (rather than "made clean") – verse 15.  Notice, too, that he returned "praising God", rather than praising Jesus, the man with the gift of healing.  At the end of the story, "the community of ten lepers" has become separated into nine healed Jews and one healed Samaritan.  And Jesus is with the latter.  Shades of Rich Man and Lazarus stuff here, surely.  And yet, the uncomfortable fact remains that the nine who carried on the journey, presumably all the way to the priests, were doing Jesus' bidding.  Perhaps there's something here about the New Covenant in Jesus and the Old represented by the priests.  Did only this Samaritan have the spiritual insight to see in Jesus the new thing that God was doing in the world?

 

Taking It Personally.

 

·        Read through the passage slowly, monitoring your feelings as you go.  A good passage for lectio divina.

·        Notice Luke's attention to geographic detail in verse 11.  This is border country – life on the edge.  What does this image give to this story?

·        In verse 12 all ten "keep their distance" from Jesus.  At the end one of them is close to Jesus and the other nine are going away from him to the priests.  Does that get us anywhere?

·        Do you need healing in any part of your life?  Pray to Jesus for the healing you need.

·        A good day to pray for all those still suffering from leprosy today, for those who work with them, for ongoing research into the treatment and causes of leprosy, and for the work of the Leprosy Mission.

·        What are you "spreading" among your contacts?  Is your faith catching?

Notes for Reflection

October 6                               NOTES FOR REFLECTION

Texts: Habakkuk 1:1-4, and 2:1-4; 2 Timothy 1:1-14; Luke 17:5-10

Theme: It's hard to put it into just a few words this week.  Our readings convey to me something of the struggle we have to hang on to our faith in the face of what appears to be the reality of the world around us.  Is God really working his purpose out, or is the world going to hell in a hand-basket?  For some bizarre reason the slogan from the old cheese adverts has just popped into my mind, "Good Things Take Time".  I might have to go with that.  For more dramatic effect (and a more biblical one) we could take the line from the shocked disciples in our gospel passage today, "Increase our Faith!"

Introduction.  Basically we are being reminded today that God's concept of time is very different from our own.  Habakkuk looks all around him at the society of his time and is bewildered.  If this is the Promised Land, if these are God's People, if this is God's world under God's authority, how come everything evil seems to hold sway?  The answer he is given basically amounts to this: hang in there.  God has a plan.  St Paul is trying to give the same encouragement to Timothy on a more personal level.  Hold firm to your faith.  Never mind opposition and resistance: be like your Granny and your Mum!  (A picture of inter-generational faith is emerging – the time span is extending beyond the life of an individual believer.)  In Luke the emphasis shifts from the passive to the active.  The world is changing, but it will only do so as people of faith change.  God is not improving the world in which we live, so that we can go on living the same old life in more pleasant surroundings.  God is calling his people to change, in a number of quite specific areas.  Some of these are so tough and personally threatening that the caring people who produce The Lectionary have tried to reduce our pain by omitting the first few items.  I call for brave defiance: start the reading at verse 1!  If you survive that challenge it will make you stronger (though it is unlikely to make your congregations bigger).

Background.  It might well be true that of all the species on the earth only our own has a concept of the future, but it is arguable how much we let that concept affect our present day lives.  We have a Retirement Commissioner – we have Kiwi Saver – we have a Superannuation Fund – and we know that it makes good sense to save for our retirement.  We have an understanding of, and a plethora of data about, demographic changes – our birth-rate is falling, we are living longer, our population is ageing, the demands on our health services are increasing – we should address these issues NOW for the sake of our children and our grandchildren and generations to come after them.  But we don't and we won't, because our concern is not with the future but only with the present – and, curiously enough, with the past.  I read recently a comment that whereas all great universities offer courses in history and classical studies, less than 5 percent are offering studies on "futurology" – the term has to stay in inverted commas because many of the universities surveyed for the study insisted that there is no such thing as "futurology".

On the other hand I was struck by a comment on the radio this week by a union official when asked why he welcomed the Government bail-out of Solid Energy, and what about the effect continuing coal production could have on the planet.  The union official said something like this: "if you are a coal miner living in Huntley with five children to support and your job hanging in the balance you are not likely to lie awake at night worrying about a predicted increase in the sea-level of somewhere between 15 and 45 centimetres by the end of the this century."  I wonder if such a thought impinged itself on anyone at our recent Synod where it was resolved to adopt, under the banner of Ethical Investment, a ban on investment in fossil fuel industries.  Time-scales are tricky things at the best of times.

When I first entered parish ministry in the early 1990's I soon found myself conducting funerals for people who died in their eighties.  More often than not they were widows, and I would be meeting with their children to discuss funeral arrangements.  A pattern seemed to develop.  "Well, tell me about Mum," I would say hopefully.  "What sort of person was she?  What are some of your memories of her?"  A profound silence would develop, and when it finally got too embarrassing to endure any longer one brave soul would utter the line I learned to dread: "Well, you know, Mum was just, well, Mum really."  What that meant was that Mum had been one of those tireless, multi-tasking women who could turn her hand to anything on the domestic front.  She could sew, knit, cook, preserve, mend, skin, pickle, and goodness knows what else, all at minimal cost to the household, and all, usually, without complaint.  If I was lucky, I would occasionally be given a little anecdote about the day the old copper boiler finally pushed Mum's patience to breaking- point.

The picture was one-dimensional and static.  Mum was just Mum, the same yesterday, today and tomorrow.  And then one day I discovered that this particular deceased Mum had been born in 1917, on the very day on which the Russian revolution broke out; and she had died at the time of the collapse of the Soviet Union.  And so here was a woman, one individual human life, whose life-span equalled the entire history of the Soviet Union which, to me and my generation had seemed invincible and eternal.  So I started to talk to these families about the changes that their respective Mums had lived through – from the first cars and planes to space-stations – from wind-up telephones on party lines to cell-phones, and so on and so on.  And almost always this was a great revelation to the families.  Mum had always been just Mum – even as everything else around her changed so dramatically in the course of her life.

As people of faith we struggle with time-spans.  It is clear that the first Christians expected Jesus' return in their lifetime, and were mystified when he didn't show up.  Two thousand years later what are we to say about that?  St Paul, in particular, was very clear that from the beginning God has had a plan in mind and has been unfolding it over time.  Our problem is that so far that process has been going on, the scientists tell us, for about 13.7 billion years!  One of Teilhard de Chardin's many claims to fame is as a great expositor of St Paul's "cosmic texts".  He was asked one day to predict how long it might be before "all things were gathered up in Christ"; his reply, after considerable thought was, "Perhaps as much as another one million years".  He was, after all, a geologist and palaeontologist.

I find myself coming back yet again to Ainger's great hymn God is working his purpose out.  It might be more accurate to change the second line from "as year succeeds to year" to "as age succeeds to age"; but what I like about it is the change of focus between the second and third verses.  First, we get the big picture: "from east to the utmost west"; and continents and islands are addressed – and, of course, the whole thing is about a future when the glory of God will fill the earth.  But then suddenly we get to the nitty-gritty: what is our role in all this?  What can we do to "urge the time"?  And then verse 4 answers that question: we can urge that time in acts of ministry: "strengthen the weary, heal the sick, and set every captive free".  Then verse 5 reminds us that such deeds will only be effective if they are blessed by God. 

And here we have the answer to Habakkuk's question.  This is God's world, he does have a plan which he is, over aeons, working out, and at this stage he is implementing the plan through his people of faith.  It involves for those people of faith a life of discipleship, some of the details of which are spelt out for us in our gospel passage and in our epistle reading today.

Habakkuk.  This is another variation on the theme so movingly crystallised in the Book of Job.  The presence of all-pervasive evil in a world created by God is only an issue for people of faith, but for people of faith it is a huge issue.  It does not seem to make sense; and all of us have had "Habakkuk moments" when we have asked God what on earth is going on.  And just as Job received a somewhat enigmatic answer to his questions, Habakkuk is told to hold on to the vision: for there is still a vision for the appointed time; it speaks of the end, it does not lie.  In short, keep on believing whatever is going on all around you.  Good things take time.

Taking It Personally.

·        Read slowly though the first passage.  Get a sense of Habakkuk's feelings.  How would you describe them?  Imagine that he is watching the T.V. news as he lists the horrors on his mind.  How would today's T.V. headlines differ from those things that are upsetting Habakkuk? 

·        Then read God's response in 2:3.  How do you feel about that?

·        Is there anything you can do about any of the issues you are concerned about?

·        Next time you pray "your kingdom come, your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven", ask yourself if that involves you in some way, or is it just a vague hope that things will improve one day?

 

Timothy. "Hang in there" could be a modern summary of this message.  There are some grounds for believing that this letter was probably not written by St Paul himself, but that doesn't change its basic message.  The whole tone makes it clear that it is not an easy time for the author or the recipient – or for anyone else – to be a Christian.  The author says he is in prison, and urges Timothy not to be ashamed of that, but to join him in suffering for the gospel.  We are reminded that both the author and the recipient stand in the line of faithful people (verses 3 and 5), so there is the human time-scale.  But the divine time-scale is never far from the author's thought, and breaks out in verse 9.  Then comes the good news that is at the heart of our faith: Christ has "abolished death and brought life and immortality to light".  This wonderful truth is both the reason for his calling and explains his suffering.  The gospel is what makes worthwhile whatever comes his way.  Therefore, Timothy – and all of us – must guard the gospel – and maintain "the standard of sound teaching".

 

Taking It Personally.

 

·        From whom have you received your faith?  Did your ancestors worship the same God you do?  Did you have a faithful Granny and Mother as Timothy did?

·        Have you had a particular mentor/encourager over the years, as Timothy had in Paul?

·        Have you ever been ashamed of your faith?

·        Do you accept any responsibility for passing on the faith to the next generations?  Have you been, or are you being, a Lois or Eunice to others?

 

Luke.  I sometimes picture Luke having off-days – perhaps with a migraine or something.  On those days he sits at his desk, but the flow has left him.  He struggles for words.  Instead of more great stories told in his wonderful style, he can only manage the odd filler, or, as here, a few fillers with no obvious connection with one another.  But even these fillers have much to teach us, especially when we recall that our central theme in this second part of the liturgical year is discipleship, not as an intellectual exercise, but as a way of life, the practical application of the sound teaching that we have just been considering in Timothy.  With Habakkuk we need to remember that there is still a vision – a divine plan of universal and eternal significance – but its implementation depends on real people learning to live it out in daily lives.  And that is rarely easy.  It involves ensuring that we do not lead others into temptation; to rebuke our fellow disciples when they sin; to forgive those others if, and whenever, they repent, no matter how many times they may repeat their offences.  We must learn that it's not the size of our faith that matters, but our willingness to exercise it.  We must learn that as servants of Christ we are never "off-duty" – Christian life is the original 24/7 lifestyle.  And we must do everything, not for the reward it brings, but because it is "meet and right so to do."  Any questions?

 

Taking It Personally.

 

·        A perfect passage for a time (a week?) of self-examination and confession.