Notes for Reflection

November 3                           NOTES FOR REFLECTION             All Saints Sunday

Texts: Daniel 7: 1-3, 15-18; Ephesians 1:9-23*; Luke 6:20-31

[* The Lectionary prescribes verses 11-23; but to me the critical verses are 9 and 10, which give context and meaning to all that follows: in fact, I would contend that they are among the most important verses in our Scriptures.]

Theme:  If we take our lead from the gospel passage, we can't go past "Plain Speaking", remembering that, according to Luke, what we know from Matthew as the Sermon on the Mount actually took place "on a level place" (verse 17).  However, for those who do not share my love of puns and other word-plays, something more grown-up may be "The Kingdom Comes".  This would fit well with both lessons, and with the spirit of the gospel passage; and it will also recognise that this Sunday and the next succeeding three are sometimes collectively referred to as "The Kingdom Season".  While some forms of "Christian Triumphalism" can be as cringe-making as jingoistic nationalism, it is good to be reminded that God's great story does have a happy ending!

Introduction.  We start with one of Daniel's mysterious visions, to the endless fascination of some of us, and the acute discomfort of the rest of us.  The key message comes in verse 18, which assures us that whatever kingdoms and empires might rise and fall in the coming centuries on earth, the people of faith will share in the only kingdom that ultimately matters, the eternal kingdom of God.  This is reinforced by the wonderful "vision" of St Paul in our second lesson, as he reveals God's creative plan, his purpose or will, that he has been unfolding from the Big Bang onwards and will be ultimately fulfilled when "all things" come together in the Body of Christ.  In the meantime, we are called to cooperate in this divine work, to be co-workers with God (we might even say co-creators with God); and we live out this great vocation by absorbing and accepting the teaching of Christ, the kernel of which we find in passages such as the one we have in our gospel reading.

Background.  I was recently invited to offer a series of teaching "on prayer".  When I began to think about what material I might use for this series I was about to turn to my book-shelves when a sudden thought struck me; wouldn't a better first step be to pray?  So I sat in my "prayer chair" and tried to open myself to whatever may come to me.  What came to me was a question that I had never thought of before: what is the nature of the world in which we are to do our praying?  And hot on its heels came a supplementary question: how should the nature of the world inform our prayer?  What emerged from all that was a Quiet Day of reflection on those questions, followed by a four-part series examining the classic four "categories" of prayer (adoration/praise, confession, thanksgiving, and supplication/petition/intercession) in the light of our reflections on the Quiet Day.  This week's readings offer another opportunity to consider these issues; indeed, the reading from Ephesians (along with extracts from Romans 8 and Colossians 3, together forming St Paul's so-called "cosmic texts") were central to our reflections on the Quiet Day.

In a nutshell, the thought that struck me powerfully as I started my own work on these issues was that the form and content of our prayers are so closely linked with our cosmology that many of our difficulties in our prayer life arise because we have not up-dated our cosmology.  The picture we have traditionally drawn of the world from the bible is rather like a theatre in which we play out the drama of life.  It is a very static image; God has built the whole thing, and all that matters now is the divine-human relationship.  We now know, of course, that the universe is very different.  Yes, it had a definite beginning (as the author of Genesis brilliantly perceived), but the creative process was not completed before we arrived on the scene, and has not yet been completed.  It is continuing.  So far it has taken about 13.7 billion years, and shows no signs of finishing anytime soon.  Scientists call that process evolution: we call it the process by which God is working his purpose out as year succeeds to year.  (Try singing that great hymn to yourself as you read slowly through this magnificent passage from Ephesians, and see what you think.)

The static view of the universe can lead our prayer into the dangerous world of magic, as the great Evelyn Underhill never tired of pointing out.  We prayed that God would intervene – just this once – to change the script, or the scenery or something in the theatre on which we were strutting our stuff at any one time.  Every prayer can seem to be asking for a miracle – a personal exemption from the way things usually are and would be unless we can somehow persuade God to do us a favour.  God as a benign form of Dr Strangelove can easily follow from that form of prayer infected by that type of cosmology.  But once we substitute for that static view the dynamic view of the universe in the process of being created according to God's "good purpose" (as St Paul puts it) we find that our prayers  become aligned with that purpose.  In short, our prayer can be summed up in that very familiar petition: "your kingdom come, your will be done".  The emphasis shifts from asking God to intervene (and perhaps what we really mean is "interfere") in the ways of the world, to asking that his will be done whatever obstacles may be presently holding it back.

So far, so good; but there is one more important thing here, I think.  If we are to be co-workers or co-creators with God we are surely called to do more than pray for the "success" of God's work - "to pray ringside", to borrow a phrase from Ring Lardner, "may be a nice idea but a good left hook wins more points".  Someone has said that whatever we pray for, we must be willing to be at least part of the answer to our prayer.  More elegantly, and more usefully given this week's gospel passage, Richard Rohr says this:

We mend and renew the world by strengthening inside ourselves what we seek outside ourselves, and not by demanding it of others or trying to force it on others.

He goes on to give some specific examples: the one that most struck a chord with me was this:

If the world seems desperate, let go of your own despair.

Daniel.  Is there any book in the whole of the Old Testament more deserving of being consigned to the flames than this one?  Well, perhaps we shouldn't blame the book itself; perhaps we should consign those who wage endless and pointless arguments about its authorship that should be burnt at the stake (metaphorically speaking, of course).  But, really!  Does it matter if the book was indeed written by the prophet around the time of Cyrus' invasion of Babylonia, or it was written by someone else around the time of the Maccabees 400 years later?  It seems it does to ardent conservatives who want to emphasise what are claimed to be extraordinarily accurate historical predictions; and likewise to equally ardent liberals who wish to dismiss the possibility of prophetic foresight as super-natural nonsense.  Who cares?  The theme – indeed, the whole point of the book – is the Sovereignty of God, all appearances to the contrary notwithstanding.  Remember Nebuchadnezzar, Julius Caesar, Alexander the Great, Adolf Hitler, and even Ian Smith in Rhodesia?  Remember all those Pharaohs, Kings, Queens, Presidents, Prime Ministers, and their much-decorated military commanders?  All, in the broad sweep of history, gone by lunchtime.  Only one Kingdom is eternal.  That's the message of this book and it remains the message of Scripture through to the Book of Revelation: "The kingdom of the world has become the kingdom of our Lord and of his Messiah", as the chorus sang in response to the seventh angel's trumpet voluntary (11:15).

Taking It Personally.

·        Read verses 6:28 and 7:1.  A new reign brings uncertainty for Daniel.  Perhaps his fearful dreams reflect that.  Have you had times of change and uncertainty that have frightened you – are you facing such circumstances at the moment?

·        In general, do you take your dreams seriously, or dismiss them without another thought?  Can you recall a dream that proved helpful to you in some way?

·        Remembering the fraught political times and circumstances in which Daniel is said to have had his visions and dreams, how valuable would the reassurance in verse 18 have been to him?

·        Do you find the idea of God working his purpose out helpful in times of crisis when everything seems to be going wrong?

 

Ephesians.  I've always rather liked the old story about the labourer on a building site somewhere, with trowel in one hand and a small piece of stone in the other.  Some local dignitary was visiting the site and said to the man, "And you, my good man, what are you doing?"  "I, Sir," replied the labourer, "am building a cathedral".  Whether or not St Paul wrote this letter, I neither know nor care.  Whoever wrote it had the same breadth of vision as the labourer building the cathedral.  Within a few decades of the death of Jesus of Nazareth someone had discerned that God's plan was, and always had been, and continues to be, to bring the whole of creation together in his transformed Body.  It is against this background – this understanding of the world as it is – that the author goes on to pray for the people at Ephesus.  And what does he pray for them?  Not health, food, shelter, freedom from persecution or disaster.  But for spiritual understanding – not the sort of understanding that may be achieved by thinking – by "nutting things out", as we might put it – but the sort of understanding that comes through the eyes of the heart, enlightenment, to use a somewhat dangerous word.  To grasp the vision is to be swept up in it, to want to work for it, and hope for it, and pray for it to the end of our days – one small piece at a time.

 

Taking it Personally.

 

• This is surely a passage to be read over and over again, slowly, phrase by phrase, word by word, drinking it in, until our innermost being becomes saturated with it.  Try it: if you are looking for a richer spiritual life, this is the drink for you!
• Pause regularly to offer prayers of thanksgiving and praise.
• Ask God to show you how you can better fulfil your calling, each day, to be his co-worker in building his eternal kingdom according to his good pleasure.
• Use verses 17 to 19 as a template for your prayers of intercession for family and friends, and for members of your local congregation.

 

Luke.  How often have you heard someone say of religion, "Oh, we don't need all that churchy stuff – all that doctrine and carry-on.  It's all very simple, really – it just boils down to the golden rule.  That's what Jesus was really on about, eh?"  Next time you might like to respond; "Ah, you're thinking of Luke 6:26, I think.  So when was the last time you did to your enemies what you would have them do to you?"  But first, recognise that we are sometimes just as guilty of a blind misrepresentation of Jesus' teaching.  How many times have we been urged from the pulpit to love one another, compared to the number of times we have been urged from the same place to love our enemies?  How many times have we been exhorted to be generous to the poor compared to the number of times we have been encouraged to embrace poverty for ourselves?  How many times have we been encouraged to lend without seeking to recover the loan, or to respond to a thief by giving him something more?  How many times have the churches advocated pacifism, and taken up the cause of conscientious objectors?  If we want a world free of war, should we not start by refusing to fight?

 

Taking It Personally.

 

• A passage for self-examination and confession.  How well do your attitudes, beliefs and practices accord with Christ's teaching, rather than society's norms?
• Do times of misfortune, illness or setbacks tend to strengthen your faith or weaken it?
• When you are offended by someone, do you pray for them?  Does that make any difference to the way you feel about them?

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?