In A Little House in Bethany

Texts: Isaiah 43:16-21; Philippians 3:4b-14; John 12:1-8

I want to focus this morning on this little house in Bethany. It was obviously a very important little place in the very early traditions of the Christian Church. Three of the gospels include this story of a woman anointing Jesus with expensive perform, and all three agree that it was in a little house in Bethany. Bethany was a small village about two miles outside Jerusalem, and these three gospel accounts seem to agree that it was there, in this little house, that Jesus and the disciples made their last stop before entering the city.

St John’s version of this story is markedly different from the other accounts in a number of important respects. St Matthew and St Mark identify the house as belonging to Simon the Leper, and do not name the woman who does the anointing. St Luke has the famous story about Martha and Mary hosting Jesus on another occasion marked by sibling rivalry; but his story of the anointing of Jesus is removed from Bethany, comes much earlier in the gospel narrative, and is performed by a penitent prostitute. Only St John names Judas Iscariot as the one who objects to the scandalous waste of this expensive perfume – St Mark and St Matthew says the disciples complained about it.

But let’s not worry too much about these details and differences this morning. Let’s enter into this poignant scene and see what it might be telling us this morning. At the centre of the story is Jesus; his public ministry has finished. In St John’s timetable it finished at the end of chapter 11, following the raising of Lazarus. Because of the enormous interest that event attracted the authorities were actively conspiring to arrest Jesus. Therefore Jesus no longer moved about publicly among the Jews. Instead he withdrew to a region near the desert, to a village called Ephraim, where he stayed with his disciples. [John 11:54]

But with the Feast of the Passover approaching, Jesus comes to Bethany. There are now just 6 days until his death. In this little house, there is a table set for dinner, a dinner given in Jesus’ honour. Who else is present? Well, Martha and Mary are there – according to St John’s account it is their home, which they share with their brother, Lazarus. And just in case we have already forgotten, St John reminds us that Lazarus is the one whom Jesus raised from the dead. He tells us something else about Lazarus, too. He says “Lazarus was among those reclining at the table” with Jesus.

Now there’s an interesting word – “reclining”. We’ll hear that word again a little later in the passion narrative when we have the account of the Last Supper. One of them, the disciple whom Jesus loved, was reclining next to him. [John 13:23] This is one of the little subtle hints that St John is so good at. In everything he writes he reminds us of the things that have happened, and the things that are about to happen. This meal is shared in the house where Lazarus died; it looks forward to the Last Supper from which Jesus will go out to his death.

And, of course, someone also went out from the Last Supper into the darkness – Judas the betrayer. In their accounts St Matthew and St Mark remind us of this by following their accounts of this anointing episode with the story of Judas doing a deal with the chief priests. St John makes the point more dramatically by identifying Judas as present at this cosy little dinner party; and, of course, takes the opportunity of reminding us that this is the fellow who will later betray Jesus. In this account it is only Judas who objects to the anointing; and St John can’t resist assuring us that his concern was not genuinely for the poor. As the group’s money-man, he was on the take. So Judas was present at this little gathering in this little house in Bethany.

Who else? Well, did you notice how I mentioned the two sisters a moment or two ago, but then immediately started talking about Lazarus? That’s the problem with something spectacular – a miracle. It detracts from everything else. This story is not supposed to be about Lazarus, yet in a way his presence continues to dominate. We’ll come back to him in a moment. But let’s first make some space for the sisters. Mary, of course, is given the starring role, but Martha gets the first mention. It’s not a very big mention, however – in fact, just two words: “Martha served”.

“Martha served”. That’s the sort of thing that gets feminist bible commentators very agitated. And yet, what a wonderful thing this is. On the day before Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem, he comes to this little house in Bethany for one last meal with his friends, and Martha has the privilege of serving him. Who is this Martha in St John’s gospel? She is the one who made the supreme confession of faith in Christ, that’s who she is. The other gospels insist that it was Peter who first confessed Jesus as Christ. Not according to St John: we won’t find any such confession from Peter in this gospel. Instead we find it was Martha who said to Jesus: “I believe that you are the Christ, the Son of God, who was to come into the world.” [John 11:27] How appropriate, then, that she should now serve Jesus at this dinner.

And so to Mary. She, too, serves Jesus. Indeed, she takes upon herself the servant’s role of tending to his feet. Again, we can get a bit more of the significance of what’s going on here if we compare this account with those of St Matthew and St Mark. They say the woman poured expensive perfume over Jesus’ head; St John says Mary poured it over his feet. Again, no doubt, we’re being reminded of something that is going to happen at the Last Supper: After that, he poured water into a basin and began to wash his disciples’ feet, drying them with a towel that was wrapped around him. [John 13:5]

Mary doesn’t use a towel – she uses her hair. This is a wonderfully sensual image of her tender love for Jesus. It is also a great sign of her humility. Women of status would not (literally!) let their hair down in front of other people; but Mary was not into standing on her dignity. Her devotion to Jesus was complete.

Besides those various individuals, there are two other groups of people referred to in this story. First, there are the other dinner guests, nameless and unnumbered, but nevertheless there, for St John tells us that “Lazarus was among those reclining at table with him”. They may have been the other disciples, or simply other friends of Mary and Martha invited to the meal. They take no particular part in the proceedings but they are nevertheless part of the dinner party.

The other group of people in the story are more numerous; they are outside clamouring to get in. There in verse 9: Meanwhile a large crowd of Jews found out that Jesus was there and came, not only because of him but also to see Lazarus, whom he had raised from the dead. Lazarus had become an object of curiosity, so to speak – a tourist attraction. Hardly surprising in the circumstances, really, but here’s another tantalizing hint that St John may or may not be giving us. St John refers to the crowd outside as ‘Jews”, and by this stage of the gospel he uses the term to signify those who will not accept Jesus as the Messiah – those who oppose Jesus and ultimately conspire with the Roman authorities in his death.

Perhaps we should remember a story from St Luke. Remember the one about the rich man and the beggar at his gate. They both die, and when the rich man finds himself in hell he asks Abraham to send the beggar back to earth to warn his brothers. Abraham refuses: If they do not listen to Moses and the Prophets, they will not be convinced if someone rises from the dead. [Luke16:31] And the beggar’s name was – Lazarus.

In this little house in Bethany a meal is shared in Jesus honour. Martha serves; Mary adores; Judas criticises; guests eat; crowds outside are interested to learn more about the one who was raised back to life, but may never be convinced.

It’s a great story. And it’s our story. Let’s take a moment to reflect on it in our own little house to which we have come to share a meal in Jesus’ honour. Amen.

Reconciliation

Texts: Joshua 5:6-9; 2 Corinthians 5:16-21; Luke 15:1-3, 11-31

This morning, on this Fourth Sunday in Lent – sometimes called Refreshment Sunday – we are given this very popular parable of the Prodigal (or Lost) Son, presumably to lift our spirits. That’s the idea of Refreshment Sunday. Lent is long and gloomy, and we have a sort of half-time break to strengthen us for the second half. What better then than this lovely story to give us some warm fuzzies.

And it does, doesn’t it? We might secretly think the old man is a bit soft on the boy – and we might secretly have some sympathy for the older brother’s point of view – but overall we rather like this story, because it has a happy ending and it doesn’t challenge us too much. We particularly like this story if we can identify with the younger son.

Think of him for a moment – what picture do we get of him? What do we think he’s been up to? The narrator says only that he had squandered his money on wild living. The elder brother fills in the blank for himself – he says his brother has squandered his money on prostitutes. What do we fill in the blank with?

Perhaps we think of him as a sort of student in Castle Street – basically a decent enough lad, but away from home for the first time and determined to have a bit of fun on a Friday or Saturday night. A bit of couch-burning, a wheely-bin derby, getting wasted, having sex, partying all night and upsetting the neighbours. But nothing too serious – just lads-being-laddish stuff. Sowing a few wild oats – getting it out of his system – all just wink-wink, nudge-nudge stuff. The sort of stuff that staid old men of my age like to pretend we got up to at his age.

Is that our image of this younger son? Or perhaps we prefer a somewhat more sophisticated image – more like Prince Harry for example. Occasionally glimpsed going in and out of high class clubs at all hours of the day and night, sometimes dressed in entirely inappropriate fancy dress. One of the smart set with money to burn. More irritating to us than the wild-eyed student variety, but again essentially harmless. He’ll grow up one day. In the meantime he’s just having fun – or wild living as the parable calls it.

If either of those models are close to the image we have of this younger son, then it’s not surprising that we miss the real punch of this parable. And this was brought home to me recently by a throwaway comment made by Professor Paul Trebilco, head of the Department of Theology and Religious Studies at Otago University. The lecture was on St John’s Gospel not St Luke’s, but he referred to this parable, and in particular to the bit where the father sees his returning son in the far distance and runs to meet him. The usual interpretation of that is that the father was so overcome by joy and love that he forgot every other consideration and rushed to his son.

But according to Professor Trebilco there was another reason for this as well. The father was rushing to protect his son. From whom or what? From his kinsmen and villagers. He says that when we focus on what the younger son may have done or not done in the far distant land, we miss the real scandal of the story. In the culture of the time, the real offence committed by the younger son was in demanding his inheritance upfront while his father was alive, and abandoning his father and all his kinsmen. That would have brought huge dishonour on the whole clan; and if the kinsmen had seen this guy before his father did, they would have exercised a little vigilante justice. That, perhaps, gives us a better feel for the way in which Jesus’ listeners would have understood this story.

It doesn’t work for us because we are used to the young spreading their wings, doing their O.E., perhaps doing a few unwise or even dangerous things, before returning home and settling down. It’s no big deal. So perhaps we need to re-shape our image of the younger son before we can really enter into this story and get its full impact.

What if in the far distant country this younger son had been involved in gang rape, or child pornography, or terrorism, or drug-running, or any other conduct that you personally find utterly repulsive? Reflect for a moment on the community outrage when they discover that a convicted paedophile has moved into the neighbourhood – that seems to be the sort of reaction this young man could have expected when he returned home if his father hadn’t got to him first to protect him.

If we can get a handle on that, then we can begin to understand how amazing the Father’s welcome is – and the power of the story when Jesus first told it in response to criticism from the Pharisees and the teachers of the law that he welcomed sinners and ate with them. According to St Luke, Jesus responded with three stories, the lost sheep, the lost coin, and this one about the son.

But there is an essential difference between those first two stories and this one. When the sheep was lost, the shepherd went out to find it; when the coin was lost the woman searched the house to find it. But when the son was lost, nobody went after him, nobody tried to find him. The turning-point came when he himself realised it was time to turn his life around, for which the religious word is repentance, of course. Only when he faced up to what he had done and what he had become was reconciliation with his father possible.

And that involved a frank admission of his unworthiness. He recognised that he had sinned against God and against his own father, and, as a consequence, was no longer worthy to be called his son. But – true as that is – he is still the father’s son. He repudiated the relationship, but his father did not. So when the son returns, his father treats him as a son, not a servant. Neither he, the son, nor anyone else, could take away from the son his status as son.

And I was reminded of that particular truth just this week when I was preparing the service of confirmation for Amber & Hannah next week. I don’t want to give too much away in advance, but let me give you this sneak preview. Just before Bishop George lays his hands on these young women in confirmation, he ill pray a beautiful prayer, which begins like this: God of mercy and love, new birth by water and the Spirit is your gift, a gift none can take away.

And talking of Bishop George, those of you who were at St Barnabas four weeks ago may remember that he said something about baptism. He said the day of our baptism is the most important day in our life, didn’t he? Why is it so important? Because it is through baptism that we become children of the Father; and once we are children of the Father there is nothing that we can do or that anyone else can do that can take away that status from us. Baptism is our assurance that no matter how far away from God we may go, no matter what we do, when we come to our senses and return, we will receive the welcoming and protective embrace of the Father’s love and forgiveness.

I end with the words from St Paul:

Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation; the old has gone, the new has come! All this is from God, who reconciled us to himself through Christ and gave us the ministry of reconciliation: that God was reconciling the world to himself in Christ, not counting people’s sins again them.

That’s pretty refreshing, eh?

Knowing Our Place

Texts: Genesis 15:1-12, 17-18; Philippians 3:17-4:1; Luke 13:31-35

According to our Church Calendar, today marks the 147^th anniversary of the start of the land wars at Waitara. It is also Gospel Day in French Polynesia. And if we were to take a moment to ponder those two memorials, we could find ourselves getting into some very deep issues. Both of them are about land, about ownership and belonging in a particular place. They’re about migration, or colonisation, or imperialism, or conquest, or bringing the gift of civilisation, or spreading the gospel – depending on our own views and interpretations of those particular histories. If nothing else they remind us of the complexities of human history, and of the simple fact that history does not take place in a vacuum or in thin air. History takes place on the ground, on particular ground. History takes place in a particular place.

And history can never be objective. It is always somebody’s history – the history of a particular person, group of persons, or a people or nation. Somebody’s story, told by the owners of that story, for their own purposes and from their own point of view. Maori history will record the events at Waitara in a different way from the Pakeha version. The French will tell the story of the bringing of the gospel to Polynesia in a different way from the Polynesian version.

And so it is when we recount stories from our faith history. When we tell our story we do so as Christians; and sometimes our version will clash with Jewish versions, and with the versions of other people caught up in that story. Clashes will occur, and when they do they will almost always clash in a particular place. Faith history includes faith geography. We not only interpret events, we interpret places too. Egypt is a symbol of slavery in our faith history, but not in Egyptian history; Babylon is a place of exile, but not for Babylonians.

Places, then, have a physical reality for us, but they often have a symbolic reality as well; and we see ample evidence of this in today’s readings.

At the very beginning of our faith history we find the saga of Abraham, and at the very heart of that saga is the issue of place, of land. God identifies himself in today’s reading from Genesis as the one who called Abraham out of the land of the Chaldeans. We take this saga as being about the beginning of the idea of a personal relationship between God and an individual. God has chosen to call this one person and to create a people for himself through the descendants of this one man.

But why should that necessarily involve that man leaving the land of his fathers and setting out for a distant place of God’s own choosing? Why couldn’t this new relationship that God has decided to have with this man be lived out there in the land of the Chaldeans? Well, scholars have long believed that one of the themes running through the Abraham saga is a move from the nomadic life to a settled agrarian life – a stage in the development in the history of many different peoples.

And there may also be a second theme here. In the land of the Chaldeans – and just about every other land at the time – the people believed in a multiplicity of gods. Good ones and evil ones, powerful ones and crafty ones, on earth and in the heavens.

Could it be that the Abraham saga is, in part, about the birth of the new idea of monotheism? Could it be that the departure from the land of his fathers symbolises the rejection of all those petty gods and a journey towards the one true God?

Certainly as we follow the history of the people through the Old Testament that theory seems to gain support. The Promised Land is the place where the people are to live in covenantal faithfulness with the one true God. And we know that they were constantly tempted to revert back to the old pagan ideas of other gods. The many references to high places and asherah poles and all the rest of it tells us that paganism was never completely eradicated, despite periodic campaigns to wipe it out.

In the fullness of time the idea of a special place for the people and their one true God becomes focussed on the City of Jerusalem; and within that city the Temple becomes the great place where true worship is to be given to this one true God. The Temple becomes the place where God’s Name finds a dwelling place. It becomes the symbolic centre of the world – the place where God is. The place from which the divine light is to shine into the world. The place from which God’s Law – God’s will – is to be proclaimed to the world. And the place to which all people will one day come to praise the one true God.

But it also comes to be the symbol of humanity’s unfaithfulness to God, not once but many times. Prophet after prophet call the people back to faithfulness to God, only for the people to reject the prophet and the call. And so today in the gospel reading Jesus comes to this very city. He comes, not to destroy it or punish it, but to make one last appeal for it to turn back to God.

Earlier the people have asked him for a sign, and he has reminded them of the story of Jonah. We have tended to emphasise the connection between Jonah being in the belly of the fish for three days with Jesus lying in the tomb. But equally important is the connection between Jonah’s mission to Nineveh and Christ’s mission here to Jerusalem. God wanted the people of Nineveh to be saved from the consequences of their wickedness; so he sent the reluctant Jonah to give them one last chance to repent.

Now Jesus has come to Jerusalem for the same purpose – to save the city from the destruction their wickedness will bring upon them if they don’t repent. As always St Luke tells the story brilliantly. The city of God has become too dangerous for the Son of God to enter. Political intrigue is everywhere. Somewhat surprisingly, some Pharisees come to Jesus to warn him to leave the city immediately as Herod, the puppet king put in place by the Romans, is planning to kill him.

We notice how, in rejecting that advice, Jesus refers to Herod as “that fox”; which takes on more power when he goes on to talk of his desire to gather the children of Jerusalem “as a hen gathers her chicks under her wins”. We know what foxes do to chickens, particularly young chicks who do not avail themselves of their mother’s protection.

And we know how this stage of our faith history ends. It is precisely in the city of Jerusalem, the place of God’s Name, that Jesus is rejected. He is taken outside the city walls and crucified. God is evicted from the City of God. Ever since, different cities have sought pre-eminence –Rome, Constantinople, even Canterbury

But one of the great differences between the Old Testament and the New, is that nowhere in the New does any particular place gain any special significance after the death and resurrection of Christ. Indeed, Christian teaching seems to go out of the way to avoid such a thing happening again.

Christians are sojourners, not residents – we are strangers and even aliens in the world. And this new idea is summed up in today’s epistle reading with this short but profound statement by St Paul: our citizenship is in heaven. That doesn’t mean, of course, that Christians go around with our heads in the clouds, disconnected from the earthly realities around us. We can only live our lives in particular places.

What it means is that those particular places can never be of ultimate significance to us. They are venues in which we are to live out our lives of faith in the one true God – places from which we may be called at any moment. We belong here only temporarily. Regardless of our ethnicity or nationality, we are citizens of heaven.

As we grow more and more into that truth, so may we be kept from repeating the tragedies of the past, whether at Waitara or elsewhere. Amen.

The Many and the Few

Texts: Isaiah 6:1-8; 1 Corinthians 15:1-11; Luke 5:1-11

The more time I have spent this week pondering this story from St Luke, the more strongly two things have struck me about it. First, it is clearly structured along the same lines as St John’s story of the Wedding at Cana, which we had a three weeks ago. Secondly, the story tells us something very important about the mission of the Church, particularly what we call evangelism.

First, then, the structure of the story and its similarity to St John’s account of the wedding. A large crowd is present in each case, but in both cases they play no part in the real action in the story. Remember how clear St John was that it was Jesus’ disciples who, as a result of Jesus’ turning water into wine, put their faith in him. The other guests were oblivious to what had happened. Even the servants, who knew what had happened, do not seem to have committed themselves to Christ. In this morning’s story, the crowd had dispersed and gone home before the real action began.

Then Jesus performs a sign or miracle. He changed water into wine at the wedding; here he tells expert fishermen where to catch fish, even though they had fished all night and hadn’t caught anything. In both cases, the sign or miracle proves life-changing for those few disciples present with him. And each account concludes by making that point clear. St John, the lover of words, spells it out: St Luke, the lover of the dramatic, shows us.

That’s the first point then – these stories have a set format, and I’ll come back to that in a moment. But let’s now look at what these stories are telling us about evangelism. I once rather shocked one of my Wellington colleagues by saying that I didn’t have an evangelistic bone in my body. That was just a colourful way of saying that I do not attend – I do not believe in the usefulness of – evangelism conferences. I know that is offensive to some people. But I see little if any evidence that such conferences do anything more than make the attendees feel good about themselves.

The same is true about evangelistic programmes, schemes, crusades and consultants on evangelism. We have as a church had periodic outbursts of evangelistic fervour. But has anyone done a follow-up assessment further down the track – after 1 year, or after 5? I recall an ecumenical crusade that it was held over an entire week in Otaki many years ago. Our own church put an enormous amount of time and energy and other resources into it. For months nothing else was on the radar, as we say. And when it was all over, not one new member of the church was to be found.

And this morning’s gospel passage, and others like it, can explain to us why that was so. Jesus does not produce mass conversions. The happy couple at Cana, the bridal party, the guests – all of them went home unconverted, as fas as we know. The vast crowd at water’s edge this morning, who heard Jesus preach to them, went home unconverted, as far as we know. Only the chosen few, only the disciples, heard and saw and were convinced.

St John the Baptist, it would appear, was far more ‘successful’ as an evangelist than Jesus. He pulled in vast crowds, and many of them were baptised. We can imagine how good his parish stats would have looked, in the short term. In the very short term. Because what happened to those vast crowds of ‘converts’? Only one or two of them took John’s teaching to heart and followed Jesus. And when Jesus died after three years of ministry of word and miracle, he left behind about 120 believers. Mass evangelism does not bear fruit that will last. It doesn’t work.

What does work? First of all, before we can be convincing about anyone or anything, we must first be convinced. If someone sings the praises of a breed of dog he’s never owned, or a make of car she’s never driven, or a particular sport he’s never played or watched, or a play she’s never seen or read, we’re not likely to be won over. Conviction must be rooted in personal experience if it is to be convincing to others.

And I stress the word ‘personal’. Peter in this morning’s story was convinced in a way that may not have convinced others. He was an experienced fisherman. He had been out fishing all night and had been unsuccessful. He was tired and ready for home. Jesus the carpenter told him to go out again; reluctantly he did so, and caught a huge haul.

What does that say about Jesus? That he had keen eyesight – that he had just seen a dark shadow moving across the lake – or the surface of the water disturbed in a particular way – that suggested fish present? Or that he took a gamble and guessed right? It was just an extraordinary coincidence? That’s how many would interpret such an event today. But not Peter; to him it was a sign of the divine – the power of God present in this man called Jesus.

He responded as men and women do when suddenly finding themselves in the presence of the divine – in fear and awe. That’s why we have this passage from Isaiah today to accompany this story. Peter’s reaction is very similar to Isaiah’s. Isaiah was a priest in the Temple, no doubt going about his priestly ministry in a conscientious manner. Then suddenly he experiences the glory of God filling the entire building, and he is terrified. Like Peter, his first response is to be all too aware of his sinful nature and his complete unworthiness to be in the presence of the all-holy God.

But he experiences forgiveness – cleansing – the grace of God – and that fits him for his new ministry as a prophet. In the same way, Jesus reassures Peter, and empowers him to take up his new ministry as an apostle.

St Luke gives us some further clues in this story. The crowd meet Jesus at the shoreline. They are on safe ground. They are free to turn around and leave at any time. But Peter and Jesus are in the boat, and the first thing that Jesus says to him is, ‘Put out into deeper water’. We have some interesting expressions today that might hint at the point St Luke is making. We might say, ‘we’re getting into deep water’ or ‘we’re out of our depth here’, when we mean we are in a difficult or challenging situation. We also say ‘ we are all in the same boat’!

All these sayings were applicable to Peter and Co on that day. Jesus is inviting him to go deeper – to take more risk – to leave the safety of firm ground – to be in the same boat as Jesus, and so on. To leave certainty – represented by all he has known up to that time – and to venture into the uncertain future of faith.

Like Isaiah and St Peter, St Paul also had a life-changing encounter with the divine. and the three of them together illustrate a line of development, as it were. Isaiah met God in the Temple. St Peter met God in the flesh of Jesus. St Paul met God in the Rien Christ through the power of the Holy Spirit. But the effect in each case was the same. Each became convincing because each was first convinced.

And each was first convinced because God took the initiative to convince him. None of them got there by reason or intellectual effort. In each case, he was taken by surprises. In each case it was a personal, individual experience. One on one, so to speak, God and one other.

Were they then wildly successful? In worldly terms, no. Far less successful than the Emperor Constantine, who converted the whole Roman Empire by the stroke of a pen. And there are still those who dream of the same approach today. We ask Parliament to legislate to enforce God’s laws, because not enough people will obey them willingly. Not enough people are convinced. Our crusades and programmes, our conferences and seminars and consultants, are not getting us anywhere; so in desperation we try evangelism by legislation.

It won’t work because that is not God’s way. When evangelists remind us of the so-called Great Commission, they tend to overlook what Jesus actually said. He did not tell us to convert the nations of the world, or to make believers of all peoples. He told us to make disciples in every nation. A few people who are convincing because they are convinced.

Isaiah, not every priest. St Peter, not every fisherman. St Paul, not every persecutor of the Church. you and me, not everyone in Port Chalmers and Warrington. Let the crowds go home - and let Peter’s boat, the Church, continue into the ever deeper waters of faith crewed by those whom Christ has called..

Lenten Studies - "Finding God Among the Poets"

Everyone is welcome to join us for this year’s study series, the details of which are as follows:

"Finding God Among the Poets"

Course Outline
There will be five weekly sessions, with participants meeting in a group in each centre.

Participants will be given a small number of poems to ponder a week in advance of the session on those poems.

At the beginning of the course they will be given some notes suggesting ways in which they might ponder the poems. For each group of poems they will also be given some suggested questions to ponder.

Session 1
A miscellaneous group of poems drawn from Andrew Motion’s Here to Eternity: An Anthology of Poetry.

Session 2
Struggling Towards God.
Poems from Anne Sexton’s The Awful Rowing Toward God.

Session 3
Playing Hide and Seek with God.
Poems from R.S. Thomas’ Collected Poems.

Session 4
Talking Straight to God.
Poems from John Berryman’s Eleven Addresses to God.

Session 5
Finding God in God’s Own.
A miscellaneous group of Kiwi poems from Spirit in a Strange Land.

Sample Suggestions

• Read each of the poems through slowly. Jot down what the poems says to you about God, or the poet’s attitude towards God. How does the poet feel about God in the poems? What image of God are you left with?

• Note any strong negative or positive emotion you feel as you read the poem. Can you identify the cause of that emotion in the poem?

• Chose one of the poems that most speaks to you. Read it through several times, preferably aloud. Listen to it. Hear what it is saying to you. Does it connect in some way with your own experience? What comes to mind as you ponder it? Why does it appeal to you?

• Are there any particular insights, thoughts or feelings you would like to share with the group?

• Is there anything you would like to say to the poet? Or to God?

Depending on sufficient interest, we will have one group meeting in the Parish Lounge in Scotia Street, Port Chalmers, and another in Blueskin Bay Library, Harvey Street, Waitati.

The dates (still to be confirmed are):

Port Chalmers (Parish Lounge in Scotia Street):
Tuesday, 27^th February, Wednesday, 7^th March, Wednesday 14^th March, Tuesday 20^th March, and Wednesday 28^th March.

Waitati (Blueskin Bay Library, Harvey Street)
Thursdays, 1^st, 8^th, 15^th, 22^nd, and 29^th March.

• Each session will be from 7.30 - 9.00pm

• Please let Roger know (472.7402) as soon as possible if you are interested in taking part

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It Could Have Been in Cornwall

It could have been in Cornwall
where St Cadoc showed his wiles,
blessing the place with his shiny face
including the Scilly Isles.

It could have been in Cornwall
near the town where I was born,
he learned to pray in a fervent way
to welcome in the dawn.

It could have been in Cornwall
where he walked upon the moors,
and fought a plan by a greedy man
to eradicate the gorse.

It could have been in Cornwall
where he healed the sick and weak,
and learned to float on a patched up coat
and never sprung a leak.

It could have been in Cornwall
he saw angels in the sky,
and realised to his great surprise
he could levitate and fly.

It could have been in Cornwall
where he preached to an ancient chough,
prattling late to his feathered mate
until the bird was stuffed.

It could have been in Cornwall
that he dined with Joan the Wad,
downing whisky with the regal piskey
and winning her for God.

It could have been in Cornwall
in our glorious Celtic past,
or it could all be fraud by the Tourist Board –
it’s safer not to ask.

The Many and the Few

Texts: Isaiah 6:1-8; 1 Corinthians 15:1-11; Luke 5:1-11

The more time I have spent this week pondering this story from St Luke, the more strongly two things have struck me about it. First, it is clearly structured along the same lines as St John’s story of the Wedding at Cana, which we had a three weeks ago. Secondly, the story tells us something very important about the mission of the Church, particularly what we call evangelism.

First, then, the structure of the story and its similarity to St John’s account of the wedding. A large crowd is present in each case, but in both cases they play no part in the real action in the story. Remember how clear St John was that it was Jesus’ disciples who, as a result of Jesus’ turning water into wine, put their faith in him. The other guests were oblivious to what had happened. Even the servants, who knew what had happened, do not seem to have committed themselves to Christ. In this morning’s story, the crowd had dispersed and gone home before the real action began.

Then Jesus performs a sign or miracle. He changed water into wine at the wedding; here he tells expert fishermen where to catch fish, even though they had fished all night and hadn’t caught anything. In both cases, the sign or miracle proves life-changing for those few disciples present with him. And each account concludes by making that point clear. St John, the lover of words, spells it out: St Luke, the lover of the dramatic, shows us.

That’s the first point then – these stories have a set format, and I’ll come back to that in a moment. But let’s now look at what these stories are telling us about evangelism. I once rather shocked one of my Wellington colleagues by saying that I didn’t have an evangelistic bone in my body. That was just a colourful way of saying that I do not attend – I do not believe in the usefulness of – evangelism conferences. I know that is offensive to some people. But I see little if any evidence that such conferences do anything more than make the attendees feel good about themselves.

The same is true about evangelistic programmes, schemes, crusades and consultants on evangelism. We have as a church had periodic outbursts of evangelistic fervour. But has anyone done a follow-up assessment further down the track – after 1 year, or after 5? I recall an ecumenical crusade that it was held over an entire week in Otaki many years ago. Our own church put an enormous amount of time and energy and other resources into it. For months nothing else was on the radar, as we say. And when it was all over, not one new member of the church was to be found.

And this morning’s gospel passage, and others like it, can explain to us why that was so. Jesus does not produce mass conversions. The happy couple at Cana, the bridal party, the guests – all of them went home unconverted, as fas as we know. The vast crowd at water’s edge this morning, who heard Jesus preach to them, went home unconverted, as far as we know. Only the chosen few, only the disciples, heard and saw and were convinced.

St John the Baptist, it would appear, was far more ‘successful’ as an evangelist than Jesus. He pulled in vast crowds, and many of them were baptised. We can imagine how good his parish stats would have looked, in the short term. In the very short term. Because what happened to those vast crowds of ‘converts’? Only one or two of them took John’s teaching to heart and followed Jesus. And when Jesus died after three years of ministry of word and miracle, he left behind about 120 believers. Mass evangelism does not bear fruit that will last. It doesn’t work.

What does work? First of all, before we can be convincing about anyone or anything, we must first be convinced. If someone sings the praises of a breed of dog he’s never owned, or a make of car she’s never driven, or a particular sport he’s never played or watched, or a play she’s never seen or read, we’re not likely to be won over. Conviction must be rooted in personal experience if it is to be convincing to others.

And I stress the word ‘personal’. Peter in this morning’s story was convinced in a way that may not have convinced others. He was an experienced fisherman. He had been out fishing all night and had been unsuccessful. He was tired and ready for home. Jesus the carpenter told him to go out again; reluctantly he did so, and caught a huge haul.

What does that say about Jesus? That he had keen eyesight – that he had just seen a dark shadow moving across the lake – or the surface of the water disturbed in a particular way – that suggested fish present? Or that he took a gamble and guessed right? It was just an extraordinary coincidence? That’s how many would interpret such an event today. But not Peter; to him it was a sign of the divine – the power of God present in this man called Jesus.

He responded as men and women do when suddenly finding themselves in the presence of the divine – in fear and awe. That’s why we have this passage from Isaiah today to accompany this story. Peter’s reaction is very similar to Isaiah’s. Isaiah was a priest in the Temple, no doubt going about his priestly ministry in a conscientious manner. Then suddenly he experiences the glory of God filling the entire building, and he is terrified. Like Peter, his first response is to be all too aware of his sinful nature and his complete unworthiness to be in the presence of the all-holy God.

But he experiences forgiveness – cleansing – the grace of God – and that fits him for his new ministry as a prophet. In the same way, Jesus reassures Peter, and empowers him to take up his new ministry as an apostle.

St Luke gives us some further clues in this story. The crowd meet Jesus at the shoreline. They are on safe ground. They are free to turn around and leave at any time. But Peter and Jesus are in the boat, and the first thing that Jesus says to him is, ‘Put out into deeper water’. We have some interesting expressions today that might hint at the point St Luke is making. We might say, ‘we’re getting into deep water’ or ‘we’re out of our depth here’, when we mean we are in a difficult or challenging situation. We also say ‘ we are all in the same boat’!

All these sayings were applicable to Peter and Co on that day. Jesus is inviting him to go deeper – to take more risk – to leave the safety of firm ground – to be in the same boat as Jesus, and so on. To leave certainty – represented by all he has known up to that time – and to venture into the uncertain future of faith.

Like Isaiah and St Peter, St Paul also had a life-changing encounter with the divine. and the three of them together illustrate a line of development, as it were. Isaiah met God in the Temple. St Peter met God in the flesh of Jesus. St Paul met God in the Rien Christ through the power of the Holy Spirit. But the effect in each case was the same. Each became convincing because each was first convinced.

And each was first convinced because God took the initiative to convince him. None of them got there by reason or intellectual effort. In each case, he was taken by surprises. In each case it was a personal, individual experience. One on one, so to speak, God and one other.

Were they then wildly successful? In worldly terms, no. Far less successful than the Emperor Constantine, who converted the whole Roman Empire by the stroke of a pen. And there are still those who dream of the same approach today. We ask Parliament to legislate to enforce God’s laws, because not enough people will obey them willingly. Not enough people are convinced. Our crusades and programmes, our conferences and seminars and consultants, are not getting us anywhere; so in desperation we try evangelism by legislation.

It won’t work because that is not God’s way. When evangelists remind us of the so-called Great Commission, they tend to overlook what Jesus actually said. He did not tell us to convert the nations of the world, or to make believers of all peoples. He told us to make disciples in every nation. A few people who are convincing because they are convinced.

Isaiah, not every priest. St Peter, not every fisherman. St Paul, not every persecutor of the Church. you and me, not everyone in Port Chalmers and Warrington. Let the crowds go home - and let Peter’s boat, the Church, continue into the ever deeper waters of faith crewed by those whom Christ has called..

Setting the Captives Free

Texts: Nehemiah 8:1-10; 1 Corinthians 12:12-31a; Luke 4:14-21

We’re having a baptism (at St Barnabas) this morning, and once again the Scriptures have come up trumps. It seems that whenever we have a baptism the Scriptures set for the day will somehow manage to be relevant. That probably says much about the central importance of baptism in itself.

Take, to start with, this morning’s reading from the little known Book of Nehemiah. Not the easiest book to love and enjoy – nor even to find! It is one of those books that majors on lists – usually lists of unpronounceable names of no earthly interest to any of us – and, we hope, not essential to our salvation! But in among all that terribly detailed and boring stuff, there is a wonderful story of human interest. And it is, in its own way, a baptismal story.

The captives have been set free. (Already bells are ringing, aren’t they?) Very many of our Old Testament lessons feature prophets warning about the coming exile, or telling the people in exile it serves them right for disobeying God, or promising that exile will not be for ever – God has not forgotten them – and the time is coming when God will redeem them from exile. Well, now he has. History records that the Persians came to power and knocked the Babylonians off their perch; and, for whatever reason of their own, the Persians decided to offer the Jewish people the right to leave and return to their own homeland.

The Jewish religious people, of course, saw the hand of God in this unexpected turnaround in their national fortunes. God, they believed, was using the Persian ruler, Cyrus, to effect God’s purposes, to fulfil God’s promise to rescue the people from captivity in Babylon. Isn’t that wonderful – isn’t that good news for the captives?

Well, history also records that not all of them thought so. In fact, only a minority of them thought so. Less than a third – and, you know, nothing has changed to this day. Less than a third of the people worldwide who, under Israeli law, are recognised as Jewish and therefore have the right to reside permanently in Israel , actually do live in Israel. When Cyrus said to the Jewish exiles, you are free to go, about 70 percent of them said thanks but no thanks. Isn’t that strange? Or is it just human?

We have to bear in mind that the exile had lasted about 70 years. So most if not all of those who had actually been taken from Israel as captives had died out in Babylon. Those who were now told they were free to go had been born in captivity – born in exile – in Babylon. They had lived all their lives there. They were, as we might put it, second or third generation Babylonians. They had assimilated. This was their life – they had known no other. Under Jewish law they were in exile, in captivity, separated from the holy city, etc., but that’s not how it felt to them in their everyday lives.

It was during this period that they discovered it was possible to worship the God of Israel in a foreign land. It’s generally agreed that it was during this period that much of the work of writing and editing the Hebrew Scriptures into something like we have them today took place. The concept of the synagogue developed here. In other words, they learned how to be faithful Jews in the everyday world, without the comfort and security of the Temple, and of the land of their fathers, the Promised Land of their faith.

What was there to go back to? A ruined city – a pile of rubble – in material terms, nothing. So perhaps we can understand why a majority of the so-called captives, when offered their freedom, declined the offer. They did not understand that they were CAPTIVES because by this time that’s not how it felt to them. Materially, they were better off in Babylon than they would be if they went back to the ruined city of Jerusalem.

Perhaps the real question, faced with such a choice, is why did the third go back to Jerusalem. And the answer can only make sense in religious terms. They went back because that was the land God had given their people. That was the land of the covenant. They were bound to God in that place – they were chosen by God to be a light to the world in that place, and so on. That is where God had chosen to meet them That is where, in our terms, the incarnation of God was made manifest. In short, they didn’t belong in Babylon, they belonged in Israel. They didn’t belong in captivity and exile, they belonged in freedom in their given homeland.

What we have here are two views of life. We might characterise the first as the material view of life – the practical, commonsense approach to life. Go where the money is, go where the comfortable life is to be found. And if you’re fortunate enough to be already in it, stay there. Stay within your comfort zone – stay with the familiar and the secure. That’s the way of the world – and most of us live that way without thinking about it too much.

Until something happens. Out of the blue, something terrible happens, perhaps, that makes us think about things in a different way. Or we are suddenly presented with an opportunity, and we have to decide whether to take it or not. Something makes us think at a deeper level- we have to ask ourselves questions that go below economics. They take us into the scary world of emotions, feelings, beliefs, hopes and fears. We ask ourselves who we are, what sort of a person am I? What is really important to me?

An obvious example is the number of expatriate New Zealanders who are economically far better off in London, or Spain or Dubai or somewhere. Thoroughly enjoying the high life – until one day they start to feel the tug of New Zealand – family- friends – familiar places- scenery – and they start to feel that they don’t really belong in London or Spain or Dubai. And they start to think of going back home. Not all of them, of course, not even a majority of them. Perhaps no more than a third. For them, what seemed like the Promised Land begins to feel like a place of exile, like Babylon. It is when they feel like captives that they will begin to seek freedom.

Jesus is something that happens in the lives of many people. When he returned home to Nazareth and went into the local synagogue, we can imagine the scene. His reputation had preceded him. St Luke tells us that, after his baptism and his time of testing in the wilderness, Jesus had been all over the place preaching in the local synagogues, “and everyone praised him”. So now he comes back to his hometown as the local boy who has made good. I would bet the place was packed – the level of excitement high. They wanted to see for themselves just how good this guy was – this son of the local carpenter.

And Jesus launches his campaign, so to speak, by reading a passage from Isaiah, by which he identifies himself as the one anointed and sent by God to announce the inauguration of the Kingdom of God, a new way of life on earth. What will it be like? Well, it doesn’t seem to have any direct relationship to what we call the standard of living. There is no mention of interest rates or GDP.. Instead, it involves giving sight to the blind and release for the captives. (That sounds familiar, doesn’t it?) Today’s passage finishes on a high note: All spoke well of him and were amazed at the gracious words that came from his lips. “Isn’t this Joseph’s son?” they asked.

But we know what happened next. As Jesus continued with his sermon, it became clear to them that he was suggesting that they were blind, that they were captives, that they needed to be set free. That went down rather badly. They had been born into their state, they did not feel the need for change. Who the hell did he thing he was?

It is in his name that we offer baptism. And the message is the same as it was in the time of Nehemiah, and in the time of Jesus. We have a choice. We can live at the surface of things, or in the depths. We can follow the money or the Lord. We can live a life of commonsense, practicalities, and even comfort. Or we can take the risk of accepting God’s offer of redemption from captivity and enter the new world of freedom that the Bible calls the Kingdom of God.

And when we choose the latter, the first thing to do is to remember Nehemiah’s advice to the people: Go and enjoy choice food and sweet drinks, and send some to those who have nothing prepared. This day is sacred to our Lord. Do not grieve, for the joy of the Lord is your strength.”

In other words, baptism - our own and Philippa’s – is party time. Let’s celebrate!