Readings, 1 John 5:1-5, Acts 10:44-48, and John 15:9-17
Image, St John the Apostle Leaning on Christ’s Breast (1310) Bode-Museum, Artist unknown. Today’s reading from Acts is a lynchpin of the New Testament. Peter has been led by the Spirit to the house of Cornelius; a god-fearing Gentile. At the house, he and his fellow circumcised believers are astounded to see that the gift of the Holy Spirit had been poured out even on the Gentiles. Seeing this, Peter asks, Can anyone withhold the water for baptising these people who have received the Holy Spirit just as we have? If that question sounds familiar it might be because last week we heard the Ethiopian eunuch ask Philip, Look, here is water! What is to prevent me from being baptised? Last week, when we considered this question, we focused on Philip’s personal doubts. But there were larger factors that could have prevented the baptism, just as there are for Peter standing in the house of gentiles. Let’s start with what might have prevented Philip. Deuteronomy 23 forbids the castrated or mutilated (as the eunuch would have been considered) to be admitted to the assembly of the Lord. Similarly, Leviticus 21 forbids anyone in Aaron’s line who suffered mutilation or castration to be a priest of God’s people. Thus the question of whether a eunuch could be baptised and made fully part of the people of God is not a self-evident “yes.” However, the Eunuch was reading from the scroll of Isaiah, and Philip would have known that the prophet also offered these words, Do not let the eunuch say, ‘I am just a dry tree.’ For thus says the Lord: To the eunuchs who keep my sabbaths, who choose the things that please me and hold fast my covenant, I will give, in my house and within my walls, a monument and a name better than sons and daughters; I will give them an everlasting name that shall not be cut off. Peter on the other hand, knows that Gentiles must become Jews in order to be joined to the covenant between God and Israel. Peter knows too that Jesus said, I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel. The early Jesus movement is a Jewish reform movement. All the principal players who have received the Holy Spirit, and been entrusted with the Good News are circumcised Jews. The admission of the Gentile is not a self-evident “yes.” But Peter also knows what God had to say through the prophet Isaiah: Do not let the foreigner joined to the Lord say, ‘The Lord will surely separate me from his people’; … the foreigners who join themselves to the Lord, to minister to him, to love the name of the Lord, and to be his servants, all who keep the sabbath, and do not profane it, and hold fast my covenant-- these I will bring to my holy mountain, and make them joyful in my house of prayer; their burnt-offerings and their sacrifices will be accepted on my altar; for my house shall be called a house of prayer for all peoples. Both Philip and Peter are asked to do vital, interpretive work in the moment. Both know well their scriptures and could find more verses than not to prohibit these baptisms. Both know well their tradition and could rightly assert that before baptism is possible those who stand before them must take strides to become the people of God (circumcision/dietary practices) or be joined only in part (holding a peripheral membership while being denied the ability to approach the centre of the movement and its holy places). However, at the same time, both know well that their scriptures hold within them a trajectory of expansiveness. Both know well that Israel’s history with God includes more than a few outsiders who have walked near with God. Philip and Peter need to decide whether the days in which God will give the eunuch an everlasting name and gather the foreigner to the house of prayer are indeed these days? Are these the days in which the house of God becomes a house of prayer for all people? Isaiah (for all it offers) doesn’t go the whole way for them, it still envisions admission of both parties as dependent on joining the covenant people, a movement inward that requires a kind of cultural assimilation. Peter and Philip, to discern that there is nothing preventing the baptism, must still take a bold step into the new. And since both Peter and Philip are standing where they are because of the Holy Spirit they decide yes, these are the days. They see the power and fruit of the Spirit moving before their eyes, and discern that there is indeed nothing to prevent these baptisms, nothing to prevent the expansion of the movement to those it previously excluded. They decide to put no obligation on them to become a different people, a different body, a different culture, but recognise the Holy Spirit has been poured out on them as well. The past does not have to decide the future, for the Spirit of God breaks in with the dazzling possibility of the new. Now, I contend, that even without the rather obvious signalling of the Holy Spirit, Peter and Philip were already equipped with what they needed to recognise the appropriateness of this expansion. Which is handy for us, who too are faced with such questions in our own day. Because even without the undeniable activity of the Holy Spirit, Peter and Philip knew several things. First, as mentioned, they knew that scripture has trajectories of expansion and change that often challenge earlier prohibitions. How we read, and where we place emphasis, opens before us the possibility to see that where a group once was precluded and condemned it need not be so today. Second, both knew Christ emphasised the command to love. Knew that not only was the love of neighbour the greatest commandment, but that his disciples would be known by their love for each other, and that to love those beyond the pale of compassion was to love Jesus himself. This undermines systems of tiered belonging in the church. Third, Christ had bestowed upon them the title of friend, and friends are allowed to make big decisions with what they have been entrusted. Friends are allowed to step boldly into new terrain. And Christ’s friends do this with confidence, because they know that if they abide in love, Christ abides in them. Taken together, this makes possible the faith which conquers the world. The faith which can conquer the values and vision of the world as it is, the structures and strictures of the world as it was, and open the possibility of the world as it could be (on earth as in heaven). Faith in the in-breaking future of the Spirit of God who interrupts the expected and assumed, and points to where God is doing a new thing. It is this world conquering faith that drew Philip to the chariot and filled him with the conviction to go down to the waters of baptism with the Ethiopian eunuch. It was this world conquering faith that called Peter to the house of Cornelius and allowed him to see that the Spirit he had received had been poured out here as well. But we too have received this world conquering faith. Which leads us to ask: where it might be drawing us? Who, it might be bringing into our path? And how it might expand what we have received, so that boundaries might be broken down, assumptions might be disturbed, and the lines of who has been called a friend of Christ might be enlarged? For we have been entrusted as friends of Christ with a world conquering faith to go beyond before. Sent to proclaim good news, watch for the movement of the Spirit, and led into mutually transformative relationships of love and grace.
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Readings, Acts 8:26-40 and 1 John 4:7-21
Image, Phil Simon, Acrobats Many will know well the contours of the narrative from Acts – the Spirit’s prompting, the uninterpreted scroll, the impromptu baptism – and each well serve the content of a sermon. However, I want to eschew those details and focus instead on what precedes this story, for this, I suggest, makes Philip’s boldness and care all the more moving. When I last preached from Acts, three Sundays ago, everything was roses. The disciples met each day in Jerusalem to proclaim the good news, redistributing their wealth to ensure no one had any need. Since then, the disciples initiated the office of deacon to ensure that no one would slip through the cracks. Rosy days still. However, as quickly as this community is established a day of severe persecution began against the church in Jerusalem, and all except the apostles were scattered throughout the countryside of Judea and Samaria. Philip is one of those scattered. Cut off from the geographical and ecclesial centre of the church; the encouragement and support of the other apostles and disciples. Undeterred, Philip went down to the city of Samaria and proclaimed the Messiah to them. One of the men who hear this proclamation was Simon (the former magician) who believed the good news and stayed constantly with Philip. Now when the apostles at Jerusalem heard that Samaria had accepted the word of God, they sent Peter and John to them. This must be a moment of some excitement and encouragement for Philip. Peter and John, who (along with James) have formed the inner circle of the new movement’s authority begin to lay hands on people, who receive the Holy Spirit. On seeing this, Simon (the former magician) approaches Peter and John offering to pay them for the power to bestow this remarkable spirit. If you’ve ever had to vouch for someone’s good character or reliability before, or sponsored someone for membership in an organisation, you can imagine the embarrassment of this moment. Even if you’ve just brought a friend to a party only to overhear them saying something uncouth you can begin to feel what Philip might have felt in his skin. We imagine Philip would have introduced Simon with glowing praise – after all he had stayed constantly by Philip’s side – only to have Simon offensively miss the point right in front of the head honchos. It’s a real confidence blow to Philip’s career as disciple-maker. Could he be so inadequate at proclaiming the good news and interpreting the scriptures that one who was constantly at his side would think it appropriate to ask to buy the power of the Holy Spirit? Perhaps he is not ready to be out on his own, perhaps he should leave this to the “special ones” – the Johns and Peters of the movement… Though if he has any doubts about his capacity or purpose, he does not let them triumph. For when an angel of the Lord said to Philip, “Get up”… he got up and went. Philip meets the Ethiopian eunuch, approaches his chariot, interprets the scriptures, and proclaims the good news. Then the Ethiopian says to Philip, Look, here is water! What is to prevent me from being baptised? What indeed! Well, Philip might have concerns: what if this man turns out to be like Simon? Should Philip wait for the authorities of Jerusalem to vet this candidate? Yet Philip agrees, nothing ought prevent the baptism and the two go down to the waters. Despite any doubts Philip might be harbouring about his capacity as a disciple-maker, his clarity as one who proclaims good news, his insight as one who interprets the scriptures, or his shortcomings compared to Peter and John, none of this prevents the baptism. For Philip is a disciple of the risen Lord, he has received the great commission along with all the others. Philip abides in Christ and Christ abides in him, a branch of the true vine, called to love others so that God’s love might be perfected in him to the bearing of much good fruit. Philip’s zeal for the Lord, his passion for proclaiming the good news, even his love for his fellow, none of this can control the future or snuff out the chances of being misinterpreted, misunderstood, or mystified at the choices of others. He knows not what will come from this newly baptised Christian (a point emphasised by his immediate snatching away by the Spirit of God). But he trusts that those who abide in Christ will bear much fruit. He trusts that perfect love casts out fear. He trusts that even if we haven’t seen God (and thus cannot know all of God’s will and plans) if we love one another God lives in us and God’s love is perfected in us. And so Philip proclaims good news, loves his neighbour, and then turns the future over to God, who prunes the fruit-bearing branch so that it might bear more fruit. I proposed at the beginning that what precedes this story makes Philip’s boldness and care more moving. Exactly how, depends on our own story. Perhaps we are moved to thanks for those who shaped our faith – those who told us the good news, helped us interpret the scriptures, and led us to the waters of baptism. Who did so amidst their own doubts and insecurities about being ready to answer every question and exegete every detail. Perhaps it emboldens us in our own calling to disciple-making, commission to love, and responsiveness to the prompting of the Spirit. An encouragement not to let our concerns triumph, nor our limitations curtail but rather to trust that the abiding presence of Christ bears fruit on even the humblest of branches. Or, finally, perhaps we are once again moved by the God who is love, who tells us to have no fear of judgment or punishment, but to live bold lives of love in the sure and certain hope that however far we are scattered from the centres of security and familiarity, nothing can separate us from the abiding love of Christ, who goes with and before us as we make disciples on the way. Readings, John 20:19-31 and Acts 4:32-35
Image, Christ Appearing to the Apostles, Rembrandt (1656) It is incredible what is possible when fears are vanquished. From huddled in a locked room, to holding all things in common. Behold, the power of encountering the resurrected Christ! Jesus appears to his fearful and static disciples, and offers them peace. A picture of pastoral tenderness, Jesus shows them his wounds, assures them of his presence, breathes on them his Spirit, and entrusts to them the ministry of forgiveness. And then, when after a week they still haven’t moved (having perhaps been swayed by Thomas’ concerns), Jesus appears again, offers them his peace and presents his wounds. And second time’s a charm: by Acts 4 the community of Christ is no longer huddling in locked rooms. They live together with open hearts and hands, giving testimony with great power, and ensuring there was not a needy person among them. It is incredible, what is possible when fears are vanquished. You may have heard before that the most repeated command in Scripture is fear not. Closely accompanying this is the promise of the peace of God which carries us over tumult. Because what part of Christianity is possible if we are locked in a room of our own fear? How can we be hospitable when the doors to our homes are locked in fear? How can we love one another as Christ has loved us, when fear has locked the doors to our hearts? How can we feed the hungry, clothe the naked, visit the imprisoned, share our possessions, offer forgiveness, or proclaim good news if our hands and tongue are gripped by fear? None of this is to imply that worry, anxiety, or fear is sinful and shameful. Jesus appears to his disciples not with judgment or condemnation, but peace, assurance, and purpose. This encounter transforms their fear into conviction. We shall know fear, caution, worry, but we must also recognise that if we do too little to check it, fear will motivate and consume us, and risk closing ourselves off to the path on which Christ is leading us. This is why that picture of flourishing in Acts emphasises the communal nature of the Christian life. Because there are many things that cause fear which can be addressed in our life together. The fear of where the next meal is coming from, or whether the rent can be paid, the fear of loneliness and isolation, of derision and dismissal, of change and confusion are fears that persist to this day, and each of them can stifle our ability to live lives of love, generosity, justice, and grace. And yet, as a community – open and accountable to one another, with eyes fixed upon the presence and promise of Christ – we can help each other to assuage fears through emotional, spiritual, and material support. With the Spirit’s power, we can help each other to be less fearful by helping one another have less reasons to fear. Because while the command, fear not, or the blessing, peace be with you, can sometimes be reached through an attitude change – more often than not, material circumstances will need to change first. As James wrote so succinctly, If a brother or sister is naked and lacks daily food, and one of you says to them, ‘Go in peace; keep warm and eat your fill’, and yet you do not supply their bodily needs, what is the good of that? This is why the disciples devoted themselves to holding all things in common so there was not a needy person among them. They wanted to help people fear not, and know the peace and good news of Christ. Because it is incredible what is possible when fears are vanquished. As we follow on from easter, emboldened by encountering the resurrected Christ, let us pause and consider what fears grip our hearts. Let us enquire after and listen to the fears of others. What worries curtail our ability to love and forgive, offer hospitality and pursue justice, pray and praise, share possessions and good news? As a community of Christ, can we assuage each other’s fears through means spiritual and material? How can we pray, what can we provide, where can we be present so that we might have less reasons to fear, and more capacity to live the open, generous, and loving lives Christians are called to live. Christ appears to his disciples, then as now, with a pastoral tenderness to bring outward looking, purposeful conviction where there was inward focused static fear. And to sustain this transformation, Christ gifts to the Christian the Holy Spirit and the Church. No one leaves the locked rooms of fear alone. But with Christ, the Spirit, and the Church, it is incredible what is possible when fears are vanquished. Readings, Isaiah 25:6-9 and Mark 16:1-8
Image, Marko Ivan Rupnik, Resurrection of Christ (detail), 2006. Mosaic, St. Stanislaus College Chapel, Ljubljana, Slovenia. Isaiah captures the universal reality of death: the sheet spread-out over-all nations, the shroud cast over all peoples. It is often postulated that what separates the human from the non-human animal is awareness of the horizon of death, the many ways the mortal coil can be abruptly snaped. Of course, such knowledge is so terrifying that we develop a kind of muted acceptance of its inevitability. A lived ignorance, a quiet refusal to acknowledge that death is a heartbeat away… I mean, if we didn’t, how would we ever shop for groceries? If there is anything then, that the God of salvation can promise and deliver, that would dramatically turn all things on their head, it is to swallow death and rob it of its sting. For death is the great universal, the shroud under which we all live, the sheet within which we are all wrapped. There are none who live beyond its reach. No wonder then, when they hear Jesus has left his tomb, the women ran off in terror and amazement, or as another translation renders it: they ran off “convulsed and out of their mind with shock.” Because there is simply nothing to prepare them for the world-altering, reality-shaking, sense-denying proclamation that Christ has risen! Nothing to prepare them to neatly categorise this new piece of information as if it is just another thing that can happen. But then again, nothing can save us that is possible. In the beauty of an impossibility, Jesus is revealed as the one we didn’t even know how to wait for. Jesus was unable to be held in death’s garments; in the resurrection he tore through the sheet of death from the inside. And like any sheet, or garment that gets a tear, or splits a seam… there’s no arresting that. Death never learnt its way around a needle and thread. The hole just grows, and the shroud unravels until what was enough for one, is now fit for all of humanity to pass through. For Jesus’ triumph over death is not only his but ours, all of ours, the great our of humanity, the all-encompassing our of creation. God swallows up death forever, so that we might have life in Christ’s name. That is the promise: the voice that called Lazarus from his tomb, shall call to us all. All creation shall be restored in the power of his unquenchable life, let us be glad and rejoice in his salvation. This is the good news of Easter day! But what does this defeat of death mean after Easter, living as we do in a world still permeated with the reality of death? In the first instance, we take issue with what impinges on life. Living beyond the threat of death’s sting, inspires contempt and opposition to all which deals in death today, all that frustrates the abundant life Christ came to share and secure. As those who follow after Christ in the power of the resurrection, we devote ourselves to stamp out spot fires of injustice, exploitation, and harm. Our actions will not bring these ills to nought, but neither shall they be in vain. For they are forestates of the day when the One we await sets all wrongs to right, restores all that was lost, and wipes all tears from our eyes. In the second instance, although we and our beloved yet die, death, that moribund power of nothing, of absence, of abyss, holds no one in its power. Death as a malevolent force has no one in its grip and claims no one on its ledger. Instead, there is comfort in the mourning and hope in the grief, because death cannot separate us from God’s love in Christ Jesus our Lord. At and after Easter we are glad and rejoice for in life and death we are held in the everlasting arms of God, as God’s own beloved children. At and after Easter we are glad and rejoice as we are invited into a feast of rich food with Jesus our brother, who tore asunder the shroud of death so that we might share the resurrection and the life. Readings, Exodus 12:1-14 and John 13:1-17, 31-35
Image, Sister Oksoon Kim (김옥순 수녀), The Bread of Life from Heaven (2014) Jesus kneels to wash Peter’s feet, and Peter gets it wrong twice. In the first instance he fails, in a way so many have failed, indeed in a way Peter has already once failed, to understand that the Son of Man comes to serve, not be served. Fails to see that Jesus has emptied himself of his equality with God so that through this God shall be glorified and all things restored. Peter still yearns for the messiah who will not bend, suffer, or die. He still wishes to preserve his vision of Christ, who would not stoop to tend to one as lowly as he. But Christ replies, unless I wash you, you shall have no share with me. Necessary to receiving all that Christ shares: the inheritance of righteousness and grace, we must acclimate ourselves to the reality that we need Christ. That Christ has come for us, that Christ indeed will go to every length to make us his own beloved. We are worthy of such attention, worthy of such grace, worthy of such love, worthy of such salvation, because we need it, just like everyone else. Which leads us to Peter’s second mistake. Having understood that such an act of Christ is necessary to receive the share of his life, Peter goes “well, you can’t have too much of a good thing, wash too my hands and head. Imagine what share I’ll receive if I am triply washed by the Messiah of God.” But this is unnecessary. We cannot receive more of what Christ offers us. Grace is not incrementally allocated, salvation is not unequally bestowed, Christ’s love is not doled out in portions. What Christ achieves on the cross is once for all. In that singular, sufficient event, each and all are ushered under the umbrella of Christ’s grace, reconciled to God, and made a new creation. The disciples have long jostled for greatness and proximity to the Lord in his glory, but there are not two-tiers of Christians. We each have the same need, and each receive the same share; one body, one church, one priesthood, one baptism. And because of this, there is just one, very simple commandment. Love one another, as I have loved you. The disciples will not be known because they received any special initiation, or could show they didn’t need Christ’s service. The disciples will not be known from the length or intimacy of their relationship with Christ. Disciples are known to be Christ’s (then as now) when they love one another as Christ has loved us. A love which was displayed with humility and tenderness, beauty and compassion, righteousness and justice, solidarity and commitment, intention and equity. A love which was exemplified in the washing of feet, the breaking of bread, and the abiding kindness of Christ’s presence with those he loved until the end. Let us ready ourselves in silence, to receive the share that Christ has prepared for us, which is nothing short of his own divine life, remembered in the bread and the cup. Readings, Psalm 118:1-2, 19-29 and John 12:12-16
Image, Palm Sunday, A. Lois White (1935) We enter Holy Week together, and today’s psalm gives us one of those most succinct and sublime verses which teaches the very foundation of Christian proclamation: The stone that the builders rejected has become the chief cornerstone. A couple of weeks ago Jesus had his confrontation in the temple, when after turning over tables and chasing out the money changers, he was asked by what authority he did such things. Jesus told them that if they tore down the Temple, he would raise it himself in three days. What no one realised, in that moment at least, was that Jesus was referring to himself as the temple, he was the stone which would be raised… but, as we know too well, he shall be rejected. All those here, in the days following this jubilation, turn away. But the stone that the builders rejected has become the chief cornerstone. Easter is the great reversal, the grand table turning of God’s way over the ways of the world. This Galilean peasant arrives in the temple with a ragtag group of fishermen, tax collectors, wealthy women, and one guy raised from the dead. A strange sight to herald as the One who comes in the name of the Lord. But the ragtag group, the motley scene, the humble colt, all of which is there to confirm the teaching "do not be afraid, daughters of Zion." The one who comes in the name of the Lord comes not with sword and army, not with might and intimidation, not with fear and coercion, but in humility, mercy, grace, and above all, love. But what awaits one so blessed? He is opposed on all sides, betrayed by one of his own, denied by another, abandoned by a host more. He is arrested, subjected to a grand miscarriage of justice, and is tortured, exploited, violated - crowned with thorns and derision. His clothes they shall steal, his prayers they shall sleep through, his body they shall pierce, and his kingdom they shall bury. Or, at least, this is how it shall appear. Instead, the stone that the builders rejected has become the chief cornerstone. For despite the fickleness of their hosannas, this is indeed the one who comes in the name of the Lord. And despite their intended irony, this is indeed the King. And despite his crucifixion this is indeed the glorified one. And despite his death this is indeed the living Lord. For God is Good, and God’s steadfast love endures forever. And the one who appears defeated shall reappear in the triumph of the resurrection. Death will be defeated through death, Sin will be vanquished by the one who became sin, the power of empire will be exposed as futile by the weakness of God. Goodness shall prevail, truth will out, love will win, for the stone that the builders rejected has become the chief cornerstone. This Holy Week, let us press in near to the foot of the cross, to see the great swindle of life over death, grace over sin, love over hate, God over all. For we are not those disciples in those crowds, who did not yet understand. We are those who have seen Christ glorified, and who look back and know: This is the Lord’s doing; it is marvellous in our eyes - the stone that the builders rejected has become the chief cornerstone Readings, Jeremiah 31:31-34, John 12:20-33
Image, Eric Gill, The Body of Jesus is Laid in the Tomb (1917) Where I am, there will my servant be also. This is the call on the life of the Christian. That we serve Christ by following Christ, serve, that is, by living after the pattern of Christ’s own life. Christ who, late in the day, looked around and saw the mounting opposition, the increasing animosity, the threat intensifying, and did not seek to be spared what the hour required. Instead, despite his troubled soul, Jesus trusted that through his service of the world he would be glorified, and through his glorification the holy name of God would be glorified too. For Christ knew the saying was true and trustworthy: unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies it bears much fruit. Christ trusted that his crucifixion would not be a site of defeat, but his glorification, that his death would not be a site of loss, but of victory. He trusted that even if the world said “no” and rejected him, God would say “yes” and vindicate him. This “yes” is heard in the resurrection of Christ. It is in his word of comfort and commission to Mary, his word of peace to Thomas, his asking John to feed his sheep. This “yes” echoes in the fruit of Jesus’ followers, who receive the Spirit at Pentecost and spread out to be the body of Christ in all the world. The saying is true and trustworthy, Christ was planted into the ground in death, so that through his resurrection, he could bear much fruit. It is by this, Christ declares, that the ruler of this world will be driven out. That the powers of Sin, Evil, and Death shall be confronted and overcome so that their grip on the world will be loosed. Having driven out the ruler, having loosed the grip of sin that has traced its course through human history since Adam, Christ is able to perform that which he was sent to perform, the reason he has come to this hour: Christ is able to draw all people to himself. His arms reach wide upon the cross, wide enough to embrace the whole world, draw us toward himself and hold us fast, so that wherever we are, there he shall be also. In some ways, in the latter days of Lent, we are led back to where we began: The call placed on the Christian (to take up our cross and lose our life for Christ’s sake, to be found always where Christ is found) has been made possible by what Christ has already performed for us. Indeed, not only has Christ made it possible, but he made it the way to glory. To say it another way, the servant is able to be where Christ is, because Christ has promised already and always, to be with us. Christ is Emmanuel, after all. Christ went down into the ground so that in resurrection and ascension he would be with all people in all times and places. Through the Spirit the single grain bears much fruit. Now, it is good to delineate, that while Christ is Emmanuel, and has acted already to draw us to him and abides with us always, there are nonetheless places in which the servant is specifically called to be in order to be with Christ. Sites where the servant encounters and follows Christ in the most palpable and specific way. The first place is at the table of grace, where Christ shares with us his very body and blood. The church community is the body of Christ, where the Word is proclaimed and the sacrament administered. And so we follow him here, to be further conformed to his image, to learn again – hour by hour - how to bear the fruit of his grain of love. And the second place is with the least of these. It is when we love and serve the hungry, sick, poor, lonely, estranged, and imprisoned that we are most directly where Christ is. For what we did to the least, we did unto Christ. The servant of Christ is one who becomes a servant of the least of these in their struggle for freedom. Standing with those the world pushes and punishes, forgets and forsakes. It is with these the Lord of Glory sought fit to be intimately identified. The servant who intends to be found with Christ, must be found amongst the least, following in Christ’s way of mercy, friendship, and justice. Holy Week draws near, we shall see the grain planted in the earth once more. May we bear fruit worthy of this glory, finding ourselves with the One who drew all humanity to himself. Readings Numbers 21:4-9 and John 3:14-17
Image, Moses and the Brazen Serpent, Augustus Edwin John (1878–1961) At its heart, Lent is about learning where to look to see the glory and consolation of the living God. Where to raise our eyes to behold the path to life. As the Israelites trudged through the wilderness, the initial glee of their liberation from slavery diminished. In its place came a very human, perfectly understandable, and comically relatable kind of revisionist looking back. Were things really that bad back in Egypt? Was our toil so unbearable? Was our exploitation completely without benefit? Look maybe it was terrible, but at least it was consistent. I wonder how many of us can identify our own moments of such revision as we and pine for a time we couldn’t stand. As calamity for their ingratitude come the serpents, and as result of the serpents comes repentance, and from repentance emerges a solution: a bronze serpent held aloft, at which the people need only look in order to live. But is this not a rather inelegant solution to the problem of the serpents? Couldn’t God just blast them away, or at least send a pack of hungry mongoose. What meaning might we take from such a peculiar story? Last week we spoke about the difficulty of proclaiming redemption in a world so flagrantly unredeemed. The difficulty of trusting Christ’s triumph over sin, evil, and death, in a world wracked by all three. The foolishness of God which proclaims Christ crucified as the site of God’s power is not reached by signs and wisdom but encounter and embodied faith. Is the cross not itself an inelegant solution to the problem of the serpents of sin, evil, and death? But this is what makes the image so compelling for the Christian alive in the world today. For even though we have encountered Christ, have gone down into the waters of his death through baptism and been raised up to share in his life, serpents abound. The wickedness in human hearts and structures that fuels the imperial violence that put Christ on his cross besieges cities and makes martyrs of the innocent to this day. The fear and fragility in the human heart that caused Peter to deny, Judas to betray, and the disciples to flee, wells up in us to this day, clouding our moral compass with apathy and self-protection. The short-sighted ingratitude of the wilderness generation which made them pine for the familiar evil over unfamiliar new beginnings, takes hold of communities still today, foreclosing the possibilities of the radical changes needed to avert a climate catastrophe. We still live in a world of serpents, reminders that the sins of the world bite at our heels, and lead people to ruin. But what good would the Christian be without an awareness of these serpents: the ones which constrict our own hearts, and the ones that have their fangs in our neighbours. What good would the Christian be if we were able to turn our eye from the inequalities and injustices of our world? If we cease to feel the tragedy of those exploited in workplaces, intimidate in their homes, and bombed while seeking refuge… what good would the Christian be if they were sent into the world without the wisdom of serpents? But, in the same breath, what good would the Christian be if all we saw were serpents? What good would we be if there was no north star to set our course, no way to live amongst sin and death without being consumed and defeated? And Christ, like the bronze serpent, is raised up for us to see. We have Christ crucified, a symbol of God’s willingness to stand in complete solidarity with the world so that we might live. For our sake he was raised up, so that we can lift our eyes to see the one who trampled serpent under foot, swallowed death, vanquished sin, overcome evil with good, and ascended to the right hand of God, advocating mercy for all, until the great and glorious day when he shall return, and all wrongs will be made right, all tears wiped from our eyes, and all creation restored. What a sight to behold! The sight of Christ in the present age, does not occlude our vision of the serpents of this world. Serpents remain in the present age and we must not ignore the sorrows of our neighbour or the suffering of our world. But we are not overcome. For the sight of Christ gives us somewhere to look to empower us in our vital task of defanging the serpents of our times. It gives us somewhere to look to console us that a day will come when the sin, death, and evil of the world shall be no more. The sight of Christ crucified and glorified, standing with and setting free, shows us the path to the kind of life a Christian is good for: a life of doing justice, loving mercy, and walking humbly with our God; trampling serpents under foot. Readings, 1 Cor 1:18-25 and John 2:13-22
Image, Mirka Mora, Crucifixion (1976) When I was thinking about hymns for today, I was considering, Come as you are. But it felt a funny paired with today’s gospel reading. If anything, “come as you are” could sound a bit like the cool dry wit of a Hollywood action star preparing for a fight. The Jesus of this story feels a little at odds with the pastoral image of the good shepherd, or the compassionate image of the suffering servant, or the hospitable image of Christ at the table. Even our images of Jesus as one who stands for justice, are a little harder to square with this man, fashioning a makeshift whip. So given that this is a picture of Jesus that might cause us some questions, let us consider how we might understand it in its place, and then in our own. First, it is good to establish that Jesus’ act is not unprecedented. To act with prophetic zeal to purify the temple stands in a line with the Jewish/Hebrew prophetic tradition. The protest is not one against the Temple, nor the sacrificial system, but a call for a truer worship, a challenge of the encroachment of the market (and its varying inequities and inequalities). It echoes, in this way, the commission given to Jeremiah by God: Stand in the gate of the Lord’s house, and proclaim… Amend your ways and your doings, and let me dwell with you in this place. Do not trust in these deceptive words: ‘This is the temple of the Lord, the temple of the Lord, the temple of the Lord.’ As an act of prophetic zeal, Jesus’ critique nonetheless affirms the Temple as a place in which God’s presence abides. Now, Jesus’ act not only echoes the prophetic tradition. It also reflects the hopes of his people at the time that God would bring forth a a new, purified, indestructible and incorruptible temple. Some hoped God would build this, for others it was their responsibility, while for some it will be the heir of David’s throne, or the Messiah who will establish this glorified temple. Such a desire is understandable. It would likely have been intensified following the seizing and desolation of the Temple by Rome and its reclaiming and purification in the Maccabean revolt some centuries earlier. The temple remained a place that could be taken, could be misused, could be locked from the people, and so in this context there is the hope that a temple shall be raised which could never be destroyed. This all goes some way to explain the response of those in the temple. Because if someone came in here today and chased the elders around with a whip, I can’t say with much confidence that our first question would be: what sign can you show us for doing this? That’s a question born of a history of prophetic reform, and a present hope in renewal. And so, Jesus offers them a sign. Destroy this temple and in three days I will raise it up. Of course, no one understands Jesus, not even those closest to him, who as John points out, only make this connection following his resurrection. Because this sign, like the crucifixion and resurrection it is pointing toward, is one which reflects the foolishness of God. This proclamation of Jesus prefigures his conversation with the Samaritan woman at the well, where Jesus speaks of a coming time where we shall no longer worship in the temple or the mountain, but we shall worship in spirit and truth. Jesus teaches that the temple shall be rebuilt in his own body, which can never be destroyed, for even in death it is raised up. Such teachings would resound with greater profundity for those with fresh memories of the destruction of the temple forty years after Jesus’ death. The promise of the temple abiding in the body of the ascended Christ, gives hope in the face of such a devastating loss. And yet, such a promise is not without its challenges. It is not easily reached through signs and wisdom. It asks one to accept that the temple which was stone is now found in the body of a man killed on a cross. That like this body which can’t be grasped or seen, our worship too will not be in one holy land or place, but a dispersed spirit and truth. It asks us, in other words, to trust in the foolishness and weakness of God. For what Christ promises is only comprehensible after we have encountered his death and resurrection. It asks us to lay aside the desire for sign and wisdom, and take as the centre of our faith a stumbling block, to take as the ground of our hope an event which by all worldly appearances seems a failure, to take as the justification of our worship that by some divine paradox the crucifixion of Jesus is the site of the power of God. It asks us to confess that this moment in the story, where Jesus has been sentenced by the religious and political powers of his day, condemned by the people of the city, betrayed, denied and abandoned by the bulk of his followers, and cries aloud on a cross that God has abandoned him, is somehow the moment that assures us that when he said he would raise up the temple in three days he was right, that when he said he was sent by the Father to save the world he was right, that when he said that the kingdom of God was near he was right. What’s more, such a foolishness asks us to proclaim of redemption within a world that feels flagrantly unredeemed. Of those other visions of the glorified temple brought on by the messiah, none would have the audacity to claim that this could happen in part. That we could claim the victory of God over sin in a world still riddled with sin, that we could claim the overcoming of evil with good and yet still live in a world wracked by evil. It asks us to claim that Jesus has brought the salvation of the world while all of creation is still groaning out for redemption. This is not an easy path to take, not only in the absence of signs and wisdom, but indeed despite all worldly signs and wisdom pointing to the opposite: the world is unredeemed, the temple, like the body, was not raised up. And so we need something other than signs and wisdom: we need the story of Easter. And to grasp that story we need the season of Lent to prepare once more for the paradoxical foolishness of God who snatches victory through defeat, and glory through humility. We need this season to encounter the cross and the tomb in such a way that they do not prove a stumbling block, but rather reveal the power of God. Like the disciples trying to decipher Jesus’ inscrutable comments, our faith in Christ is made possible by an encounter with his death and resurrection. This encounter cannot be reached through signs and wisdom, but by allowing the weakness of God to work within us. Through ordering feeling, thought, and act, after the way of Christ. It happens as we take up our own cross and come to understand the way to glory is pathed by solidarity, humility, and justice. It happens as we allow the topsy-turvy nature of the kingdom of God to become our vision of the world as it should and will be. It happens, in short, in the act of living after the way of Christ, accepting the invitation to come as you are: taste, hear, and see the good news of great joy. |
SermonsPlease enjoy a collection of sermons preached in recent months at the Kirk. If you have questions about the sermons, or attending a service reach out using the Contact Page. Categories |