Category: Major Festivals (page 1 of 2)

A sermon for All Saints’ Day.

As we look around us today, whom would we name as contemporary saints? Would it be the Black ferns with their stunning success in international rugby? Or might it be Saint Jacinda or Saint Christopher? And many would name Great Thunberg with her courageous global leadership on climate change.

But for the rest of us, whom would we regard as saints today? Maybe a group of women I saw recently, patiently caring for handicapped young adults on a day out?

Or is it the army of overseas aid workers risking their lives to bring food, medicine and shelter to the hungry, sick and dying? Or the hungry, sick and dying themselves, hundreds of thousands of them in seemingly hopeless situations, but continuing to give everything for their children and neighbours?

Or are the saints the ‘Occupy Wall St’ protesters around the world – saying ‘enough is enough’ in the face of unparalleled greed and inequality? All these are people who are not just performing a duty, but are captured by a spirit that drives them to reach out with compassion and for justice for the needy.

It is that spirit which flows through the Beatitudes (Matthew 5:3-12), the eight  ‘blesseds’ that Jesus outlined in his Sermon on the Mount. I have visited the Mount. Today there is a modern, open church, on a slope looking down over the Sea of Galilee. It has eight sides – one for each of the Beatitudes.

Commentators see a parallel with Moses and Mount Sinai, but whereas the 10 Commandments are Law, the eight Beatitudes are Grace. The 10 commandments are moral instructions: ‘Love God, respect your parents, do not steal, do not murder’ etc. But the beatitudes show the difference between Law and Love. Jesus ushers in a new age where God’s freely-given love over-rides the rule of Law.

This spirit is evident in each of the eight Beatitudes. The poor in spirit are those who know the core of their life lies not in power and possessions but in their walk with God. As the modern interpretation you have today puts it: ‘Blessed are those who are convinced of their basic dependency on God, whose lives are emptied of all that does not matter, those for whom the riches of this world just aren’t that important’.

Those who mourn lament not only for lost loved ones, but for the loss of God and God’s justice from the heart of society. The humble are not those who choose to be a doormat or stand behind the door, but those who have no need to seek status or preferment because the only status they need is that of being a disciple. Those who hunger and thirst for righteousness focus not just on personal morality but on a wide-ranging social righteousness that delivers justice for all.

The merciful are those for whom mercy is a mindset that issues in compassionate and costly action for others, while the pure in heart are those who are single-minded in their love for God, that love untrammeled by worldly distractions.

The peacemakers set out to heal wounds, build bridges, restore broken relationships, and to join movements that transcend racial and national divisions, and the gaps between rich and poor. They bring about shalom – the peaceable kingdom of God where all live in harmony with one another and with the earth itself.

And finally the persecuted are those who in their love for others, or in striving for justice, have made sacrifices, known rejection or carry the scars of battle with all that is broken or evil.

For all of these, the promise is a whole new state of being, a way of life where people see God, walk with God, feel God’s love and are empowered and sustained by God’s presence and spirit. It is a present taste of God’s final purpose for all creation. To such a life each one of us is called. It is a life and a promise lived and experienced by ordinary people like you and me.

As an example, let me conclude with the story of Emma Woods, that young mother in Christchurch whose 4-year old son Nayan was tragically killed some years back by a teenage driver whose car spun out of control. Which of us was unmoved by her words: “We had had a perfect day at Playcentre, played lots of games together, and had a good time at the mall. I have no regrets about that day – we had fun together”.

And of the young driver of the car: “We are pretty clear we don’t want this to be the defining moment of his life. He is young, only 17. He has got his whole life ahead of him and we hope he will use it to do good things, to be good with people, and maybe eventually to be a good father”.

I do not know what faith she follows, but Emma’s words are an astonishing statement of wisdom and generosity in the midst of unimaginable grief. She has drawn on the deepest resources of the spirit, while acknowledging the extent of her loss and the pain she will feel through long years ahead. It is of this that sainthood is made: the commitment to walk with our God whose love sustains us and brings forth extraordinary love in ordinary and extraordinary situations.

(Minor overlap with MF01)

All of us here tonight carry in our hearts the soul and spirit of someone close to us, and probably of several people close to us whom we have lost over the years. I remember each year my brother Michael who died of an illness aged 33: that was 36 years ago, and yet there is still a gap in our family circle. We grieve not only for the one who has died, but also for that part of our own life that has died as well.

Yet while grief is a reality we all know, it nonetheless points us to those things in life that are of supreme importance, things that give us comfort in the present, and hope and strength for the future. Let me mention four of them :

First, the traditional formal eulogy today if often eclipsed today by personal and anecdotal words from children and grand-children, usually with tears and laughter and in informal style. And the thing that stands out in the midst of them all is the central importance of family ties, and family love, and the times that were spent not in public office but at the beach together, or over a meal or at a birthday party – the things that are common to us all, often taken for granted, things that don’t cost money but are a priceless part of being human.

Second, a death often evokes within us a sense of being part of something bigger than ourselves. One of the old hymns of the Church has the line “Time like an ever-rolling stream bears all its sons away” (and daughters too). In one sense that sounds very pessimistic but I find a stronger meaning to it. Around us are plaques and memorials of our ancestors which speak of timelessness, of eternity, of a great over-arching drama in which each of us plays a part. Each of us receives life and has gifts and opportunities specific to our day and age. Each of us has a vocation to play our part in the service of others. Each of us gives life to others and in turn we give our own life up having played our part. Our life although mortal, has a purpose. We have a place in God’s abiding purpose of love.

Third, mortality speaks to us of the support we find in loss that comes from the love of family and friends. Human love is the expression of a divine love that never leaves us comfortless. In the night-time of grief, when loneliness and loss seem too hard to bear, we reach out to one another, and find comfort from each other, just as God reaches out to us and surrounds us with a love that will not let us go.

And finally, mortality speaks to us of the presence of God, one in whom we can trust as we look to a future that seems empty and uncertain. Faith does not provide answers to all our questions and anxieties about the future. Rather our faith lies in knowing that we travel with God, so that whatever the future will bring it will be all right. Faith is knowing that God’s spirit lifts us and sustains us, however empty life at times may feel.

On a plane the other day my fellow passenger told me of his experience at two funerals, one for his office secretary, much younger than he, the other for his father. He said he came away from each funeral with an incredible sense of lightness, which he defined as feeling that in spite of the loss everything would be all right. It wasn’t that he didn’t grieve; it wasn’t that he didn’t feel the loss; it wasn’t that he felt life would just be business as usual. He knew he would feel the pain of those deaths, yet at a much deeper level he had this feeling that in the overall scheme of things, all would be well. Those latter words were also used by the 14^th century English mystic, Julian of Norwich, who affirmed that “all will be well, and all will be well, and all manner of things will be well”. Not words of superficial comfort, but words of a deep conviction about the abiding presence of the love of God, a love that is with us in life and in death, mediated to us by family and friends, yet finding its source in a spring of compassion that encompasses all people in all times.

A sermon preached by Canon Paul Oestreicher
at St. Peter’s Church, Wellington on 6 August 2023

May what I say and what you hear reflect the heart and mind of Jesus who chooses us as his friends. Amen.

We are going this morning on a long, long journey. We will still be the people of St. Peter’s. But not only that. We will use our imagination to its limits. We will journey to heaven and back to this place — and then we will travel to hell and still come back to ourselves.

Every religion wants to celebrate. And so do we. This is a celebration of the feast of Transfiguration. I would not be surprised if some of you—maybe all of you—haven’t a clue what this is all about. Because the church has actually kept it at arm’s length. We celebrate births at Christmas, death and life beyond this at Easter. At Pentecost, we celebrate the presence of the Spirit of God in our midst. And then Transfiguration, where does it fit? It doesn’t. It could be anywhere in the New Testament, because it’s not part of the history. It is about spiritual poetry. The artists can make a lot of it. They have painted marvelous icons of Transfiguration. It requires huge imagination to get our minds and our hearts around it. So let us go with Jesus into the real celebration of nothing less than heaven.

Jesus chooses just three of his close friends, Peter, John, and James and says to them, “Come with me, climb this high mountain.” And they haven’t a clue what’s going to happen. So they climb the Mount of Transfiguration. And when Jesus gets there, he meets old friends. He meets Moses and Elijah the prophet of ancient Israel. Know this isn’t history. This is spiritual poetry. And Jesus himself is transformed. Surrounded by luminous light and light so bright that it shines like a 1000s Suns. And the three friends of Jesus are totally confused. They are in a cloud of unknowing. They fall down with fear at what’s happening. It’s totally extra ordinary. It’s another world to which Jesus has just chosen three to go with him to experience what we don’t really have words for. But it’s marvelous. It’s creative. It’s something that the artists can deal with. Can paint wonderful icons of it, and there are many of them. And we are left wondering. They have to come down from the mountain to reality. And they do. And as they come down a voice from Heavens says, “This is my beloved Son, my chosen. Listen to him.”

Listening to him is really the only reason why we should be in this place at St. Peter’s. What does he say to us? He says to us, “Don’t be afraid, little flock. It is my Father’s pleasure to give you the kingdom.” That’s what it’s all about. Journey into a heaven we cannot really imagine. But we are challenged to do just that. And to hear this Jesus guiding us on our paths.

But now I challenge you to leave St. Peter’s. I challenge you to go to your local cinema. And to watch a film simply, yes, simply called Oppenheimer. Oppenheimer, one of the great nuclear physicists of the 20th century, a great scientist. And he set out with a team of other scientists in the quest of creating a weapon that would win and end the Second World War. They were fighting against time. But they just made it. They went into the desert, the desert of New Mexico having worked and experimented and finished up with this weapon, which had never been used. They exploded it in the desert. It was a terrifying experience. And then they had done their work. Or at any rate part of it. The politicians then picked up their work and said, “You have done what we asked you. We will now act on it.” And they did. They sent one crew on an American bomber to take this fearsome weapon to the Japanese city of Hiroshima. And on this day, in the year 1945, on this sixth of August, in the middle of the morning, they dropped the first atomic bomb in history in a split second, a terrifying blast, brighter than 1000 suns like at the top of the mountain, and yet so terribly different. And in that split second, something like 100,000 children, women, and men, and the city in which they lived, was turned to ashes.

But science has no boundaries. So they went on experimenting and testing more. Testing them in the Australian desert, in the South Pacific, to create not just another atom bomb, but this time a hydrogen bomb, infinitely more terrible in his destructive power that is Hell. On. Earth. A human creation using the science of creation, to destroy creation. All on the feast on the feast of Transfiguration. Jesus seen in all his glory, and Jesus going with us to hell—we say it actually, when we recite the Creed, that’s the reality of our life.

In the twilight zone, between heaven and hell, this life is a bit of both a bit of heaven in each of us and a bit of hell in each of us and we live in between in a timezone before the ultimate coming of the kingdom. No we do not understand. But if we listen to the chosen of God, to this simple Jesus—this carpenter from Nazareth, this man among his fellow humans—and he can teach us about what he called the kingdom. That Kingdom is in fragments already present here now, but yet to be fulfilled. The journey to Heaven is offered on this feast of which the church sadly makes very little of. And on that very day, the hell that destroyed and may go on destroying, if we do not take peace, the peace of Christ seriously and say no to the inventions that we can make. But having made them, we can unmake them and we can prepare. Prepare for the kingdom and be part of it.

The Privilege is endless. The joy is endless. The grief is endless. No, it isn’t endless, but it will end in the triumph of love. For a moment, a final moment of silence. Imagine the brightness, the luminous glory of God and that very glory used to wipe out our fellow human beings.

Lord, have mercy.

Christ, have mercy.

Lord, have mercy.

Amen.

And now I’m going to ask you to get up from your seats and join Jean and all the rest of us in blessing the icons that are symbols of what we are here for, to celebrate Eucharist, to celebrate Thanksgiving, to celebrate Jesus presiding at this Eucharist and at every Eucharist. But before he does that, Jesus, our servant, washes his disciples feet, washes our feet, as he challenges us to serve each other. So get up from your seats and come and crowd into the sanctuary here, right up to the end of the church, where the icons that are going to be blessed now have found a place for the future. Come and join us.

In contemporary theology the Trinity has become a symbol of an interacting diversity in unity: God is expressed in three activities (“Persons”) of creating, redeeming, giving life. While each “Person” is different, yet they live in dynamic interaction with each other. A Greek word  perichoresis expresses it : peri (around) choresis (a dance). The three Persons dance together, hence the modern hymn “I am the Lord of the Dance”.

This divine and trinitarian community becomes the symbol of all of human existence :

• each of us is called to be part of the dance, with God and with each other
• the Body of Christ, the Church, an interactive community, diverse gifts in shared mission with other faiths, not blurring our Christian heritage, but working together to cross the divides of cultural, racial and credal difference in the interests of peace and well-being for all
• we see our links with all members of God’s family, reaching out to others in a relationship of mutual compassion
• we share in God’s special work of compassion for the poor
• example in today’s reading from 1 Kings 17. 8-16 : Elijah the prophet comes to the widow of Zarephath seeking food. A poor woman, she has very little but gives of what she has, her act of generosity reflecting God’s grace which ensures her food supply is never depleted.
• Jesus’ life-giving compassion is seen in this morning’s Gospel (Luke 7. 11-17) where he restores life to the son of the widow of Nain
• tragic example with the death of Folole Muliaga (woman on a life-support machine at home whose power was cut off for late payment of a bill). The Chair and CEO of powerful corporations and the Prime Minister all descend on a lowly dwelling in Mangere where a family is devastated and grieving. Remote decisions by the powerful are seen as having human consequences in a world where we are all bound to one another.
• the Earth itself and all Creation are part of the Dance also (Genesis 1)

Thus the Trinity is far more than a philosophical attempt to explain what is after all inexplicable mystery. It becomes a symbol of all of existence in the way we relate to God, each other, all of God’s people and creatures on Earth, and indeed the Earth itself. It is the basis for our trust in God which leads to our mission of compassion, justice, peace and stewardship of the Earth.

James K Baxter : (1) Song to the Lord God (2) Song to the Holy Spirit (NZPB pp 160,157)

Lord God, you are above and beyond all things;

Your nature is to love. You put us in the furnace of the world

to learn to love you and love one another (1)

Lord Christ, you are the house in whom we live

The house in which we share the cup of peace

The house of your body that was broken on the cross

The house you have built for us beyond the stars (1)

Lord, Holy Spirit, in the love of friends you are building a new house.

Heaven is with us when you are with us.

You are singing your song in the hearts of the poor.

Guide us, wound us, heal us. Bring us to the Father. (2)

The divine interaction of the Holy Trinity enables the same life-giving and loving interaction of all people and parts of God’s creation. (With a note on the Athanasian creed).

How many of you have ever said the Athanasian Creed? It is prescribed to be said on Trinity Sunday butI have never used it in 50 years of priesthood. It was probably not written by St Athanasius, more likely St Ambrose around 400AD. It incorporates some traditional affirmations, but includes material designed to exclude some heresies of the day.

Here are some of the words of it:

The Catholic Faith is this that we worship one God in Trinity, and Trinity in Unity

Neither confounding the Persons, nor dividing the substance

For there is one person of the Father, another of the Son, and another of the Holy Ghost

But the Godhead of the Father, of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost is all one.

The Father incomprehensible, the Son incomprehensible, and the Holy Ghost incomprehensible

As also there are not three incomprehensibles, and one incomprehensible.

Which faith except every one do keep whole and undefiled he shall perish everlastingly.

Note the sting in the tail if we get it wrong!

Such a creed seems a long way from the experience of Pentecost when the disciples were filled with joy and sent out to change the lives of others. Yet how much of that core experience remains when it is poured into the lifeless formula of the trinitarian doctrine, a concept which owes more to Greek philosophy than to the living God?

Let us explore three layers of meaning in the Trinity:

First, the three persons of the Trinity – Father/Creator; Son/redeemer; spirit/life-giver.

Father/Creator reminds us of God’s creative presence in all of life and Creation

• Genesis 1: God’s word hovers over the formless void and brings Creation into being
• There is an awesomeness about God’s over-arching presence. In Isaiah 6 we hear of the young prophet being totally overcome with awe as he came face to face with God in the temple and was sent out to call God’s people to turn again to God.   
• That same sense of the awesome presence of God was described by Pelagius in 4^th century Britain. The early Church condemned Pelagius as a heretic, but many see him today as being one of the early exponents of Celtic spirituality. “Everywhere”, wrote Pelagius, “narrow shafts of divine light pierce the veil that separates heaven from earth” (Philip Newell, Listening for the Heartbeat of God).

Son/Redeemer, Jesus: But the God of mystery and awe is also intimately and personally close to us in the life and presence of Jesus. As the disciples walked with Jesus they perceived the special person he was. They noted his singular devotion to God, and his total self-giving love for all. They saw the way he overthrow convention and creed to let God’s love run free. They noted how he satisfied the deepest hunger and thirst of ordinary people.

From this long exposure Peter proclaimed (John 6.68): “Lord to whom else can we go? You have the words of eternal life, and we have come to believe and know that you are the Holy One of God”.

Spirit/lifegiver: Pentecost brings alive the reality of God as Spirit, as we recall (Acts 2) the tongues of fire that descended upon the disciples, and how they were filled with the Holy Spirit and sent out to proclaim the risen Christ to people of every nation and tongue.

Second layer: So far, so familiar, but Wait! There’s more. In contemporary theology the Trinity has become a symbol of diversity in unity: God is expressed in three activities, or Persons, of creating, redeeming, and giving life. While each “Person” is different, yet they live in dynamic interaction with each other. A Greek word perichoresis expresses it: peri (around) choresis (a dance). The three Persons dance together, hence the modern hymn “I am the Lord of the Dance”.

Third layer: This divine dance becomes the symbol of all of human existence. Each of us is called to be part of the dance.  The Body of Christ, the Church, is an interactive community, with diverse gifts in shared mission. We interact with other faiths, not blurring our Christian heritage, but crossing the divides of cultural, racial and credal difference to bring peace and well-being for all.

Richard Hooker, 16^th century Anglican theologian, wrote : “God hath created nothing simply for itself: but each thing in all things, and of everything each part in each other have such interest, that in the whole world nothing is found whereunto anything created can say, ‘I need thee not’.

The relationship with Earth itself, with every creature and element, is expressed movingly in the words of Anglican priest, the late Maori Marsden, who writes of Papatuanuku, the primordial Mother: “Papatuanuku is our mother and deserves our love and respect. She is a living organism with her own biological systems and functions creating and supplying a web of support systems for all her children whether man, animal, bird, tree, grass, microbes or insects”.

So I’m frankly glad we don’t say the Athanasian Creed on Trinity Sunday, as its doctrinal exactitudes exclude the richness of a Trinitarian God. That richness is experienced:

• In the awesome presence of a God whose word hovers over all creation
• In the person of Jesus whose love brings us healing, reconciliation and compassion
• In the Spirit who fills us and enables us to go out with joy and bring healing to others
• In the perichoresis – the dance of life that links us to all people
• In our love and care for Creation – God’s gift to us, our children and grand-children

Seen that way the Trinity is far from a lifeless doctrine. It is a symbolic perception based on an experience of the living God that shapes our whole life, our vocation and the Church’s mission. Incomprehensible? I don’t think so!

At the 1988 Lambeth Conference, the then Archbishop of Canterbury, Robert Runcie, told the story of a young British couple who had gone out on colonial service to Africa. In their first letter home they wrote: from our house on the hill we look down on a valley filled with dozens of African families, all living in grass thatched-roof huts. Our nearest neighbours are 200 miles away at the next British post.

This is a Pentecost story, one that asks who are our neighbours, and pushes us to look beyond the established and comfortable parameters of our identity (in this story ‘being British’) to seeing ourselves as part of a much greater community, one that encompasses all of humankind. Those multiple languages the disciples spoke in following the outpouring of God’s Spirit at Pentecost symbolise the Universalising of the Gospel – the Word of God is to go out to all people, all races, all nations.

Let me mention three aspects of Pentecost:

First, the personal: the disciples were fired with the spirit (Acts 2. 2,3) – the pentecostal experience of wind (= pneuma = spirit) and the tongues of fire that came upon them.Knowing the presence and power of the living God is for us all. For some the encounter with God comes in dramatic ways (eg Pentecost, Paul on the Damascus road). (The story is told of a man who came to an Anglican church service and was waving his arms around and speaking in tongues and generally disrupting the worship. At length an usher came and asked him to desist. And the man said: ‘but I’ve got the spirit’. And the usher replied: ‘that may be so, Sir, but you didn’t get it here’).

I have not had a Pentecostal experience as described in Acts 2. My experience of God has been a gentle one, like that of Elijah on Mt Horeb (1 Kings 19. 9-15): God was not in the wind, the fire or earthquake, but God was the still small voice that strengthened him and gave him courage to continue. Or think also of the disciples on the Emmaus road (Luke 24. 13-35): it was the slowly dawning realisation that the stranger they were talking to was Jesus, and that renewed life and hope and faith for them. We must be wary of prescribing any normative manner in which the Spirit comes, but be open to God’s spirit in the multiple experiences of life

Second, MOVING OUT beyond our comfort zone. There were major problems as the disciples encountered those many races and languages. They were astonished to find that God’s Spirt was poured out even on the Gentiles! The Jerusalem Church was not impressed and said ‘they must be circumcised like us and obey the Law of Moses’. Peter, Paul and Barnabas argued robustly against this, and the rules of the church were modified to become more inclusive and less prescriptive.

James Alison, an English Roman Catholic priest and theologian, commented: In a very short space of time in Luke’s story-telling we have gone from something rather like ‘You are no part of our narrative’ through ‘You can be part of our narrative, but only on our terms’ to ‘Heavens, we are part of the same narrative, which isn’t the one either of us thought it was and isn’t on the terms set by either of us’.

Pentecostal faith means being open to difference – different  generations, races, faiths, nationalities, churches, or socio-economic deciles.  In his 2003 book The Dignity of Difference, the then Chief Rabbi Jonathan Sacks writes: The test of faith is whether I can make room for difference. Can I recognise God in someone who is not my image? If I cannot, then I have made God in my image instead of allowing him to remake me in his.

Third, what about all those DEAD BONES in the reading from Ezekiel 37. 1-14? The bones were those of the whole House of Israel, and the two sins that had deadened them were idolatry and injustice. We don’t worship foreign gods in the 21^st century, but we do worship the gods of complacency, self-centredness, corporate greed, neo-liberalism and many others. And injustice and inequality are rampant in the western world, and worse when we think of Third World nations. Can the Church and our self-satisfied society live again by being spirit-filled and returning to the paths of the true God?

Pentecostal Christians, then, are those who feel God’s Spirit at work in their own lives, within the Church and all Creation. Michael Mitton has written: “The Spirit is not a tame bird”. We cannot put chicken-wire around the ecclesiastical coop. The coop may contain the chickens, but not the Holy Spirit of God which blows wild and free, and calls us to join courageously in God’s Mission in all its aspects.

Let us think deeply on Ezekiel’s words:  God said to the wind: Come and breathe on these dead, and let them live. So I prophesied as he had ordered, and the breath entered into them; they came to life again and stood up on their feet, a great and immense army.

In a visionary essay (Humankind: a hopeful history) this week Dutch historian Rutger Bregman observes that during the COVID 19 crisis hedge fund managers and multinational tax specialists have not been in great demand as being vital for human survival. Instead the key players have been doctors and nurses, social workers, teachers, supermarket staff, transport operators, cleaners and, one might add, the many volunteers at foodbanks and in family support.

Bregman further comments: “The general rule seems to be: the more vital your work, the less you are paid, the more insecure your employment and the more at risk you are in the fight against the coronavirus.” Dr Ashley Bloomfield has more than earned his salary, of course, and security of employment is probably not as issue for over-burdened doctors and nurses. But for many of the lowly paid – the ones that deliver our groceries and pizza, or clear away our trash – vulnerability is an ongoing dynamic.

Add in those who have no job at all, or those living in crowded slums, refugee camps and prisons, and one sees just how many billions are affected by COVID 19 worldwide. COVID can strike any of us, rich or poor, but what Bregman is saying to us – and we know he’s right – that it strikes the poor and vulnerable disproportionately compared with many of us. Which leads us nicely into Jesus’ Ascension, which the Church observed on Thursday.

In Acts 1.9 today we read that Jesus ‘was taken up into heaven as the disciples watched, and a cloud hid him from their sight’. (You may recall pictures from Sunday School days of the awestruck disciples gazing upward at two feet hanging out the bottom of a cloud).

It is a symbolic image that begs the question: what does the Ascension mean in our global society today?  Jesus’ life and mission were lived out among a particular people (the Jews) in a particular place (Palestine) in a particular time (1^st C). His incarnation was local, but God’s mission was always universal, for all people in every age and place. The Ascension symbolises the lifting of Jesus from that local context into a global one for all time. Just as COVID 19 is binding together the whole human race, so Jesus’ ascension symbolises the love of God in Christ encompassing every person and place, binding us as one family. Whoever “they” may be, “they” are part of “us”.

In Acts 1. 8, 9 Jesus tells his disciples that they will be filled with power when the Holy Spirit comes upon them, and that they will be ‘witnesses for Him in Jerusalem, Judaea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth’.  Thus the feast of Pentecost, which we observe next Sunday, is foreshadowed – the day when the Holy Spirit fell with tongues of fire on the heads of the disciples, and God’s word was heard by people of every race, each in their own language. These verses also remind us of Jesus’ call to us to be “witnesses unto me” in all we do – life, work and conversation.

In today’s Gospel (John 17. 1-11) there are two key themes, one about eternal life, and one about the nature of God’s glory. John speaks of eternal life as the special relationship between God and Jesus, a relationship extended to Jesus’ disciples. V3: this is eternal life: that they know you, the only true God, and Jesus Christ, whom you have sent. 

Eternal life is not about life for eternity after we die (Life after death is a topic for another sermon!). John uses the Greek word aionios, (eon in English) not in a chronological sense, like going on for ever and ever, but rather life of a different nature, or quality, perhaps tikanga Christian, not bound by time, but life lived in relationship with God in Christ. It is a present reality lived by all those who know God, and Jesus Christ whom God has sent. Each one of us can live this eternal life now.

Secondly, the Gospel talks about God’s glory. Jesus prays (v1) : “Father, the hour has come. Glorify your Son, that your Son may glorify you”. God’s glory has been revealed in Jesus throughout his life, seen (for example) in Jesus’ miracles, or signs, most recently in the raising of Lazarus from the dead (John 11.1-45). But now Jesus will glorify God through his death on the Cross. Thus the glory of God is revealed not just in strength and authority, but also in weakness, the weakness of love and self-giving. As he died on the Cross Jesus said “It is finished” (tetelestai,  from telos, meaning purpose). His work/purpose on earth was complete.

St Paul puts this well in Philippians 2.6-11 when he writes of Jesus who, being in the nature of God, took on the very nature of a servant,… and   humbled himself by becoming obedient to death…Therefore God exalted him to the highest place…so that every tongue might confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God.

Asension Day speaks to us of God’ love which extends over all the earth, binding us together as one family, and one Creation. It is with this perspective that we should approach the Covid pandemic. Rutger Bregman writes that “the age of excessive individualism and competition could come to an end, and we could inaugurate a new age of solidarity and connection…I am not optimistic, but hopeful, for hope propels us to action.”

While debate may surround the historical details of the Resurrection, there is agreement within Christianity on its central meaning. (NZ Herald article, 2002)

As Christians go to church this weekend they are celebrating one of the major events of the religious calendar. But it is an event which has caused heated debate in the church and led to one of the most sensational news events in New Zealand church history.

Just before Easter 1966, Gregor Smith, had written : “we may freely say the bones of Jesus lie somewhere in Palestine”. His remarks were picked up by Lloyd Geering, at the time principal of Knox College in Dunedin, in an essay entitled “What does the Resurrection Mean?” Published in Presbyterian circles, the essay produced a fiery response which led to Geering being tried for heresy, and acquitted.

The embers of that debate still stir easily into flame. At the core lie differences as to what constitutes evidence of the resurrection. One school of thought holds the view that the basis for Resurrection faith depends on the certainty that Jesus’ body was raised physically into heaven where it took on a transformed nature. To suggest that his bones may rest in Palestine clearly strikes at the roots of this belief.

The four Gospel accounts are in agreement that the tomb in which Jesus’ body was laid was found empty two days later, but give no clue as to what happened to the body. Other theologians hold the view that Resurrection faith does not depend on knowing what happened to Jesus’ body, but on the various post-death appearances Jesus made to his followers.

The four Gospel records vary somewhat as to the exact nature of these appearances. In some (for example, to Mary at the tomb, or the disciples on the road to Emmaus), Jesus is not at first recognised; in others, recognition is immediate. In one encounter he comes to the disciples through locked doors, suggesting a non-bodily form. In another he has body enough to ask for food.

Given that the first Gospel account (St Mark) was written some 30 years after Jesus’ death (c65AD), and that the Gospels of Matthew, Luke and John appeared over the following 30 years, such variance in detail is unsurprising. But the Gospel writers speak with one voice of the transformation that took place in his followers as Jesus appeared to them successively over several days.

Over the three years of Jesus’ public ministry, those disciples had come to perceive him as son of God. Peter attributed this title to Jesus as a result of finding in his words and actions a revelation of what is ultimately true about human existence – that at the heart of life there is a spiritual source, known as God, whose nature is seen in such qualities as truth, compassion, self-giving, community, justice and peace.

Jesus’ death on the cross at the hands of self-serving social and political establishments crushed his followers, leaving them dejected and empty of hope. But the resurrection appearances, however explained, and independent of any view about what happened to the body, brought them to the recognition that Jesus’ death was not the end. The life and love of God is possessed of a resilience that overcomes the forces of hypocrisy and evil. New life was resurrected out of the bleakness of death.

While, then, differences remain over where one looks for resurrection evidence, most agree that resurrection speaks of a love that survives even in the face of death, and of the enduring power of truth and justice in the face of evil and oppression.

Significantly, Lloyd Geering’s controversial essay focussed not on the historical facts surrounding the Resurrection, but on the all-important question of its meaning. If resurrection was no more than a one-off event that happened centuries ago, or was the subject of theological debate with no abiding meaning, it could well be consigned to the ivory towers of academia.

But the core message of a power that overcomes death and evil has contemporary implications. On this question also there are different perspectives.

For many Christians the central meaning of resurrection lies in the assurance of life after death. Life after death was not a long-standing belief of the Jewish community into which Jesus was born. The Jewish religious tradition had generally held the view that those who were faithful to God would be blessed with home, family and all the marks of a peaceful community.

History, however, had shown that simple connection to be untrue. The Jewish people had often been vanquished in battle, taken into captivity, or otherwise oppressed. Faithfulness and blessing did not always go hand in hand.

In the period leading up to Jesus’ birth the belief had emerged that the reward for faithful living must belong to an after-life. One Jewish sect in Jesus’ time, the Pharisees, were of this view. Another, the Sadducees, held to the traditional view. In Christian circles Jesus’ resurrection was the new foundation on which belief in an after-life was built.

Such belief is clearly a perception of faith rather than knowledge. What lies outside the boundaries of life on earth lies also beyond human knowledge. Thus there are those Christians who take a more agnostic stance on this issue, adopting instead the approach of an American theologian, Henry Nelson Wieman, who writes of a “hope without prediction”.

Such hope has about it a vibrancy that is more than just a pious wish. It arises not from detailed predictions about a life after death, but rather from the discernment of a permanent quality of life with God which is not interrupted by death.

If the ultimate reality of existence is characterised by the life and compassion which was seen in Jesus, then faith is the conviction that that reality may be trusted also in death, and in whatever may lie beyond. Resurrection faith points to the reality of a spiritual dimension to life that transcends death, the details of which life are not available to human knowledge, but in the face of which there may be trust and freedom from fear.

Other Christians have a concern that preoccupation with the after-life may lead to a privatised and other-worldly understanding of resurrection that ignores its significant societal dimensions. Jesus’ life was one that sided with the poor and the marginalised against oppressive institutional powers. He instructed his followers to show their faith by visiting those in prison, clothing the naked and feeding the hungry. He taught that to heal the sick and give sight to the blind was more important than religious legalities that prohibited such “work” on the sabbath.

The rich were instructed that if they wanted to know the true meaning of life they should give away the wealth that stood between them and God, and make reparations to those they had fraudulently exploited. He pointed out to those who assumed moral superiority that the sinners they so easily condemned knew more of the generosity and love of God than did those who stood as self-appointed judges over them.

Such teachings are fraught with risk. American theologian Walter Brueggemann writes : “Hope is the refusal to accept the reading of reality which is the majority opinion, and one does that only at great political and existential risk. Hope is subversive, for it limits the grandiose pretension of the present, daring to announce that the present to which we have all made commitments is now called into question”.

The seeds of Jesus’ destruction lay in his stance for justice, truth and compassion. It was a threat to the established social order, and to the religious and political authorities. It had strong popular appeal. The enthusiastic crowds who gathered to hear him speak had the potential to create subversion that might dislodge the wealthy and powerful. The need to suppress such a dangerous radical led ultimately to his crucifixion.

But history has shown repeatedly that efforts to suppress prophetic voices fail to meet their objectives. The death of the martyrs is followed inevitably by the resurrection of a new spirit of determination to see right prevail. The death and resurrection of Jesus is an icon for a reality that belongs in every age and place. The voice of truth may be temporarily silenced, but never extinguished. Evil may have its day but will eventually be overthrown.

This universal dynamic is seen in the life and death of Martin Luther King, whose mission to end racism in America was quickly picked up by new leaders who have caused many barriers to crumble. In South Africa racial oppression seemed an impregnable bastion only a few short years ago. Yet the resurrection dynamic exhibited in the lives of Nelson Mandela, Desmond Tutu and countless others who suffered imprisonment, torture and death, has seen the overthrow of apartheid. Resurrection faith is not an exercise in believing the unbelievable, or giving intellectual assent to something that lies beyond verifiable evidence. It is rather a perception that in life the forces of justice and love eventually defeat their opposites. It is true not just because of something that happened in the life of one man and his followers 2000 years ago, but because that same truth is evident in the lives of individuals and communities today.

The truth about Easter lies not in knowing what happened to Jesus’ body, but in the transformed lives of his disciples, and in the transformation of our own lives today

As Christians go to church at Easter they celebrate one of the major events of the religious calendar. But what Easter is all about is all too often a matter of debate. At the core lie differences as to what constitutes evidence of Jesus’ resurrection.

The four Gospel accounts are in agreement that the tomb in which Jesus’ body was laid was found empty two days later, but give no clue as to what happened to the body. When on that first Easter morning Mary came early to the tomb and found it empty, she did not rejoice that Jesus was risen from the dead: instead she was confused and distressed as to what had happened to the body. It was only as she turned and encountered Jesus in risen form that she came to believe.

The four Gospel records vary somewhat as to the exact nature of Jesus’ appearances. In some (for example, to Mary at the tomb, or the disciples on the road to Emmaus), Jesus is not at first recognised; in others, recognition is immediate. In one encounter he comes to the disciples through locked doors, suggesting a non-bodily form. In another he has body enough to ask for food.

Given that the first Gospel account (St Mark) was written some 30 years after Jesus’ death (c65AD), and that the Gospels of Matthew, Luke and John appeared over the following 40 years, such variance in detail is unsurprising. But the Gospel writers speak with one voice of the transformation that took place in his followers as Jesus appeared to them successively over several days.

St Paul suggests that Jesus’ risen appearances may be likened to the link between a seed and a plant: the plant that grows from a seed is inseparably connected to it, yet is quite different in appearance. There is both continuity yet an essential difference. Jesus’ appearances and risen life are not dependent upon the physical continuity of his earthly body, just as the outer case of a seed remains in the ground after having given birth to the new plant.

Along with many scholars, I believe it is not possible to determine what happened to Jesus’ body, or in what form Jesus appeared to his followers. But the Gospels are clear that faith in the resurrection does not depend on knowing what happened to Jesus’ body, but rather on what happened to his disciples.

Those disciples, over the three years of Jesus’ ministry, had come to perceive him as the Son of God. It was a title which Peter attributed to Jesus as a result of finding in his words and actions a revelation of what is ultimately true about human existence – that at the heart of life there is a spiritual source which we know as God, the source of all life, whose nature is seen in such qualities as truth, compassion, self-giving, community, justice and peace.

That divine nature was expressed fully in the life of Jesus. Attracted by that life, his disciples had entered into a new relationship with God, with each other, and with the world around them. Life with God in Christ was a transformed reality, described by John as “eternal life” – “eternal” meaning in the Greek not going on for ever and ever but rather life in a new era, life of a different nature, life in Christ.

The purpose and direction which flowed from this were a source of great joy and conviction to the disciples. To the religious and political establishments of the day, however, Jesus’ new teachings were a threat, and they conspired to put him to death on the cross. That death totally crushed Jesus’ followers, who felt that all he stood for had been overcome by the powers of evil and death. They were dejected and without hope until the various resurrection appearances totally turned them around. They came to see in the person of the risen Christ that death was not the end, and that the life and love of God had triumphed over the forces of evil and hypocrisy. Strong in this renewed faith they went out to proclaim the truth of their risen Lord. Small groups of Christians began to form in many places, such groups being the beginnings of the early Church.

But while Easter faith arises out of those events of 2000 years ago, it is crucial that we experience its relevance in contemporary living and the world today. The things that took place in Jesus’ time highlight fundamental realities of human existence that are true in all times. The reality of the resurrection can be discerned through study of the biblical witness, but that reality only comes alive as people in every age experience in their own life and community the same life-changing power that Jesus’ disciples knew through their relationship with him. To live the resurrection life is to live in relationship with God, and to be committed to the same truth, justice and compassion that the first disciples knew in Jesus Christ.

The reality of evil in today’s world surrounds us. At the personal level, we are aware of the devastation to both sufferer and family of the news of a terminal illness, and the pain of grief which follows. There are times when we feel overwhelmed by senseless murders and violence, by poverty and war, by unjust treatment and rejection, by breakdowns in relationships, or through the hopelessness engendered by unemployment. The extent of the despair can be measured by the suicide rate in our community, by the numbers who seek help through counselling and in psychiatric wards, or escape through alcohol or drugs.

Such experiences of desolation can be compared with the numbness which the disciples knew following Jesus’ death: theirs too was a despair brought on by a feeling that evil and death had overwhelmed all that was good. It would be facile in the extreme to suggest that resurrection faith can change such situations over night. Extensive counselling, friendship, social support, and a commitment to the long haul are essential components of the path to recovery. But along with that our faith plays a significant part by putting us in touch with the spiritual resources which bring strength and hope, and hold out the possibilities of new life on the other side of pain or evil.

I saw this pastorally in the case of a man facing a terminal illness. In his early 60s, and recently married after years of being alone, he had found a new joy and purpose in living which news of his illness had tragically interrupted. He was angry at the unfairness of it all, and was grieving over the prospective loss of his new life and love.  Over the weeks leading up to his death we discussed the meaning of life and death, and explored his anger and grief. While his feelings of suffering and loss remained, at the same time he developed a sense of peace, acceptance and trust. In the midst of illness and death he discovered a source of life that gave him the ability to transcend the tragedy of his situation. Such transcendence of evil is an essential part of the experience of resurrection.

At the societal level, resurrection is seen in situations where entrenched systems of evil are overthrown by the forces of justice and truth. A profound example of this can be seen in the collapse of apartheid in South Africa. Few could have imagined that such a seemingly impregnable bastion of oppression would ever fall, yet consistent pressure both from within South Africa as well as from the outside world brought about the collapse. The hope and faith of Desmond Tutu, Nelson Mandela, and thousands of others were proved to be not in vain. The road to freedom, justice and peace in South Africa is a continuing one, but the resurrection experience that in the end justice conquers injustice has sustained many who worked and sacrificed to see this change.

The place of suffering and death in the struggle for justice has parallels in Jesus’ crucifixion. Those who answer the call to fight poverty, injustice and hypocrisy are a threat to the established powers in exactly the same way that Jesus was, and know the likely cost of this discipleship. The assassination of Martin Luther King as a consequence of his fight against racism, or the execution of Dietrich Bonhoeffer for his opposition to the Nazi regime, likewise illustrate the reality that those who follow Jesus’ path risk suffering and death.

Such suffering has the capacity to change the lives of others, to break down the structures of oppression, and in consequence to bring new hope and life to those whose lives are marked by poverty and despair. Out of the ashes of evil and death, the new resurrection life is born.

The link between resurrection and our understanding of life after death is also an important one to explore. Life after death was not a long-standing belief of the Jewish community into which Jesus was born. The Jewish religious tradition had generally held the view that those who were faithful to God would be blessed with home, family and all the marks of a peaceful community.

History, however, had shown that simple connection to be untrue. The Jewish people had often been vanquished in battle, taken into captivity, or otherwise oppressed. Faithfulness and blessing did not always go hand in hand.

In the period leading up to Jesus’ birth the belief had emerged that the reward for faithful living must belong to an after-life. One Jewish sect in Jesus’ time, the Pharisees, was of this view. Another, the Sadducees, held to the traditional view. In Christian circles Jesus’ resurrection was the new foundation on which belief in an after-life was built.

Such belief is clearly a perception of faith rather than knowledge. What lies outside the boundaries of life on earth lies also beyond human knowledge. Faith, however, does not depend on detailed predictions about an after-life, but rather in discerning a permanent quality in our relationship with God which is not interrupted by death.

If the ultimate reality of existence is characterised by our life with God in Christ, then faith is the conviction that that reality can be trusted also in death, and in what may lie thereafter. The resurrection tells us that beyond death there is always new life, the details of which are a mystery, but in the face of which we can have total trust in God.

Such hope has about it a vibrancy and an assurance that are more than just a pious wish.

The truth of the resurrection, then, should not be sought in detailed debate about what happened to the body of Jesus. Rather, attention should be paid to the great cosmic battle between the divine forces of life, truth and love on the one hand, and the powerful opposing forces of darkness and death on the other.

Those forces are played out in every age in the lives of individuals and institutions. Evil often has the upper hand, as the reality of Good Friday testifies, but the truth of Easter is that the love of God, as seen in the resurrected Christ, has the ultimate victory. Those who allow their lives to be filled with that spirit of divine truth and love will not only know a joy akin to that of the disciples, but will also become God’s agents for building a world where justice, love and peace are the abiding hallmarks.

To Discuss

1. What for you is the evidence that Jesus is risen from the dead?
2. What does Jesus’ resurrection mean for you in terms of your own personal life and faith, as well as in the world today?

The meaning of Jesus’ death is not to be understood in terms of punishment for sin. Christ was the victim of human and institutional forces of blindness and self-interest, but his death is the source of redemption for all. Powerful quotation from Kamel Hussein.

The signs of evil surround us on every side. Our television screens are filled with nightly horrors of despairing people being driven from their homes – men shot, women raped, houses burned, and pathetic streams of sick, tired, famished and grieving refugees crossing national borders seeking a safe haven.

A television documentary analysed the massacre of more than a million people in Rwanda a few years ago and showed how the United Nations sat idly by, failing to intervene in the face of urgent reports and appeals from Rwanda. Retaining pleasant diplomatic relationships with Rwandan representatives in New York took precedence over intervening to save the lives of a million people.

We are also aware of the abject poverty of many in the third and fourth worlds, of interpersonal conflicts in our own lives, and the culture of drugs, hopelessness, crime, violence and suicide that infects most Western societies like a canker.

The causes of such evils are manifold. In too many places, nationalism and racial superiority became the ends which justify the slaughtering of thousands of innocents. The economic “reforms” which sweep around the globe are often driven by an ideology based on text books and computers which do not include human well-being as part of their calculus. When profit becomes the bottom line, life is stripped of ethics, humanity and spirituality. Other elements in this devil’s brew are greed, self-advancement on the backs of others, the unthinking carrying out of orders from above, complicity in the face of manifest suffering, and a fulsome process of rationalisation to ease any lurking doubts that all might not be well.

On this latter point, an architect of economic rationalist policies said to me once: “We’re all just ordinary people you know; you’ll see us at the supermarket, dropping our kids off at play-school, and launching our boats at the beach like anybody else”. (“Like anybody else?”, I wondered). A less anecdotal portrayal of the rationalisation comes from a Muslim novelist, Kamel Hussein, of Egypt. In his book about Good Friday, City of Wrong, Hussein writes :

The day was a Friday. But it was quite unlike any other day. It was a day when people went very grievously astray, so far astray in fact that they involved themselves in the utmost iniquity. Evil overwhelmed them and they were blind to the truth, though it was as clear as the morning sky. Yet for all that they were people of religion and character and most careful about following the right. They were endeared to the good, tenderly affected towards their nation, sincere in their religious practice, and characterised by fervour, courage and integrity. Yet this thorough competence in their religion did not save them from wrong-doing, nor immunise their minds from error. Their sincerity did not guide them to the good. They were a people who took counsel among themselves, yet their counsels led them astray. The people of Jerusalem were caught that day in a vortex of seducing factors and, taken unaware amid them, they faltered. Lacking sound and valid criteria of action, they foundered utterly, as if they had been a people with neither reason nor religion.

It was forces and factors such as these that brought Christ to his Cross. As we reflect on that evil, and our own contemporary participation in it, we are crushed. Jesus too was crushed by the evil : “He was despised and rejected by others; a man of suffering and acquainted with grief” (Isaiah 53.3). And yet that very suffering has the capacity to heal and to transform: “He was wounded for our transgressions, crushed for our iniquities; upon him was the punishment that made us whole, and by his bruises we are healed” (v.5).

Here we come to the heart of the matter, and one of the enduring mysteries of a God who suffers with us even to the point of death, but in dying gives new life. How do we understand this mystery? And in particular how can we read the words of Isaiah that “upon him was the punishment that made us whole”? Did Jesus die as a punishment for our sins, or did he die as the innocent victim who suffered from the evil actions of others?

The role of an innocent victim who suffers, by which suffering others are redeemed, is a central biblical concept. It undergirds the practice of animal sacrifices in the Jewish religion of Jesus’ time, and provided the conceptual framework for seeing Jesus as the ultimate sacrifice that transcended all others, and made all others unnecessary. To see Jesus dying, however, as a punishment for our sins, is, I believe, contrary to the Gospel view of a God who loves, and for whom punishment is therefore an alien concept. God takes sin seriously, and requires repentance and renewal of life, but that is not punishment. We may suffer as a result of our own actions, but that is a self-inflicted wound, not punishment. The idea of one being punished for the sins of others also contravenes concepts of justice and fairness.

For those reasons I reject the concept of punishment, and see Christ’s suffering as the consequence of the evil actions of others – someone who was martyred for speaking the truth, and for displaying an ultimate quality of life and love that proved too threatening for the religious and political authorities to cope with. That explains why Christ died, but leaves the bigger question : how does his death heal us, redeem us and set us free?

There are multiple theories of the Atonement, and no theory can put into human words what is ultimately one of the great divine mysteries. But there are times when we see with crystal clarity the contrast between good and evil, between God and Satan, between truth and falsehood, between love and hate. Such moments are moments of discernment when all the false trappings and rationalisations of life are stripped away and the truth stands clear with a starkness that crushes us as we become aware of our own participation and complicity in evil. Such a moment came to the Cardinal in The Mission as he perceived the inherent goodness and faith of the indigenous communities as compared with the self-serving forces of the colonial powers.

At such times, if we are willing, we engage in an act of profound metanoia, repentance, change of heart; we return to God, and find healing of life and spirit. Such was the impact of Christ’s death – Christ being lifted up on the Cross, towering over human history, the Son of God who by bearing the pain wrought by human sin draws all people to himself, calling us to repent, to change our lives so that we ourselves become pain-bearers rather than pain-causers, and like him become wounded healers, the channels of God’s love to others, sons and daughters of God following the pattern of Christ, the foremost Son of God.

In that healing light, as we look around our world, we see not just the evil-doers but also the Christ-figures in our midst. (In truth, both elements are mixed up in each of us : we have the capacity to be agents of darkness as well as bearers of the light). The Christlike actions of people in our own day surround us. The name of Martin Luther King is rightly quoted in this regard. We recall also the Anglican priest in South Africa, Michael Lapsley, his hands blown off, his sight all but extinguished by a parcel-bomb which reached him for his activities in opposing apartheid in that country.

A priest colleague of mine in New Zealand, George Armstrong, was the one who initiated the flotillas of small boats in the 1970s that put to sea in Auckland Harbour to protest each time a nuclear-armed vessel of war came to the port. His actions over a decade gathered a momentum that led to the Government declaring New Zealand a nuclear-free nation. George was the architect of a nation-wide initiative for peace, yet when his name came up for a chaplaincy appointment another diocese turned it down, believing the appointment of a “radical” might threaten church finances. In all such sufferings for the truth, and in all who follow the path of costly obedience, the pattern of the Cross is repeated from age to age.

Let me conclude by noting two other features of such suffering. First, the way of the Cross is always a path chosen in obedience to God’s call. Jesus Christ was not a puppet in some pre-determined divine drama. He chose freely to take the road to the Cross, the pain of that choice being clearly visible in his agony at Gethsemane: “Lord, take this cup away from me: nevertheless, not what I will but what you will”. When we choose such paths we may not know what or when the cost will be, but we hunch there will be one. Doubtless Martin Luther King had more than a hunch about the likely consequences of his choices, as Jesus did also, even if the time and manner of what might lie in store could not be foreseen.

Second, the achievements of Christlike suffering cannot be foretold either. It is our role to be faithful, even if we cannot see what positive good will come from our action. It was like this for Jesus. His death was the end of his mission on earth, and he doubtless agonised as to whether it had been worthwhile. Faced with being rejected by almost everyone, he would be scarcely likely to have very positive thoughts about his life’s work.

We go through the same torment of wondering if what we have worked for in life has been worthwhile. Have our efforts for peace and justice achieved anything? Have we spread God’s word to anyone? Have we done something to build a more human community? Or has it all just been an idle effort that will wither like grass or be crumpled by the forces of evil?

Here we need to listen to Jesus’ final words from the Cross: “Father into your hands I commit my spirit”. In making the same prayer of faith as Jesus did, we recognise that the final outcome of our life and work rests not with us, but with God. Trusting God is more important than the results. In fact it is only as we give our life to God in trust that God can use it in any way that helps. To use words from a prayer by Michael Quoist:

Thus, Lord, I must gather my body, my heart, my spirit

And stretch myself at full length on the Cross of the present moment.

The Good Friday narrative ends just as our life and work will end. Jesus dies just as we will die, with the final results not seen, our deepest questions unanswered. Let us, then, seek to cast aside any burden of anxiety we carry about outcomes, and instead commend ourselves into God’s hands, knowing that God will care for us and use us in ways none of us can ever predict.

“Father, into your hands I commit my spirit”

To Discuss

1. When we say “Jesus died for our sins”, what does that mean for you?
2. What times in life do you recall when you have suffered in vain, or done the right thing and been rejected?
3. What positive good have you seen come from costly actions you have taken?
4. If we see no positive outcome of costly actions, why would we not say “well, if you can’t beat them, join them”?