Category: Major Festivals (page 2 of 3)

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”?

The solemn Maundy Thursday foot-washing ritual reminds us that in humility the purposes of God are established. It is a potent symbol of servant leadership.

One of Dermot Doogan’s delightfully irreverent songs is entitled “Bishop for a Day”. Some of the words go :

There’s just one other thing that must be said : in the Church there are the leaders and the led.

I’m the bishop, don’t forget it; know your place, you won’t regret it.

You’re the arms and legs and feet, but I’m the head.

The words remind us of the long-established human tendency to power and privilege at the expense of human well-being, or of the purposes we are appointed to fulfil. We see examples

in :

• efficiency drives in corporate life which make thousands redundant, destroy basic dynamics of trust and commitment within an organisation, and often make short-term gains at the expense of the long-term well-being of both company and community
• the current (1999) scandals in the Olympic Games hierarchy, where people seem to feel that the appointment to a position of responsibility is really a ticket to privilege and all manner of perquisites and freebies
• in the Church today I detect at times a neo-authoritarianism in some of the clergy – one on TV the other night, for example, who said that because he was the Rector he had the power to tell people what was going to happen, and did not need to follow normal procedures of decision-making and financial approvals
• our collective abuse of the environment, despoiling God’s gift to us in Creation. The words of a Canadian Indian challenge us in this regard : “This land fed us all even before the white people came up North. To us she is like a mother that brought her children up”.

In contrast to such abuses of human power, Jesus offers us a different paradigm:  “The Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many”. From this develops a concept of leadership as service. The servant leader is not one who seeks to exercise power over others regardless of the impact upon them, but rather uses his/her power to achieve the well-being of others, and to work in partnership with them for the well-being of the whole.

Tonight’s service in which we re-enact the action of Jesus in washing the feet of his disciples symbolises this concept of leadership as service. We call today Maundy Thursday : ‘Maundy’ comes from the Latin ‘mandatum’, which means ‘command’. Jesus said: “This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you.

The act of foot-washing symbolises the unity which loving service engenders between all members of the Body of Christ, and ultimately the unity of all living beings, and the earth itself. It also foreshadows Christ’s coming death on the Cross, for the purpose is the same – to show the humble and sacrificial love of God for us, and to call us into the same love for others.

The life of Jesus, and this symbolic act of foot-washing, reminds us that power is not something to be held on to at all costs, or to be used to lord it over others. Rather power is to be shared so that it empowers others, gives life to others, helps others find true fulfilment as sons and daughters of God, and to reach that wholeness which God wills for all.

At the 1998 Lambeth Conference there was a moving drama as the reds fought the greens symbolically with swords and staves. One by one different members fell to the ground “dead”. After some minutes the lights went down and it was “night”. Only two of the actors remained alive – one red and one green. They put down their weapons and settled down to pass the night. One had matches and lit a fire. The other had food which the two shared together. They talked for most of the night, sharing their own lives and background, talking of family and friends, expressing their hopes and dreams for the future. When “morning” came they leaped up, reached for their weapons and prepared to continue the battle. But they were strangely disempowered, and at last one said to the other : “My brother, now I have heard your story I can no longer fight you”.

The drama and its message was particularly powerful because it was set in the context of the Genesis story where Jacob wrestles with God’s angel at the ford of Jabbok, and says : “Truly, I have seen God face to face”. Next day Jacob has the fearful task of going to meet Esau to make amends for stealing his elder brother’s birthright. Jacob approaches Esau with manifold gifts in reparation, but finds Esau already surrounded by great riches and in a mood to forgive his penitent brother and be reconciled. Jacob, overcome with emotion by this unexpected forgiveness, says to Esau : “My brother, to see your face is like seeing the face of God”.

Here we discern the deep essence of the Maundy Thursday drama. We know that divisions between those of us who think ourselves to be “up and running” and those we consider “down and out” are entirely superficial, for truly the experience of Christ’s love is shared freely with all. We discern also that when we truly know one another, including those from whom we feel most deeply estranged, we are set free to forgive and to be reconciled with all the brothers and sisters God gives us as neighbours. Our attitude to others becomes one of self-giving love, willing to wash their feet as Christ washed the feet of his disciples.

This truth lies at the heart of the Maundy Thursday drama, and we see it lived out again with deeper sacrifice as we contemplate Christ on Good Friday’s cross. May it be in the same spirit of Christ’s boundless love for others, and in fulfilment of his Maundy, or mandate, that we humbly wash the feet of others, and graciously accept their washing of ours.

To Discuss

1. In a world where humility is often construed as weakness, how can we serve others without being seen as a doormat?
2. In what ways might we “wash the feet of others” in our personal relationships, workplace and community?

On Palm Sunday, the beginning of Holy Week, we ponder the nature of evil and our own complicity in it. Includes the Cardinal’s deeply chafruned dialogue from the film The Mission.

In the winter of 1981 New Zealand sustained one of the longest periods of civil discontent since the waterfront strike 30 years earlier. Prime Minister Robert Muldoon, contrary to the advice of the Commonwealth heads of Government, had invited a Springbok rugby team to play a two-month series in New Zealand. Throughout this time Kiwis were treated to daily  news stories of demonstrations, police in riot gear, rolls of barbed wire around football grounds,  blocked roadways, military support, and pitched battles with protesters.

In Wellington one day I was part of an unauthorised protest march from the Town Hall to the Headquarters of the Rugby Union. We gathered on a crisp but bright winter’s afternoon, lining up in a column in the middle of the road, and chatting pleasantly with colleagues as we waited for the march to start. While our opposition to apartheid in South Africa was the very serious reason that brought us together, there was nonetheless a relaxed and somewhat euphoric mood abroad. Then suddenly, and I do not even recall how it happened, we were surrounded on each side by a solid and very menacing line of police. The euphoria vanished, replaced by uncertainty and fear of what lay ahead of us, and I felt myself challenged within to weigh very carefully the consequences of what I was about to do.

That incident in 1981 provides an insight as to what it might have been like for Jesus’ disciples in the events we recall this Holy Week. Palm Sunday was a day of relaxed and joyful euphoria as they entered triumphantly into Jerusalem, and yet that mood quickly vanished. The hostility of the crowds, and the menace of the Jewish authorities and Roman soldiers, struck fear into their hearts. All Jesus’ followers deserted him and fled. The crisis that Jesus’ mission provoked had now come to a head: people had to choose where they stood.

Jesus had a clear purpose in coming to Jerusalem. He came first to establish his Messiahship. He had chosen the time and place carefully, in accordance with the prophecies that the Messiah would appear at Passover at Jerusalem. He entered the city, not inconspicuously like a pilgrim, but boldly on a donkey and in accordance with Zechariah’s words (9.9) : “Your king comes to you triumphant and victorious, humble and riding on a donkey”. Dashing the hopes of those who were looking for a Messiah to overthrow Rome, Jesus made it clear that His kingdom was one of peace, not military might (Zech 9.10 : “He shall command peace to the nations”).

Jesus also brought to a head the deepening conflict between himself and the Jews. A Jew himself, Jesus nonetheless was a threat to the religious establishment of his day, challenging laws that over-rode human need (for example, healing people on the Sabbath); challenging those whose commitment to wealth, security and status made them blind to the truth of God in Christ; and, by reaching out to those who knew they were poor, upsetting those who felt themselves superior to such lowly souls.

Now this long-standing conflict erupts. The Pharisees and chief priests take council (John 11.47), alarmed by the fact that “the whole world has gone after him” (12.19), and Caiaphas advises that “it is better that one man should die than have the whole nation destroyed” (11.50). The hour of decision has come, and everyone – the Jews, the crowds, the Romans, Jesus’ friends and disciples – must now choose where they stand. Luke records (19.41, 42) that Jesus wept over the city because it “knew not the things that made for peace”, and failed to perceive the ultimate significance of his coming.

Today’s Scripture readings spell out what scholars are tending to call the meta-narrative of Jesus’ suffering. A meta-narrative really means the big picture, the plot, the framework which gives understanding to life and events, and to God’s relationship with humankind. The part of the meta-narrative we focus on today is that which helps us understand that in life the powers of evil in the world are lined up against the love and truth of God, and that now in the crucifixion and death of Christ we see that fundamental conflict lifted up for all to see in every age and place. In Jesus’ death we see that not only the Son of God, but all who are sons and daughters of God, become bearers of the pain evil inflicts, suffering and even dying in consequence. But in Jesus’ death and Resurrection we also see how that suffering is redemptive, transforming the lives of men and women who put their trust in Him, and changing for good the face of communities and nations.

In Isaiah 50 we read of a Servant who is to come in whom this pattern of suffering and redemption will be clearly seen. In Philippians 2 St Paul declares that in the humility and suffering of Christ, that which Isaiah foretold has come to fulfilment. In Matthew 27 we read the narrative that locates Jesus’ suffering and death in a specific time and place.

Later in the week we will focus on other aspects of the Passion, but today let us consider the nature of evil as we see it in Jesus’ time, and in our own. It seems to me that evil is promoted by three categories of people : those who actively promote it, those who can be talked into it, and those who stand by and let it happen. In Jesus’ time it was the religious leaders of the day who constituted the “promoting evil” group; Pilate was one who was talked into it against his own better judgment, not to mention his wife’s advice; and the crowds fell either into the “talked into it” group or the “stood by and let it happen” one.

Who constitutes those groups in our own times? In 35 years of ministry I have not found any in the first group in the Church, but I guess many of us would feel there are times when we have been talked into things against our better judgment. Certainly I can think of times when competing loyalties and pressures have caused me to grudgingly go along with some course of action I have not been innerly persuaded of. And I have no doubt that all of us have at different times allowed evil to flourish by standing by and taking no action, be it amongst family, friends or colleagues, or in the face of more wide-ranging social issues such as reconciliation with indigenous peoples, the sufferings of ordinary Iraqis from international sanctions, or policies and practices in corporations and communities where we live and work.

Complicity with evil is depicted in that very powerful movie “The Mission”. Set in 1750 in Argentina and Paraguay, it traces the conflict that had arisen between the colonial powers of Portugal and Spain on the one hand, and indigenous local tribes on the other. As ever, a dispute had arisen as the colonial powers sought to dislodge the local peoples from their land. In this dispute the Catholic hierarchy had aligned itself with the colonial powers, while Jesuit missionaries were deeply engaged with the local people promoting education, health, agriculture, housing and Christian formation.

The Jesuits were not passive and, as the dispute deepened,  a Cardinal was sent from Rome to investigate and report. He was deeply torn between loyalty to his European church masters, and his awareness of the inherent goodness and right of the work of the Jesuits. Indecisive in his ambivalence, he stood by as the military embarked on a campaign to burn indigenous villages and kill the priests and indigenous peoples. When the military rampage was over the Cardinal, torn by guilt, called the military commanders in and said :

Cardinal :  And you have the effrontery to tell me this slaughter was necessary?

Commander 1 : I did what I had to do, given the legitimate purpose which you sanctioned; I

                           would have to say Yes.

Commander 2 :  We had no alternative, your eminence; we must work in the world; the world

                             is thus.

Cardinal :  No, Senor – thus we have made the world……thus have I made it.

Later in the day the Cardinal wrote a report to the Pope, ending in these words : “And so, your Holiness, your priests and your people are dead, and I am alive. And yet in truth it is I who am dead, and they who live”.

I believe that evil triumphs more through complicity than design. Let us this Holy Week reflect upon our own complicity with the evils of our day, whereby we swell the numbers of those who crucify Christ.

To Discuss

1. Who would you see as a modern day Jesus (man or woman), and would be the forces that led to this person’s death?
2. What situations are there in today’s world where people might be suffering or dying because of our own silence or inaction?

Captivities of the body, mind and spirit find hope in the coming Messiah

Comfort, comfort ye my people. Advent is the time when our hearts are lifted by Handel’s Messiah, and those moving words from Isaiah 40.3 we have heard today:

Prepare ye the way of the Lord; every valley shall be lifted up,

and every mountain and hill made low; and the rough places plain.

Isaiah prophesied in the 8thC BC in Judah and Jerusalem, but today’s reading is from what scholars refer to as 2^nd Isaiah, 160 years later in 539BC, the year Israel’s 48-year captivity in Babylon was ended when Cyrus of Persia overthrew Babylon. It was a time of high hope for the exiled Jewish people, with the expectation that they would soon return to their homeland, which they did. The experience of the exiles captures the Advent theme of captivity and hope:

The glory of the Lord shall be revealed. Get ye up to a high mountain and cry:

‘Here is your God’, who will feed his flock like a shepherd.

We think of manifold captivities today:

• In places like Nigeria, and Gaza, Iraq and Syria, Afghanistan and the Sudan, the sufferers from Ebola. Where is hope for God’s afflicted and innocent people?
• In Aotearoa – the captivity of homelessness, poverty, children and parents living stunted lives deprived of the wherewithal to give kids a robust and confident start in life. Where lies hope?
• Personal captivity of age, loneliness, illness, bereavement, loss of a job, breakdown in a relationship, lives devoid of meaning and purpose, or an uncertain future. Where is hope?
• And there is the captivity of the comfortable, the captivity of complacency, self-satisfaction, which allows 65%of Kiwis to believe the poor have only themselves to blame. God comforts the afflicted, but afflicts the comfortable Are we among them? Is there hope for us also?

Advent is a time to reflect on our own captivities, past and present. What have been, or are, the times of captivity in our lives? And how did they end? Or do we wrestle with them still? I well recall some times in my life when I have felt up against a vocational brick wall – feeling I had come to an end of the job I was in, but seeing no way ahead. But new things emerged in a way I was not expecting, and which I can only see as the grace of God.

All our hope is quite simply in the Lord: The Lord comes with might, proclaims Isaiah, and Mark echoes the theme in his opening Gospel words. Mark spends no time on Jesus’ genealogy, or the birth narratives of Matthew and Luke. He cuts right to the chase announcing the beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the son of God. And he follows up with those words of Isaiah: Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight.

At once John the Baptist appears in the wilderness, calling the people to a baptism of repentance, of turning again to the Lord.  John was a striking figure:

Clothed with camel’s hair, a leather belt around his waist; eating locusts and wild honey.

John did not dress in fine clothes or dine in rich palaces, but stripped away worldly pretensions to better proclaim his message. There was a mood of expectation as people from the whole Judaean countryside and Jerusalem went out to him. Captives under the occupying Roman regime and rapacious landowners and tax-gatherers, they flocked to the desert in hope of liberation. And baptising them in water, John pointed to One who was yet to come:

One who is more powerful than I, One who will baptise you with the Holy Spirit.

John’s baptism in water was a baptism of repentance, but Jesus’ baptism in the Spirit would draw people into direct communion with God. The Saviour, the ultimate source of all hope, was near. Here centrally and deeply is the source of our hope: our communion with the living God, mysterious, other than us, yet present in the fullness of light and love, hope for all people.

Rowan Williams has said that in prayer he feels attended to. Not the prayer of words, but prayer found in silence, stillness, waiting, opening ourselves to God’s spirit that fills us. When nothing around us seems clear, here is our hope, God who is light in our darkness, strength in times of weakness, One always present so that we are never alone.

But for those who enjoy the captivity of the comfortable, God offers a different path to freedom, a path that follows in the way of John the Baptist and Jesus, standing with the last, the least and the lost. I have kept the words of a poem I read from this pulpit in 1971. New in the role of industrial chaplain I was preaching at the annual Civic Service, attended by Mayor Sir Dove-Myer Robinson, and local body leaders. Rewi Alley, a Kiwi who spent 60 years of his life in China as an educator, writer and advocate for the workers, was revisiting his homeland and wrote this poem, Auckland:

Weekend, and comes the sound of motor-mowers clipping neat lawns street after street.

And in gardens fig trees, lemons and grapefruit bear richly, a myriad flowers throw out their fragrance…

And people speak of world problems as though such were no pressing concern of theirs;

go on thinking that more and more prosperity is just around the corner and that the end of life is just to be comfortable and happy, protecting their children from hardship.

… no sea so blue as that of Auckland, no gulls whiter, no youth more straight-limbed and eager, and truly no place where challenge is greater for the new Oceania to be.

Rewi Alley was a member of the China Communist Party, and his words are prophetic, a challenge to break the bonds of captivity. To that challenge, Isaiah adds the word of promise that the Lord will be with the people to break the bonds and bring new hope. And John speaks of the One who is to come, the One in whom is the hope of humankind, the chosen one who baptises with Holy Spirit.

In Advent we await in hope the coming of that One, Jesus the Messiah, who calls us to join in the work of liberation. And we wait recalling the words of our Gradual hymn, remembering that:

the slow watches of the night also belong to God; that already on the hills the flags of dawn appear;

 the dawn of the day when justice shall be throned in might; when knowledge hand in hand with peace shall walk the earth abroad; the promised day of God.

St Matthew in the City, Auckland; 7 December 2014

Science and religion, interpreting scripture, contemporary challenges to faith linked to Jesus’ three temptations. Quotations from Rewi Alley, Jonathan Sacks and Michael Curry.

Thomas Hardy ‘God’s Funeral (c.1910, look up online) – a chilling poem then – as science and reason undermined traditional religion, and now – the same forces compounded by materialism and self-serving attitudes.

Archbishop (of Armagh) James Ussher in 17C calculated from scripture that the world was created around 6pm on 22 October 4004 BC  (see AV bible timeline).

Contrast Charles Darwin (Galapagos – NZ 1835) whose Origin of Species (1857) suggested not only an earlier date (13.7b years ago), but whose theory of evolution undermined a divine creation.

Three responses:

• Reject religion and adopttheism/ humanism
• Hold the line: Bible right!
• Weave religious truth with science

Those same responses today.  We need to weave faith within the context of 21C life.

KEY POINT: we must distinguish literal from symbolic interpretations. If we don’t:

• We become irrelevant (NB:Genesis 1 is not science or history)
• We miss the critical meaning -Gen 1 speaks of wholeness of creation, God at centre, our role as stewards

Gospel, Luke 4.1-13: Temptations of Jesus. A familiar story: you could argue whether there is really a devil, or whether the devil could put Jesus on top of the temple, and in the process miss the whole point. For the record:

• Spirit of evil, not evil spirits
• Story clearly symbolic, not literal

The three temptations: v. relevant today

• Stones/bread – materialism
• Kingdoms of world – power
• Jump from temple – fame by spectacular but superficial feats, rather than obedience to God.

Note Jesus’ responses: Not by bread alone; worship/serve only God

Relevance today

• 25% children live in poverty
• Foodbanks see growing demand
• Parents in despair – work hard
• 2^nd highest prison rate
• Majority of people generous as indivs but not for policy change
• “what’s in it for me?”
• Tweak round edges, no major change to make a difference

Rewi Alley (1973): Weekend, and comes the sound of motor-mowers clipping neat lawns street after street. And in gardens fig trees, lemons and grapefruit bear richly, a myriad flowers throw out their fragrance… And people speak of world problems as though such were no pressing concern of theirs; go on thinking that more and more prosperity is just around the corner and that the end of life is just to be comfortable and happy, protecting their children from hardship.

Politics driven by these attitudes – power wealth and fame. Supported by radio/TV hosts who pander to the superficial attractions of the Good Life to the superficial populist majority. In the 2020 USA presidential election only Bernie Sanders named clearly the priorities of poverty and the inequality between the wealthy few and the struggling masses on the margins.             

A quotation from Not in God’s Name: Confronting Religious Violence, a book by Britain’s former Chief Rabbi, Jonathan Sacks. “The old marriage of religion and culture has ended in divorce. Today the secular West has largely lost the values that used to be called Judeo-Christian. Instead it has chosen to worship the idols of the self: the market, consumerism, individualism, autonomy, my rights, and whatever works for you. The golden calf of the self has been raised by the Children of Israel in the wilderness again.”

Bishop Michael Curry Presiding Bishop TEC, USA) added: “I think he’s right. And that golden calf, that idol of the self, may well be the most destructive reality in human society. Self-centeredness, selfishness, call it what you will, frankly is a cancer that can destroy us all and that left unchecked will destroy the planet.”

Road to the Cross: in popular speak we say ‘many are being crucified in society today’ – meaning many are suffering through poverty generated by a self-centred majority.

But true crucifixion, theologically, is the suffering experienced by the prophets who speak truth to power, by those who give of themselves in compassion for others, who name injustice, who give of their substance to help those in need – all who walk the path of Jesus and pay the price of rejection, unpopularity, loss of job or career, hatred and even death. This is the true road to the Cross: taking costly steps that make a difference in the lives of others. Bishop Michael Curry again: “Religion is completely and totally about the love of God and love of neighbour. And if it is not about love, it is not about God. “Love, the love of God, is about the sacrifice of self-centred interest for the good of the other, for the good and the well-being of others, for the common good. That’s the love of God.”

READING : Exodus 3. 1-12

The wilderness can be a scary place, but it is a place shot through with significance for followers of the living God. Here in today’s reading Moses, tending Jethro’s sheep, comes to Horeb (Sinai), the mountain of the living God. He turns aside to see the great sight of a bush which is ablaze with fire, yet is not burned up. He finds himself standing on holy ground, encountering the God who lives, who calls him to deliver his people from the bondage of Pharaoh.

Years later those people in pilgrimage through the wilderness come to Sinai again. Moses goes up the mountain and again encounters the living God, who this time calls the people into a covenant relationship based on the ten commandments of the Law.

Jesus’  pattern also was to withdraw himself regularly from the crowds in order to meet with God in a lonely place, to find holy ground where he might listen to his Father’s voice.

Some years ago an American Franciscan sister, Joan Puls, wrote a book with the insightful title Every Bush is Burning. Taking the concept of the burning bush she challenged us to see every person, every relationship, every event, and every space as a place where the living God is present. Holy ground is found not only in desert wilderness. God encounters us in all of life, and every place is made holy by the presence of God.

As we embark upon our Lenten pilgrimage in 2005, may we look for God in the bustle of life as well as in the quiet spaces. Let us allow God to burn in us, and may we burn as witnesses for the One who lives.

A question for reflection :  Where in my life do I encounter the living God? And how may I encounter God in my relationships with others?

A prayer (adapted from A New Zealand Prayer Book) :  O God, you are the God of sunrise and sunset; of mountains and valleys, grass and scree; of kauri and pine, dolphins and kahawai; of kiwi and sparrow and tui and hawk; of Maori and Pakeha, women and men. May we encounter you afresh in every person and place, and know that the whole world belongs to you, and that we are both the sheep of your hand and your disciples in the journey to which you call us. Amen.

Wellington Cathedral of St Paul, EPIPHANY 9.1.22

Epiphany cards tend to get mixed up with Christmas cards. The Epiphany cards are the ones about the three kings, or the three wise men. I always love the one from a feminist perspective: Three wise men? You must be joking!

Epiphany or 12^th night was last Thursday. The word means manifestation, and in the church calendar is the manifestation of Christ to the Gentiles, the gentiles being all those races beyond Israel, you, me all races in every age.

Jesus’ mission was primarily to Israel, but always with the wider universal mission to all people, which followed from Pentecost.

Today’s Gospel says the people were waiting expectantly, standing on tip-toes, as one preacher said. It was a time of disillusionment, dissatisfaction with the existing order which did not satisfy.

And so in Peter Cornelius’ moving carol, three kings come from Persian lands afar, following a star, and bearing gifts of gold, incense and myrrh for the new-born king…

What was the start? Astronomers speculate about Halleys comet (11BC) or the Conjunction of Jupiter and Saturn (7BC), but both dates seem a little early. Whatever, a bright light led the travellers on to Bethlehem.

The kings, or magi, were from the gentiles, on a spiritual pilgrimage to find new life in Christ.

In 1927 T S Eliot wrote his very evocative poem. The Journey of the Magi. In that year he also became a British citizen and an Anglican, and church-warden in his local London parish. Let’s read a few lines.

A cold coming we had of it,
Just the worst time of the year
For a journey, and such a long journey:
The ways deep and the weather sharp,
The very dead of winter.

There were times when we regretted
The summer palaces on slopes, the terraces,
And the silken girls bringing sherbet….

Then at dawn we came down to a temperate valley,
Wet, below the snow line, smelling of vegetation;
With a running stream and a water mill.

And arrived at evening, not a moment too soon.
Finding the place; it was (you may say) satisfactory….

All this was a long time ago,
were we led all that way for
Birth or Death?

There was a Birth, certainly,
We had evidence and no doubt.
I had seen birth and death,
But had thought they were different; this
Birth was Hard and bitter agony for us,
like Death, our death…
We returned to our places, these Kingdoms,
But no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation,
With an alien people clutching their gods.

This is a powerful poem for a people disillusioned, dissatisfied, looking for something new. It is true of every generation, of you and of me. Maybe we have lost our purpose in living, or feel the deadness of grief or a broken relationship.

Maybe we find that materialism no longer satisfies, or that hedonism and silken – silken girls bringing sherbet has lost its fun.

But the magi found spiritual rebirth in Christ. They found Jesus as the midwife of a new birth. Any birth can be painful as we let go of the old dispensation with all the idols we cling to.

The Archbishop of Canterbury, Rowan Williams, has asked : “What difference would it make if I believed I am held in a wholly loving gaze which saw all my surface accidents and arrangements, all my inner habits and inheritances, all my anxieties and arrogances, all my history, and yet loved me wholly with an utterly free, utterly selfless love

And what difference would it make if I let myself believe that each person around me is loved and held in the same overwhelming, loving gaze, and that this love made no distinctions of race, religion, age, innocence, strength or beauty?”

That is the message of Epiphany, that God loves us utterly, warts and all, and that that same love holds everyone else with the same intensity so that we are driven out to love everyone with the same love with which God loves us.

The carol of three Kings concludes: gold, incense, myrrh thou can’st not bring: offer thy heart to the infant king; offer thy heart.

A Collect for Epiphany: Jesus, light of the world, let your star shine over the place where the poor have to live; lead our sages to wisdom and our rulers to reverence. Hear our prayer for your love’s sake. Amen

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