Category: Major Festivals (page 3 of 3)

Spiritual & Ethical Insight

Whatever else 2012 will be, we know already it is the year of the American presidential election. As two republican candidates slugged it out in the recent South Carolina primary, headlines proclaimed one to be experienced in serial and open marriage, and the other to be good at minimizing his tax obligations. Voters seemed to feel the latter was more serious than the former, but will there be a reversal in Florida?

In terms of American foreign policy, a recent commentator distinguished between presidents who engage in wars which have no justification other than serving the national interest, and  squander thousands of human lives and huge financial resources, with presidents whose foreign policy has broader global objectives of building a world where international teamwork, justice and freedom are the outcomes. 

Another feature of the American political scene is that it seems driven more by ideologies than by a flexibility that focuses on what works best for those in need. Debates about health, housing or education degenerate too quickly into ideological warfare about the role of government vis-à-vis individual freedoms, or the levels of taxation and public provision. The poor are forgotten.

By contrast we see people of huge wealth such as Warren Buffet and Bill and Melinda Gates who give away vast tracts of their income to assist those in need. These are not just philanthropists: they are also strong advocates for policy changes that will improve the lot of the poor both at home and abroad.

All these same dynamics play out, of course, in New Zealand: what we see writ large on the American scene should give us clues as to what look for here.

All of which has a direct connection with today’s Gospel (Luke 2.22-40) when Mary and Joseph bring the infant Jesus to be presented in the temple. Three times it is mentioned that this is in accordance with the Law, so that Jesus is seen to stand fair and square in the Jewish tradition. Jesus’ presentation as the first-born male is linked to the purification (today we call it thanksgiving) of the mother after childbirth. The Law required an offering of a lamb and a turtle-dove or pigeon. In the case of the poor, however, a pair of the pigeons or doves could substitute for the lamb. Jesus and his family thus stand very much with God’s poor. It is thus clear that Jesus’ mission stands clearly in the Jewish tradition: “to do justice, love mercy and walk humbly with one’s God (Micah 6.8).

And now we come to Simeon, that old man, righteous and pious, to whom it had been revealed by the spirit that he would not see death before seeing the Lord’s messiah. Three times it is said that the Holy Spirit guided him to recognize the messiah in the infant Jesus. We sing Simeon’s song at choral evensong as the Nunc Dimittis: Lord, now let your servant depart in peace, for my eyes have seen your salvation for all people”.

So Luke sets it out unequivocally that Jesus stands in the Jewish tradition and in fact fulfils that tradition as the long expected messiah, God’s chosen one for the salvation of the world. The fact that he is to be both a light to the gentiles as well as the glory of God’s people Israel foreshadows the universal nature of Jesus’ mission, and ours.

Then to underline it all we hear the endorsement of Anna, the prophetess who had “grown very elderly, never left the temple grounds and worshipped night and day with fasting and prayer”. She arrived at the same time as Simeon, praised God and “kept speaking about Jesus to all those waiting for the liberation of Israel”.

But what is the salvation which Jesus brings? There was a time 1000 years earlier when under Kings David and Solomon Israel had been like a modern-day Singapore – a small nation at the crossroads of international trading routes, and thus having huge wealth and political influence. But those days were long gone. Successive attacks by large nations such as Babylon and Persia had reduced Israel to vassal status. In Jesus’ time the once-proud nation had been reduced to a small and peripheral colony of the Roman Empire.

For some the Lord’s salvation meant throwing off colonial oppression and restoring the nation’s status of 1000 years before. To those who thought thus Simeon’s words to Mary would have been unwelcome, that “this child will cause the fall and the rise of many within Israel” and “a sword shall cut through your soul”. Simeon is saying that far from the messiah bringing on the good times once more, Jesus will be a source of division, and grief. The path he is destined to tread will lead to the Cross, but from his suffering and death will come salvation for all.

Jesus’ reign is not to be measured in terms of national wealth, power and status, but rather in terms of Mary’s words in the Magnificat: “God has pulled down the mighty from their thrones, and exalted the lowly. He has filled the hungry with good things, but the rich he has sent away empty” (Luke 1. 52,53).

The key feature in today’s Gospel is the perception by all the key players as to God’s ultimate purpose. Mary and Joseph saw it; so did Simeon and Anna. They were all steeped in the tradition of their faith. Simeon and Anna spent the days of their old age in prayer and fasting and study of the scriptures. They saw clearly the nature of salvation, and the cost that often accompanied it. They could recognize by the spirit that Jesus was God’s messiah, by whom everything else in life had to be measured.

Which brings us back to where we started with the American presidential election: that in every age it is the vocation of the Christian to be so clear in our vision of God’s purposes that we can see, speak and act prophetically in critique of the world around us. In every nation there are those who see it, whose spiritual and ethical vision is 20/20, and others who don’t. And to be honest, there are bits of each in each of us.

Through our life of prayer and study of the scriptures, you and I need to have that 20/20 vision of Mary and Joseph, Simeon and Anna, and be the prophets of our own times.   

Lord, Change the World, Beginning with Me

S0me years ago we awaited the dawn of a new millennium. There was much debate :

• which year was it : 2000 or 2001?
• who would see the sun up first? (like this year, too damp to see)
• all eyes on NZ for effect of Y2K bug
• calls for a new order of global peace.

Perhaps we weren’t too surprised little changed :

• not long till 9/11 set off a whole new conflagration in Afghanistan and Iraq, with terrorist attacks in many countries, some uncomfortably close to us eg Indonesia
• Bob Geldof and the Make Poverty History campaign, and the campaign to cancel debt, remind us of the grinding poverty of many, a poverty which could be fixed with a fraction of the money spent on armaments
• Climate Change the new global agenda
• inter-religious debates, some with violent overtones (eg Danish cartoons)
• modernist attacks on Christianity, claims that now the Church was trying to muscle in on Christmas, Richard Dawkins and The God Delusion.

In the words of the Christmas carol : Yet with the woes of sin and strife, the world has suffered long; beneath the angel-strain have rolled two thousand years of wrong. lChristmas reminds us that into this world where. maybe it all seems too hard and hopeless, and we are wearied and disillusioned with the effort, the boundless energy and love of God in Christ springs always fresh into our lives and our world. Our readings this morning speak of the images of youth :

• 1 Samuel 2, 18-20, 26 :here is the young boy Samuel whom his mother Hannah had dedicated to the service of the Lord, and living at the Temple with the ageing priest Eli : his mother brought him a little tunic each year. Samuel grew in stature and in favour with God and people
• Luke 2. 41-52 : this story linked to that of the boy Jesus, aged 12, making the journey to Jerusalem with his parents, sitting among the learned ones of Judaism, listening, asking questions, offering insights so that they were amazed at his replies.

It is the spirit of youth that counts, God’s spirit of compassion that brings a lasting justice and peace that encompasses every living creature on Earth, and the Earth itself. That spirit can be alive in older members of the community, and unformed in the young : age is no determinant.

Christmas reminds us that the power of God is found in weakness and humility, not in displays of military, financial or political power.  This became clear in Vietnam, and again in Iraq and Afghanistan : overwhelming military muscle can be defeated by small-scale insurgent groups that vanish into the bush or the urban network. In democracies politicians lose power as public opinion turns against them. As it is said, where the people lead, the politicians will follow.

It comes back to us, to follow in Jesus’ way of a love that warms rather than compels. We have challenges to face in this country : the poverty of many, the violence in our homes and community, the challenge of a changing climate.

But I am heartened by :

• the recent service of awards of the Order of St John – ambulance drivers, rescue workers, first aid instructors – people giving their time and skill, in risky situations
• Oxfam gifts : for $100 the metal from a Kalashnikov is turned into hoes and sickles, for $2500 a tank; Goats for peace, $50.
• social workers, teachers, police, church agencies, all on the front line in the efforts to bring enhanced life to people on the edge.

The Church has no need to be defensive of its truth or witness : it is evident to all who have eyes to see and ears to hear.

We also need to deal with our own internal poverty. Mother Teresa reminds us that “sometimes the rich are much poorer; they can be lonely inside, and always wanting something more. The hunger for love is much more difficult to remove than the hunger for bread”.

And Mary, as she listened to her son, Jesus, “stored these things in her heart”. As we come to 2007 we know that we too can store the truth of Jesus in our hearts, and let that truth change our lives, and God’s world.       

The things that move us deeply are embodied perfectly in the Christ child whose birth we celebrate this night.

I don’t know if it’s because I’m getting old and soft in the head, but I find myself with tears in my eyes more than I used to. I feel deeply moved when I watch the sufferings of millions from war, poverty and natural calamities. How long can hope and courage last? The tears speak of the intense love which as human beings we have one for another, a divine love seen in a baby in a manger.

And I think of a little girl who was assaulted and how people from all over New Zealand had swamped her with Christmas gifts- so many that her parents were now sharing them with other sick children in the hospital. The generosity of Jesus moves us to reach out to others.

Like those young people today who dream of a better world where people care for the earth and for each other, and go out with Greenpeace, or move to the poorest parts of Africa where they act as doctors, or teachers, or agricultural mentors, often putting their own lives at risk in the process. And let’s not forget older people who likewise follow such visions and dreams in their compassion and work for justice.

I am moved also when I watch and listen to young mums and dads, and grandparents too, talking to their kids, as they take them around town. Here one generation is passing on Jesus’ love and wisdom to the next.

And I can be moved by the generosity and goodness of others, or by the richness and beauty of life and nature which surround us.

Now if you connect the dots you can see easily why deep feelings are a very Christmas theme. Because the things that move us most are embodied perfectly in the Christ child whose birth we celebrate this night. His nature was one of love and compassion; he stood with the poor and the outcast; he responded generously and unstintingly, and challenged the untruths of institutions and the fickleness of the powers that be, eventually dying on a cross. All this was possible because he walked closely with God at the heart of life.

Love, faith, prophetic courage, sacrifice, justice, peace – such are the things that make up our spiritual DNA; they are timeless in nature, a timelessness captured by the words of tonight’s Gospel: “In the beginning was the Word; the Word was with God, and the Word was God”. These things have always been. In Jesus the divine building blocks of human life are there for all to see.

His was a light that illumines our darkness: ‘The light shines in the darkness’, says John, ‘and the darkness has never overcome it’.

After that it becomes a question of discernment. Can we see the light in our midst? Can we make it part of our life so that we live the divine truth revealed to us? Many of the people of Jesus’ time could not see it, or would not. John again: ‘he was in the world, yet the world did not know him’.

‘But to all who received him, who believed in his name, he gave power to become children of God, who were born not of flesh, nor of human will, but of God. The Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory of God’s only son, full of grace and truth’.

     *      *      *

All manner of things shall be well.

In Christian thinking the word ‘saints’ was applied to all members of the Church. A saint was someone set apart, or consecrated in the service of God, and through our baptism all of us are saints. But in time the word came to be used for just the great saints, like St Peter, or St John, so the Church decided another day was needed for all the rest of us. That day was called All Souls Day. Each year All Saints Day is observed on 1 November, while All Souls is on 2 November, and hence it is on the latter day (or close to it) that we gather as we do this evening to remember all souls, and especially those closest to us as members of our family.

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. For many that loss is very recent, and at funerals this year we have joined in this cathedral, or at St Mary’s or St Stephen’s, to commend those souls that have been dear to us into the hands of God. For some the memory is longer and yet still fresh. I remember each year my brother Michael who died of an illness aged 33 : that was over 30 years ago, and yet there is still a gap in our family circle. I never find conducting a funeral to be routine. Every person and every family is unique. Yet the death of one in another family brings to the surface deaths in our own. We are reminded of our shared humanity, and also our shared mortality. 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, our mortality is also the gateway 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, we are reminded of those things that truly matter in life. In days gone by when funeral eulogies were often very stiff-upper-lip, a suited male would recite the salient points of someone’s public life, like a CV in retrospect. Those public features of someone’s life still gain a mention, and properly so, but today eulogies are usually of a different kind. They are delivered by family members and friends, often by children and grand-children, and not at all stiff-upper-lip but often 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. Mortality reminds us of a gift too precious to lose.

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. To officiate in a cathedral like this, and more particularly in St Mary’s, is to have a sense of the great sweep of human history. There are photos and memorials of our ancestors, as you find in a Maori meeting-house, but more important is the spirit of timelessness, of eternity, of a great over-arching drama in which each of us plays a part. Each of us in turn receives life. Each of us has the 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. We give our loved ones up, recalling the words from Wisdom 3. 1, 9 : “ The souls of the righteous are in the hands of God;…. those who trust in God will understand truth; the faithful will abide with him in love. Grace and mercy are upon his holy ones”. We may understand ‘holy’ here in the same way as all saints, and all souls. 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. The lifetime experience of love is especially real to us at the time of parting. To experience love is to experience God, for God is not some remote and abstract entity. God is love. Human love is the expression of a divine love that never leaves us comfortless. In the night-time of grief, when the 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. We have different images of God, but for me the most powerful is that of God as spirit, as we heard in the reading from John 3 this evening. Here Jesus is saying to Nicodemus that those who are born of the spirit are like the wind : you know not where it comes from, or where it goes. But the wind, the spirit of God, carries us, and wherever it puts us down will be OK. That is faith, to know 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.