vocation

 

The siblings Martha, Mary, and Lazarus might be my favourite family in the Bible. Part of their story comes up in the Gospel passage set for this coming Sunday. It is, among many other things, an account of vocation.

Martha’s vocation is to minister to others (to be a deacon) through acts of service and hospitality, that bring people together in an alchemy that transforms strangers into friends. She has been living out this vocation by hosting the community of apprentices to Jesus in her town for some time.

Mary’s vocation is to spread the aroma of Jesus, the one who would share in our death and come back for us, to lead us on the path of Life. And to bear witness to this. To watch over Jesus (and the myrrh that speaks of his dying) until that day (and beyond). She has been living out this vocation by travelling from place to place seeking out people of peace.

Lazarus, who may well have been disabled in various ways, and whose life at the very least invites us to re-evaluate how we view those who live with disability, has the vocation of being close to Jesus, of participating in his suffering and dying, and rising again to the seat of honour.

When Mary pours out myrrh to anoint Jesus’ feet, she is criticised by Judas. Jesus rebukes Judas, telling him to leave her alone. The word Jesus chose might mean to give a slave their freedom or to write a certificate of divorce. The point is that Mary does not owe Judas anything. And this is not the first time that Jesus has made this point. On an earlier occasion, when Martha had asked Jesus to find Mary out in the surrounding villages and tell her to return home to serve alongside her sister, Jesus effectively tells Martha to leave Mary alone, to let her go to live out her own vocation.

Judas also has a vocation, entrusted as he is with the common purse, to distribute resources as they are needed. Yet unlike Martha, Mary, and Lazarus, who live out their vocations, wrestling with questions and frustrations and challenges of many kinds, Judas chooses to exploit the life he has been given for personal gain, in power and wealth. It is a choice we have too.

Every person has a vocation, a particular call or indeed callings spoken over their life by God, an invitation to be in the world in a particular way, to experience life from a particular perspective, to shape the world as only we can, in interdependent cooperation with others. Some of those callings are life-long, some for a season of life. All are intended to be life-giving and life-affirming, to us and to those around us.

What is your vocation, or vocations?

What are you wrestling with as you seek to live that vocation out in the world?

What holds you back?

John 12.1-8

‘Six days before the Passover Jesus came to Bethany, the home of Lazarus, whom he had raised from the dead. There they gave a dinner for him. Martha served, and Lazarus was one of those at the table with him. Mary took a pound of costly perfume made of pure nard, anointed Jesus’ feet, and wiped them with her hair. The house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume. But Judas Iscariot, one of his disciples (the one who was about to betray him), said, ‘Why was this perfume not sold for three hundred denarii and the money given to the poor?’ (He said this not because he cared about the poor, but because he was a thief; he kept the common purse and used to steal what was put into it.) Jesus said, ‘Leave her alone. She bought it so that she might keep it for the day of my burial. You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me.’

 

hopeful

 

This Lent, I have been hosting a series of conversations around the theme of hope.

Today, I began by telling part of the story of Jacob, as a way into a wide-ranging conversation which I shall try to summarise below.

This is a story of sibling rivalry as old as the hills. Jacob and his twin brother Esau are not the kind of twins who are inseparable. Esau is their father’s favourite son; Jacob is their mother’s favourite. Esau is a “man’s man”; Jacob keeps his cards close to his chest and seeks to manipulate circumstances to his advantage. As their father approaches death – an old man with cataracts, a vulnerable adult in the language of our day, victim of financial abuse by his own wife and son – and seeks to put his affairs in order, Jacob presents himself before him with goat skin tied to his forearms, to pass as his hairy, earthy smelling brother. Isaac is confused but is persuaded to give his blessing: to confer on ‘Esau’ the bounty of the earth, the gift of bread and wine, and lordship over his brothers.

In this world – the world of the text, a very different world from our worldview, but perhaps it is the text that sees true and we who see false – blessings have an impact on reality, shape the world we live in and our experience of it. Blessings both release us into a potential future and tie us to the same.

Esau comes home and uncovers his brother’s deceit, and he is angry enough to kill. Jacob runs for his life. He keeps running – for Esau is an expert hunter, and if anyone can track and kill a man, it is him – until the sun has set, and then, exhausted physically and mentally, he takes a stone for a pillow and lies down to sleep.

God comes to him in a dream. In his subconscious – the God-given means by which, our over-stimulated conscious mind stilled, we make sense of what we have experienced.

In his dream, Jacob stands in front of a ziggurat that reaches into the sky, with messengers from God ascending and descending its steps. And God is standing next to Jacob, visible out of the corner of his eye. The very edge of the subconscious.

God does not rebuke him for his deceit (what? where is the justice in that, God!?) but takes Isaac’s blessing as the reality with which they must all work now. And God promises that no matter where Jacob goes, God will go with him, eventually bringing him back; and that through him and his descendants many others will be blessed.

In other words, God does not annul the blessing Isaac conferred but holds Jacob accountable to fulfil it: ‘you may have thought you were getting all the blessings flowing to you, but in fact blessing will flow through you to many others.’ With privilege comes responsibility (ah, so this is what justice looks like, in this instance, and assuming that God will hold us to account).

Here is the thing. We are not given this story because Jacob is a person of especial interest. We are given this story because it speaks to what it is to be human, and to what it is to be God. Of what we, and God, are like.

If we are entirely honest with ourselves (as our conscious mind sometimes refuses to be) we are all frightened of something, are all running from something. And God is the god who stands next to us – as Emily Dickinson put it – to Tell All The Truth, But Tell It Slant. Saying, ‘I know of what you are afraid, from what you are running; and though I cannot stop you from running, know that I will run alongside you, and, when you are ready, will bring you back to where you need to be. Moreover, I will bless you. Know that I am not an old man with cataracts in the sky, from whom you can trick – manipulate – a blessing. I bless you because I love all my children, and give to each what it is they need, including agency and dignity. I will bless you, and others will be blessed through you. I will do this at times despite and at times even through your bad choices.’

And that, I think, is grounds for hope.

God stands beside us. But will we notice? We are so distracted that we do not give ourselves the space we need, to let our subconscious unfurl. We can be switching between three screens at once, each a portal into a virtual world, each a barrier to the unseen world that is more solid than the one our conscious mind can see. We are assaulted: worry over this! be outraged by that! And yet. The sun is shining. The birds are singing. God stands beside us, truth-telling, slant.

Slow down. No, slower than that.

 

passion

 

John 12.1-8

‘Six days before the Passover Jesus came to Bethany, the home of Lazarus, whom he had raised from the dead. There they gave a dinner for him. Martha served, and Lazarus was one of those at the table with him. Mary took a pound of costly perfume made of pure nard, anointed Jesus’ feet, and wiped them with her hair. The house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume. But Judas Iscariot, one of his disciples (the one who was about to betray him), said, ‘Why was this perfume not sold for three hundred denarii and the money given to the poor?’ (He said this not because he cared about the poor, but because he was a thief; he kept the common purse and used to steal what was put into it.) Jesus said, ‘Leave her alone. She bought it so that she might keep it for the day of my burial. You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me.’

This coming Sunday marks the start of Passiontide, the final two weeks leading up to Easter. The word Passion derives from the Greek paschō, which means ‘to be done to’ (in contrast to poiō, ‘to do’). Throughout the Gospels to this point, Jesus has been at work (while, as John puts it, it is still day). He is the active agent in the story, calling men and women to apprentice to him, healing the sick, driving out demons, raising the dead, asking probing questions, teaching, telling stories. But there comes a point in the Gospels (it is towards the end of the story they tell, but they give as much attention to these several days as they have given to the previous several years) where Jesus shifts from being the one who does to the one who is done to by others. Hence, the Passion of Christ, or Passiontide.

Over these days, he will be handed over to his enemies, falsely accused, mocked, shamed, tortured, executed. All these are examples of treating another person badly. But before all this, John (at least) gives us an instance of his being done to, or treated, well. At a dinner held in his honour, where he will be served by others, Mary takes his feet into her hands and anoints them with perfume.

Jesus is staying in Bethany, with his dear friends, the siblings Martha, Mary, and Lazarus. This is his base when he visits nearby Jerusalem.

They are an unusual family unit in their culture. It is Martha, rather than Lazarus, who is the head of the family, and neither sister is married. This, taken with the observation that, unlike Martha and Mary, who are both highly articulate, Lazarus is silent in the Gospels, has led some scholars to believe that Lazarus may have had some form of learning disability that prevented him from living independently, and, after the death of their parents, left his sisters to care for him. This dependent, moreover in a culture that saw disability as evidence of sin, left the sisters an unattractive prospect to any potential husband. Indeed, they are sinful women by association.

But these sisters are, in any case, feisty women. We meet them at a point in Jesus’ ministry where he has sent out seventy(-two) apprentices to go ahead of him into every town he was travelling through. When he arrives at the place where Martha is the host of the community of apprentices (she is a deacon, which, in my own cultural context, is a clergy role) she is overwhelmed by the task, and asks him if he does not care that her sister, Mary, has left her behind to be one of those apprentices (those who sat at Jesus’ feet) who had gone out travelling the countryside? When he comes across her on his travels, could Jesus tell her to go home and help her sister with the ministry there? Jesus responds that Mary has followed her own vocation (evangelist) and that he would not ask her to take up Martha’s vocation (deacon) in its place.

More recently, Lazarus had fallen ill and died. Jesus had not responded immediately to the sisters’ request that he comes and heal their brother. Instead, he arrived when Lazarus had been dead for some days, and, having spoken with both sisters one-to-one, and wept with compassion for his friend, raised him to life again. This, and the resulting reputational impact, sealed Jesus’ own fate. Within short order, he, too, would be dead.

But not yet. And first there is time for his friends to hold a dinner in his honour. And as he reclines at the table, Mary takes pure nard and anoints his feet with it. This, Jesus interprets as preparing his body for burial. It is the act of a friend who knows that time is running out to do anything for the person she loves. When the time comes, and Jesus’ corpse is removed from the execution scaffold, two men will hastily prepare his body for burial (one of them, Nicodemus, is probably autistic – an expert in his field; struggles with non-literal language; prefers low-stimulus environments; misunderstands social cues – and will bring ridiculously too much embalming oils and spices) and when the women turn up after the Sabbath is over to do the job properly, they will discover the body has gone.

Mary takes pure nard (perhaps this was her inheritance; perhaps she had already used some of it when they prepared Lazarus for burial) and anoints Jesus’ feet and wipes them with her hair. And the house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume.

She, who has walked behind a Jesus and apprenticed to him and so also walked ahead of him now approaches closer than before and fulfils her apprenticeship. In this act she is indistinguishable from Jesus, who at another meal in the coming days will wash his apprentices’ feet. The apprentice has become like the Master, has become a master, ready to call apprentices of her own, who will learn to live the life God desires for us, in the Way of Jesus.

This is an act of consolation, that draws Mary closer to Jesus. And this same act is for Judas a desolation, pushing him further away.

It is also the act of an evangelist, spreading the beautiful aroma of Jesus for all, however they choose to respond.

To apprentice to Jesus is often to be misunderstood. Even, at times, by fellow apprentices. But it is to choose to pour out our lives in love for him, in ways that others benefit from too. It is a craft, an extravagance, for love’s own sake.

And whatever else it may involve it is not possible without meal tables.

 

The Cross

 

The Cross:

a place to explore second chances, finding peace, what we do with our worries, leaving behind any we choose to bring to God …

and to learn about the crucifixion – and why the story does not end there.

 

Luke 23.32-43

Two others also, who were criminals, were led away to be put to death with him. When they came to the place that is called The Skull, they crucified Jesus there with the criminals, one on his right and one on his left. Then Jesus said, ‘Father, forgive them; for they do not know what they are doing.’ And they cast lots to divide his clothing. And the people stood by, watching; but the leaders scoffed at him, saying, ‘He saved others; let him save himself if he is the Messiah of God, his chosen one!’ The soldiers also mocked him, coming up and offering him sour wine, and saying, ‘If you are the King of the Jews, save yourself!’ There was also an inscription over him, ‘This is the King of the Jews.’

One of the criminals who were hanged there kept deriding him and saying, ‘Are you not the Messiah? Save yourself and us!’ But the other rebuked him, saying, ‘Do you not fear God, since you are under the same sentence of condemnation? And we indeed have been condemned justly, for we are getting what we deserve for our deeds, but this man has done nothing wrong.’ Then he said, ‘Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.’ He replied, ‘Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise.’

 

Have you ever had an answer to prayer?

Have you fulfilled your potential?

Where do you go to find peace?

 

Questions taken from https://table-talk.org/friends/

 

Is there something heavy you have been carrying (for example, anxiety about a situation in your life) that you would like to leave with God?

Take a nail from one of the bowls. Hold it in your hand. Think about the thing that you want to leave behind with God, and ask for the grace (that is, a gift from God) to do so.

Then hammer the nail into the cross, and when you are ready, walk away.

 

The Big Chair

 

The Big Chair:

a space to explore big issues such as who has power to change the world; to think about what we would ask God or what we would do if we were God for one day …

and to learn about Jesus on trial before Pilate and Herod.

 

Luke 23.1-12

Then the assembly rose as a body and brought Jesus before Pilate. They began to accuse him, saying, ‘We found this man perverting our nation, forbidding us to pay taxes to the emperor, and saying that he himself is the Messiah, a king.’ Then Pilate asked him, ‘Are you the king of the Jews?’ He answered, ‘You say so.’ Then Pilate said to the chief priests and the crowds, ‘I find no basis for an accusation against this man.’ But they were insistent and said, ‘He stirs up the people by teaching throughout all Judea, from Galilee where he began even to this place.’

When Pilate heard this, he asked whether the man was a Galilean. And when he learned that he was under Herod’s jurisdiction, he sent him off to Herod, who was himself in Jerusalem at that time. When Herod saw Jesus, he was very glad, for he had been wanting to see him for a long time, because he had heard about him and was hoping to see him perform some sign. He questioned him at some length, but Jesus gave him no answer. The chief priests and the scribes stood by, vehemently accusing him. Even Herod with his soldiers treated him with contempt and mocked him; then he put an elegant robe on him, and sent him back to Pilate. That same day Herod and Pilate became friends with each other; before this they had been enemies.

 

What questions would you ask God if you had the chance?

Why do you think today’s world is in such a mess?

Does it really matter who is in power?

What is the most significant world issue?

 

Questions taken from https://table-talk.org/friends/

 

This is a space to pray for the world.

You might want to pray about a Big Issue, such as war or climate change, or something closer to home, such as praying for your school or for a friend or family member.

Take a glass bead in your hand and use it to represent your prayer. Place it on the steps, to symbolise presenting your request before God. If you pray for a global situation, you might want to place your glass bead on the map instead.

 

The Charcoal Fire

 

The Charcoal Fire:

a space to explore friendships and fear, why good friends are important, how it feels when our friends let us down, and what we do when we let our friends down …

and to learn about Peter who denied knowing his friend Jesus.

 

Luke 22.54-62

Then they seized him and led him away, bringing him into the high priest’s house. But Peter was following at a distance. When they had kindled a fire in the middle of the courtyard and sat down together, Peter sat among them. Then a servant-girl, seeing him in the firelight, stared at him and said, ‘This man also was with him.’ But he denied it, saying, ‘Woman, I do not know him.’ A little later someone else, on seeing him, said, ‘You also are one of them.’ But Peter said, ‘Man, I am not!’ Then about an hour later yet another kept insisting, ‘Surely this man also was with him; for he is a Galilean.’ But Peter said, ‘Man, I do not know what you are talking about!’ At that moment, while he was still speaking, the cock crowed. The Lord turned and looked at Peter. Then Peter remembered the word of the Lord, how he had said to him, ‘Before the cock crows today, you will deny me three times.’ And he went out and wept bitterly.

 

What is your worst nightmare?

If you could change one thing about your life, what would it be?

What do you do when you are feeling down?

 

Questions taken from https://table-talk.org/friends/

 

This is a space for quiet reflection, perhaps on things that have gone wrong in your life.

You may like to stand at the fire to do this or simply sit around the edge of the space.

You don’t need to speak to anyone here. But there might be someone you need to go and talk with later.

 

The Last Supper

 

The Last Supper:

a space to explore storytelling and memory-making, food and family ties, what we would like to be remembered for …

and to learn about why we eat bread and drink wine to remember Jesus.

 

Luke 22.7-23

Then came the day of Unleavened Bread, on which the Passover lamb had to be sacrificed. So Jesus sent Peter and John, saying, ‘Go and prepare the Passover meal for us that we may eat it.’ They asked him, ‘Where do you want us to make preparations for it?’ ‘Listen,’ he said to them, ‘when you have entered the city, a man carrying a jar of water will meet you; follow him into the house he enters and say to the owner of the house, “The teacher asks you, ‘Where is the guest room, where I may eat the Passover with my disciples?’” He will show you a large room upstairs, already furnished. Make preparations for us there.’ So they went and found everything as he had told them; and they prepared the Passover meal.

When the hour came, he took his place at the table, and the apostles with him. He said to them, ‘I have eagerly desired to eat this Passover with you before I suffer; for I tell you, I will not eat it until it is fulfilled in the kingdom of God.’ Then he took a cup, and after giving thanks he said, ‘Take this and divide it among yourselves; for I tell you that from now on I will not drink of the fruit of the vine until the kingdom of God comes.’ Then he took a loaf of bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it and gave it to them, saying, ‘This is my body, which is given for you. Do this in remembrance of me.’ And he did the same with the cup after supper, saying, ‘This cup that is poured out for you is the new covenant in my blood. But see, the one who betrays me is with me, and his hand is on the table. For the Son of Man is going as it has been determined, but woe to that one by whom he is betrayed!’ Then they began to ask one another which one of them it could be who would do this.

 

What would be your ‘last supper’?

What do you want to be remembered for?

Who is the most important person in your life?

 

Questions taken from https://table-talk.org/friends/

 

This is a space for conversations. If there are others at the table with you, tell stories about family celebrations, of who and what matters most to you.

You might like to try one of the wafers in the chalice. This is not an act of Christian worship (they have not been consecrated for that purpose) so anyone can do this if you wish to; but please note that the wafers contain gluten.

 

The Great Procession

 

a space to explore belonging, hopes and dreams, where we invest our hope …

and to learn about Jesus entering Jerusalem along with crowds of pilgrims.

 

Luke 19.29-40

When he had come near Bethphage and Bethany, at the place called the Mount of Olives, he sent two of the disciples, saying, ‘Go into the village ahead of you, and as you enter it you will find tied there a colt that has never been ridden. Untie it and bring it here. If anyone asks you, “Why are you untying it?” just say this: “The Lord needs it.”’ So those who were sent departed and found it as he had told them. As they were untying the colt, its owners asked them, ‘Why are you untying the colt?’ They said, ‘The Lord needs it.’ Then they brought it to Jesus; and after throwing their cloaks on the colt, they set Jesus on it. As he rode along, people kept spreading their cloaks on the road. As he was now approaching the path down from the Mount of Olives, the whole multitude of the disciples began to praise God joyfully with a loud voice for all the deeds of power that they had seen, saying,

‘Blessed is the king
    who comes in the name of the Lord!
Peace in heaven,
    and glory in the highest heaven!’

Some of the Pharisees in the crowd said to him, ‘Teacher, order your disciples to stop.’ He answered, ‘I tell you, if these were silent, the stones would shout out.’

 

What has been the best day of your life?

What makes you happy?

Have you ever been to a sacred place?

 

Questions taken from https://table-talk.org/friends/

 

You might like to take a folded square of cloth from the table and wave it like a makeshift flag of banner to express something you are thankful for or looking forward to.

If there are others with you, you might like to tell them about these things, or even join in a parade of praise.

 

consoled

 

2 Corinthians 1.3-7

‘Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and the God of all consolation, who consoles us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to console those who are in any affliction with the consolation with which we ourselves are consoled by God. For just as the sufferings of Christ are abundant for us, so also our consolation is abundant through Christ. If we are being afflicted, it is for your consolation and salvation; if we are being consoled, it is for your consolation, which you experience when you patiently endure the same sufferings that we are also suffering. Our hope for you is unshaken; for we know that as you share in our sufferings, so also you share in our consolation.’

Consolation is anything that draws us closer to God, and to the healing of our woundedness and brokenness, and forgiveness of our sins, that was won for humanity by Jesus on the cross.

The opposite of consolation is desolation, which is anything that closes down our awareness of God, and pushes us deeper into woundedness, brokenness, and sin.

Using your imagination, find yourself as a child running around a play park. As you run, you trip and fall and cut your knee. You cry out to your mother, who is sitting on a bench at the side of the playground.

Your mother gathers you up in a cuddle, speaks soothing words in your ear, takes a wipe from her bag, cleans the cut, puts a plaster on it, and sits with you until you are ready to go back to play.

How do you feel? Safe. Secure. Loved. Healed (even though the cut will take time to heal) (this was the brilliant insight of one of the children at our service today).

Now imagine that instead your mother says, ‘Don’t be such a cry-baby, run along now and give me five minutes’ peace.’

How do you feel? Ashamed, of being weak.

The scenario didn’t change. In both, you fell and cut your knee. But the outcome was very different. In one, you experienced consolation; in the other, desolation.

Now imagine that it is Mothers’ Day. You have bought your mother flowers. And as you go to loft her favourite vase down from the dresser, it slips through your fingers, falls to the floor, and is broken. How do you feel, in that moment?

Imagine that your mother, hearing the noise, comes into the room, surveys the scene, and asks, ‘Are you alright? That was a nasty shock, wasn’t it? It’s alright to feel sad about the vase, but you don’t need to feel afraid of me. It’s alright. We can mend the vase, or if not, buy a new one, and make lots of memories with it, just like the old one.’

How does that make you feel? Relief, for starters. And your guilt is dealt with. (Both suggestions offered by people at our service today.)

Now imagine that instead your mother’s response was, ‘You’re so clumsy, you never take any care about anything, now you've ruined everything!’

How do you feel now? Ten times worse that you did, and you already felt bad enough to begin with.

Or what about this. Your mother responds, ‘Never mind, there’s no use crying over spilt milk, it was only a vase.’

How does that make you feel? I would describe that as false consolation. Well-meant perhaps, but this response invalidates sadness, does not enable us to sit with and become familiar with our emotions. It doesn’t acknowledge that things can have sentimental value. It trivialises how we feel.

Now imagine that you come home from school one day very upset because your best friend has done something that really hurt you.

Your mother says, ‘I am so sorry that happened, it feels horrid, doesn’t it? Do you know, I think Jesus understands. He had a best friend, Peter, who let him down when he most needed a friend. And afterwards, Peter felt awful too. But Jesus forgave him, and they mended their friendship. Shall we talk to Jesus about it? Lord Jesus, thank you that you understand. We are glad that this brings us closer to you. Would you help me to forgive my friend? Would you help them to forgive themselves? Would you give us the grace to mend our friendship, like you and Peter? Amen.’

That’s consolation.

Now imagine that your mother responds, ‘People will always let you down, you might as well find out now as later. Move on. You don’t need them in your life. They obviously weren’t a real friend anyway.’

That’s desolation.

Or what about this? ‘Oh well, never mind. How about an ice cream?’

That’s false consolation, seeking comfort in something other than the deep, deep love of God. In this instance, seeking comfort in food. And again, it dismisses difficult or painful emotions, instead of meeting them head on.

We are invited to be people who experience abundant consolation and called to bring others into that same experience of being consoled.

We don’t always get that right. It takes a lifetime to grow into this, receiving forgiveness and extending forgiveness where necessary (which is part of consolation). But Jesus meets us in our joys and sorrows and draws us to himself and one another. And one day, every wound will be healed, all that is broken will be made strong. Until that day, may we live as if it were so.

 

minefield

 

Here in the UK, tomorrow is Mothers’ Day (tied, perhaps unhelpfully, to the fourth Sunday of Lent, which, known as Mothering Sunday, had a pre-existing history of honouring the Church as the Mother who nurtured our faith).

Mothers’ Day is difficult for many people for a wide range of reasons and so becomes a minefield to navigate. But the thing about minefields is, they need clearing, not avoiding. Clearing minefields is, of course, a skilled task, and not one best done with the whole village present. Nonetheless, it serves the whole village to undertake such work, better than teaching generations to keep their distance.

There is a reason why psychiatrists ask their clients to tell them about their mother. Everyone had a mother, even if you never knew her, and everyone has baggage relating to their mother. Even those who have a good relationship with their mother. (And perhaps none more so than those who claim that their mother is their best friend.)

Everyone has things for which they need to forgive their mother; and things for which they need to forgive themselves in relation to their mother.

Everyone.

Learning to diffuse the improvised explosive devices that lie buried in our lives, or strapped around our chests, is patient but necessary work.

The same, of course, is true in relation to the Church, for those whose faith has been both shaped and misshaped by their experience of that Mother community.

Spare a thought for those who will face up to Mothering Sunday / Mothers’ Day tomorrow (on an hour's less sleep, as the clocks go forward tonight in the ironically named British Summer Time).

 

time, healed

 

They say that time heals all wounds.

That isn’t true. The truth is that time itself is wounded, in many places brutally so; and is being healed and made whole by the Wounded One in whom all of God's creatures, including time, are being restored.

 

all shall be well

 

We long for good things to happen to good people and bad things to happen to bad people. I am an avid reader and viewer of crime fiction, and long for the villain of the piece to receive their comeuppance.

God longs for good for all people. This is the desire of God, the one true desire, the one true will of the sovereign Lord of all creation. Ultimately, no false desire can resist this true desire, that none should perish but all be reconciled to God in Jesus and their find healing and wholeness, the salvation of their souls.

There are various villains at the foot of the cross. Pilate, Herod, Annas and Caiaphas, Judas, even Peter. And over each and every one, the verdict is spoken, ‘Father, forgive them.’

Each villain is drawn to Christ on the cross, and there, if not in the chronological moment but (beginning with Peter) in the cosmic event, they are reconciled to God, to their own shattered selves, to their neighbour, to the one they lifted high through whom the desire of God has been fulfilled and is being fulfilled and shall be fulfilled.

 

the gardener and the spade

 

Everything that exists is a creature of God. And because creation is so interconnected and interdependent, everything is caught up, to a greater or lesser extent, in the estrangement from God that resulted from the independence rebellion of a third of the angels.

Death is one of the creatures of God. As the hymn All Creatures Of Our God And King puts it:

And thou, most kind and gentle death,
waiting to hush our latest breath,
O praise him, alleluia!
Thou leadest home the child of God,
and Christ our lord the way has trod:
O praise him, O praise him,
alleluia, alleluia, alleluia!

Death, too, has been caught up in the estrangement; and death, too, is caught up in the reconciliation of all things in Christ.

Paul, writing to the church in Corinth, states that those whom Moses led out of bondage in Egypt two thousand years before the time of Jesus nonetheless participated in his life-giving life. Even though they made choices that led to their death, to a gracious limit on the effect of estrangement, death is not the end. As Paul writes to the church in Rome, he is utterly convinced that nothing in all creation, including death, is able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord. A great many Christians today do not share his confidence, but there we are.

Likewise, we who, from a chronological perspective are separated from Jesus by two thousand years in the other direction, are drawn to him, to the reconciliation of all things in him, which is won on the cross.

On one occasion, Jesus was asked about the deaths of some Galileans at the hand of Pilate. They died, Jesus responds, because of the estrangement between Jew and Gentile. And those who died when a tower collapsed on them died because of the estrangement between neighbours that allows one to put profit before the common good. Yet death is not the final horizon.

In response, Jesus told a parable about a fig tree that had failed to produce figs for the past three years and was threatened with being cut down. In the Bible, trees represent people. The fig tree stands for Israel, and beyond that the human condition, and under all of that the life of the human god Jesus. For three years, it has not produced figs. At this stage, Jesus has been going from place to place healing the sick, driving out demons, and teaching both the crowds and his disciples. Yet the restoration of Israel has not come about, as far as his critics can see. He has had his opportunity. Let him now be removed. But Jesus gently but firmly insists that his time has not yet come. Will not yet come for another year. For now, he continues with the unglamorous, painstaking, slow work of digging in fertiliser.

A year from then, Jesus would be hoisted up on an execution scaffold. Yet this was not the end, for he would transform the cross into the tree of life, the fruit-bearing tree. Here we see the true cry of humanity, ‘Father forgive,’ and the true response of God in giving the Son the gift he asks for, the life-giving Spirit. Here we see the Son glorify the Father through the Spirit, in loving humanity even to the extent in sharing in their death and returning the Spirit to the Father. And here we see the Father glorify the Son through the Spirit, rewarding his faithfulness with the life of the Spirit returned to him.

And all creation, whether it lies on the chronological horizon before or after this event, is being drawn to the cross, where all things are reconciled in Jesus, never to be estranged again.

This is a slow and hidden work, that takes as long as it takes. It takes in your history and mine, the healing of every wound you have suffered and every wound you have inflicted. To the naked eye, the fig tree of your life, or mine, may look barren, nothing to see here. And yet, the gardener has not given up. Still, he digs around us, gets deep into our roots. For those with eyes to see, it is possible to watch him at work, healing those parts of us that, chronologically speaking, are no longer present, our childhood, our past.

He will not lay down his tools until all creation is restored. All creation.

 

thou shalt not bear false witness

 

If you want to know the judgement of God on sinners – on all who, from time to time, fail to trust in God's goodness towards them – we find it on the lips of the human god Jesus on the cross: ‘Father, forgive them; they do not know what they do.’

This is both the true cry of humanity, in response to our common condition, and the true declaration of God, in response to our common condition.

All contrary utterances (‘Father, punish’) speak falsely, of both human nature and divine nature.

 

not my king

 

Whenever you come across a king in one of Jesus’ parables, you are NOT coming across God.

Christ is the true king, and he chooses to take the form of a servant. Indeed, he most often appears in his own parables as a servant – and often mistreated by a king who does terrible things. Like Aragorn in The Lord Of The Rings, Jesus moves through the Gospels incognito.

The kings represent, in the first instance, men who exercise earthly power over the lives of others. Also, by extension, the ways in which we seek to be the king of our own lives, rejecting the servant heart of God, the love of God for us in Jesus.

Therefore, the kings inflict violence. And whenever we proclaim that these kings are revelations of the nature of God, we demonstrate that our god is violence, control over others guaranteed by coercive force. Such proclamation is spiritual abuse; and underpins most if not all forms of abuse we see, from time to time but with monotonous regularity, in the Church.

 

in deep sh*t

 

Bad things happening to people is not evidence of God judging them. Indeed, death is not divine judgement, nor should we ever threaten it.

Once upon a time some people told Jesus that Pilate (the governor of the Roman province of Judaea) had violently put down some Galilean-led disorder at the time of a Passover. This raised questions for them, about the nature of God. Had God allowed this to happen because he did not approve of the men in question? Jesus refuted such a view; and added that unless they were prepared to change their understanding of God, they themselves would be caught up in human violence and not be able to understand it as such. Jesus himself would be killed at Pilate’s orders, and this would not be a sign of his sinfulness.

Jesus cited a further example: eighteen debtors who were killed when the tower of Siloam fell on them. These, Jesus insisted, were no worse debtors than anyone else living in Jerusalem, and this tragedy was not divine judgement. Unless they could understand that they would not be able to construct any sense when tragedy befell themselves.

Then, as Jesus habitually did, he told them a parable. A story thrown out to disrupt their thinking and, perhaps, enable them to see things from a different perspective. A man had a fig tree planted in his vineyard. Having given it three years to take root, he looked for fruit and found none. And so, he instructed his vinedresser to cut it down, so that the soil might be put to better use. But the vinedresser asked for one more year, that he might dig manure around the roots, and see if that might make all the difference.

Parables lead us down an easy path, only to turn us onto a different Way. Here we have a vineyard, a symbol of the nation of Israel. And so, the owner must be God. God has had enough of the apostasy of his people, of their fruitless lives, and calls for their destruction. But the prophet intercedes for his people, successfully persuading a vengeful God to show uncharacteristic albeit temporary mercy.

But this easy path will not do. The vinedresser is, indeed, Jesus. But Jesus does not pacify an angry Old Testament God. Jesus is the revelation of God. When we see Jesus, what we see is what God is like. And what humans are to be like.

What we see is that to be a sinner (a debtor, among debtors) in the hands of God is not to suffer terror; it is to suffer care: to be handled with care.

The man in this parable is not God, but us; and the fig tree is not Israel, but also us. (By us, in the first instance I mean the original heaters of the parable, and by extension all who hear the parable.) This is a parable about how we see others (the man considers the tree useless, as we often see others as useless) and how we see ourselves (often we consider our lives to be fruitless, which may result in despair, or may result in pleading with God to give us one last chance to turn our lives around).

Jesus is the vinedresser, who stands up to our violent tendencies towards others or towards ourselves, and who states his intention to dig in manure. To use the seemingly worthless reality of waste to produce fruitfulness. Committing to slow processes. Absorbing humiliation and transforming it into glory.

Unless we are able to see this, we will suffer much violence at our own hands and inflict much violence on others. The spiritual abuse of holding the threat of divine destruction over people. Such a stance is utterly anti the posture Jesus adopts.

To be a sinner in the hands of God is to be loved, to be nurtured, to be transformed by the tender heart and worn hands of Jesus. To surrender to his life reviving us from our dormancy.

Bad things happen. But all things are being reconciled to God in Christ Jesus. Including you.

A year after this exchange, Jesus will be cut down by men who did not approve of the fruit his life produced. He will suffer their violence, and God will reward his faithfulness even unto death on the cross with glory, a glory countless others receive a share in. Including you.

Luke 13.1-9

At that very time there were some present who told him about the Galileans whose blood Pilate had mingled with their sacrifices. He asked them, ‘Do you think that because these Galileans suffered in this way they were worse sinners than all other Galileans? No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all perish as they did. Or those eighteen who were killed when the tower of Siloam fell on them--do you think that they were worse offenders than all the others living in Jerusalem? No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all perish just as they did.’

‘Then he told this parable: ‘A man had a fig tree planted in his vineyard; and he came looking for fruit on it and found none. So he said to the gardener, “See here! For three years I have come looking for fruit on this fig tree, and still I find none. Cut it down! Why should it be wasting the soil?” He replied, “Sir, let it alone for one more year, until I dig round it and put manure on it. If it bears fruit next year, well and good; but if not, you can cut it down.” ’