Carpenter

 

For most of his adult life, Jesus was a carpenter in an agrarian society. This meant that he would have built houses; and also constructed, and repaired, agricultural tools: ploughs and yokes for breaking the soil, sickles for harvesting, threshing sledges for breaking open the harvested grain. This, in turn, would have involved a process of development that included trial and error, the deconstruction of certain received practices, and the construction of new ways that built on tried and tested traditions.

Reflecting, many years later, on the experience of having known Jesus, one of his disciples, John, wrote that anyone who constructs justice is a child of God, while anyone who practices missing that mark is a child of the devil; indeed, the children of God cannot construct injustice, for God’s own seed (which produces a harvest of righteousness) is planted in them. (See 1 John 3.7-10)

It is possible to imagine two ways of being a carpenter, one that intentionally constructs justice and another that deliberately undermines it. The latter makes tools they know won’t last, so that their customers will have to return again and again; perhaps they also cut a deal with some powerful figure to ensure their own monopoly, preventing the community from seeking better. In contrast, the former works to develop their skill, their craft, to put quality tools that will last generations into the hands of those who worked the land, by the sweat of whose brows the community was fed. Tools made with love, given in love.

And whichever way you choose to put into practice becomes second nature in time.

The regular discipline of Confession is a disruptive practice that undermines the possibility of constructing injustice before we can get going. It prevents a habit from forming, or, indeed, weakens a habit that we want to break and move on from. But it also has planted within it the seed of a new habit, the habit of loving God with every part of our being, and loving others as ourselves, wanting for them what we want for us. This is the seed that, in the fulness of time, produces a harvest of justice.

Confession is the plough that turns over the hard soil of our hearts.

 

fruitful

 

The fruitful vine is a metaphor employed by several of the prophets whose words are recorded in the Hebrew Bible. It stands for a community that has been restored, sometimes having been transplanted from one place to another, that has been re-established and is enjoying a new security, following a time of distress, defeat and (often) displacement. Isaiah sees it as something waiting three years from now (three being a symbolic number) with the grace of God and nature bridging the gap (2 Kings 19 // Isaiah 37).

It becomes a national symbol for Israel. On the night of his arrest, Jesus takes up this image, blesses it, breaks it, and shares it with his disciples, saying that he is the vine and they are the branches: alone, they can bear no fruit, but if they hide their lives within his life (which is about to pass through death, and rise again on the third day) they will bear much fruit.

As often the case with metaphors, living a fruitful life is easier to understand than to explain. And easier to see in others than in ourselves. But the world around us tells us that we should be fruitful and that the way to be more fruitful is by greater resolve, planning, and action; and especially if last year was a hard one, if our resolutions ground to a halt in the deep gravel run-off of February:

“2024 will be the year that I run that marathon/lose weight/become a better person/fill in the gap.”

In contrast (not that plans, or action are necessarily bad) Jesus says that the key to fruitfulness is connection to him, in whom humanity and divinity are joined.

I am grateful to those who reveal to me the fruitfulness of my life, expressed in what I write and how I live. For the person who wrote to me to let me know how helpful something I had written and shared had been to them at this moment in their life, something of which they trusted me with knowing. For the person who wrote to let me know that the decisions I had made and actions I had taken over the past year had inspired them. For the person who trusted me enough to ask to come and talk to me, that I might listen, and perhaps even offer some wisdom. All these, just in the final weeks of last year. All helpful, not to massage a fragile ego, but to reveal fruitfulness I myself might struggle to recognise.

I share this not to ‘big myself up’ but to encourage you that if you see fruitfulness in someone's life, let them know. And may someone reveal to you your own fruitfulness. Or, at least, point to it, waiting for you, three years from now, keeping hope alive.

 

Advent 2023: Day 22

 

Image: a railway platform with the words MIND THE GAP painted for the benefit of those alighting from the train, so that the letters are upside-down from the perspective of those waiting to board the train.

 

Now is the season for journeys home by train
(it has been too long)
Stepping forward, I launch myself
across the gap,
momentarily suspended between above
and here below
sole touching solid ground
once more: look down (intake of breath)
look up (and exhale, slow)
and turn to scan beyond the press of coats
and rumbling cases, a jostling crowd
—humanity—
and find you, reaching for my gaze
arm raised in joyful welcome
home.
I rush forward, let go my case and sink
in your embrace.

 

Passengers a-lighting,
please mind the gap
between the carriage and the platform.

 

Advent 2023: Day 21 O Emmanuel

 

Image: a railway platform with the words MIND THE GAP painted for the benefit of those alighting from the train, so that the letters are upside-down from the perspective of those waiting to board the train.

 

Now is the season for journeys home by train
(it has been too long)
O come, all you sons and
daughters, come on home
carried from every compass bearing
gifts, now is the time
of your rejoicing
born again in arms of mothers, fathers,
hugs of siblings, embrace of lovers.
Do not delay.
All awaits you.

 

Passengers a-lighting,
please mind the gap
between the kingdom come among us
in the life you have been given
and the chill dread that it lies
beyond our reach.

 

Advent 2023: Day 20 O Rex Gentium

 

Image: a railway platform with the words MIND THE GAP painted for the benefit of those alighting from the train, so that the letters are upside-down from the perspective of those waiting to board the train.

 

Now is the season for journeys home by train
(it has been too long)
Across the aisle, a group of women
dressed in red sarees trimmed with gold,
regal in bearing, bold
companions of a fiery affirmation
of Life, intent upon
great celebration—birth, or a wedding?
Throughout the carriage,
many faces, many tongues
light many graces,
and all now journey on together,
bear gifts, wrapped up in skin
of many colours,
while laughter lines and furrowed brows
map out the well-worn roads
that brought us to this holy moment.

 

Passengers a-lighting,
please mind the gap
between our heritage and
our inheritance.

 

Advent 2023: Day 19 O Oriens

 

Image: a railway platform with the words MIND THE GAP painted for the benefit of those alighting from the train, so that the letters are upside-down from the perspective of those waiting to board the train.

 

Now is the season for journeys home by train
(it has been too long)
An early start, cold brightness in the air:
the dawn is on its way
with healing,
unfurls resplendent wings across the Sky.
The winter sun will rise in time,
trace its low arc, as if to wed itself to Earth
and not be parted for the world.
A humble crown.
It’s shining will not overcome the moon
today, as long as it is Day; as yet
bright Venus cries ‘Prepare!’
He must increase
I, disappear.

 

Passengers a-lighting,
please mind the gap
between permanence and beauty
between greatness and glory.

 

Advent 2023: Day 18 O Clavis David

 

Image: a railway platform with the words MIND THE GAP painted for the benefit of those alighting from the train, so that the letters are upside-down from the perspective of those waiting to board the train.

 

Now is the season for journeys home by train
(it has been too long)
We are approaching, now
but no one’s certain
if we will leave to left or right
until the platform rises to meet us.
We stop; there is a pause
as fingers stab the {{open}} button
and we are held; the lock released,
lights turn to green: and yet we wait
a moment more, as fingers
fumble, press {{close}}
and now, at last, we spill out—
mind the gap—
to blink and take
our bearings and stride home.

 

Passengers a-lighting,
please mind the gap
between release and being free.

 

Advent 2023: Day 17 O Radix Jesse

 

Image: a railway platform with the words MIND THE GAP painted for the benefit of those alighting from the train, so that the letters are upside-down from the perspective of those waiting to board the train.

 

Now is the season for journeys home by train
(it has been too long)
All platforms
Tickets
Information
Customer lounge
Bus station
Taxis via bus station
Toilets (Shower; Baby changing)
Lift
Escaltor
Woman, praying the Rosary
while every nation heads in all directions
following signs.

 

Passengers a-lighting,
please mind the gap
between the forest and the tree.

 

Advent 2023: Day 16 O Adonai

 

Image: a railway platform with the words MIND THE GAP painted for the benefit of those alighting from the train, so that the letters are upside-down from the perspective of those waiting to board the train.

 

Now is the season for journeys home by train
(it has been too long)
‘Ladies and gentlemen, we
apologise for the delay.
It would appear a cow
is wandering along the track; we will resume our journey once
it has been moved.’
Monks took St Cuthbert’s bones at fitful rest
on ox-cart, drawn by wandering cow
that led them up to Dunholm’s crest;
and there they built a holy shrine
raised to the glory of God Most High.
And now a cow, descendant
turns—transforms—us, fellow passengers,
to pilgrims of that higher law:
Forgive us our trespasses, as
we forgive those who trespass against us.

 

Passengers a-lighting,
please mind the gap
between the holy and the profane.

 

Advent 2023: Day 15 O Sapientia

 

Image: a railway platform with the words MIND THE GAP painted for the benefit of those alighting from the train, so that the letters are upside-down from the perspective of those waiting to board the train.

 

Now is the season for journeys home by train
(it has been too long)
Birds wheel as one across the sky
high over woods whose trees
have shed their leaves, as tears
to bare their souls to highest heaven;
roots stretching for a neighbour
in the dark, a fellowship
of those who know
and who have come to welcome
winter. Some of these trees are dying,
know full well this winter is their last,
lay down their lives beginning
with won wisdom, passed on root to root,
that other trees may grow in strength.
They call out to the birds,
Return to rest.

 

Passengers a-lighting,
please mind the gap
between what we have lost and gain,
between what we have given and received.

 

Advent 2023: Day 14

 

Image: a railway platform with the words MIND THE GAP painted for the benefit of those alighting from the train, so that the letters are upside-down from the perspective of those waiting to board the train.

 

Now is the season for journeys home by train
(it has been too long)
A train is steel and space,
and sings, a duet between wheel and rail;
and as the carriage bears my body home,
so the song bears my soul,
a lullaby,
rocks me to rest,
heart falling into time.

 

Passengers a-lighting,
please mind the gap
between body and soul,
between the physical and the mystery
that animates material
artefact.

 

Advent 2023: Day 13

 

Image: a railway platform with the words MIND THE GAP painted for the benefit of those alighting from the train, so that the letters are upside-down from the perspective of those waiting to board the train.

 

Now is the season for journeys home by train
(it has been too long)
I have seen the light from above
reflected—twice given—for us
from either side, bestowing
shadowy travelers with a halo;
haloed angels in our midst, or hallowed saints
made holy by this grace?
Look hard, and faces fall from grace,
too solid—no, but look again,
out of the corner of your eye:
flesh, blood, and bones,
these are the raw materials of heaven.

 

Passengers a-lighting,
please mind the gap
between the earth and heaven,
for it is smaller than at first appears.

 

Advent 2023: Day 12

 

Image: a railway platform with the words MIND THE GAP painted for the benefit of those alighting from the train, so that the letters are upside-down from the perspective of those waiting to board the train.

 

Now is the season for journeys home by train
(it has been too long)
Through the window, icy
rain has turned the world to monochrome;
sky the colour of milk, spilt
on furrowed fields, broke-open, black as coal.
Life knows it seasons: spring times of new
beginnings, some unwelcome as cold showers;
summertime of ease; autumns of fruitful
gain for labours given; winters,
when days are short and nights are long,
some mild, some bitter—
and in our time, all running out of order,
unpredictable as weather.
How many seasons does this carriage carry,
in limbs, and wombs, and
sun-kissed, rain-kissed, faces?

 

Passengers a-lighting,
please mind the gap
between the seasons and the shelter.

 

Advent 2023: Day 11

 

Image: a railway platform with the words MIND THE GAP painted for the benefit of those alighting from the train, so that the letters are upside-down from the perspective of those waiting to board the train.

 

Now is the season for journeys home by train
(it has been too long)
My thoughts turn to my destination:
I am anticipated—longed for, even—
I am loved,
but am I known? Not fully, no
for I have changed.
‘My, how you’ve grown!’ the grown-ups used to say,
until our outward growth is done;
yet I grow still,
grow, as a tree upon the headland stands,
both sentinel and sign, my limbs
make visible the prevailing wind.
And should they seek who I once was
then I may not be found at all;
and should I fall in with their search,
all is in vain.

 

Passengers a-lighting,
please mind the gap
between who you have been (and may yet be)
and your true self.

 

Advent 2023: Day 10

 

Image: a railway platform with the words MIND THE GAP painted for the benefit of those alighting from the train, so that the letters are upside-down from the perspective of those waiting to board the train.

 

Now is the season for journeys home by train
(it has been too long)
‘Tickets, please.’
I lean and push hand deep in pocket,
pull out my phone, as if
I were magician, pulling flowers and
rabbits from a hat: ta-da!
Once, I would purchase paper tickets
from a booth, another human, behind glass,
as in a zoo; now,
only digital traces track me as I flee
from screen to window seat to screen,
and ‘Tickets, please.’
and I glance off each other,
sleight of hand.

 

Passengers a-lighting,
please mind the gap
between the polished surface
and our common substance.

 

Advent 2023: Day 9

 

Image: a railway platform with the words MIND THE GAP painted for the benefit of those alighting from the train, so that the letters are upside-down from the perspective of those waiting to board the train.

 

Now is the season for journeys home by train
(it has been too long)
I settle into my seat:
a small child
appears, over the seat in front of me
looking back, holding my gaze.
I smile, instinctively
cover my eyes with my hands,
then—peekaboo—reveal my face
blinkered between palms, thumbs pressed
against my cheekbones,
cupping my smile,
and hide, reveal, and hide, reveal again.
The child delights, in their shy way,
at once inquisitive and coy;
but where does adult end and child begin?

 

Passengers a-lighting,
please mind the gap
between the inner child and
the weight of the world.

 

Advent 2023: Day 8

 

Image: a railway platform with the words MIND THE GAP painted for the benefit of those alighting from the train, so that the letters are upside-down from the perspective of those waiting to board the train.

 

Now is the season for journeys home by train
(it has been too long)
This is where I change
disembark and cross the platform
scan the scene for information:
where am I headed? how much time do I have?
plunge through the crowd, stuck
behind the slow-moving and the
heavy-laden, dance
side-step.
I follow signs and strike out
in the wrong direction:
retrace my steps, begin again.

 

Passengers a-lighting,
please mind the gap
between familiarity and
disorientation.

 

Advent 2023: Day 7

 

Image: a railway platform with the words MIND THE GAP painted for the benefit of those alighting from the train, so that the letters are upside-down from the perspective of those waiting to board the train.

 

Now is the season for journeys home by train
(it has been too long)
Yet here we are
at stand-still, caught somewhere between
two stations;
giving way, that others may go on
ahead of us, make up their own delays.
All through the carriage,
restless heads are turned, as if
in search of answers
to be found, under our neighbour’s seat,
perhaps; as if we were in an
Escape Room.

 

Passengers a-lighting,
please mind the gap
between the anxious clamour
of our needs and
making space to meet
the needs of others.

 

Advent 2023: Day 6

 

Image: a railway platform with the words MIND THE GAP painted for the benefit of those alighting from the train, so that the letters are upside-down from the perspective of those waiting to board the train.

 

Now is the season for journeys home by train
(it has been too long)
Thrum-b
(rudely jolted from the page I hold
with care, lest I contaminate forensic traces)
a train rushes by, travelling against us
with violent intent, rattling windows;
momentary glimpse of other lives,
scrolling screens
or passing time in conversation
all unaware
how violently they hurtle to the end.

 

Passengers a-lighting,
please mind the gap
between observation
and passing judgement.

 

Advent 2023: Day 5

 

Image: a railway platform with the words MIND THE GAP painted for the benefit of those alighting from the train, so that the letters are upside-down from the perspective of those waiting to board the train.

 

Now is the season for journeys home by train
(it has been too long)
Fields to the right of me,
stretching to the sea;
and in the distance,
on the left, a town
church spire rising to meet dark clouds.
We plunge into a tunnel:
and from behind black mirror
I hold my gaze,
a drowning man, pale as death.

 

Passengers a-lighting,
please mind the gap
between your darkest days and years,
and the extinguishing
of hope.
This, too, shall pass.

 

Advent 2023: Day 4

 

Image: a railway platform with the words MIND THE GAP painted for the benefit of those alighting from the train, so that the letters are upside-down from the perspective of those waiting to board the train.

 

Now is the season for journeys home by train
(it has been too long)
The door jolts open, and a voice
cries out:
‘AaNY teas, coffees, beer, wine—
any snacks?’
shuffles along, cajoles alike both customers and trolley,
negotiates the obstacle of errant arms
and feet that trespass in the narrow way
of passage.
I contemplate his offer,
and decide.

 

Passengers a-lighting,
please mind the gap
between believing ourselves to be
in no need of refreshment,
and grasping every offered opportunity
through rote conditioning, or boredom.

 

Advent 2023: Day 3

 

Image: a railway platform with the words MIND THE GAP painted for the benefit of those alighting from the train, so that the letters are upside-down from the perspective of those waiting to board the train.

 

Now is the season for journeys home by train
(it has been too long)
As we approach
the next stop, fellow passengers shift
in their seats, excuse themselves,
“This is me.” We dance
to rearrange ourselves,
as coats and bags are lifted down
from overhead, and
aisle and carriage-ends are filled
with restless passengers,
anxious now, just to get home.
We pull into a station; idly, I survey
a place, a town—a life that is not mine.
Warm light through windows
spilt on rain-slick streets.

 

Passengers a-lighting,
please mind the gap
between the life that beckons you
and those that beckon
other lives.

 

Advent 2023: Day 2

 

Image: a railway platform with the words MIND THE GAP painted for the benefit of those alighting from the train, so that the letters are upside-down from the perspective of those waiting to board the train.

 

Now is the season for journeys home by train
(it has been too long)
Twisted, side-on, I edge my way down
a full carriage … 25, 26, 27…
Carriage C, seat 27.
Reserved, from here:
this seat—my seat—
already taken.
Dilemma: a Very British
Problem, to speak,
or not to speak?
“Excuse me, but, you’re in my seat—”
what to be gained, from
confrontation?
Do I keep moving forward,
keep searching for an empty place?

 

Passengers a-lighting,
please mind the gap
between imposter syndrome
and your God-given dignity.

 

Advent 2023: Day 1

 

Image: a railway platform with the words MIND THE GAP painted for the benefit of those alighting from the train, so that the letters are upside-down from the perspective of those waiting to board the train.

 

Now is the season for journeys home by train
(it has been too long)
Four strangers sat around a table;
or three—the woman I am facing
has set her bags beside her,
on the window seat.
The young man beside me,
lost in a world of silent music,
stares through the fogged pane
as the world slides by.
I roll my neck and shoulders,
tentatively stretch one leg
along the aisle, and draw it back
again, return to the page.

 

Passengers a-lighting,
please mind the gap
between the baggage we defer to
and the new world,
fast approaching,
reaching out, calling us
home.

 

St Andrew

 

I don’t often wear my kilt to preside at Holy Communion, but today is both the Festival of Andrew the apostle (St Andrew’s Day, 30 November) and the tenth anniversary (St Andrew’s Day, 30 November 2013) of my being licensed to serve as a priest in Durham Diocese, having previously served in the Diocese of Liverpool—a Durham decade!

 

Why Advent?

 

Advent is the necessary precursor to Christmas, because Christmas is the joyful announcement of the birth of a Saviour, and Advent must first address the question of why on earth we need a saviour, or, of why a saviour is good news of great joy.

I believe that I am a good person. I believe that you are, too. In fact, I do not believe that there is any such thing as an evil person; for every person is made—created—by God, and in the image of God. God is good, and nothing that God has made is evil. Yet we wrestle with evil, every day of our lives. There is something about evil that is attractive to us—this is why temptation is tempting—and there is something about us that bends away from love towards it—this is sometimes called our ‘fallen nature.’ Good people choose to act in less-than-loving ways, even towards those we desire to love fully and for always, because it is easier, at times, or because we want to—“we have wounded your love and marred your image in us, through negligence, through weakness, through our own deliberate fault,” as the Confession puts it—and to justify our actions. It is good people whose relationships break down. And it is possible to choose evil so frequently that it becomes habitual, until it becomes all-but-impossible for us to choose love at all: and this is to find ourselves in hell—and drag others there with us. Imagine how bad the state of things would be if there were such a thing as evil people.

So good people find themselves incapable of doing good—of loving their neighbour—at least consistently and permanently. And this is unacceptable to God, for God made us good and for good, and knows that good is good for us. So God sent his Son into the world, to be our Saviour, to be the one who will judge the living and the dead. The nature of that judgement is entirely without condemnation, or punishment. Rather, it is the perfect insight, to know rightly the evil we have done, and to destroy all evil, without destroying us, the good creature, the object of God’s love. For God, possessing by divine nature perfect judgement in all matters, has determined that love is how evil will be destroyed. The warmth of God’s love will, in time, melt the evil that lies heavy upon us, without harming us in any way, as the warmth of the sun eventually melts the ice without damaging the ground beneath. Indeed, as the warmth of the sun transforms the snow, that impairs our movement, into life-giving water, so the warmth of God’s love ultimately transforms even evil, for good.

When we look at the world around us, we might ask, if God is good, and sovereign, then why does evil exist, and so prevalently? And the Church responds, yes, the world is not as it should be; and God has passed judgement, that judgement being transforming love. Were we God, we might choose destruction, to deal with evil by sweeping away evil-doers; but that would include me, you, us all; and, in any case, you cannot deal with the problem of evil using evil as the solution, for that simply perpetuates the problem. Love is slower, painfully slow, for to love is to be present and attentive to pain. Yet, love is what God has chosen, for God is love.

So, Jesus came, long ago, fully human—utterly dependent on love—and fully-God—the source of love. Loving us to the end, even our putting him to death could not banish love: love simply extended its reach to encompass the dead as well as the living. And this Jesus will come again, as love, when love has—finally—won. Then every eye shall see him, and adore him, as he is.

God has acted, is acting, and will complete what has been set in unstoppable motion. This is why Christmas is good news, and not merely a momentary distraction from the darkness. But to welcome the Saviour, we must first recognise our need for salvation—to be transformed, by love, for love.

 

HumanKind

 

On Monday, I went into a shop, picked up what I needed, and approached the till. The sales assistant asked me if I had found everything I had been looking for? which I had. I asked them, How are you today? and they were clearly taken aback. Good, thanks; they replied, and then, after a slightest of pauses, But thank you for asking.

I spent the middle of the week at a residential training event, held at a hotel. One morning, as I walked along the corridor from my room, heading down for breakfast, I passed a member of the housekeeping team. They said, Good morning, and I responded. Again, I asked, How are you today? Again, they were taken aback that a guest would interact with them in such a way.

On the last morning of the residential, I went to the administrator who had put together the training event to thank them. They had had a difficult job, needing to deal with several challenges. I wanted them to know that their work was appreciated, that they were appreciated. They just about fought back the tears, and asked if they could give me a hug.

Most of the time, it costs very little to be kind. Perhaps that is why we value it less than we ought? Of course, there are times when it is costly, even a higher price than we are prepared to pay. But there are few things that have such a disproportionally large impact, and return, that return potentially having a positive impact on whoever happens to come across the person shown kindness in the wake of the act.

If you can, be kind. And when being kind is a stretch too far, may you be on the receiving end of kindness.

 

Twelve

 

I wonder whether you remember a big event (global politics, sporting, royal) that took place when you were eleven or twelve years old?

Jesus was most likely born in 6 BCE (Before Common Era) (Obviously, Jesus could not be born BC, but those who first calculated that date got it wrong). At some point, this came to the attention of Herod I (the Great) and Joseph, Mary, and Jesus fly by night, seeking refuge among the Jewish diaspora community in Alexandria. In 4 BCE, Herod I died. At this point, it is time to return home; but Joseph hears that Herod Archelaus is now ruling in Jerusalem, and is afraid; so, they go to Galilee instead.

Galilee is under another of son of Herod I, Herod Antipas. But Antipas is not as dangerous a prospect as Archelaus. Archelaus has a reputation for bloodshed and provoking bloodshed; moreover, his position on his throne is contested by his own brothers. Though the emperor is persuaded to back him, his position as ethnarch is contested for most of his reign, from 4 BCE to 4 CE. He then reigns, less contested, for a further two years, before the emperor himself deposes him and imposes direct Roman rule over the Province of Judea from 6 CE.

Jesus is around twelve years old when the emperor deposes Archelaus, who goes into exile in Gaul. Twelve is old enough to be aware. Twelve is old enough to be apprenticed, as a house builder, to his adoptive father, Joseph. Twelve is old enough for conversations between Jesus and Joseph, as they walked back and forth between Nazareth and Sephoris, a new town being built, where there was work to be found: Dad, tell me again why you were so afraid of Archelaus?

Later, when Jesus is around forty (33 CE) (the Gospel According to John is full of irony; John records some opponents of Jesus stating that he is not even forty years old: I would bet against them.) his disciples ask him about big geo-political events. When will the Romans be pushed out? When will there be a king in Jerusalem who was not a client of Rome?

Jesus tells a story about a man (the emperor) who distributes his property between three slaves (Archelaus, Antipas, Philip) before occupying himself overseas; who returns, dispossesses one of his slaves, and redistributes his property (this happened when Jesus was twelve; it will happen again, when Herod Agrippa, a grandson of Herod I, successfully petitions the emperor to remove his uncle Herod Antipas, in favour of Agrippa). This is how Rome works.

Of course, Jesus will triumph over Rome. Not by raising an army, or inspiring a rebellion, but by a revolution of the heart; by men, women, and children, mostly slaves, coming to trust that Jesus (not the emperor) was Lord, and serving their neighbours; and in the submission of the Roman emperor (however murky his own motives) to the risen Christ who had defeated death.

The first disciples will not be around to see it, but it will happen, nonetheless.

 

God's favour

 

Yesterday, I wrote a long post on the Parable of the Talents (Matthew 25:14-30). In it, I contested against the common interpretation of the parable, that is, that God has given to each person talents, abilities, opportunity, as he sees fit, and expects a return on his investment. I offered a way to understand the parable in its historical context, and its context within Matthew’s Gospel, and the contrast between Roman rule and the kingdom of heaven (or, how we experience God’s reign). In this shorter post, I want to go on to offer some observations on how we relate to God.

[1] You cannot earn God’s favour through what you do for God. You cannot earn your place in heaven by being a good person, or your years of service to the church or your neighbours. You cannot earn God’s favour because, in Jesus, God has already and freely given that favour.

[2] Moreover, you cannot lose God’s favour through failure to follow God’s commands or meet God’s expectations. Your place in heaven – that is, being in relationship with God, starting in this life and continuing beyond death – is not jeopardised by doing the wrong thing or by not doing the right thing. You cannot lose God’s favour because, through the death and resurrection of Jesus, God has triumphed over everything that has tried to separate us from that freely given favour.

[3] You can neither earn nor lose God’s favour. You can only live with, or without, an awareness of that favour. There are many people – those who would claim to believe in Jesus, as much as those who do not believe in God – who live their lives unaware of God’s favour, upon them and upon their neighbour, and this is the very definition of hell.

 

Talents, and what not to do with them

 

The Gospel reading set for this coming Sunday is Matthew 25:14-30, in which Jesus tells a parable about a man who entrusts his property to his slaves before departing abroad. To one slave he entrusts five ‘talents,’ a weight of money commonly equivalent to 6,000 denarii (one denarius being the daily wage of a labourer), to another, two talents, and to yet another, one talent. Sometime later, the man returns. The first two slaves have doubled the weight given them, while the third, fearful of a master who reaps where he did not sow, had buried his hoard, and returned it in full. The first two slaves are rewarded with additional responsibility and invited to ‘enter into the joy of’ their master, that is, to experience his favour. For not even depositing his talent with the bankers to accrue interest, the third slave is deemed ‘worthless’ and thrown ‘into the outer darkness where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.’

This parable is commonly interpreted in this way: God has given to each person talents, abilities, opportunity, as he sees fit, and expects a return on his investment. But this is to misunderstand the text.

It comes within a larger context, a lengthy conversation (chapters 24 and 25) between Jesus and his disciples, concerning the destruction of the temple. The disciples have come to believe that Jesus is the Son of David – a recurring title for Jesus in Matthew’s Gospel – that is, the rightful heir to the throne in Jerusalem. It is obvious that tension is rising, and that, sooner or later, there will be a crisis moment, in which Roman rule will be overthrown, along with their vassals and collaborators. In the aftermath of this, the disciples expect Jesus to ascend to the throne; but when will this take place?

In fact, the crisis they anticipate will come about in the First Jewish-Roman War (66-74 CE) with widespread destruction of Jewish cities, and the siege of Jerusalem and destruction of the temple in 70 CE. From the perspective of Jesus, some forty years earlier, this is both inevitable in the broad sense and unknowable in its particulars. And his purpose is to prepare his followers to live through this existential crisis.

The Parable of the Talents comes immediately after the Parable of the Ten Bridesmaids and immediately before the Parable of the Sheep and the Goats, or the Judgement of the Nations. What Jesus is seeking to get across is that the Day of the Lord – which would mark the end of the present age or geo-political reality – for which his disciples, in keeping with their peers, were hoping for would result in judgement first for the Jewish people (the bridesmaids, who are divided, and half of them locked out from the new age) and (only) then for the gentile nations (who are also divided, some being included in, and some excluded from, the new age).

In the Parable of the Talents, it makes most sense to see the man, who entrusts his property to his slaves before disappearing abroad, but returns to claim his profit, as the Roman emperor; and the three slaves as the sons of Herod the Great.

Augustus (emperor 27 BCE – 14 CE; succeeded by Tiberius, who ruled 14-37 CE) had appointed Herod I (Herod the Great) as a Jewish Roman client king. On Herod’s death, Augustus initially honoured Herod’s will, which divided his territory between his three sons (and his sister). Herod Archelaus was appointed ethnarch of Judea, Samaria, and Idumea. Herod Antipas was appointed tetrarch of Galilee and Peraea. Philip was appointed tetrarch of Iturea, Trachonitis, Batanea, Gaulanitits, Auranitis and Paneas. (Salome I was appointed toparch of Jamnia, Azotus and Phasaelis.) But only nine years later, in 6 CE, Augustus, having judged Herod Archalaus incompetent, removed him, combining his three provinces into one Province of Iudaea, ruled by a Roman prefect. The fifth of these, serving 26-36 CE, was Pontius Pilate.

Parables, of course, are not histories. They do not have one-to-one correlations with historical figures. It could just as well point forward to 39 CE, when emperor Caligula removed Herod Antipas and gave his tetrarchy to another Herod, Agrippa. This parable is not so much a retelling of events that took place in Jesus’ childhood, as a depiction of how things work, under Roman rule. The population of this Province is ruled over, by delegation to client kings or Roman governors, at the emperor’s pleasure. Tiberius gives, and Tiberius takes away. And there will surely come a point when the emperor turns his attention back on this troublesome corner of his empire. Strangely enough, one of the key events that precipitated the Jewish revolt of 66 CE was the emperor – by this time, Nero – ordering the Roman governor – by this time, Gessius Florus – to take seventeen talents from the temple treasury as unpaid tax.

(Emperors didn’t always get their own way. The inevitable Jewish Roman War could have erupted fifteen years earlier than it eventually did. Caligula ordered that a statue of himself be erected in the temple in Jerusalem; fearing war, his governor stalled for a year, before his friend, Herod Agrippa, persuaded him to overturn the order. Jesus anticipates this as a likely event, Matthew 24:15ff.)

This parable serves as the transition between the judgement of the Jewish people and the judgement of the Gentile nations. It is, in itself, a profound warning: there will be no miraculous intervention, in the machinations and rise and fall of earthly empires. There is the in-crowd, who enjoy things, for now, and the in-crowd who will fall from favour and be cast into the outermost darkness, consigned to the scrap heap of history, forgotten. Their tears all the more bitter for having previously enjoyed favour.

In the light of this bleak synopsis of the signs of the times – as convoluted, power-hungry, and precarious as our own day – Jesus instructs his disciples to hold fast. Don’t get caught up in trying to force events, over which you have no influence, nor any right to influence (as John records in his Gospel, Jesus sees the disciples as remaining in this world, but not of it – not playing its games by its rules). Simply trust that I have chosen you and will keep you; that not even death can derail that promise.

But what has any of this to do with us, who live almost 2,000 years later, long after the destruction of the temple in Jerusalem? I think it stands as a warning not to take up the ways of this world to shape it to our gain, or exercise rule over the lives of others. Which is not to say that we should not campaign for a more just society; but that even godly ends do not justify ungodly means.

There are many who claim to follow Christ who need to rediscover this parable today.