Sermon Notes : Luke 12:49-56, Hebrews 11:29-12:2

These notes copied up after my two note-less (i.e. not a transcript) talks from the lectionary this morning.

Luke 12:49-56

In Luke’s Gospel, Jesus’ mission is to proclaim freedom for the prisoners and recovery of sight for the blind, to release the oppressed, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favour. Having been rejected by his own community (over interpretation: they probably understood Jesus’ claim that this was the time Isaiah’s prophecy would be fulfilled as referring to God giving them the city of Sepphoris, which they were rebuilding for others, who would now serve them instead; whereas Jesus insisted that it had always been God’s intention to include the Gentiles in the scope of his favour - a claim so offensive, those listening dragged him from the synagogue and took up broken-down stones to stone him to death), Jesus found the person who welcomed him – Peter – and from there demonstrated what release looked like, for those held captive by sickness or oppression or guilt or shame or exclusion from community. In time he sent out ‘the Twelve,’ who had seen what he had done and taken part in it, to go and do likewise. Then he sent out seventy-two to do the same. There is a momentum to what he is about.

At this point, Jesus tells his disciples that he has come to bring fire on the earth, and wishes it were already kindled; but first, he must undergo a distressing baptism. What is he talking about? Well, where does Luke record fire on the earth? At the start of his sequel, the Acts of the Apostles: at Pentecost (Acts 2), when the Holy Spirit is poured out with the appearance of fire, as a sign of God’s Spirit being poured out on all humanity, male and female, young and old; where three thousand people from across the known world respond and are baptised and that fire – light for dark places – is passed from life to life, spreading out from Jerusalem across the earth…But first, there is a pre-requisite: Jesus’ ‘baptism’ of death. Paul will write to the church in Rome that in our baptism we are united with Jesus in his death and in his resurrection (Romans 5), that the power that raised him from the dead lives in us. Our baptism is our commission into Jesus’ mission.

Jesus makes it clear that he has not come to overthrow the Romans and usher-in a Golden Age of peace. Rather, his presence will be divisive. It will create division between those, on the one hand, who ask “What is in it for me?” – whether that is articulated as “If God is so great, why doesn’t he do something about poverty [etc.]?” or as “God is on our side: things might look bleak at the moment, but he will vindicate us!” – and those, on the other hand, who say, “I don’t fully understand what God is doing in and through Jesus, but count me in – I’m in it, for him!” Jesus’ presence will be divisive, even within families.

Then Jesus turns back to the crowd and challenges them: they think they are wise because they can interpret the world around them; how, then, are they so blind to what God is doing in the world?

Hebrews 11:29-12:2

Fast forward thirty years. Pentecost has come, the fire Jesus came to light has set the world ablaze, the church has grown right across the Empire. But…some of their leaders have been executed, more have been imprisoned, and things will soon get worse (Nero will dip Christians in tar and set them on fire to light up his garden parties)…and Christians are asking, where is God, what is God up to in all this? So someone (we don’t know who: some believe it was Priscilla who, with her husband Aquila, taught Apollos; others think it was Paul) determined to write a response to those questions.

At this point, they are telling stories. We pick up the thread with Rahab. Rahab’s parents had dedicated her to a powerful chaos goddess. We see echoes of her through the Old Testament: when God separates out the land from the sea, we see an echo of her defeat; and Job says, no-one can lay a finger on Rahab, but when the Lord defeated her, it was so easy, it hardly warrants listing in what he has done. Not surprisingly, this woman’s life is marked by chaos. When we meet her, she is running a motel for travelling businessmen, with extra services offered. The spies sent out by the Israelites as they prepare to cross into the Land come to her, and she informs them that the whole city of Jericho knows that God has given them into his people’s hands: and when he does – when her whole world comes crashing down – she wants to be counted in. And she is. Not only does Rahab experience God’s mercy, she also experiences permanence: she will become the ancestor of King David, the ancestor of Jesus.

Next up, Gideon. Gideon is fearful. When we meet him, he is hiding in a hole. He is trying to thresh wheat. The way people did that was by clearing a large, flat, exposed rock; throwing out the grain over it, and dragging a wooden sledge with wooden teeth on the underside over it – throw the kids on top for extra weight. Then they’d take a winnowing fork and toss the grain in the air, and the wind would blow away the chaff while the good grain would fall back to the ground. It is a metaphor for the very thing God was doing to his people through the oppression of the Midianites – getting rid of the chaff in their lives. And Gideon is attempting this in a hole. The angel of the Lord (who I think is the pre-incarnate Jesus) turns up and says, “Hail, mighty warrior!” and Gideon looks over his shoulder to see who he could be addressing. But Gideon is used by God to lead his people into freedom. (Though in his old age, Gideon will lead them back into captivity.)

Then there is Barak. Barak is a general in the army. He has done fairly well in life. But he suffers from self-doubt. Perhaps what we would call today performance anxiety: you are only as good as your last win. Barak does not want to go up against the enemy general, Sisera. But Barak learns that victory belongs to God.

If Barak’s issue is self-doubt, Samson’s is self-indulgence. Whenever he says to his mum and dad, “Get me this! Get me that!” they oblige. He is spoilt; his whole life is a tragedy of self-indulgence. But at the end, Samson discovers something of God’s sacrificial self-giving.

Jephthah is a man of sorrow. When he had grown up, his half-brothers kicked him out of home: they wanted nothing to do with him, until they needed his help. And Jephthah declared that, if God gave him victory in battle, he would sacrifice the first thing that came out of his house on his return. He comes home victorious, and his daughter runs out calling, “Daddy! You’re home! You’re safe! You won! You…” Now, I don’t believe that God wanted Jephthah to sacrifice his daughter, or that such a sacrifice was in any way pleasing to God. But here is this man of sorrow, listed in God’s great family.

Next, David. David is overlooked. God tells Samuel to anoint one of Jesse’s sons king. Samuel gets on the phone to Jesse, tells him that he wants to meet with him and his sons to worship God together. David doesn’t even get the memo. Later in his life, when he has arrived, he decides not to lead his men into battle – he won’t be missed, he is the overlooked one. And he falls into sin. But he thinks that he can get away with it – after all, he is easily overlooked. But David learns that, whether as a boy facing the lion and the bear, or as a man with Bathsheba, he is not overlooked but watched-over.

Finally, Samuel. Samuel is vain. When he is sent to anoint one of Jesse’s sons king, he thinks, “It must be this one; he’s so good-looking…No? Then it must be this one, he is also so good-looking…Or this good-looking one?” Why would he assume that the Lord’s anointed would have to be a good-looking man other than his belief that he himself, the Lord’s chosen prophet, was good-looking? But Samuel discovers that God looks at the heart, not the outward appearance.

Therefore, the writer says, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses to God’s faithfulness, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us – let us fix our eyes on Jesus. Let us throw off whatever it is that hinders us in following Jesus. Perhaps you have said, “My life is too chaotic right now. Perhaps when things settle down more, I’ll be able to follow Jesus closer…” Perhaps you believe you are too young, or too old – too fearful, too self-doubting, too self-indulgent, too sorrowful, too over-looked, too vain…It isn’t only sin that gets in the way: sometimes the good things we do for God hinder us from being close to Jesus.

Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith. That is, he is the one who is writing our faith story; and he is the one who is bringing us to perfection through the discipline of our circumstances. As Paul writes to the church in Rome (Romans 5), suffering produces perseverance, perseverance produces character, and character produces hope. What is God doing in our difficulties? Working on our character.

Fix our eyes on Jesus…who for the joy set before him endured the cross, scorning its shame…The joy of the Lord is our strength. If Jesus needed joy, to strengthen him, I’m confident that I can’t do without it!

Fix our eyes on Jesus…who…sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. Where is Jesus? Sitting in heaven. And Paul writes to the church in Ephesus (Ephesians 2) that we have been raised with Christ and seated with him in the heavenly realms – and that he has prepared good works for us to do. At times our circumstances are such that we feel we can’t see Jesus at all, we lose sight of him, we can’t see what he is up to. When we worship, whether corporately or in our own homes, Jesus does not descend to us (his return to earth is in the future); rather, we are caught up to where he is: and from there, he can show us our circumstances from the perspective of heaven, not an earth-bound perspective; from there, he can show us our circumstances from the perspective of the kingdom of heaven, and what it is that he has prepared for us to do in those circumstances.

So what?

Things that as I prepared I felt that God was wanting to do this morning, to which people would be given the opportunity to respond and to be prayed-with at the end of the service:

Those with a particular sense of something they have been telling themselves that is hindering them from following Jesus as closely as they want to, and who want to ‘throw off’ that thing – the Holy Spirit wants to help! (For me, the thing I have needed to throw off is the belief that I can’t make a difference here because I am only passing through).

Those whose circumstances are such that they feel they can’t get close to Jesus, who need to be lifted up into his presence.

Those who recognise that it is a long time since joy was a regular part of their experience of following Jesus. Not those going through a right and proper season of grieving; but those who have lost their sense of joy, and need to be strengthened again.

Birthday Boy

Elijah turns 7 today. What a gift he is to our family!

Us And Them

According to the "independent think-tank" the Centre for Social Justice (tag-line: Putting social justice at the heart of British politics), there are Five Pathways to Poverty. These, especially potent where two or more combine, are:

Family Breakdown
Educational Failure
Economic Dependency and Worklessness
Addiction
Serious Personal Debt

These are, indeed, serious issues facing Britain today, in need of consideration. But far from putting social justice at the heart of British politics, the Centre for Social Justice policy papers reinforce social injustice by refusing to recognise the role of income inequality - the five pathways, even in combination, are found across the socio-economic spectrum, with varying impact - and by failing to challenge demonstrably false popular perceptions concerning those in poverty (see the Truth and Lies about Poverty Report by the joint Public Issues Team of the Baptist, Methodist and United Reformed Churches; and the CSJ response).

How are these five "Pathways" presented in public rhetoric, by politicians and the press?

When family breakdown occurs in a working-class setting, it is presented as evidence of fecklessness - and not only the fecklessness of the individuals concerned, but of an entire sub(human)-culture - and feral behaviour (as if the under-class grab opportunistic sex but the middle-class don't).

When family breakdown occurs in a middle-class setting, he might be a [insert expletive of your choice], or they grew apart, or such is the pressure of modern life, or it was a mutual decision without fault or blame, or it was very sad but we don't talk about it and of course everyone is entitled to a second chance (if we know them, or people like them). In any case, it does not reflect the broken values of a sub-culture, such as putting work before family or individual freedom before sacrificial commitment to others. And if, as the Centre for Social Justice asserts, family (as opposed to, say, the media) is where we learn the values that make us good citizens - where "we should learn unconditional love, understand right from wrong, and gain empathy, respect and self-regulation" - then it needs to be pointed out that the families - broken or otherwise - that the financial traders who brought down the economy came from were middle-class.

When educational failure occurs in a working-class setting, it is presented as evidence of lack of aspiration (a moral failing - and nothing to do with the lack of employment opportunities to aspire to), and probably evidence of a bred absence of aptitude, a community simply incapable of embracing the opportunity held out to them. Or it is a failure to provide "the gateway to social mobility" - a way out from being working-class to becoming middle-class.

When educational failure to meet expectations occurs in a middle-class setting, we get children assessed for additional support, or criticise teachers, or pay for private tuition, in order to give children the best possible chance of a university place that will saddle them with debt and not, without further training (and debt), give entry into employment. And while we prize aspiration, we don't interrogate our aspirations: if the height of our aspiration is to be rich, to accumulate possessions without needing to think twice, to be consumers-without-equal, our aspirations perpetuate social injustice on a global scale. Education does not transform us; it increases our capacity to impact the lives of others, for good or ill.

When economic dependency and worklessness occur in a working-class setting, it is presented as evidence of fecklessness, of scrounging, of an offensive sense of entitlement: "passed from generation to generation like a family business" with the collusion of welfare. Leaving aside those who have been entitled to support from the welfare budget (whether they have claimed it or not) because they are in employment which is low paid (and we will have to leave them aside, as they don't fit our picture) this is 'clear' because many communities had high employment during the boom years. There is no need to take into account an uneven distribution of employment. Those on incapacity benefit are a drain on resources - most are faking it. Benefit fraud (tiny) is endemic among the poor (of course, white collar fraud - much higher - is not presented as being representative of the middle-class as a whole; and, in particular, MPs who made fraudulent claims were in no way representative of Members of Parliament).

When economic dependency and worklessness occur in a middle-class setting, we hold out as especially virtuous the mother who stays at home with her pre-school children or the pensioner (pensioners account for almost half of the Welfare budget) who didn't fight in the War for the ungrateful shirkers we see today. When a middle-class man is made redundant and cannot find work, when his self-worth is eroded and his family home faces repossession, this is lamentable (at best; often hidden, by shame); but it is not evidence of a bigger picture that includes the unaccountability of global corporations, or the unsustainability of middle-class aspirations. When young adults from wealthy homes don't work, we say that they don't yet know what they want to be (spoiled for choice!).

When addiction occurs in a working-class setting, it is presented as evidence of self-destruction, of opting-out, of mis-using money. No matter what they might be opting-out of.

When addiction occurs in a middle-class setting, it is acceptable - recreational, a symbol of excess money; or self-medication, saving the NHS on prescription anti-depressants - or hidden. A rite-of-passage, addressed by rehab. A small problem, involving a very few individuals - not an entire under-class, where "Such abuse remains a shocking feature of life in many disadvantaged neighbourhoods and it entrenches poverty." Not an indictment on the emptiness of our values (why would someone opt-out of 'having it all'?).

When serious personal debt occurs in a working-class setting, it is presented as evidence of spending on the wrong things - why should they have a wide-screen TV (like I do)? (Let's ignore the thought that a TV is just about the cheapest form of entertainment and access to news available to us.) Why should they want what they see us have, but they can't afford? (Let's ignore the thought that we can't afford it either, but we just put it on the credit card.) Such debt is self-inflicted: it has nothing to do with income inequality, with spiralling costs of utility bills (with the worst tariffs for those who pay on a meter) and food (again, most expensive for those who can't bulk buy and freeze), or exploitation.

When serious personal debt occurs in a middle-class setting, it is not that we over-extended ourselves and lived beyond our means, but that life is expensive and that the European Union brought the economy down; while supporting those who haven't worked as hard as us is preventing our quick return to the lifestyle we deserve. "We're all in this together" but we are the ones having to pay the biggest price, and that is hardly fair.

There are no easy answers. As the Archbishop of Canterbury found out when he spoke out against loans given with excessive interest, we are often unintentionally and unknowingly complicit in systems of poverty: the Church of England's investment portfolio for its own pension provision included investment in the very loan company he had singled-out. This, of course, does not negate his argument; but shows how complex the situation we find ourselves in is. Change will require making potentially costly changes to our own lives. There is no room for self-justification, and the Church will get to lead the way.

I am not anti- middle-class, in some perverse rejection of my own background. I am not seeking to stereotype a whole middle-class; but to point out that we make one set of value-judgements about the poor and another altogether about the wealthy (not that we consider ourselves to be wealthy) - in relation to the same five indexes. It is very easy to pass judgement on people who are not like us, in ways we would never dream of passing judgement on people like us. And prejudice alongside self-righteousness leads to the making of scapegoats.

I am opposed to the large and growing gulf - not only in income, but also in understanding - between the wealthiest and the poorest in our society. I believe that every culture and sub-culture includes values to be affirmed, and assumptions to be confronted, by the uncompromising person of Jesus, who holds truth and grace together. Becoming middle-class will not save working-class people - it hasn't saved the middle-class! And I believe we need one another, not least so that 'our' values are questioned by 'them.'

Relational poverty (family breakdown), intellectual poverty (educational failure), physical poverty (addiction; worklessness) and financial poverty (serious personal debt; economic dependency and worklessness) are consequences of spiritual poverty: a poverty of justice, yes; of mercy, of compassion, of generosity, of imagination; of love of God and of our own group and of those who live alongside us who belong to a different group just the same as we love ourselves; of the ability to achieve even the good we want to achieve in our own strength - a poverty that exists in each and every one of us.

That is why our starting-point must be recognition of our own poverty, and need for God's forgiveness and transformation of our lives.

Almighty and most merciful Father, we have wandered and strayed from your ways like lost sheep. We have followed too much the devices and desires of our own hearts. We have offended against your holy laws. We have left undone those things that we ought to have done; and we have done those things that we ought not to have done; and there is no health in us. But you, O Lord, have mercy upon us sinners. Spare those who confess their faults. Restore those who are penitent, according to your promises declared to humankind in Christ Jesus our Lord. And grant, O most merciful Father, for his sake, that we may live a disciplined, righteous and godly life, to the glory of your holy name. Amen.

Feast Of St James

On the morning of the Feast of St James, I awoke to the news that at least 78 people have died when a train approaching Santiago de Compostela yesterday left the rails.

Santiago de Compostela, in northern Spain, is considered to be the resting place of St James' remains, at the end of El Camino de Santiago, the Way of St James pilgrim route. Today, the city should be filled with pilgrims, celebrating the patron saint of pilgrims; remembering before God their own journey not only to the cathedral of St James but the bigger journey through life; remembering before God those who have journeyed alongside them and gone ahead; pausing to give thanks and to rededicate themselves before setting out again, on the journey home, on the onward journey through life.

Today, the city should be filled with pilgrims, those who know that life is not a stroll in the park, that it takes discipline, and camaraderie, to keep going; and yet who know that we are rewarded with unmerited gifts, breath-taking beauty, the kindness of strangers. Those who have thankful hearts, and calloused hands and feet.

Today, Santiago de Compostela will experience all this; but subdued, mourning and joy hand-in-hand. For 78 people, their pilgrimage is ended, not in Santiago but with St James himself, waiting within the love of God for the restoration of all things. More of their fellow travellers may yet join them. People who waved loved ones behind and set out from home, not to return. People who travelled with loved ones, only to go on before them.

Today is a reminder that we do not know when our earthly pilgrimage will end. It may be tomorrow, or around many more bends on the Way. For those who, with St James, follow in the footsteps of Jesus, death is not our end; but when heaven and earth are made new, and reconciled, we shall no longer be pilgrims: we shall be citizens, at home.

If we are to journey, as those who do not know when or where our journey will end, we must go lightly - quick to bless others and entrust them to God's care; quick to ask forgiveness where we have caused offence, and to forgive where others have offended us. We will need a staff to lean on and a water-bottle, to be refilled regularly at wayside wells: images of the empowering and life-giving Holy Spirit, and of our need for Spirit-led rhythms of activity and rest. And we will need the humility to trust ourselves, under God, to the hospitality of those we do not know.

May the Feast of St James nourish you on your pilgrimage. St James, pray for us.

Feast of St Mary Magdalene

Today is the feast of Mary Magdalene.

Mary was one of Jesus' disciples. We tend to think of Jesus having twelve, male disciples; but twelve was a symbolic number, full of meaning in relation to God constituting a people, creating community, and 'the Twelve' were a symbolic statement at the heart of a wider group, including several women.

Jesus' understanding of the call on his life was to bind up the broken-hearted and set the captive free. Mary had experienced this first-hand, when Jesus liberated her from the affliction of seven demons. Seven - like twelve - was a symbolic number: the number of perfection, totality, completion. 'Seven' demons probably shouldn't be thought of as 'more than six but less than eight,' but, rather, as indicating that her life was so thoroughly oppressed by the sheer cruelty of the satan (Accuser) and those spiritual beings in rebellion against God, impacting every sphere of her life - physical, mental, emotional - that no one else could set her free. This calls for caution: while demonic activity is clearly indicated, we should not assume that Mary was 'possessed,' or that her problems were the consequence of a 'sinful' life.

Having experienced Jesus' mission, Mary - along with other women - joined it, participating in and helping to finance the team (not 'the men get to play, and the women get to play a supporting role' but 'women get to play and to be stakeholders in the team'). She was there at the foot of the cross as Jesus died, abandoned by all but one of 'the Twelve.' And she was the first person Jesus appeared to, following his resurrection: the person he chose to entrust with telling the others that he had risen. The men accused her of talking nonsense.

The Early Church Fathers called Mary the Apostle to the Apostles, honouring her with recognition. A woman given the highest responsibility among those sent out by Jesus to multiply his life-work.

The Mediaeval Church painted Mary (quite literally, in religious art) in a different light: as the (barely) repentant (and barely covered) prostitute. There is no evidence for such an assertion to be found in the Gospel accounts; but the propaganda job was devastatingly comprehensive. The consequence was to objectify Mary: ironically, the woman who was set free from oppression by Jesus found herself oppressed by his Church - pin-up to lust over with a clear conscience...

In airbrushing out a woman fully involved in Jesus' life-work, the covenant relationship and kingdom role that opened for Mary was closed for other women: the best they could aspire to was pure virgin after Mary the mother of Jesus; the second-best, forgiven sinner after Mary M.

Mary's feast calls for a bitter-sweet menu. A day to remember before God all those misrepresented by the Church; a day to listen again to those whose claim to have experienced the risen Lord Jesus we dismiss, unwilling to believe it possible that Jesus has spoken to them what he has not spoken to us; a day to ask of ourselves whether we are participating in Jesus' mission to bind up the broken-hearted and set the captives free, or whether, ironically, we are binding-up what Jesus would set free. If the Church is to have anything to say to the world, we need our feasts, reminders of our own calling.

Mary Magdalene, pray for us.

(Why would an evangelical say such a thing? Because I take seriously our oneness with the cloud of witnesses who surround us, stand with us, inspire us, recall for us what we in our own struggles have forgotten, and yes, pray for us asking, how long O Lord?)

Feast Of St Thomas

Today is the feast of St Thomas, one of 'the twelve' disciples.

Thomas is identified as one of this group in all four Gospels, but only has a speaking part in John's account. He is, of course, most famously labelled (by later generations) as the Doubter, the one who, not being present when Jesus first appeared to the gathered group of disciples after his resurrection, refused to believe that Jesus was alive unless he too shared the same experience of meeting him. There is, of course, a difference between expressing doubt and being Doubting: Jesus challenges Thomas' doubt and invites belief, a more gracious approach than others. One might as well label Peter 'Satan' or any one of us according to our bad days...

Thomas also speaks up at the meal Jesus shared with his disciples on the night he was betrayed. Jesus had spoken about going to the Father, and the disciples knowing the way to the place where he was going. Thomas replies, we don't know where you are going, so how can we know the way? Jesus then claims to be the way: they knew the way, without knowing that they knew it. Philip joins Thomas in asking further questions of what Jesus meant. Indeed, honest questions are a mark of discipleship, of wanting to learn more than we already know (or don't realise we know - in contrast to the attitude that believes we are already in the know).

But Thomas first speaks up as Jesus sets out to go to the tomb of his friend Lazarus. Thinking Lazarus to be merely ill, the disciples think Jesus misguided in going to him: after all, the last time he was in Jerusalem - and Bethany is not far from Jerusalem - a crowd tried to murder him by stoning. But when Jesus reveals that Lazarus is dead, and in these circumstances Jesus wishes to go to him, Thomas says to his fellow disciples, "Let us also go, that we may die with him." or as NT Wright puts it, "'Let's go too,' he said. 'We may as well die with him.'"

There is an ambiguity about these words. Is Thomas saying, Let us [disciples] go too [with Jesus]; we [disciples] may as well die with him [Jesus]...or is he saying, Let us [disciples] go too [with Jesus]; we [Jesus and the disciples] may as well die with him [Lazarus]?

The first may be courageous (though if it is, Thomas' courage will fail him): if we die, we die; what would we have to live for without Jesus anyway? Jesus is going to be killed, sooner or later: let us not abandon him in his hour of need!

The second is resigned. The grave is the end: we might as well all embrace it. Weary, not courageous.

In which case, Lazarus being brought back to life (not resurrection: Lazarus will go on to die a second time) is a signpost that the grave is not the end...resuscitating Thomas too, and spurring his quest for taking the unknown way, the way into the unknown. A way that, according to tradition, would take him all the way to southern India.

So what? Why celebrate St Thomas? And how might we celebrate St Thomas?

Thomas is ambiguous. He creates space for the person who is ready to take the whole world on, and for the person who is weary of this world. He creates room for the person setting off on a journey, and the person coming to the end of a journey. He marks space for restoration, for re-awakening, for what looks like the end opening up to a whole new adventure.

Thomas knows more than he thinks he knows, not thinks he knows more than he knows. He may lack information, but every time we encounter him he expresses the desire to be close to Jesus. He does not hide behind a mask out of fear of looking foolish.

We could do worse than learn from Thomas. And we might celebrate with him by sharing, around the table, where our story connects with his. Feast days come round every year, because our stories will connect to those of the saints in different ways at different times: this year, you may be weary; next year, adventurous...

And for those of my friends who are part of the church family of whom St Thomas is patron, further opportunity, to ask: are we appropriately open, or overly rigid? are we still learning, or overly certain? is our desire to be close to Jesus? are we open to challenge and invitation?

The Household Of Peace : Part 3

I have been reflecting on the household of peace.*

But I haven't been talking about it with my children, yet.

As I put my six-year-old to bed tonight, he starting singing a song that had "come into the centre of [his] head." It went:

"We have a visitor. His name is Jesus. He asks for peace...and love."

That boy is the best theologian in the house.

* Part 1 here

* Part 2 here

The Household Of Peace : Part 2

I'm continuing to reflect on Luke 10, a passage which has received particular prominence within the missional church as Jesus' (timeless?) model for mission.

This passage is a particular moment within a bigger Story. I'd suggest that the Story be framed like this: of all the households on earth, God chooses the household of Abraham through which to bless all households.

God, in the visible form of three persons, goes on a journey and comes to the door of Abraham's tent, to an extended family of blood- and non-blood relations, nomadic herdsmen. And there, they receive a welcome, are shown hospitality, in marked contrast to the lack of hospitality shown them by the people of the cities of the plain.

Abraham's family are incredulous to the message brought to them, of God breaking-in to their lives, even though it is not an entirely unfamiliar word. Abraham's family are creative in their disobedience, in trying to bring about their own interpretation and fulfilment of God's plan. Abraham's family get themselves into various troubles - divisions within, deceit in their relations with others. And yet. And yet, Abraham's household has welcomed God's messenger; and God works with and through that: he does not go from house to house.

From then on, we see a recurring pattern. Abraham's household (which grows through the generations) is to be a house of peace; and out from that household, certain members will be sent out to other households, to extend that peace where it is welcomed. So Joseph ends up in first Potiphar's and later Pharoah's household. So David takes for his capital the City of Peace. So God sends prophets to Abraham's household again and again, when the household forgot its calling. So Nehemiah and Esther and Daniel, among others, find themselves serving a the heart of households of Empire.

And these stories don't have Happily Ever After endings: they are stories of divine rescue, of peace triumphing over hostility, of life triumphing over death...but not for ever. These stories have a localised place and a limited scope, within a larger Story. Joseph's life-saving rule in Egypt gives way to the oppression Moses must lead the people out from under.

Within this Story, Jesus sends out disciples to search out households of peace. Within this Story, in which the household of Abraham has been divided and (repeatedly) conquered, Jesus is sent to call the household back to its own calling: to be agents of peace in the world.

As the Story continues to unfold, beyond Jesus' death and resurrection and ascension, the same pattern continues. Abraham's household - into which the Gentiles have now been incorporated - is to be a household of peace, made up of households of peace, from which some will be sent into other households of peace in order to extend peace. And, again, these stories have a place: a time and a space.

Missional church thinking tends to view Christendom as a massive defeat from which the Church, in the West, has yet to recover. Accepting that this may be polemic, I'd want to say that Christendom was a continuation of the Story of Abraham's household - an incredulous, disobedient, divided, deceitful household that nonetheless God has committed to and will not abandon; through which God has brought about triumphs of peace over hostility, albeit not yet the universal and with-out end reign of peace. Within this part of the Story, the Church has nurtured peace, blessed and been blessed by peace-makers; and has regularly needed to be called back to that calling, having forgotten it. And the story of the Church post-Christendom will be a continuation of that same Story...

What implications does this have for us?

If Luke 10 is to be taken as model for mission (and I think that it is), then:

the household - a gathered social unit that is bigger than the nuclear, let alone atomic, family - is central. This is an extended household of peace working together, strategically, to identify and encourage other households of peace. We will see this in the way Paul works too, as he imitates Jesus;

the household does this in the context of telling and participating in the Story of a God who called a particular household through which to bless every household. They are going up to Jerusalem to celebrate the Passover, to remember how after God used Abraham's household to bless the surrounding nations through Egypt, he liberated them from the subsequent captivity that prevented them from carrying on that role at another given time. We see this too - retelling the past, participating in the present - in the way Paul works, as well as in the model Jesus sets;

the household of peace in search of households of peace is not perfect: it hasn't arrived yet (pardon the pun). It is made up of squabbling siblings who vie for best place and fall into the trap of relating to other households as a household of hostility, not peace. And yet this is the household Jesus gathers and sends out. Again, we see this imperfection - by which I mean at times total contradiction - in the households of peace Paul was a father to;

the synergy of two households of peace coming together - in passing - results in a breakthrough for peace in the wider community, expressed in a variety of tangible ways. But this breakthrough is for a particular episode in the Story. Some episodes go wider and are sustained for longer than others; some are very localised; but all are a small part in the Story, the Great Drama;

'sent-ness' is not a matter of permanently being on the move (Jesus wasn't; Paul certainly wasn't) but participates in receiving others (as host) and going out as those who are dependent on the hospitality of others (as guest). One is embedded; one is transitory (and each might be a better fit for particular types of person; though all are called to both). The one is just as 'sent,' is as much an expression of the missio dei or mission of God in the world, as the other.

The Household Of Peace

I'm preaching this Sunday. The Gospel reading is from Luke chapter 10.

As a backdrop, we are in the Season of Trinity, and, drawing on Rublev's icon, we are reminded that:

the Holy Spirit is our guide and companion in the wilderness, leading us to experience hospitality in a place that, at first glance, would appear inhospitable;

Jesus is our peace and our portion, the tree of life we sit under when enemies have been transformed into friends, when we find joy in what we have and rejoice with others in what they have;

the Father's presence is the home from which we started out, and to which we shall return, our beginning and our end, our commissioning and our being made complete.

In Luke's account, we hear that Jesus has set his intention on going to Jerusalem (chapter 9), knowing that he will be killed there. Setting out, he travels through Samaria. The Samaritans were the descendants of those who had not been carried off into exile in Assyria (the northern kingdom of Israel, of which Samaria was the capital) or the later exile in Babylonia (the southern kingdom of Judah). That diverged experience - Jewish belief being shaped massively by the devastating experience of exile, and return; Samaritan belief being less obviously but nonetheless significantly shaped by the disorienting experience of living in the wake of Babylonian invasion - had resulted in disagreements fostered over generations, as parents passed on prejudice and grievance to their children.

According to John, Jesus has passed through Samaria in the past (and spoken about a harvest, as he does here in Luke 10), and been received by a village as he journeyed away from Jerusalem. But on this occasion, he is heading towards Jerusalem, and for this reason the first village he comes to does not want to receive him. As he continues, a few are drawn to follow him even to Jerusalem - a costly decision for those villagers, as their neighbours have sent Jesus on his way without hospitality for this very thing - and Jesus makes it clear that they will be dependent on the hospitality of strangers, not the resources of next-of-kin.

Jesus is travelling with a fairly large group, heading together to Jerusalem for the Passover. (We have seen Jesus do this before, as a boy, in Luke chapter 2.) And Jesus sends others out ahead of him, to prepare the way. He sends them out in pairs (for company and security), but between them they are looking for welcome for a large group of pilgrims. Jewish pilgrims, in Samaria.

Jesus tells them to look for the household of peace, the household that will welcome people who are culturally different. In the context of households of hostility. Literally, find the household that is shaped by a desire to see reconciliation rather than a desire to perpetuate division - people who can see what we have in common, because they are not focused on our differences. If they are present in a community, they shouldn't be hard to spot! And if they are present in a community, they will open the door of the wider community.

Jesus also makes it clear that where we choose to hold on to our differences, over God's mission of reconciliation, we will eventually seal our own destruction. The Jews were on a collision-course with Rome; and the Romans would not concern themselves with the niceties of how the Samaritans weren't Jews when they lost patience and underlined their rule in war of 66-73AD. Jesus foresees the devastation of the northern campaign of the Great Revolt (in Galilee), along with the impact on Judea (which included Samaria), and the destruction of Jerusalem.

Those Jesus sends out return. Their experience has been joyful: where they have found households committed to peace, the hold darkness and death has on a community has had to surrender ground. And while they were confronting the demonic, Jesus himself had been given a vision of the prince of demons, the Accuser, thrown down from heaven. This figure is shadowy, but it would seem that this angelic being had the role of bringing to humanity's attention our need for God's mercy, but had overstepped that prosecution role, taking for himself the part of judge, jury and executioner. The Accuser being thrown out underlines the agenda of heaven, to establish peace.

What, then, has this to do with a community shaped by this text?

Where do we find ourselves in this account?

Are we those sent ahead of Jesus, to search-out a welcome not only for ourselves, not only for him, but for those travelling with him?

What would such a welcome look like? Are we open to receiving such a welcome, to the vulnerability of being guest not host?

And if we are a pilgrim people, what is the journey we are on? A journey, with Jesus, to celebrate God's great acts of rescue in the past, and, so trusting in this God, to lay down our own lives?

Are we a household? And if so, are we a household - or households - committed to peace? Will we welcome the person Jesus sends to us, who does not look like us, who does not share our traditions, our beliefs, our experiences - of being in exile; of never having experienced exile - which gave birth and nurture to those beliefs?

Or are we a household committed to division, to What Makes Us Right And Them Wrong?

Where have we been committed to division between ourselves and another group? Where do we need to repent or (if we refuse to repent,) perish?

Are we willing to journey with the Holy Spirit, from 'joy' to being 'full of joy'? To share in the Son, our peace and our portion, our identity (v 16) and our authority (v 19)? To live in the present as echo of our past and foretaste of our future in the Father's home?

Where do we find ourselves, in this account, today?

Jesus-given : Shepherds

Over the course of the past year I've been working on a series of papers on discipling apostles, prophets, evangelists, shepherds (pastors), and teachers.

Here is the latest: my thoughts, for what they are worth, on shepherds. For those who are pastoral types, and those discipling them.

Drama

It struck me today that one of the things that I do that simply isn't reflected in my blogging is watch a lot of television drama. I love the small screen. Why? Well, I love stories; and the big screen simply doesn't tell stories very well: it tends to hide weak characterisation and plot behind big visual impact. Two hours isn't long enough to develop a story - even trilogies tend to attempt to go one better than the film before on impact more often than attempt to take us on a journey. Eight or ten 50-minute episodes allows a story to be told (and the BBCs The Hour shows that you can have amazing attention to visual impact through colour, rather than big budget set piece special effects). I like story-telling; but I don't read very well - reading takes such an effort for me (a consequence of dyspraxia and dyslexia) that I very rarely get more than two-thirds of the way through a novel, however engaging I find it. So I watch a lot of TV drama.

Earlier this year, we watched Broadchurch (ITV). Seaside town is rocked by the death, in suspicious circumstances, of a young boy. As a Whodunnit it didn't work: the identity of the person responsible was telegraphed by the refusal of the investigating officer to believe that anyone could be unaware if someone close to them was a killer. But then, I would suggest that Broadchurch was not a Whodunnit, but an exploration of what such an event does to a community. And as such, it was excellent. At first, the town turns on itself: everyone is a suspect; everyone has secrets, and, as those secrets are dragged into the public glare, more than one person who had moved to the town to rebuild their life after some sorrow or other finds their life made unbearable once more.

In Broadchurch, everyone is a complex character. And yet the script-writers do something very interesting: every character is likeable. Not in a too-good-to-be-true way, but in a people-are-both-flawed-and-yet-still-likeable way. This is a truth we need to be reminded of, when tempted to dislike our neighbours.

The town goes on a journey, from turning against itself to coming together, in order to rebuild their lives. Interestingly - unusually in fiction, though an accurate observation of real events - the vicar and the church building plays a central role in this process, despite the vicar's own struggles as an alcoholic in recovery, despite the suspicion with which clerics are tarred in relation to young boys, despite the irrelevance of the church for many most of the time.

A second series has been commissioned. It will be interesting to see where the story goes.

More recently we have watched The Fall (BBC). Sexually predatory female police officer heads up the hunt for sexually predatory male serial killer. In many ways, each is the mirror of the other. Both see themselves as outside, and above, 'herd' morality. As such, neither is as interesting as they believe themselves to be. Nor as unique, for it turns out that moral ambivalence runs through everyone. When we write our own rules, it turns out that we have no originality in us.

Whereas in Broadchurch every character is in some sense likeable, in The Fall there is not one likeable character in the entire cast. And this, too, is a very honest portrayal of people: a great many of whom are quite unlikable, if how we feel about others, and behave ourselves, is any guide. Honest, but without any sense of hope.

I don't believe that the Church has a monopoly on hope, and I certainly wouldn't want the church portrayed as the place of hope in every drama, but hope is necessary. It must be found somewhere: and it must be found somewhere outside of ourselves; must be found and cherished with others.

A second series has been commissioned. While I suspect awards will be won, I'm not sure I can be bothered to keep watching.

Clothes : House

"For a long time this man had not worn clothes or lived in a house, but had lived in the tombs."

I am reflecting on the Gospel reading for this coming Sunday, Luke 8:26-39, and the Epistle paired with it, Galatians 3:23-29. Both passages are concerned with wearing clothes, and living in a house.

Clothing has always been about more than a practical covering. Clothing has a key role to play in our cultural identity, symbolizing our connections with others. Different societies, and different layers of society, have come up with their own clothing solutions, as a means of reminding us, and informing others, of our place - of where and how we fit in to the Bigger Picture. Clothes might denote social status, profession, family ties, affiliations - or the overlaps of two or more of these.

In the Greco-Roman world, there was not the sheer diversity of clothing that advances in technology down the ages has made available to us. The main factor distinguishing different groups was the quality of the raw material used, as indicator of social status. But men, regardless of wealth, would ordinarily wear a knee-length woolen tunic under a woolen cloak. In Jewish culture, clothing was part of the marriage contract: wives were required to provide the family with clothes (made in the home); husbands were required to provide their wives with the the raw material to do so.

Like clothes, houses are not simply practical means of protection against the elements: the ways in which we go about solving that problem speaks volumes about our cultural values and connections to others. In Jesus' world, houses were typically one- or two-room homes built around a shared central courtyard. People lived in extended family groups - and those extended families worked together as well as lived together. So, for example, Jesus' home would have been an extended family of builders, or stone masons, possibly living next to other families of builders - until he was rejected by that community (for pointing out that God's concern extends beyond his chosen people and the land he had given them) and found inclusion within an extended family of fishermen instead (see Luke 4).

So when we read about Jesus, having gone beyond the border of the Land, being met by a man who for a long time had not worn clothes or lived in a house, we are hearing a story about one man who has been rejected by his family meeting another man who has been rejected by his family. And this man - unlike Jesus' own people, his own family - recognizes who Jesus is.

But the man is worried that Jesus, also, will reject him. Worse: that he will hold out the hope of freedom, only to dash it once more. And in a sense, Jesus will reject him (which raises another issue: what do we do when Jesus says, "No!"?).

This man's situation is contained: he cannot be restrained, but he can be managed; he lives among the dead, where no one else will go, for fear of the spirits of the dead. (Only after the adoption of Christianity by the Roman Empire did the departed come to be seen as friends; only then did cemeteries come to be located first within cities and in time gathered around church buildings.) Here is contained fear: Jesus' actions, defying the containment, result in unconstrained fear - first among the unclean spirits, then among the citizens when they find the man 'clothed and in his right mind.'

Not for the first time, Jesus is not welcome. The man who did welcome him begs to be allowed to depart with him; and Jesus refuses. Jesus rejects him. Why? Because Jesus did not cross the Lake to extract the man from his community, but to restore him to his community; more than that, to reunite a divided community, to restore the community. The man has been clothed - someone (Jesus?) has surrendered their outer garment, their cloak, to cover his nakedness (or lack of outer garment). Now he must go home. Now he must return to the extended family, the network of workplace relationships, that had been unable to cope, and take up his part within the family - telling everyone who he will come into contact with through that household what God had done in restoring them to one another.

In his letter to the believers in Galatia, Paul picks up the same language, of being 'clothed in Christ' and of being sons and heirs - that is, members of a household - to express the restoration of a divided community, whether divided along lines of ethnicity, social status, or gender...

We are never brought into a private relationship with God, a personal religion; but, rather, into a community that serves one another and the wider community; a community that has a story to tell of what God has done for them.

The question is, is such an (offensive) act of God too frightening to welcome? Are we more comfortable settling for the compromise of contained fear? Or, where are we happy to welcome such restoration, and who do we wish to keep at arms' length?

Health Warning: to pursue the restoration of a divided community might result in your being rejected by your own...

Crossing Cultures

People connect with other people, in groups of different sizes, each with its own particular strengths, and weaknesses.

There is public connecting to others. We do this, typically, as part of a large group sharing a particular interest-based experience: going to a concert, or watching a sporting event. We experience being part of something bigger than ourselves. Though most of those present are not principally involved – not performing in the band or orchestra, not playing in the team – they are, nonetheless, an integral part of what is going on. Typically, we stand, or sit, side-by-side; and do not expect to have a conversation with those around us. And we don’t do this weekly: even if you are a season-ticket holder for a team or concert hall, and you attend every event (which you probably don’t), it takes up certain times of the year.

Christians connect publically, in worship services where most of those present are not performing, but are, nonetheless, an integral part of what is going on. But we ‘aim for’ weekly attendance (they weren’t here: do you think they are ill?); and we (good Anglicans, at least) throw in an awkward Sharing the Peace moment.

There is social connecting to others. We do this, typically, in recreational ‘third places’ – co-workers in the bar for Happy Hour; children in the park after school. Here, movement and interaction are fluid, as we encounter people and make first-impression decisions on whether we want to get to know them better, or not. It is a smaller crowd than our public belongings, and involves a certain degree of conversation.

Churches tend not to connect socially so much. Where they do, they typically do so over fairly rigidly brokered terms, such as the Summer Fair – they don’t tend to be fluid – and churches tend to be so focused on their own programmes that they don’t get involved in the social connections going on in the neighbourhood around them...

There is personal belonging to others. We do this, typically, with friends, people we have some degree of shared – and growing – history with. They could be people we went to university with; they could be neighbours. We tend to get together as and when we can. In a highly mobile society, we might now live a long way apart and not see each other face-to-face particularly often. Getting together is precious; we might go away on holiday together; we probably keep in touch through social media. When we do get together, it is relaxed: there is no set agenda. Some of us might go off and do one thing, while others do something else; or, some of us might end up in the kitchen, while others end up in the garden. We probably don’t meet up in one another’s homes as much as in the park or at the beach. We talk about...anything and everything: what is going on in the news, what we are up to...

Churches are big on personal connecting. We typically do that in small groups that meet - a weekly diary appointment, a scheduled business meeting - in the home of a regular host, and sit in a room doing a Bible study.

There is intimate belonging to others. That is, friendships where we can – and do – share our secret hopes and fears, the things we need someone to know but wouldn’t want most people to know. This might be a sexual partner, or a parent, or sibling, or a longstanding friend or very small and tight circle of friends. Typically these friendships have grown over a length of time; they have not been engineered by anyone not in the group.

Churches are not as big on intimate connecting as they are on personal and public connecting. Some fear the very idea. Some put people in such positions, and hope it will work out.

What is interesting is this. People connect with other people publically, socially, personally, and intimately. This goes on around us, and may go on within our church. But the form such connections take in Christian circles is typically very different from the form they take in the culture around us. For ‘very different,’ read ‘totally alien.’

I watched an insightful talk on the Verge Network website recently, in which Todd Engstrom asked, If a missionary is someone who leaves their familiar culture in order to take the gospel to people who don’t know Jesus – people who have no hope of salvation, who aren’t empowered and sent by the Holy Spirit – then why, in seeking to bring those people into our cultural forms, are we expecting them to do the work of being a missionary, not us?

Barnabas

Today is the feast of Barnabas. ‘Barnabas’ (‘Son of Encouragement’) was a nickname (his given name was Joseph) (in the same way that ‘Peter’ – ‘Rocky’ – was a nickname given to Simon). He was one of the first members of the church to endorse Saul (who became Paul), and the two of them became co-conspirators in the gospel. Sent as representatives of the church in Antioch to the church in Jerusalem, they returned to Antioch with John Mark (who may have been a relative of Barnabas). Together, they set off from there on a journey to Cyprus (where Barnabas came from) and on into what is today southern central Turkey; but after Cyprus, Mark left, returning to Jerusalem. Some time later, having returned from their trip and reported back to the church in Antioch and in Jerusalem, Paul felt it right to go back and visit the new churches in Turkey, to encourage them. Barnabas wanted to take John Mark, but Paul did not think that it was wise to do so, because he had deserted them before. Paul and Barnabas, longstanding close friends and co-conspirators, disagreed so sharply that they parted company. As far as we know, they were never reconciled; though Paul and John Mark were, in time.

This morning I was having breakfast with several other church leaders, and at the other end of the table I overheard animated discussion about these events. Paul, the consensus affirmed, was obviously a difficult character to work with; prone to angry over-reaction. Barnabas was clearly the better role model...

I am not convinced. My reading is that Paul and Barnabas were both concerned for John Mark. There is no need to air-brush out their disagreement in order for this to be so. We are told that Paul did not think it wise to take him – and wisdom is not the same as pique. Wisdom might recognise that courage can only fail so many times before a young person’s spirit is crushed. Mark had run away – twice already, if we accept the tradition that the young man who was present at Jesus’ arrest and ran away was Mark; a story, if the tradition is right, Paul may well have known about his sometime travelling companion. If he had not yet faced up to this and worked it through – again, Paul would be in a place to judge this – running away a third time could well prove unrecoverable. Is it not, perhaps, Paul’s judgement that John Mark is not ready?

Unable to go where he had planned with Barnabas, Paul – compelled to carry the gospel – headed elsewhere with another co-conspirator, Silas. Barnabas took Mark; but he, too, doesn’t go on the full journey Paul had proposed.

Barnabas takes Mark to Cyprus.

Why?

Cyprus was where their cut-short journey had begun. From Cyprus, Mark could have looked out at the horizon, towards the place of his failure, day-after-day, until he was ready to face his fears. And ultimately the way we move beyond our place of failure, our moment of desertion, is to be led back to that painful moment by Jesus and in those surroundings be restored and re-commissioned. But only Jesus can do that, and he does not have to take us back to the place physically (as we see when he restores Peter, who denied knowing him in Jerusalem, on the shore of Lake Tiberias). So I don’t think that is why Barnabas took Mark to Cyprus.

I wonder whether Barnabas took Mark to Cyprus because that is where Barnabas’ own story begins.

How do we encourage someone else? How do we help them to grow as a disciple? By sharing our story of being a disciple: as fully, as honestly – victories won, defeats suffered – as possible; all the time, making connections between our story and God’s story, between our experience and the person of Jesus. And the only way we can share our story that fully is to invite others into it: to give them that access, to take them to significant places, to introduce them to people who have invested in us.

That is why when I am encouraging someone in need of encouragement, I tell them about Sheffield. Not because St Thomas’ is the perfect community (this story, too, contains sharp disagreements and partings of company within it, and more than once); but because it is where the journey that has led me to meet them began. That is why, when I have had the opportunity, I have taken people to Philadelphia, the campus God gave St Thomas’ ten years ago this very weekend just past.

According to tradition, Barnabas was martyred on Cyprus; and Mark went on to collaborate with Peter (in writing the Gospel according to Mark) and with Paul, as well as planting and overseeing churches in his own right. But he was able to do that because, at a crucial moment when courage fails him, Paul and Barnabas both invest in his life: Paul, by protecting him from further loss; and Barnabas by inviting Mark into his own history.

How, then, might we observe the feast of Barnabas? With a meal – obviously! – but also in telling stories, of those places and people who have been used by God to shape us, to the encouragement of others, and the glory of God’s name.

Three-in-One

‘“Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind” and, “Love your neighbour as yourself.”’

Luke 10:27, quoting Deuteronomy 6:5 and Leviticus 19:18

Because we in the West are so influenced by ancient Greek thought, by the impulse to classify everything into distinct categories, we have a tendency to hear these words as highlighting difference:

‘“Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind” and, “Love your neighbour as yourself.”’

and, indeed,

‘“Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind” and, “Love your neighbour as yourself.”’

But what if the spirit of these words – perhaps best understood as both an invitation and a challenge – was more concerned with unity?

‘“Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind” and, “Love your neighbour as yourself.”’

Differentiation is not entirely unhelpful. Indeed, it is a necessary stage, without which we are unable to navigate the world as we set out from home. Ancient Hebrew thought is also concerned with differentiation, such as that between ‘clean’ and ‘unclean.’ But while setting out from home – moving from Eden to fill the whole earth – is part of God’s intention for us, it is also God’s intention that we eventually return home – return to that place where we walk in harmony with one another and with God. And that movement requires first a stage of differentiation and then a stage of unification. This is why it is written that in Jesus, God is reconciling all things to him. God fills and bursts our containers.

The other evening I was with friends who are committed to living a life that attends to seeking to love God, the extended family of faith God has given us (self – the person only exists in community), and those who live alongside us (neighbour). That is a good thing. What I shared with them was what God had put on my heart, to ask the question: “How have you spent time with God today?”

I was not surprised that the first reaction was one of discomfort, of guilt. Why? Because of that tendency to separate things into different categories: the tendency to see loving God, self, and neighbour as ourselves as three different kinds of activity which we must seek to perform. Loving becomes defined by certain activities, which become tasks, which become squeezed out, which become opportunity for guilt. I gave God five minutes today...I haven’t told anyone about Jesus today...

One of the ways we remind ourselves that we are called to love God, self and neighbour is visually, through a triangle, a shape that has three sides, three angles. But a triangle only exists when there are three sides coming together at three angles: a triangle is a unity, at every point, in every moment.

We are never not with God, never not with our extended family of faith, never not with our neighbour. We are not alone in the world.

I love God when I acknowledge his presence, as I sit in the garden, as I acknowledge his presence in the person I am talking to. And I love that other person as I acknowledge God’s presence in them – for in so doing I am drawn to recognise them as made in God’s likeness, honoured, rather than focused on the particular ways in which that likeness is marred in them...and how that marring jars against the particular ways God’s likeness is marred in me. I love – or not – my extended family of faith and my neighbour as I make decisions that have an impact on them – including the simple, daily decisions, such as what I buy, and where.

Is the movement of your life focused on differentiation (remember, this is not entirely unhelpful, especially in the first half of our journey through life, but will become increasingly hard to juggle as we are drawn to start on the homeward journey), or becoming increasingly unified (not monochrome, but celebrating reconciliation between diversity)?

Birthday Girl