Mark 1:21-28

Marian Free 

In the name of God who welcomes us into his embrace no matter what our faults or our weaknesses. Amen.

I’d like to begin this week with a poem by George Herbert – the same George Herbert – who authored a number of hymns including three in Together in Song – “Let all the world in every corner sing”, “King of Glory, King of Peace” and “Come my way, my truth, my life”.

This poem is titled “Love”.

Love

LOVE bade me welcome; yet my soul drew back,

Guilty of dust and sin.

But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack

From my first entrance in,

Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning

If I lack’d anything.

‘A guest,’ I answer’d, ‘worthy to be here:’

Love said, ‘You shall be he.’

‘I, the unkind, ungrateful? Ah, my dear,

I cannot look on Thee.’

Love took my hand and smiling did reply,

‘Who made the eyes but I?’

‘Truth, Lord; but I have marr’d them: let my shame

Go where it doth deserve.’

‘And know you not,’ says Love, ‘Who bore the blame?’

‘My dear, then I will serve.’

‘You must sit down,’ says Love, ‘and taste my meat.’

So I did sit and eat.                                                                         George Herbert

It is difficult to really understand what people in the first century meant by an unclean spirit. In a culture without the sort of medical knowledge that is available to us today all kinds of explanations were provided for a person’s ills. Unclean spirits bore the brunt of the responsibility. They – whatever they were – were responsible for what we might now call epilepsy, for mental illness and other inexplicable medical phenomena. It is no surprise then, that Jesus, like many other healers of his time, exercised his ministry of healing, by casting out the unclean spirit or spirits from a person who suffered from an affliction. This view presumes of course, that there is an entity separate from the person, which resides in and causes harm to the person – something that, with our advanced medical knowledge, we would reject today.

The simple matter of Jesus’ healing the sick, while miraculous, is not too difficult to come to grips with. What is intriguing in many of the accounts of exorcism is the negative reaction of the unclean spirits to Jesus’ presence such as that recorded in today’s reading from Mark’s gospel. Even before anyone has asked for or even suggested healing, the unclean spirit within the person recognises Jesus and calls out in terror: “What have you to do with us?”

What is going on here? Are we observing a power struggle between good and evil or a fierce desire for independence on the part of the person who is sick? Are there really such things as unclean spirits who, having taken up residence in a person do not want to lose their comfortable abode? Is it possible that the person who is suffering from the illness resists Jesus’ compassion because they have become dependent on the income that they receive from begging – an income they will lose if they become well?

According to our gospel writers, this reaction is not unusual. In Jesus’ presence, the unclean spirit/s often express fear and a wish for Jesus to go away and leave them alone.

I’ve spent some time contemplating the reaction of the evil spirits. Why would anyone resist or refuse healing? Why would anyone shrink from Jesus’ love and compassion? Why would anyone demand that Jesus go away? I imagine that there are many answers to such questions. The poem with which I began provides me with one solution. The author of the poem, George Herbert, was one of six children raised by their widowed mother. He was very bright. He achieved distinctions in his Bachelor’s and Master’s degrees and was appointed a Reader and then an orator at Cambridge University. These positions could have led to even greater things, but Herbert gave up all ambition to become a priest in the Anglican Church. He served in a Parish church for the remainder of his life, helping to repair the parish church with money from his own pocket. He was not someone whom you would associate with the guilt and sin of the first line of the poem, with the “unkind and ungrateful person” of the second verse or with the “shame” of the third verse.

Why then does he feel the need to draw back? Why does he feel that he has to refuse the welcome offered by Love?  There was surely no evil spirit to hold the poet back or to reject the advances of Love.

In the modern world, the reluctance to accept Jesus’ invitation has nothing to do with what those in the first century called evil spirits. The hesitancy, the drawing back, the sense of unworthiness comes instead from an awareness of our weaknesses and inadequacies compared with the absolute goodness of Jesus.

It’s a difficult concept, but I am sure that many of us have had the experience of feeling that we do not deserve the affection or attention of someone whom we love or admire. Or, having done something that we know we shouldn’t have done, want to hide ourselves away so that our misdeed not be discovered an ourselves be rejected as a result.  Like the child who has broken a valued possession and who cannot make eye contact with the adult who has discovered her, or the pupil who has disappointed a favourite teacher and who drops his eyes to the ground rather than look the teacher in the face – none of us like to be found out, least of all by those whom we respect and whom we hope will love and respect us.

There is a kind of wisdom in this sort of self-knowledge that makes embarrassed and ashamed and leads us to want to shield our sins from God. It is a recognition that God is goodness itself and that despite all our striving, we will never attain a standard that makes us worthy of God. It means that with the Psalmist we have “the fear of God that is the beginning of wisdom”. The difference between the person in Herbert’s poem and the evil spirits, is that having at first withdrawn, filled with shame, that person opens themselves to Jesus’ love and forgiveness and allows themselves to be drawn in instead of pushing Jesus away.

On our own, none of us is perfect; none of us is worthy to stand in the presence of God. Knowing this enables us to retain an honest view of ourselves and a healthy awe of God. However, it is important always to remember that God’s love is unconditional and that as the poem says: “Jesus’ bore the blame.” When at last we come face to face with God, we may cast our eyes to our feet when we think of all that we have done, but let us be sure not to ask God to go away or to ever turn our backs to God’s  welcoming embrace.

Mark 1:14-20

Marian Free

 In the name of God who grabs us when we least expect and asks us to follow to the end. Amen.

Some of you will have read, in yesterday’s Courier Mail, the story of Sister Mary Angela – the Administrator of Mater public hospitals for 21 years[1]. Sister Mary Angela – then Kathleen Doyle – was born in Ireland. “She was working the family farm, aged 15 when God called. ‘That’s a strange thing that happened,’ she says. ‘I can’t really describe it by saying anything other than it came into my mind.’ She felt God was near to her. As she worked away in the field, she says, she would converse with God the way she conversed with teenage friends. Somewhere in these conversations was raised the possibility that she might make herself – her whole life – available to whatever God would decide for her.

She says: ‘People ask me, ‘Did you feel compelled to do that?’ Not really. I felt that it was an option. It just came into my mind as if somebody had spoken it to me. That’s the way I heard it. I wasn’t compelled. I could do it or not do it.”

When Sister Angela Mary was sent to Australia she wrote in her diary: “How could I have left home for good? What can I do? What have I do offer? At this moment, I feel very miserable. Where did I think I could possibly be useful?’” Her misgivings were unfounded. Despite the fact that she had no experience in management, she was asked to administer the three Mater public hospitals. During her time there she established a new adult hospital, developed a world class service for mothers and babies, drove the development of a family clinic to treat children with mental illness and much more.

C.S. Lewis heard the call of God in quite a different way. As you might imagine, the young Lewis was a serious child. In his teenage years he worried that his prayer was not genuine and set himself very high and rigid standards. It is no wonder that he abandoned this dry and harsh experience of faith. He came to the conclusion that all religion was false so it came as a surprise when at university he began to discover that while Christianity might be no good, there were in fact many Christians who were good.

In his autobiography Surprised by Joy he describes in detail the way in which God broke down his defenses[2]. “I was sitting on the top of a bus. Without words a fact about myself was somehow presented to me. I became aware that I was holding something at bay or shutting something out. Or, if you like, that I was wearing some stiff clothing or even a suit of armour, as if I were a lobster. I felt myself being, there and then, given a free choice. I could open the door or keep it shut; I could unbuckle the armour or keep it on. Neither choice was presented as a duty; no threat or promise was attached to either, though I knew that to open the door would lead to something that he would not be able to control. The choice appeared to be momentous but it was also strangely unemotional. I was moved by no desires or fears. In a sense I was not moved by anything. I chose to open to unbuckle, to loosen the rein. I say, “I chose”, yet it did not really seem possible to do the opposite. Then came the consequence. I felt as if I were a man of snow at long last beginning to melt. For Lewis, that was the beginning of the end.

He continues: “Really, a young Atheist cannot guard his faith too carefully. Dangers lie in wait for him on every side.” “I had wanted ‘to call my soul my own’.” “Yet, there I was, alone, night after night, feeling, whenever my mind lifted even for a second from my work, the steady, unrelenting approach of Him who I so earnestly desired not to meet. In the Trinity term of 1929 I gave in, ad admitted that God was God, and knelt and prayed: perhaps that night, the most dejected and reluctant convert in all England.”

Kathleen and Lewis are modern parallels of the stories we have heard this morning. Jonah, like C. S. Lewis, tried unsuccessfully to ignore or avoid the call of God. Like Kathleen, Peter and Andrew, James and John were working at the family business, when a voice stirred their imagination and caused them to abandon their trade, their boats and their families and to follow Jesus wherever he would lead.

Lewis was not looking for God, nor would he have identified any lack in himself or have said that he was searching for meaning. If anything, he was completely self-contained and self-assured. The last thing he was expecting was some irrational belief to overturn his intellectual assurance. Kathleen Doyle was an unlikely candidate for the convent. When she told her mother that she thought she might become a nun, her mother responded: “You a nun? You’d never stay. You like going to dances too much.”

The bible is filled with stories of call, of the variety of ways in which people respond and of the amazing things that – empowered by God – they are able to do. Abraham is asked by an unknown God to leave everything and take his family to an unknown land. Moses sees God in the burning bush and protests that he does not have the skills to lead the people of Israel. Jonah hears the voice of God and runs away. Peter, Andrew, James and John leave everything and follow Jesus.

Obedience, protest, skepticism, reluctance, joy, relief and surprise are just some of the ways that people respond when God tugs at their hearts and asks them to give their all and serve. God calls farm girls, merchants, anglers and intellectuals. Their response is often one of surprise or even denial:  “I can’t (don’t want to) do that”. “What do I have to offer?” Few begin the journey fully equipped with the skills, the wisdom and insight needed to do what is required but this does not matter. Those whom God calls, God equips.

God’s insistent call persists in every generation. Jesus may not be walking by our lakesides or wandering through our towns, but his call to follow echoes through the centuries. For two thousand years the wise and the foolish, the brave and the cowardly, the talented and the not so talented have stepped up to God’s call and we are here today only because they had the courage or the foolhardiness to say: “yes”.

Are we listening for the voice of God and will our “yes” ensure that the gospel is shared with the generation that follows?

(Alternate ending)

The voice of Jesus may be heard in many and varied ways and by people who differ considerably from each, but however God calls, and whatever God asks us to do, if we have the audacity to respond God will do the rest.

John 1:43-53

Marian Free

 In the name of God who knows us better than we know ourselves. Amen.

Today I’d like to share with you a little of the story of another Augustine – the great scholar and theologian – Augustine of Hippo.

This Augustine was born in Numidia in North Africa in 354. His father was a pagan and his mother Monica a Christian. As a child he was educated in the traditional classical manner typical for a young pagan of that age. Later he became a teacher of rhetoric in North Africa and then he moved to Milan where he held the most important academic position in the world.  It appears that his academic success was not completely fulfilling. While in Milan he explored the teachings of the Persian religion. After nine years trying to understand the religion he still had not found the answer to his search for religious meaning.

He began to explore philosophy and skepticism. At the time his mother tried to point him in the direction of Christianity, but it was only when a friend read about the life of St Anthony of the Desert that Augustine seriously became to examine the Christian faith.

One afternoon Augustine was sitting in a friends’ garden drinking the best of Italian wine, feeling very depressed by the state of his life and feeling that he was full of iniquity. He cast himself down under a fig tree, burst into tears and implored God not to remember his sins.

He describes what happened that afternoon: “How long, how long, “to-morrow, and tomorrow?” Why not now? why is there not this hour an end to my uncleanness? As I was saying this and weeping in the bitter agony of my heart, suddenly I heard a voice from the nearby house chanting as if it might be a boy or a girl (I do not know which) saying and repeating over and over again. “Pick it up and read, pick it up and read.”

At once my countenance changed, and I began to think intently whether there might be some sort of children’s game in which such a chant is used. But I could not remember having heard of one. I checked the flood of tears and stood up. I interpreted it solely as a divine command to me to open the book and read the first chapter I might find. So I hurried back to the place where I had put down the book of the apostle when I got up. I seized it, opened it and in silence read the first passage on which my eyes lit. “Not in riots and drunken parties, not in eroticism and indecencies, not in strife and rivalry, but put on the Lord Jesus Christ and make no provision for the flesh in its lusts.” (Rom 13:13-14) I neither wished nor needed to read further. At once, with the last words of the sentence, it was as if a light relief from all anxiety flooded into my heart. All shadows of doubt were dispelled (Chadwick, St Augustine’s Confessions, 152).

Shortly after his conversion, Augustine became a priest and he was later made a Bishop. His writings continue to be influential in the Christian world today.

Augustine under the fig tree. Nathaniel under the fig tree. This week and next, the readings recount the call of the first disciples – those people who joined Jesus in his mission. According to John the first to follow Jesus were disciples of John the Baptist. On hearing John the Baptist identify Jesus as the Lamb of God Andrew and one other left John and went to find out more about Jesus. Andrew then called his brother Peter. The following day Jesus called Philip who in turn found the skeptical Nathaniel. Nathaniel is astounded that Jesus already knows so much about him and comes to faith in the one whom he recognises as both Son of God AND King of Israel.

It seems that people come to Jesus and to discipleship through a variety of means. Augustine is sitting pondering his situation and finds the answer in scripture. Andrew is curious and seeks out Jesus to find out more about him. Phillip responds when Jesus calls him to follow and Nathaniel is impressed by Jesus’ insight into his character. Some seek Jesus out, some come because they hear Jesus’ call, others are introduced to Jesus by their family and friends and still others stumble on Jesus almost by accident.

We can see from even this non-representative selection of people that there are a wide variety of ways in which people come to faith or in which they experience a call to follow Jesus. For some it is a sudden and dramatic moment of conversion. For others coming to faith is a gradual process of deepening understanding. A great many people would say that they have never known a moment when they did not believe – faith was transferred as it were through the umbilical cord and that faith has remained with them throughout their whole life. Some come to faith through an intellectual process of testing, questioning and reading whereas for others their journey to faith is more a matter of the heart.

God is not remote, indifferent and disengaged from the world, but is longing for connection with us, those whom God created. As Jesus sought out the disciples, so the Trinity continues to seek us out, to bring us deeper into relationship. God knows who we are, how to approach us and how we will respond. Whether we are minding our business under a fig tree, mending our fishing nets, studying the scriptures or meeting with friends, God seeks us out, calls us by name and asks that we follow, that we join God in the great task of saving the world.

We have said “yes” to faith, that “yes” is also a “yes” to discipleship, a commitment to serve God in the world?

Mark 1: (2-3) 4-11

Marian Free

In the name of God who invites us into a relationship with his son Jesus. Amen.

When our children were studying drama at high school, they would often give us a running commentary on the programmes that we were watching so that we would see understand the dramatic techniques used by filmmakers to create particular effects and to elicit particular emotions. As a result, we learned that not only did ominous music suggest that something sinister or terrible was about to happen, but that the side of the screen from which an actor entered was also used to signal something in relation to the plot. These techniques operate on a sub-conscious level. We don’t need to work out which side of the screen an actor is on to understand that something bad is about to happen there are usually other clues as well. More often than not, we understand what is happening and are caught up in the story without being aware of the dramatic short cuts which make the experience more vivid and more real. The same is true of many creative endeavours and particularly of advertising. A quick look at a programme like The Gruen Transfer will open your eyes into the variety of tools that advertisers use to get the unsuspecting to purchase a product or to support a cause.

The use of dramatic tools to enhance a plot is no less true of narrative styles. Different styles of writing make the reading experience so much richer. Much more is conveyed by allusion and narrative technique than the words on their own. Today’s Gospel provides a perfect illustration of the way in which the written word can imply much more than is actually said. As you might expect, the first chapter of Mark’s gospel sets the scene for what is to come. It is something like the overture in a musical or an opera. It introduces the major themes and the key character.

The writer of Mark is a person of few words. He sets the scene for Jesus’ ministry in just fifteen verses. This is in stark comparison to Matthew and Luke who embellish the account with stories about Jesus’ parents, his birth and genealogy. In their accounts, Jesus’ baptism isn’t mentioned until the middle of their third chapters yet, without losing any of the impact, Mark has reached the account of Jesus’ baptism by the ninth verse of the gospel, and he has included all the pertinent points that Luke and Matthew take so much longer to say. That is – Jesus is announced by John (who is inferior to him) he is from Nazareth, he is the anointed one and he is of the line of David, he is also the one who comes as the Servant of second Isaiah. All of this Mark implies without directly stating any of it. How does he achieve so much in so few words? By the use of allusion and images that are already familiar to his readers, Mark allows the imaginations of his readers to fill in the gaps.

Because we are so familiar with the gospel, and because we know the story as told by all the gospel writers, we don’t always notice the subtleties of Mark’s story-telling. Let’s begin from the beginning – John the Baptist is announced with a quote that purports to come from Isaiah. However, if you were to search through the book of Isaiah you would not find these exact words. What Mark does (as do other biblical writers) is to use a composite quote from Exodus, Malachi and Isaiah. In this way he implies (at least to the ears of first century Jews) that John is the second Elijah – an idea that is reinforced by the description of John’s clothes. The Elijah reference also explains that the mission of both John and Jesus properly begins in the wilderness and that this is where the people must go to encounter God.

John’s baptism is also laden with meaning. The River Jordan had a number of important associations for the Israelites – it had parted to allow them into the promised land, it had provided healing to Naaman the leper, King of Syria, and it was the primary source of water in the country as a whole. Of further significance is the baptism itself. No one really knows the origin of baptism though ritual cleansing was a familiar practice. What is important here is that John was offering people the remission of sins – again a role associated with Elijah in the inter-testamental writings. More than this though, John is exercising a priestly function, but he is doing so outside the ritual and sacrificial practices of the Temple at Jerusalem. By implication then, John was ignoring, if not subverting, the role of the Temple and the ritual practice of the Jewish people. He seems to be promoting the idea that the priestly hierarchy and their practices are no longer valid or effective and that only a radical turn around in the lives of the people would effect the restoration of their relationship with God.

Mark’s allusions continue when John introduces the idea of the one who is coming after him. He makes it quite clear that he is subservient to Jesus to the point that even their forms of baptism will be different. The one who come after will baptise with the Holy Spirit. Cleansing from sin followed by the spirit may refer back to Ezekiel, but here it indicates that Jesus will be doing something new and different from that of John. Unlike John, Jesus will be giving the people the Holy Spirit promised by God.

Finally Jesus arrives on the scene, though all we are told of his background is that he is from Nazareth in Galilee. Jesus seeks baptism by John, an indication not that he sees himself as sinful, but that he subscribes to the radical theology and ecclesiology of John. The torn heavens, the coming of the dove and the voice are for Jesus alone, but Mark makes us participants in the scene. The splitting of the heavens suggests God’s dramatic intervention in human history, the hovering of the dove suggests God’s brooding over the waters in creation and the voice which again is a composite quote affirms Jesus as both king and servant. King because “you are my beloved son” comes from Psalm 2:7 which was used at coronations and servant because “I take delight in you” references the servant song of Isaiah.

In just a few verses, by the use of images familiar to his hearers, Mark has established a number of things – that Jesus did not just appear unannounced (John prepared the people for his coming); that Jesus came from Nazareth, but he will be more significant that than John and indeed all the prophets, God’s spirit will be on him and as God’s anointed (the Christ) he will be both king and servant. What is more, he will make the Holy Spirit available to those who come to him. Astonishingly, he will be unlike the person expected by the Jewish hierarchy – he will challenge their authority, question their integrity and announce the destruction of that most precious symbol, the Temple.

This is no gentle Jesus meek and mild. It is not a Jesus who supports the status quo and encourages his followers to conform to the world around them. This Jesus will be uncomfortable, difficult and unconventional. He will turn around the lives of those who choose to follow him and he will make such an impact that the world will never be the same.

I wonder, have we forgotten how radical and subversive this Jesus was? Have we instead put him to work to serve the needs of the church and society? Have we used his teaching to ensure conformity to certain norms and codes of behaviour? Are we guilty of using him as a crutch or as an excuse for not growing? Is the Jesus we believe in a pious, toothless Saviour or a powerful and terrifying sign of God’s presence? Who is the Jesus of the Gospels? Are we truly ready to meet him and when we do will we have the courage to trust and follow him?

Matthew 2:1-12

Marian Free

 In the name of God whose love embraces all people. Amen.

The book of Genesis tells us that God chose Abraham to father a people of his own. God made a covenant with Abraham to be his God and the God of his children. This made the Israelites distinct from those around them. In the first instance, the children of Abraham believed in only one God – a living God, not an idol made by human hands. Yahweh, the God of Israel was, in contrast to the God of the neighbouring nations, believed to be God of all the world, not just the God of the nation. Other things set the Israelites apart. The sign of the covenant was the circumcision of all males over eight days old and the people of God were distinguished by their observation of the Sabbath, their dietary laws and cleanliness rituals. The Israelites saw themselves as the chosen ones. Others might acknowledge their God, but they could not be inheritors of the promise.

That said, there is a great deal of evidence not only that non-Jews played significant roles in the history of the Israelites, but that the Jews harboured a belief that one day the whole world would believe in Yahweh – their God. The OT books of Ruth and of Jonah are both stories that indicate a less exclusive view.  Ruth a Moabite woman not only demonstrates a great depth of faith in the Israelite God, but through marriage becomes the grandmother of David and therefore a direct ancestor of Jesus and Jonah is instrumental in saving an entire Gentile town from the wrath of God. Cyrus, the king of Babylon is called “messiah” or anointed, and his invasion of Judah is seen as an act of the God of Israel. In the Psalms in particular, there are numerous references to the whole world flocking to Jerusalem to worship Yahweh. So while the Jews understood themselves to be chosen by God and set apart from the nations, they still harboured a view that if Yahweh was THE God, then at some stage all people would come to believe.

By the turn of the eras, the Jewish nation had been in exile for centuries and having returned to their own land been subject first to Greece then to Rome. The effect of this was to strengthen and confirm their sense of identity and exclusiveness. Food laws and cleanliness rituals were strictly enforced as these were a means by which the Israelites could distinguish themselves from those around them and could build a sense of national identity and pride. While this built their sense of who they were, it had the effect of making it extremely difficult, if not impossible, for anyone else to belong.

It was into this environment that Jesus burst with his agenda of reforming Judaism.  His death and subsequent resurrection led a number of people to believe that he was the promised Christ and to form a movement which declared this to be true. For decades this movement remained primarily within Judaism, maintaining the practices of Judaism and adding to them the belief that the Messiah had come. By the time the gospels were written however, those who believed in Jesus could not longer comfortably co-exist within the faith that had given theirs birth.

At the same time it was increasingly obvious that those to whom Jesus had been sent had not responded to his message while those considered to be outsiders – the Gentiles – had responded. This created something of a dilemma for the emerging church and for the writers of the gospels in particular.  How could it be explained that those whom God had chosen were now “out” and those who had been previously excluded were not only “in”, but were the inheritors of the promises of God? A secondary, but no less important concern was whether the promises of God could be trusted if they had failed where Israel was concerned.

The gospel writers approach the dilemma from different perspectives, while Luke is at pains to demonstrate that God is faithful, Matthew is determined to show that Christianity is the logical progression of Judaism and therefore the rightful inheritor of the promises. Furthermore, the writer of Matthew is quite clear that not only has Christianity grown out of Judaism but, as the inheritor of the promises, it has now supplanted it. God’s promises to Abraham included the promise that Abraham that in him all nations would be blessed.  This promise has now been fulfilled through Jesus.

The gospels develop this theme in a number of ways. John the Baptist tells the Pharisees not to count on their descent to secure their salvation, saying that God is able to raise up descendants of Abraham from the stones. Jesus commends the faith of the Gentiles in comparison with that of the children of Abraham and Jesus’ many confrontations with the leaders of the Jews are intended to demonstrate their lack of understanding and therefore to explain their failure to believe.  Jesus commends the Gentiles and condemns the Jews.  In other words, the failure of the Jews to believe relates to their hardness of heart and the belief of the Gentiles is a part of God’s overall plan.

Matthew’s gospel begins then with the coming of the magi – the first fruits of God’s inclusion of the Gentiles. While all Jerusalem trembles at the news of a king, it is these outsiders who not only realise that something significant has happened, but who come to bring gifts and to worship the child who is born. Their presence so early in the gospel is a sign of things to come – the Gentiles will come to Jesus whereas the Jews will not.

Jesus opens the door to all nations. In him all God’s promises have been fulfilled. The God of the nations is now known and worshipped by all people, the faith that was confined to a few has been made available to the world.  Our task is to continue to ensure that God’s promises are extended to all nations in every generation. We need to be constantly alert to the way in which our attempts at self-definition create barriers to faith for others and by our practice and our proclamation, we must ensure at all times that the welcome God extends is the welcome that we give.

God’s promises cannot be contained, nor can they be limited to a chosen few. If we attempt to hold them to ourselves, we can be certain, that God will find ways to extend them to others.

Christmas 2011

Marian Free

In the name of God who is longing for us to give him a place in our hearts. Amen.

One of my most vivid childhood memories was our trip to Scotland when I was ten years old. It was, I think ,the summer holidays and we had driven up from London – my father, my mother, my younger sister and brother and myself. All was going well until we got to the motel where we were to spend the first night. To our surprise and consternation (not to mention my ten year old distress), they weren’t expecting us. What was worse was that they had no rooms that they could give us. Worse still was the fact that due to the school holidays there was not a room to be had in the whole town.

It was the same everywhere we went. We would confidently arrive at our planned accommodation only to find that they were not only not expecting us but that they and the whole city was fully booked!

You may have guessed by the fact that it happened more than once that we continued our holiday. We were truly blessed.  At each and every place room was found for us, sometimes even in the home of the motel manager. Stretchers were pulled out and linen provided and so we were protected from the cold and wet and didn’t have to drive all the way home and miss our holiday.

It is only recently that I have drawn on this experience to try to really imagine what it was like for Mary and Joseph.

In the first century there were inns for travelers, but most would have been on trade routes. Few people could write or even afford letters, so there would have been no way of booking ahead or even of warning your friends that you were on your way. However, in the first century Mediterranean culture there were strict rules of hospitality. A person could travel the countryside and be reasonably confident of finding a welcome somewhere.

However, this was no ordinary journey. It was undertaken for the specific purpose of the census. This made it worse than the summer school holidays in Scotland everyone was on the move and every bed, every space was taken.

How distressing it must have been to have been turned away time after time, from every place where they sought shelter. How anxious must Mary have been to find somewhere to rest, somewhere safe and warm to bring her child into the world! How relieved they must all have been to have found somewhere at last – even if it was the place in which the animals were stalled, it was dry and warm.

It’s an extraordinary story. One would have thought that God could have been better prepared  – chosen to be born at a less busy time, ensured that Mary and Joseph had arrived before the crowds, or even burst into the world without the inconvenience of birth and childhood.

God doesn’t choose this way, because the last thing that God wants to do is to impose himself on humankind. God chooses to enter our lives not as a separate and inaccessible being, but by becoming one of us – from birth to death.

Even now, God refuses to impose himself or force his will on the world. God continues gently and persistently to ask us to make room – to open our hearts so that God can come in and to open our lives so that God’s presence can be known through us. Without us, God cannot enter the world. Without our cooperation, God cannot be brought to birth.

Just as Mary and Joseph were totally reliant on the kindness of strangers to provide a space in which God could be brought to birth, so God continues to rely on us to open the door to our hearts and make a space for God in our lives.

It’s a long time since Jesus was born, but God is still knocking on the doors of our hearts asking if there is room.  Are we going to leave Jesus outside in the cold and dark with no place to be born, or are we going to open our hearts and let him come in and transform our lives by being born in and through us?

 I’d like to share with you a poem by Louis William Countryman. It’s called “Going to God with the Shepherds.”[1]

“If you want to go to God, go without

your certainties. Take your graces. Leave

your certainties behind…..”

I’m sure that if we had been able to ask a first century Jew how they expected God to enter the world the last thing that they would have expected was a baby in a manger. They might have said – as would have been reasonable that God would come on the clouds in judgement, or perhaps that the Messiah would be a ruler or a prince. No one it seems expected God to arrive in the world as a totally naked, vulnerable, dependent newborn child. God is meant to be majestic, powerful, extraordinary, instantly recognizable simply because God is so different from anything worldly. The Old Testament texts present God in many different ways, but none of them lead us to expect that God would come among us in such a humble, unexpected and unrecognizable way.

It was because Jesus was undistinguishable from any other person (with some notable exceptions) that so few of the establishment recognised him. They were looking for someone else. They were expecting someone they could relate to, someone who would fit their model of what a Messiah, what God would look like among them. They were looking so hard for what they expected, that they completely failed to see the presence of God even though it was right in front of them.

In the poem, Countryman suggests that we have the same problem. We are so busy hurtling towards our own idea of God, so sure that we know what God is like and where we will find God, that we fail to see God in a child playing on the lawn, or a woman laughing with her friends. We are so convinced that God is so utterly other, that we are oblivious to the presence of God all around us.

If you want to go to God, go without your certainties. As the shepherds left their sheep to follow the news of the angels, so we should leave behind all our images of God, all our expectations of God’s coming. Only then will we be free to be surprised by God’s presence in the ordinary and the everyday. Only then will we truly recognise the child in the manger or the condemned man on the cross.

John 1:6-8, 19-28

Marian Free

In the name of God, whose presence is known to us in many and varied ways. Amen.

 Some time ago I was fortunate to be able to do the Ignatian Retreat in everyday life. It was an experience that I can highly recommend, but which is too complex to explain now. One of the practices that I continue to use is called The Awareness Examen or the Examen of Consciousness (not conscience). The Examen is a prayer which takes the form of a review of the day. As you might imagine, it is a particular kind of review, one that is intended to help the practitioner become more aware of God’s presence and grace in every aspect of their day.

There are five steps to this prayer.  The first is to give thanks for all the gifts tor graces that God has provided during the day. This might be as simple as giving thanks for the smile of a child that brightened up the day, or as profound as giving thanks for the restoration of health after an illness. As well as giving thanks for the events of the day, this practice always includes giving thanks for the constant presence of God as a friend and companion.  In the second step, the practitioner asks the Holy Spirit to help them to see themselves more clearly and to discern God’s working in their life. This stage leads naturally into a review of one’s own behaviour and attitudes – stage three. At the end of each day a practitioner looks back over the day – all the activities engaged in and all the people met. Perhaps the most confronting part of the prayer, this step demands that the practitioners be honest with themselves by asking: Have I been selfish or angry or have I consistently behaved with love and understanding towards others? In other words, have I behaved as someone created in the image of God?

 Step four is the response to this personal review. It might involve repentance and a determination to live tomorrow in a way that is less selfish and more caring, but there is also room for joy and gratitude in the recognition of the presence of God in acts of generosity, grace and courage. The review of the day concludes with a decision to live tomorrow differently,  to be more Christ-like, to recognise and to endeavour to share with others the presence of God.

 There are a number of advantages of this form of prayer – one is that it is realistic, but not judgemental. It grounds one in the present reality and at the same time encourages growth and development. Above all, the Awareness Examen helps us to identify the presence of God in every aspect of daily life, to recognise that we belong in God as God belongs in us.

 This can be a very helpful exercise because our ability to see God in our day-to-day lives is often compromised by other agendas, by self-centredness, by an introspection which is focussed on the self and not the divine, by expectations of God that are unrealistic or by an unwillingness to take responsibility for our own actions.  For example, too often we take credit for what we have achieved but blame God for those things we were unable to achieve, or we take responsibility for all that is good in the world, and make God responsible for all that is bad in the world. At the same time our ability to see the presence of God in our lives can be due to the fact that our vision is distorted by false images and unreal expectations of God. While it is easy to see God in events that are miraculous and astounding it is possible to continue to overlook the everyday miracles of God’s grace.  Those who see God as some sort of supernatural puppeteer or judge in the heavens, cannot always see God in the moments of peace and beauty in their lives.

 Such false perceptions can blind people to the true nature of God, to God’s presence among us and, just as importantly, to God’s presence in us. The reports of the New Testament miracles and the vivid and sometimes frightening depictions of the second coming and of judgement can have the effect of clouding our sight and dulling our memories. It is possible to allow ourselves to become so absorbed by such powerful images that we forget that God has already come and that through Jesus’ resurrection and the Holy Spirit God remains with us and in us.

 God in Jesus needed no fanfare to draw attention to his entering the world. Jesus’ birth wasn’t announced to the whole world but only to some shepherds who happened to be nearby. His birth wasn’t noticed by the educated and knowledgeable, but only by some magi from the East. During Jesus’ life there was not a great deal to set him apart from others. He gave no displays of power and might. Jesus didn’t impose his authority on any not did he seek attention or notoriety. Instead Jesus spent most of his ministry in the countryside and rather than seeking to rule over his disciples, he demonstrated a willingness to serve. He did not keep his gifts and ministry to himself, but shared them liberally with those who followed him. In fact, Jesus was so unlike anything that had been expected and so like those around him that many failed to recognise him.

 There is a lesson for us here. In trying to identify the presence of God in our lives, we must learn to look in the right places – to take our gaze from the sky and bring our attention to the world around us, to stop expecting God only in the extraordinary so expect God in our ordinary, everyday experiences, to stop willing God to judge and to understand that God seeks justice for all. We must learn too that the presence of God in the world is dependent on us, on our actions, on our ability to demonstrate God’s love and compassion and on our willingness to create a world of justice and peace.  

 John the Baptist announced the coming of the light into the world, but it seems there were few who were willing to open their eyes and minds to something so radically different from what they had expected.  The situation today is much the same – God’s presence is in and around us in the most surprising and unexpected ways – yet very often we fail to see or recognise it because we are looking for something different.

In order to make God a central part of our daily life, we must learn to recognise God in the quiet and unexpected moments of grace, to see God in the cradle and on the cross and to understand that it is in God’s self-giving- moment by moment – and in our participation in the Divine, that God will be known and continue to be the light that has come into the world.

Mark 1:1-8

Marian Free

In the name of God who, if we allow him, constantly moulds and re-moulds us so that we are formed into the image of Christ. Amen.

 C.S. Lewis was a profound Christian thinker whose works extend from children’s books – the Narnia series, to works of theological imagination – The Screwtape letters, to theological treatises. Most of what he has written is easy to understand and his works of imagination provide deep insights into the Christian faith. Lewis understands only too well that the world cannot be easily categorised into good and evil, black and white, that faith is so much more than ethics or morality (important as these may be) and that God cannot be contained by human thought. He is able to perceive and to describe the subtleties of faith that may escape many of us. For example, he knows how easily we can be tempted to believe that if we are doing good, then we are good and how quickly we forget that that being good is quite different from being godly.

In his essay: “Man or Rabbit?” for example, he suggests that we have to learn that what we have previously thought of as ‘good’ – ‘leading a decent life’ and ‘being kind” – is nowhere near as significant or as important as we have a tendency to think it is. None of us, he reminds us, can be completely ‘good’ – not even for one day. What is more, even if we could be ‘good’ for twenty-four hours together, that would by no means achieve the purpose for which we were created. Morality – while important – is not the goal.

However, we can be seduced into believing that “being good” is our final purpose, that goodness will earn us a place in the kingdom. Goodness, in the sense of keeping the Ten Commandments and observing the golden rule, is very tempting. It is observable and measurable and it allows us to believe that we know where we stand, to make up our own minds as to whether or not we have met the criteria for entry into heaven. The problem is that goodness on its own is a human and not a godly endeavour and as such it has the potential to bind us to this life and to confine us to mortality because it measures us by human standards and fails to see things from God’s perspective.

Goodness – simply because it relates to things that we do – can blind us to the possibilities of what God can do – with us and in us. Goodness that can be defined and quantified limits us to earthly achievements and denies us the possibilities available to our heavenly nature. Our final and ultimate purpose is not goodness but godliness, and our true goal is not perfection in this life but immortality in the next. In the final analysis, all our human striving will come to nought. Nothing that we do or achieve in this life will mean anything in the life to come.

God who has given us life, and made us in God’s own image has also given us the power to become children of God. The Divine Life which gives itself to us and which calls us to be gods intends us to be so much more than “good”.

Only God can make us fit for to eternity, only God can draw out the divine in us. This process may be a painful. In the first instance we have to have the courage to abandon our belief that somehow to make it on our own merits. Secondly, we have to recognise that our confidence in ourselves and in our ability to be good is misplaced. Finally we have to submit ourselves to God’s creative power. If we are going to exchange mortality for immortality we will need to be re-made. In order to be re-made we may first need to be un-made – to allow our old selves to be torn and broken so that the new shape, the new creature – our divine nature – can be brought forth and given life – life that will last for all time.

During Advent we traditionally focus on the four last things – Death, Judgement, Heaven and Hell. This is not to frighten us, but to encourage us to remember that this human body is finite and that this earthly existence will come to an end – no matter how good we have been. The readings confront us with the need for repentance and re-construction, the necessity for preparedness in the face of the coming judgement and of the chaos and destruction that will precede order and re-creation.

Today, John the Baptist calls us to prepare a way, to make our paths straight, in effect to make it possible for God to enter our lives to change and restore us. The Baptist calls us to  “repent” – to turn around, to change direction, to stop going our own way, and to choose to go God’s way. He demands that we be washed clean so that we can start again. In a sense, John holds up a mirror in front of us so that we can see ourselves more clearly. By demanding that we repent, he is challenging us to understand that “good” and “godly” are two distinct ways of being, that being “godly” will endure forever while being “good” has only a limited life span.

I suggested last week, that one of the themes of Advent is the movement from chaos to order, that in order for the new life to come into being, the old has first to be removed. Advent begins with descriptions of the cosmic chaos and disorder which are necessary before the earth is to be renewed and restored. Today we move from the cosmic to the personal, from the disruption of the cosmos, to a more personal sense of disquiet – the recognition that we must experience the discomfort of our own lives being disrupted and pulled apart so that they can be restored and put back together again.

Having said all that, it is my observation and belief, that those of us who gather here, do so, not because we believe that we are good, or even because we believe that we can be good. We gather week by week, because we have recognised our need for God’s intervention in our lives. We come together because we understand that our life’s goal is not to achieve perfection, but to attain immortality and that we can only achieve eternity if we allow God to continually unmake and remake us until that which is eternal – all that is wise and beautiful and holy and true – is allowed to shine through and we become who we are intended to be children of God, made in the image of God.

It is not so much what we do but what we allow God to do that will enable us to inherit the kingdom of God.  This Advent and in all our lives to come, may we be willing to let God in so that God might let the god in us come out.

Mark 13:24-37

Marian Free

 In the name of God who forms and re-forms us. Amen.

A chair

An egg

Uncut cloth

This chair needs repainting. I could just buy some new paint and apply it over the existing paint. However, if I were to do that, the original paint  would continue to peel and flake and the new paint job would not look good for very long. I would achieve a much better result if I carefully sanded the chair back to the original before I began to paint it afresh.

This is a piece of fabric which I can turn into something to wear, but it is really no use to me unless I cut it into appropriate shapes and sew it together to make a dress or some other garment. The final product will have been considerably cut and put together and will only look like the original in colour and texture.

This egg was laid this morning. It is perfect. The shell is hard and perfectly formed. However, as it is, it is no use at all, it will eventually rot and smell, so I will at some point have to break it and eat it. Even if I hard-boil the egg, it will have to be broken in order to be of any use.

So often it seems, destruction precedes building. Chaos and order are opposites yes, but very often it appears they are simply different sides of the same coin, one precedes and is necessary for the other to occur. Rotten timber has to be removed before the new can be installed. The ground has to be broken up before seeds can be planted and produce. Forests have to be burned before the banksia seed can be freed from its cone. Rivers have to flood so that the rich silt can enrich the land.

Images such as these abound in the Old Testament – grapes have to be pruned if they are going to yield a good crop, clay that doesn’t form into the correct shape has to be pummelled down into a lump so that it can be re-thrown and re-shaped and silver and gold have to be refined in fire to rid them of impurities.

That said, the promised violence and devastation of today’s gospel – both human and cosmic  - can still cause us some disquiet. Mark 13 describes a cataclysmic end of the world which will affect humanity, the world and even the cosmos. Brother will betray brother, nations will make war on nations. The earth will experience famines and earthquakes and, more startling, the sky will be darkened, the stars will fall from the sky and even the heavens will be shaken. Everything that we know and don’t know (in heaven as well as on earth) will be devastated if not destroyed. This is not an event to be eagerly anticipated as Paul would have us believe, but an event to be awaited with fear and dread.

It has always fascinated me that the lectionary writers should choose to begin Advent in this way, that the beginning of our church year is filled with such a sense of foreboding. Just when we feel that we are about to focus on the wonderful events surrounding the birth of Jesus, we are hit over the head with the threat of Jesus’ second coming and reminded that the end will be dramatic and violent, sudden and unexpected. We are terrified by warnings to keep alert and to stay awake so that we won’t be caught unawares when he comes. Jesus’ coming as an infant and his return at the end of time are thus confused or at least brought together. It seems that before we even begin we have come to the end.

There is, however, some sense in approaching the Incarnation in this way. Just as my old paint must be dealt with before I can apply the new and just as my cloth must be cut before it can be useful, so God’s new creation cannot come into being unless the old has been properly dealt with and even removed. God cannot make something new, without some pain or without breaking the old. There needs to be a clean sweep before the kingdom can come in. God’s kingdom cannot simply be plastered over the world as it is. The old, damaged creation would eventually break through the new and everything would return to waht it was before. In order to perfect creation, the old and the flawed has to go – at least figuratively speaking.

God is so distinct from anything earthly, that it is in fact impossible to imagine God entering history without creating a massive disruption to the whole of the natural world. The world, even the cosmos, is not sufficient to contain God, therefore it is not surprising to learn that God’s coming will involve some tearing and breaking and burning, even as the coming of God heralds renewal, restoration and re-creation.

All of which makes the birth of Jesus so surprising. Jesus is born without any fanfare. He slips into the world unheralded and largely unnoticed – only the magi notice a new star in the sky. For thirty years Jesus will live inconspicuously among us, before he makes his presence known and even then his public ministry will be carried out in the obscurity of Galillee before his dramatic and fatal trip to Jerusalem. Even so, the same pattern is evident – destruction before re-creation, death before resurrction.

Before the new can come the old must go. In order for something beautiful to be wrought out of something plain, it must be cut and re-shaped. This in part is the journey of faith, allowing ourselves to be formed and re-formed such that we will indeed be part of the new creation and therefore will have nothing to fear and everything to anticipate when Jesus comes again to gather us to himself.