Voices in the wilderness – John the Baptist

Advent 2 – 2023

Mark 1:1-8

Marian Free

In the name of God Earth-maker, Pain-bearer, Life-giver. Amen.

Most of us associate wilderness with the season of Lent and Jesus’ forty days in the wilderness, but here, on the second Sunday of Advent, Mark’s gospel compels us to face the wilderness in this season of preparation for Christmas.  John the Baptist, dressed in camel skin and eating locusts and honey, has chosen the wilderness, as they place to which he will draw people to face their past (confess their sins) and to embrace their future (look for the one more powerful than he). 

John is a bridge between the world of the prophets and the coming of Christ. He represents an era that is coming to an end and points forward to an era that is about to begin. As such John’s voice in the wilderness is a potent reminder that Advent is not only a wilderness time, it is also an in-between time – the time between what was and what will be, between what is and the potential of what might come. Advent wilderness provides time for reflection. It is an in-between time in which we can ask ourselves what got us to where we are? And how can we move on from here? 

In the language of the gospel, we are being provoked to prepare a way for the Lord and to do that by confessing our sins (past faults) and seeking John’s baptism (being made ready for the coming of Jesus).  

As we come to the end of 2023 and stand on the threshold of 2024, we face a world that is so much bleaker than it was twelve months ago. The war in Ukraine continues to drag on with its loss of life and the destruction of families, homes, and lives. Awful as that it is, it is now overshadowed by the conflict in Israel/Palestine – the horrendous acts of October 7 and the ongoing devastation of Gaza and its populations. In another part of the world, we face the possibility of war between Brazil and Venezuela. The daily news reminds us of the social collapse of Haiti, warns of the increasing instability that threatens Myanmar and, in many places in the world, the growing intolerance of and hostility towards, those who are in any way different from a perceived norm (European, white, Christian)^[1].

Throughout the world there are millions of displaced or stateless persons who are struggling to survive and thousands who have lost their lives trying to escape situations that have left them totally without hope. In addition, our generation are witness to the ever-widening gap between rich and poor.

Here, at home – in one of the world’s richest nations – the increased cost of living is sending many people to the brink, there are an increasing number of people (including families) who are impacted by the housing crisis, and we seem to be unable to prevent the over representation of indigenous people in our criminal justice system.

At the end of 2023, the voices of those in the wilderness threaten to deafen us –

• The children caught up in events not of their own making, traumatized by war, separated from their families, 
• the parents who cannot keep their children safe, who cannot feed or house them, or offer them a future,
• the civilians caught in a conflict not of their making, who have lost homes, livelihoods, loved ones,
• the refugees and the stateless who have nowhere to call home,
• the migrants, the LGBTQIA+ community and all who are vilified and marginalised because they are different,
• and the many others whose voices are drowned out by the volume of need, or whose voices are silenced by our indifference.

In today’s gospel, John the Baptist represents all these voices in the wilderness, voices calling us to pay attention and to recognise the injustice and trauma in the world and hear the cries of the suffering and the dispossessed, voices that demand that we confess our failure to act and commit to turning our lives around. Above all, John’s voice in the wilderness challenges us to soften our hearts so that we might be ready to see in the infant Jesus the one who has come to bring good news to the poor, to proclaim release to the captives, recovery of sight to the blind, and to let the oppressed go free, and, having seen,  be ready and be willing to join him in the task of transforming the world. The voices in the wilderness demand that we prepare a way, that we make room in our hearts for the Christ-child to take up residence. The voices in the wilderness insist that we see the face of Christ in the traumatized, the marginalised, the lost, the homeless and the imprisoned.

The Psalmist says: “Righteousness will go before him and make a path for his steps” (Ps 85:1).  John makes it clear that we are responsible for that path, for the righteousness that goes before the Lord.

This Advent, may voices in the wilderness find in us a willing listener, an open heart, and a desire to make a difference (if only in our small corner of the world).

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^[1] In Europe that is.

What’s in a name

Epiphany 2 – 2023
John 1:29-42
Marian Free

In the name of God, Earth-maker, Pain-Bearer, Life-Giver. Amen.

At the beginning of my ministry, I was based in a small country town. Even though it was close to a major city and not far from the capital, there were many in the town who had lived there all their lives. They had been to school together and had worked together in the nearby railway workshops. They were so familiar with each other that they knew each other by names that they had been given based on physical or personal characteristics. When I met with families to plan the funeral of their father, I would begin by asking them to tell me about him – his childhood, his family life, his work life and so on. Then, in order to put together an order of service, I would ask for more specific details such as full name and date of birth. At this point I was often interrupted as someone would say: “No one will know who you are talking about if you call him “Robert, John, Peter” or whatever his name was. I quickly learnt to ask how they would like their father referred to, and after the first formal reference to the deceased. I would make sure that for the rest of the service I would use the name by which he was known, not the name given him at birth. It was an important lesson as many people are known, not by their given name but by a term of affection, by their nickname or by their middle name.

Names are important, they are how others identify us and very often, they are how we come to identify ourselves.

In today’s gospel (which bridges last week’s reference to Jesus’ baptism and next week’s account of Jesus’ calling the four fishermen) includes four names for Jesus – Lamb of God, Son of God, Rabbi and Messiah (which means anointed). In the same reading Simon is given a new name Cephas (in Aramaic), Petros (in Greek) which means ‘rock’. Simon’s change of name tells us something about the way in which Jesus sees him. Apparently, despite all his wavering and his final denial of Jesus, Jesus can see in Peter something firm and solid – reliable even.

That is clear enough, but how are we to account for the number of (unrelated) names that are applied to Jesus? The four mentioned here are only a few of those that we encounter in the first chapter of John’s gospel. Others are Word, light, life, the one about whom Moses in the law and the prophets spoke, the one who is coming after me, the one who ranks ahead of me, Jesus, son of Joseph of Nazareth and Son of Man. It seems that not one word or phrase is sufficient to capture all that Jesus is and all that he signifies. There were so many expectations of one who would save Israel, so many hopes that God would send someone to redeem the people that it was difficult for Jesus’ contemporaries to decide which of these categories best suited the man whom they were sure was the one. Which of the ancient prophecies did Jesus fulfill? Which of the recent hopes did Jesus live up to?

The problem for us all these centuries later is to try to come to grips with terminology which in the first century may not even have had the same meaning that it had in the times of the prophets. So many influences had entered Jewish thought in the intervening years, so much life experience had impacted on the ways in which the Pentateuch and the prophets were written.

It is left for modern scholars to discern what might be meant when expressions such as “Lamb of God” are used for Jesus, or when Jesus takes upon himself the title “Son of Man”.

Names are both descriptive and determinative, both flattering and derogatory. They try to capture the essence of a person, but they can also define a person such that they unable to be seen in any other way. Jesus as “Lamb of God” can be seen as the sacrificial lamb, the Servant of Isaiah. Jesus “Son of David” creates a more militaristic image. Jesus Son of Joseph of Nazareth (carpenter’s son) is familial – and is not a term that earns Jesus respect.

For this reason, names/labels can be divisive.

How we see/name Jesus matters. How we name Jesus will determine how we live out our faith. The name/s that we give Jesus will provide the lens through which others will see him.

What are the expressions that you use when thinking about/addressing Jesus (biblical and other)? What do those words mean to you? Do they make you feel comfortable or do they challenge you? Are you so used to naming Jesus in one particular way, that you have forgotten that words cannot contain him? This week, as we stand on the threshold of exploring Jesus’ ministry through the eyes of Matthew, try to think of all the names you use for Jesus (and the names that you do not use). Try to use some new and unfamiliar names – Lover, Pain-bearer, Friend – how do they change/expand the way you think of Jesus? How do they change your relationship with him?

Lamb of God, Son of God, Rabbi, Messiah, Word, light, life, the one about whom Moses in the law and the prophets spoke, the one who is coming after me, the one who ranks ahead of me, Jesus, son of Joseph of Nazareth, Son of Man – all of these and yet none of these truly captures who Jesus is. Let us not mistake the power of naming and limit Jesus to the confines of human understanding.

God in the small things

Advent 3 – 2022
Matthew 11:2-11 (some belated thoughts)
Marian Free

What no eye has seen nor ear heard, the Lord has prepared for those who love him. Amen.

Even though none of us can predict the future, we all have certain expectations. Some expectations are realistic – the sun will rise tomorrow, we will get older rather than younger, we will continue to love our children. Much, however, is beyond our control. We cannot know with any certainty what tomorrow will bring – whether we will still have a job, whether our health will hold, what the weather will do. Even so, because it is difficult to live with uncertainty we make plans, we assume that things will stay the same and that we will be able to determine our futures. For many of us, things work out – if not exactly as expected. We finish our education, get a job, form a relationship, and are generally satisfied with our lot. Others, for reasons that are not always within their control, reach a certain age and find themselves wondering what went wrong, why their life hasn’t worked out as they thought it would. In the worst-case scenarios, some wonder if they have wasted their lives, or if fate has been against them.

This seems to be the situation in which John the Baptist. now finds himself. Having started out confident that he knew what the future held, he now finds himself languishing in prison, wondering if he was right when, certain that God’s promised one would come, he had announced that Jesus was the one. Now he is not so sure. His expectations (whatever they were), have not been met. The Roman oppressors have not been overthrown, the Temple practices are still corrupt and the difference between rich and poor remains the same. Has his life been wasted? Should he have taken a different turn? Did he mistake his role, his place in God’s plan?

Whatever was going on in John’s mind, it is clear that he needed some reassurance, some certainty that he had been on the right track. He sends his disciples to Jesus. to ask whether he really is the one who is to come, or should they be looking for another?

Jesus’ response is interesting. Instead of answering John’s disciples directly, he tells them to look around themselves and to notice that the blind have received their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised and the poor have good news brought to them. In other words, Jesus points out to John that there are signs that God is active in the world in ways that God had not been active before. The signs are subtle to be sure, but they are obvious to anyone who looks carefully. God (through Jesus) is not upending the world, overthrowing the oppressors, demanding complete and total obedience from God’s followers. God is making the sorts of changes in peoples’ lives that allow them to live well under any external circumstances. Jesus is making people whole. He is not filling them with rage and encouraging them to use violence to overthrow the Romans – that would be only a temporary solution. The blind would still be blind, the lepers unclean. People would still be unsatisfied with their lot.

Jesus brings wholeness – not revolution. John’s fiery proclamation was to turn people’s hearts towards God, to enable them to be receptive to the one whom God sent, to be willing to submit themselves to God’s will, rather than to long for God to radically change the world.

We are not told John’s reaction to Jesus’ response, but there is of course a lesson for us in this gospel.

In a world beset by war and terror, the effects of climate change, corruption and inequity, it can be difficult to see the evidence that God is active in the world. We, like John, can be filled with despair and wonder if we have it right. At such times we, like John need to be reminded that God is not to be found in the dramatic, that God does not take sides (which might make things worse rather than better), and that humankind has not, as a whole, turned to God. Jesus wants us to see that none of that means that God is absent from the world or from our lives. God can be found in everyday miracles – new shoots after a fire, a child’s smile, the goodness of strangers, the sacrificial acts of aid workers and more especially in the birth of a child – who contrary to all expectations will change the world.

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Don’t wait for heaven – live it now

Advent 3 – 2021

Luke 3:7-18

Marian Free

May we allow Christ into our lives so that we might be transformed into people who will know themselves at home in heaven. Amen.

Some years ago, I was impressed by a statement written be C.S. Lewis. In Mere Christianity Lewis wrote: “We might think that the ‘virtues’ were necessary only for this present life – that in the other world we could stop being just because there is nothing to quarrel about and stop being brave because there is no danger (or stop being good because there is no reason to be bad)[1]. Now it is quite true that there will probably be no occasion for just or courageous (or virtuous) acts in the next world, but there will be every occasion for being the sort of people we can become only as a result of doing such acts here. The point is not that God will not refuse you admission to his Eternal world  if you have not got certain qualities of character: the point is that if people have not got at least the beginnings of these qualities inside them, then no possible external conditions could make it Heaven for them, that is could make them happy with the deep, strong, unshakeable kind of happiness that God intends for us.”

I find Lewis notoriously difficult to re-phrase but I took this to mean that if we want to feel at home in heaven that we should begin changing our behavior now. That is if, as we imagine heaven is a place of peace, joy and harmony we should, in the present begin to practice those qualities in our own lives and to begin to excise those parts of us that will not be comfortable in such an environment. We should in the present, try to remove from our lives anything that would make others feel uncomfortable – self righteousness, judgementalism, anger, hatred and so on. It is a challenging concept – especially for those of us who are carrying grudges and who have an expectation that we will be vindicated in the life hereafter. A heaven filled with sour, unforgiving people would be no heaven at all and those who are sour and unforgiving would not be at all comfortable in a place full of peace and joy. Fear of hell is no reason to be good now, but wanting to be at home is every reason to practice being heavenly now.

In her sermon commentary for this week Chelsea Harmon says a similar thing from a different perspective. She asks: “When the world ends and all that’s left of you is what is of God and his Kingdom, will you be able to recognize yourself?”[2] If I found Lewis’s idea challenging, I find Chelsea’s even more confronting. What would remain of me if everything that was not of God was taken away?

Lewis’s image allows us to imagine that we can act in a way that prepares us for heaven, that we can practice the virtues that will fit us for everlasting life. In Harmon’s image we see ourselves completely stripped bare, with only what is Godly remaining. In essence, the ideas are exactly the same but the first allows room for us to act, the second reminds us that one of our tasks in this life is to get ourselves out of the way so that our lives and our actions are determined by the presence of God in us.

Either way, as Richard Rohr points out, “We don’t go to heaven, we learn how to live in heaven now. If try to prove that we’re better than everybody else or believe that we’re worse than everybody else, we are already in hell.” (12/3/21)

According to today’s gospel, crowds have been drawn into the wilderness seeking John’s “baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins.” Among those who came were tax collectors and soldiers – those despised by the general population because (for whatever reason) they were in the service of Rome. Instead of welcoming the crowds, John’s tone is harsh and judgmental: “who warned you to flee from the wrath to come?” he asks. Apparently, he doubts their sincerity. By implication, he is accusing them of being self-serving – wanting to find an easy (superficial) way to avoid God’s judgement. Their question tells us otherwise. They (especially those whose situation is one of compromise and obligation) genuinely want to know what they must do. John’s response is to tell them how to behave according to the values of heaven. That is, instead of taking advantage of others because of their positions they are to live (as much as is possible) generously and with integrity. In other words, they are to live the life of the kingdom now, so that when it comes, they will be at home.

It is quite clear to us that the urgency with which John proclaimed his message was misplaced. The world did not come to a physical end. His generation did not experience the wrath of God. But God did come. God came – not in power and with wrath but in obscurity and with peace. Jesus entered the world, not to judge but to transform, to turn hearts to God and lives to God’s way of being. John did announce the end, but perhaps not the end he expected. The Incarnation, the coming of Jesus heralded the end of one way of existence and the beginning of a new. John’s listeners had a choice – to continue in their old ways, to demonstrate by their behaviour and their attitudes an unwillingness to become part of God’s kingdom, or to repent (to turn around), to let go of their old, self-centred ways and to begin to live lives focused on God and on their neighbours. They were live as if they were in heaven now.

So it is with us, whether by practicing kingdom values, attitudes and behaviours as Lewis suggests, or divesting ourselves of worldly values, attitudes and behaviours as Harmon says,  John calls us to turn our lives around, to “flee from the wrath to come”, to begin to live in the present as we hope to live for eternity.

This is the choice we are offered again and again every Advent – to hold fast to the values of the world (which is coming to an end) or to allow ourselves to be transformed by the values of the kingdom which never ends.

We have been warned. We have a choice to make.

Will we choose earth or heaven, the present or eternity?

 

 

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[1] Italics mine. In Lewis’s book The Great Divorce, he creates a fictional story about a variety of people who self-exclude themselves from heaven – the angry and the bitter who cannot bear to see that the person who has wronged them is already there for example.

[2] For the full article go to https://cepreaching.org/authors/chelsey-harmon/

Are you the one?

Advent 3 – 2020

Matthew 11:1-12

Marian Free

In the name of God whom we see only in part. Amen.

When David Jackson premiered his movie The Lord of the Rings, there were cries of disappointment from readers who felt that he had not done justice to Tolkien’s story. Creating a screen play from a novel involves a lot of artistic and practical choices. Screen and print are two very different medium, tension and drama are captured differently and the writers have to translate descriptive words into concrete images. There are time constraints as well. Had Jackson included the apparently well-loved Bombadill, the movie would have been inordinately long and the mounting tension would have dissipated. It is very difficult for a script writer, a movie director, or a casting agent to get inside the heads of the thousands – maybe millions who will watch the final movie.

When we read a novel we form pictures of the characters and the scenery that become inseparable from our experience of the book. We think that because we are putting into imagination what the author has described that everyone else has the same visual image. It can be very disappointing when we feel that books that we have loved do not translate well on the screen.

In first century there was not one common form of Judaism, let alone a single, consistent image of a Messiah – the anointed one whom God would send. When people heard or read the scriptures they found very different expectations of the future – from the annihilation of the world to the building of a peaceful kingdom on earth. Similarly, there were different expectations as to how this would cone about. One stream of thought focused on the promise that God would raise up someone in David’s line to be King over them. Another was that God would come as judge and destroy the wicked- especially the enemies of Israel. The community at Qumran (writers of the Dead Sea Scrolls) expected three different figures to come in the future – one priestly, one kingly and a third who would lead them in battle.

John the Baptist appears to have had a very clear idea as to the person whom God would send. He declares: “I baptise you with water for repentance, but one who is more powerful than I is coming after me; I am not worthy to carry his sandals. He will baptise you with the Holy Spirit and fire. His winnowing fork is in his hand, and he will clear his threshing floor and will gather his wheat into his granary; but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire.” (Mt 3:11,12). When Jesus came to be baptised John recognized him as the one whom he had expected. How disappointed and confused he must have been when Jesus did not live up to his expectations. Instead of being a fire brand and a judge, Jesus was compassionate and, by and large, non-judgemental. There is no evidence in Jesus’ ministry of the ‘winnowing fork’ or ‘the unquenchable fire’. Instead of condemning the people Jesus healed and restored them. He certainly did not stand out from his contemporaries as the one whom God had sent to separate the wheat from the chaff.

It was no wonder then that John (who was by now in prison), sent his disciples to Jesus to ask: “Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?” Frustratingly, Jesus did not answer the question. Instead he said, “Go and tell John what you hear and see: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them.” We will never know if this was enough to satisfy John. What is clear is that Jesus saw himself not as the one coming in judgement, but as one who was bringing to fruition a different promise that of Isaiah (Isaiah 42:6f).

As he languished in prison, John faced the possibility that he had been wrong – either in what he has expected orin his announcement that Jesus was the one who was to come.

John’s confusion is a salutary lesson for each of us. If John, with all his confidence! was not sure that Jesus was the one whom he had proclaimed, how can we be confident that we will recognize Jesus when he comes again? We are no more able to read the mind of God than we are able to get inside the heads of script writers. If the characters and scenes of a novel can be imagined in more than one way, how can we be certain that our reading of scripture is the only way that scripture can be read?

Advent is a time of expectation, a time of anticipation. Let us cultivate both so that we are not mired in a mire of certainty – blind to God’s presence with us now and unprepared for the way in which God will be revealed in the future.

You will be judged

Advent 2 – 2019

Matthew 3:1-12

Marian Free

In the name of God who will come in judgement. Amen.

It is difficult for us to comprehend that John the Baptist’s followers did not automatically defect to Jesus. The fourth gospel that tells us that Andrew left John to become a disciple, otherwise the gospels are silent on this matter. This seems strange. According to Matthew John recognized Jesus when he came to be baptised and, we have to presume, shared that knowledge with others. Yet, as next week’s reading will make clear, John still had disciples when he was in prison and those disciples took his body and buried it. It appears that there were still followers of John at the gospels were being written and that John’s role had to be clearly delineated and limited such that it was clear that Jesus was the more significant of the two.

The New Testament was only interested in John so far as his life intersected with that of Jesus and the New Testament writers were certainly not interested in what did or did not happen to John’s followers. Notwithstanding this we know that John the Baptist’s ideas and ministry continued to influence people. This is evidenced by the Mandaean faith that originated in Mesopotamia some 2,000 years ago[1]. The Mandaeans worship John the Baptist whom they call Yehyea Yahana. Worldwide there are 60-70,000 Mandaeans and of these 10,000 can be found in Sydney’s western suburbs. Mandaeans are gnostic, that is they believe that they have access to secret knowledge and that their soul is in exile, seeking to return to its true home.

Not surprisingly, baptism is central to the worship and practice of the Mandaeans. Unlike Christians they can be baptised hundreds or even thousands of times during their lives. Baptism for them is not a sign of entry into the faith or the means by which they receive the Holy Spirit. It is a symbol of purification, an opportunity to cleanse and refresh one’s life and soul. Members are usually baptised in a river where the water is flowing and fresh. Baptism is practiced at significant times in the church calendar and on other occasions including funerals. We know little of their teachings or whether they have records of what the original Baptist taught.

We do know that John seems to have captured the mood of his generation. He established himself on the Jordan River, preached a baptism of repentance, and announced the coming of one who was more powerful than himself. Baptism as a means of entering the Jewish faith was not common if it existed at all. First century Hebrews were familiar with washing as a means of ritually purifying themselves, but it was not related to repentance. Purification related to fitness to worship in the Temple.

The biblical John is somewhat enigmatic and elusive. His role in the New Testament is primarily as a foil for Jesus. Yet, despite their embarrassment about the significance of John – after all Jesus was baptized by him – the Gospel writers are unable to disguise the fact that John had an important ministry and a following of his own.

Like the prophets before him, John named the situation for what it was – a time in which some had lost hope that God would act, and in which others appear to have assumed that their behaviour did matter because God would not act. John’s preaching appears to have exposed the sinfulness and lacklustre faith of his contemporaries. He seems to have struck a chord with both the people and with the religious establishment. John’s call to repentance must have spoken to their hearts and exposed the poverty, selfishness and faithlessness of their lives. Something in his preaching revealed the need for them to turn their lives around. After all, we are told that all Jerusalem, all Judea and all the region of the Jordan were going out to him.

John’s message was not one of comfort and reassurance, but of judgement and condemnation, even his message about Jesus was not designed to encourage, but rather to convince the people of the need to bear good fruit, to turn to God and to be ready for the wrath that was to come. No one was spared John’s tongue. He accused even the penitent Pharisees and Sadducees of being vipers and challenged the complacency that led them to believe that their ancestry assured them of a good outcome at the judgment.

Jesus’ message was quite different. It was aimed more at the people than at the religious hierarchy and was much more conciliatory and compassionate. That said, we forget John’s warning at our peril. Jesus’ death and resurrection may have assured us of God’s love and given us confidence that our sins have been forgiven, but that does not mean that we can afford to be complacent or that we need do nothing in return. Through our baptism we have been made children of God. It is incumbent on us to behave as such. Jesus proclaimed that the Kingdom had come near. We, his followers, are called to live as Kingdom people– recognizable as members of that kingdom through all that we do and say.

Advent is a reminder that Jesus will come again and that we will have to answer to him for all that we have done and not done in this life. We will be called to be accountable for the way in which we have used or misused the gifts that God has given us. We will be challenged to consider whether we have taken God’s love and forgiveness for granted or whether the knowledge of God’s love has encouraged us to grow into the people God believes that we can be.

Even though John’s primary role in our faith was to prepare the ground for Jesus’ coming, his words echo down through the generations. We cannot afford to be complacent – repent, be cleansed of your sins – get ready for God to break into the world in judgement!

 

 

 

 

[1] Whether or not this was a direct continuation of John’s ministry is not clear.

Expect the unexpected

Jesus’ Baptism – 2019

Luke 3:15-22

Marian Free

In the name of God who is beyond our wildest imaginings. Amen.

Some of you will know the books “Animalia” and “The Eleventh Hour” by Graeme Base. The former consists of extravagant and alliterative illustrations of the alphabet including Diabolical Dragons Daintily Devouring Delicious Delicacies or Lazy Lions Lounging in the Local Library. The paintings are so filled with detail that the “reader” has to be given hints so that they know what to look for. The pages can be examined time and time again and still the “reader” will not see everything that there is to be seen.

As the author says in the introduction:

“Within the pages of this book
You may discover, if you look
Beyond the spell of written words,
A hidden land of beasts and birds.

For many things are ‘of a kind’,
And those with keenest eyes will find
A thousand things, or maybe more –
It’s up to you to keep the score…”

For a long time, I have thought of the Bible as an elaborate picture book. Even though it does not contain a single illustration it seems to me that its content is so complex that I will never see all that there is to be seen. Each time I read it or read a commentary on a passage or a book of the Bible I discover something new. Sometimes this happens even as I am reading the gospel as a part of the liturgy – a word or a piece of information will jump out at me and I will wonder why I never saw it before. (For example, it wasn’t until someone pointed it out, that I saw that there were children in the Temple when Jesus overturned the tables Mt 21:15.) As is the case with a picture book, once I’ve seen or been alerted to something new, I will see it every time.

I have known for some time (and preached to this effect) that Jesus’ baptism by John was controversial. Why did Jesus need to be baptised? Why indeed did he need to repent? The gospel writers deal with this difficulty in different ways. Only in Mark and Matthew are we explicity told that John baptises Jesus. Even then, in Matthew’s gospel John initially refuses to baptise Jesus only to be told that “it is proper for us in this way to fulfil all righteousness” (Mt 3:15). John’s gospel has John identify Jesus, but we are not that Jesus was himself baptised. It was only this week that the Lutheran scholar, Karoline Lewis[1], drew my attention to something I should have noticed before now. In Luke’s gospel too, John does not, indeed cannot baptise Jesus. I have been so used to the idea that Jesus is baptised by John that I had not noticed that when Jesus is baptised in Luke’s gospel, John is absent.

According to Luke Jesus was baptised after everyone else was baptised what we are not told is by whom he was baptised. Up until now the story has been about John so we (or at least I) simply assume that it was John who baptised Jesus. Lewis alerts us to the fact that that may not be the case. John in fact is nowhere to be seen – he is in prison. He has so offended Herod that Herod has locked John up! It is possible that the mention of John’s imprisonment is just a literary aside but, given Luke’s overall agenda, that seems unlikely.

Through the introductory stories of John’s and Jesus’ conception and birth Luke makes it very clear that, of the two men, John is the lesser. John is given credibility and status only because he points the way to Jesus. He has no other role in the story and so, when it is Jesus’ turn to shine, John can be dispensed with. His imprisonment beforeJesus’ baptism removes him from the picture all together. John is no longer a part of the story; his time has ended, and Jesus’ time has begun.

The fact that, more often than not, we overlook John’s absence at Jesus’ baptism reminds us how much we miss when we read our scriptures and how much we read into the story that is not actually there. For example, because the disciples are all men, we fail to see the role that women play in the story, because that is what we have been told. We think that because both Matthew and Luke tell the same parable that it means the same thing in each gospel. We do not notice that Jesus’ travel sometimes makes no sense and that our minds create order where there is none.

The Bible is not a picture book, but it isfull of hidden depths and unexpected surprises. There are gaps in the stories and silences that speak of deliberate or accidental omissions. Puzzles and contradictions abound; and the same story can be told in several different ways. When we read the Bible, we need to learn to read with fresh eyes – looking for things that we have never seen before and noticing the things not said as much as those things that are spoken.

Like God, the Bible really has no beginning and no end. There is much that we can learn from what we “see” and “hear” and “read” and “experience”, but there is so much more to be learnt from what is unseen, unheard, unreadable and beyond our experience. No matter how often and how deeply we immerse ourselves in our scriptures we will never see all that there is to see or know all that there is to know. What is important is that we do not settle, that we do not content ourselves with what is obvious or become comfortable with the “truths” that we hold, but that we always strive to see beyond the merely superficial, always expect to be surprised and even shocked and always remember that the subject of our scriptures – the creator of the universe – is forever beyond our grasp.

[1]Working Preacher

Wake up – before it is too late

Advent 3 – 2018

John 3:7-18

Marian Free

You snakes, you brood of vipers! What are you doing here? Is this your insurance policy against death? Do you presume that coming to church will save you from the wrath that is to come, that your baptism alone makes you right with God? Not so! Faith does not consist of outward observance, sticking to the rules or belonging to the church. Your whole lives need to be turned around. You must turn your back on the world and worldly things and give yourselves entirely to God. God is not taken in by externals. God knows the state of your hearts. God can discern the godly from the ungodly.  You must do all that you can to be counted among the godly for God is surely coming and God will know whether you are sincere or whether your faith is purely superficial. Repent and believe in the gospel!

I imagine that you are pleased that I don’t begin every Eucharist by attacking your sincerity, your faith or your behaviour. You will be equally pleased to know that I believe that you are here because you want to acknowledge your dependence on God, express your gratitude for all that God has given you and, in the company of those who share your faith, worship God and deepen your understanding of and your relationship with God. In truth I do not question your authenticity, nor would I dare to cast aspersions on your behaviour.

John the Baptiser had no such qualms. He was very happy to attack the crowds who came to him seeking to be baptised. It didn’t concern him that those who came to him were not the religious leaders but ordinary people, including soldiers and tax-collectors most of whom would have travelled a considerable distance, across sometimes difficult terrain, to seek baptism from this wild man on the banks of the Jordan. How could he question their intentions? The only reason that anyone would have come all this way into the wilderness would be to repent and to seek John’s baptism for forgiveness.

Yet, instead of welcoming the crowds, John attacks them. He challenges their sincerity and suggests that they have come to him out of a sense of self-preservation rather than from a genuine sense of remorse and a desire to change.

But the crowds are sincere. They do not stamp away in high dudgeon, offended by John’s insinuations. Instead they hold their ground and engage John in conversation: “What should we do?” ask the crowds. “What should we do?” ask the tax-collectors. “What should we do?” ask the soldiers. Their desire to turn their lives around is real, John’s rudeness and insolence will not deter them. Because they stay, because they seek to know more, John is forced to accept that their desire to repent is authentic. Their questions demonstrate that the crowds (including the tax-collectors and soldiers) understand that intention must be accompanied by action and that repentance is meaningless unless it is lived out in changed behaviour. “What should we do?” they ask.

And how does John respond? He tells the crowds: “Don’t do just enough – do more than enough.” To the soldiers and the tax-collectors he says: “Don’t use your position to take advantage of others or to treat them badly. Don’t behave in the ways that others expect you to behave – surprise them by refusing to act according to the norm.” To everyone he says: “Don’t conform to the world around you, conform instead to the values and demands of the kingdom. Demonstrate in your lives that you belong to another world, that you belong first and foremost to God.”

It is easy to relegate the story of John the Baptist to history, to believe that his words, his attack on insincerity and hypocrisy belongs to his time and place – to the ingenuous, to the hypocrites and to the unbelievers of the first century. But to make that assumption would be a mistake. John speaks to the crowds, to those who have sought him out. John is addressing people who, like you and I, are trying to do the right thing and to live out their lives faithfully and true. John’s assault on the crowds is like a test. It is intended to shock them into thinking about their lives and to examine their motives. Do they mean what they are doing or is their presence at the river only for outward show? Are they there because they really intend to change or are they there for the circus that is John’s strange appearance and behaviour?

In our age his words challenge us to ask ourselves similar questions. Does our outward behaviour truly represent the state of our hearts? Do we do things for show or because we really mean them? Do we do just enough or do we go over and above to serve God and serve our neighbour?

“You brood of vipers!” the voice of John the Baptist is a wakeup call for us all. In the time before Jesus comes again, John insists: “Don’t take God for granted. Don’t imagine that just because you keep the Ten Commandments and go to church that your place in the kingdom is guaranteed. Don’t allow yourself to think that just because God has set you apart that God can’t and won’t choose others. Examine yourselves and ask whether or not you need to turn your life around.”

Advent is a wakeup call. It is reminder that we cannot afford to be complacent and that we cannot make assumptions about what God will and will not do. It is an invitation to rethink our relationship with God and to ask ourselves whether or not it is in the best shape possible.

Wake up! Repent! Advent is here! Jesus is coming! Are you ready??

Speaking truth to power

Advent 1 – 2018

Luke 3:1-6

Marian Free

In the name of God who is not separate from, but fully engaged with world. Amen.

During the apartheid era in South Africa, ardent sports fans argued that politics and sport had nothing to do with each other – a point of view that failed to see that politics ensured that the majority population of that nation were excluded from representing their country. Similarly, we are often told that the church should not be involved with politics – that is the church should refrain from commenting on or critiquing government policies even when they disadvantage the poor and the vulnerable. The argument is usually raised when the the church speaks uncomfortable truths to power. I’m not a sociologist or a social historian but my superficial, uneducated observation suggests that, in recent times, the waters have become very muddied and confused on this score . If I were to put a finger on the reasons I would suggest that the wider public are disappointed with and disaffected by politics as it is currently playing out. I offer two examples. With regard to the question of refugees we have, on liberal side of the equation, those who feel strongly about off-shore detention and who, when the church takes action, as for example with the Sanctuary movement, are all too willing to support the church’s stand and challenge government policy in this area. With regard to gay marriage the government seems anxious to try to appease the more conservative members of the community and branches of the church by trying to enshrine in law the freedom to not employ gay teachers. In other words on some issues the community supports the church’s interference in politics and on the others the government appears to accept the interference of the church.

In reality it is impossible to separate church and politics. For one thing we live in a society which, while increasingly secular (and even anti-religion), has been formed and shaped by the Judea-Christian tradition. For another, the church has a clear imperative to speak out against injustice and corruption. It is equally foolish to believe that the church itself has not been shaped and influenced by the community – social and political – in which it finds itself. For example, it was Christian women who led the struggle for the vote and later it was a changing attitude to the role of women that led to the church admitting women to the ordained ministry. Rubbing shoulders as we do, living side-by-side means that (at least for the present) the state influences the church and the church influences the state.

The impact of the political situation on the emerging faith was not lost on the author of Luke’s gospel. From the very beginning of the gospel Luke provides us with the the political and religious context in which the Christian faith emerged. He tells us that the story is set in the time of King Herod and he makes sure that we are aware of the Jewish pedigree of Elizabeth and Zechariah – both members of priestly families going back even to Aaron. The reader, (in particular Theophilis), is to infer that this is a story set in the heart of Judaism and in the shadow of the empire. As we begin the story proper the situation is spelled out even more clearly. Luke tells us that it is the “fifteenth year of the Emperor Tiberius, when Pontius Pilate was governor of Judaea, and Herod was the ruler of Galilee, and his brother Philip ruler of the region of Ituraea and Trachonitis, and Lysanias ruler of Abilene, during the high priesthood of Annas and Caiaphas” (Lk 3:1).

Apparently Luke does not believe that the story of Jesus cannot be told in isolation. It has to be understood against the political and religious currents of the time. Luke’s lengthy introduction to the story of John not only alerts the reader to the fact John and Jesus are “players on the world stage” but also creates an air of foreboding. The Emperor was known to be cruel and unpredictable – a person so insecure in his position that he destroyed anyone me whom he deemed to be a threat. Tiberius was also the Emperor who had exiled the Jews from Rome in 19CE. Pilate, Tiberius’ representative in Judea, also had a reputation for cruelty and oppression. Herod, as we know, was the ruler who would order John’s beheading. While Philip and Antipas were more benign figures, the effect of the long list of rulers is to show how thoroughly Judea is under the power of Rome. Finally, the high priest, though a representative of the faith, was himself was a Roman appointment – answerable to the Empire.

It is in this hostile political environment that the lives of John and Jesus will be played out. Vulnerable leaders with a tenuous grasp of power will do all within their means to stifle and destroy any hint of opposition and John and Jesus will forfeit their lives by refusing to conform. Speaking the truth to power will cost them both their lives.

We who follow in Jesus’ footsteps must not abrogate our responsibility to promote the values of the kingdom, to take the side of the poor and the oppressed and to question laws that are unjust and we must acknowledge that our freedom to worship and to live lives consistent with our faith may be challenged and even curtailed by unsympathetic powers.

Centuries ago Luke recognized that it was impossible for people of faith to exist in isolation. We are affected by and must recognize and work within the constraints and protections of our political, social and religious context.

Held in the hands of God?

Advent 3 – 2016

Matthew 11:2-11

Marian Free

 

In the name of God who sees us through our darkest moments and brings us safely to the other side. Amen.

I am sure that many of you will have heard the expression “the dark night of the soul”. It originates from a poem written by John of the Cross, a Spanish mystic of the 16th century. John’s poem, The Ascent of Mount Carmel, describes the journey of the soul towards God. The dark nights (John does not add “of the soul”) refer to times of purification that are necessary on a journey that is a joyful experience of being guided by God. Over time the phrase lost its original meaning and was extended to the expression “the dark night of the soul”. This latter rather than referring to a necessary and joyful time of purification, came to refer to a time of spiritual dryness, a time when God’s presence was difficult if not possible to discern. Many deeply spiritual people experience this absence at some time or another during their lives. For example, Therese of Lisieux, a Carmelite nun had moments of bleakness centred around doubts about the afterlife and we are told that for most of her life Mother Teresa experienced an emptiness and dryness in her spiritual life.

But, as I have said, John of the Cross, does not see dark nights as a negative, but as gifts from God, as opportunities for spiritual growth. His hope is that the person on a spiritual journey will take advantage of these times and rather than trying to fight them or to solve the problem will allow themselves to rest entirely in God. He writes, and I paraphrase[1]:

“DURING the time, then, of the aridities of this night of sense – God effects the change of which we have spoken, drawing forth the soul from the life of senses into that of the spirit—that is, from meditation to contemplation. In this situation the soul no longer has any power to work or to reason with its faculties concerning the things of God. As a result, those on this journey suffer great trials, not so much because of the emptiness, but because they fear being lost on the road and worry that all spiritual blessing is over for them. They feel that God has abandoned them because they find no help or pleasure in good things. Then they grow weary, and endeavour (as they have been accustomed to do) to concentrate on some spiritual practice that used to bring them blessing thinking that their efforts will make a difference and that by failing to do this they are doing nothing.”

He goes on to point out that at these times it is the doing nothing that is important. It is only when they stop striving to do things themselves that they will really be able to experience what God is doing for them. In fact, according to John of the Cross the suffering that a person might experience in this dark night results not from the darkness, but from their trying to escape it. It is their resistance to the gift that God is trying to give them that causes them to experience aridity instead of peace. Instead of trying to learn from the experience, such people struggle to find a way out and it is in the struggle (not in the darkness) that their suffering lies.

As I reread today’s gospel and the poignant account of John the Baptist’s anxieties and doubts, I wondered if, in a later age, his namesake John of the Cross might have identified the Baptist’s experience as a “dark night”. I have always wondered why, when John has so confidently announced Jesus as the one whose “sandals he is unworthy to untie”, should now need to ask if Jesus is the one who is to come. What happened to the John who could, without fear of reprisal call the Pharisees and the Sadducees “vipers”? How could someone who was so sure of his mission and purpose in life, now have doubts? Could it be true that someone who saw himself as a prophet be surprised that he was at odds with the authorities – so much so that he was now in prison?

It was as I pondered these questions that I began to consider the “dark night of the soul” and to ask if this might explain John’s sense of doubt and insecurity.

John seems utterly confident. He preached repentance because he believed that the kingdom of heaven had come near. His message was so powerful that even the Pharisees and Sadducees came out from Jerusalem to hear him. His vision and foresight was such that he identified Jesus as the one “whose sandals he is not worthy to carry”. More than that, he has had the privilege of baptising Jesus. It must have been heady stuff. He must have felt so close to God. He was the mouthpiece of God, he was announcing the coming of the anointed one.

Now however, John is in prison. He is utterly powerless, isolated from what is happening in the world. His has lost confidence in his mission. He is not sure that Jesus really is “the one who is to come”. From prison, John needs reassurance that he has not misunderstood. He needs to be reassured that Jesus is the one and that the kingdom he proclaimed is indeed in the process of becoming a reality.

In his “dark night” John is unable to rest in God, to trust that God has all things in hand. John needs to take action. He needs to be in control. He needs to fight against the darkness instead of letting the darkness hold and transform him. He can’t let go of his sense of mission and purpose and that means that he can’t trust God. He can’t be sure that he was right.

Of course, this is pure speculation on my part. But for me it answers the question as to why John is now filled with doubt. His spiritual journey has taken an unexpected turn and he is not ready. He presumably thought that he had reached a pinnacle in his relationship with God. His confidence in his mission has led to a confidence in himself and a failure to recognise that he still has much to learn. As he is unprepared for this change in direction and, filled with self-doubt, begins to doubt God.

It is this moment that signifies the difference between Jesus and John. John, despite his courage and his prophetic qualities is at this point in his life and spiritual journey unable to let go of his sense of purpose and to completely trust in God. Jesus on the other hand, allowed God to take him to the cross. He was not sure what lay ahead, but trusted that whatever it was, God would have everything in hand and that if he, Jesus, place his trust completely in God, he would come out the other side radically transformed by whatever it was God had in store for him.

Like life itself, our spiritual journeys do not always take the route that we expect. In the light of John’s story, the question that we have to ask ourselves over and over again is this: “Do we really trust God?” and if we do, will we have the confidence and courage to rest in God even when our lives take a direction that we did not expect and that seems to have brought us to a dead halt.

God has our lives in God’s hands. Are our lives in the hands of God?

 

 

 

[1] The original reads:

“DURING the time, then, of the aridities of this night of sense (wherein God effects the change of which we have spoken, drawing forth the soul from the life of sense into that of the spirit—that is, from meditation to contemplation—wherein it no longer has any power to work or to reason with its faculties concerning the things of God, as has been said), spiritual persons suffer great trials, by reason not so much of the aridities which they suffer, as of the fear which they have of being lost on the road, thinking that all spiritual blessing is over for them and that God has abandoned them since they find no help or pleasure in good things. Then they grow weary, and endeavour (as they have been accustomed to do) to concentrate their faculties with some degree of pleasure upon some object of meditation, thinking that, when they are not doing this and yet are conscious of making an effort, they are doing nothing. “