January 4th 2026

Epiphany Sunday

Our reflection on Epiphany is taken from an article by David Lose.

“One way into the reading Matthew 2 vs.1-12, would be to focus on the magi. It is ironic that Herod is first alerted to Jesus’ birth, not by the Jewish chief priests and scribes, but by foreign “magi”.

The tradition that these magi were kings has grown out of interpretation of Scripture. Isaiah 60 speaks of Gentile nations being drawn to the light of Israel, and kings to the brightness of its dawn, with gifts of gold and frankincense. Psalm 72 also speaks of Gentile kings bringing gifts and bowing down before the king of Israel. The tradition that there were three kings likely comes from the detail in Matthew’s story that the magi brought three gifts – gold, frankincense, and myrrh.

Despite these traditions, the fact remains that Matthew never says they were kings and never tells us how many there were.                                                                         

The magi were most likely astrologers, perhaps even Zoroastrian priests from Persia.

They are certainly Gentiles; they come from outside of Israel, and they do not know the Scriptures. But they do know how to read the stars.

God reaches out to them and leads them through what they already know. In the ancient world, stars and other signs in the heavens were thought to signal important events. In this case, a bright star rising leads them to discern that a royal birth has occurred in Judea. So they come bringing gifts fit for royalty – gold and frankincense and myrrh.

The humble piety of these foreigners in searching out the infant Judean king to pay him homage stands in stark contrast to the machinations of King Herod. Herod calls together the chief priests and scribes and asks them where the Messiah is to be born. Then he calls for the magi and asks them the exact time that the star appeared. He tells them that when they have found the child, they should come back and tell him, so that he also “may go and pay him homage” (2:8). We know, of course, that he has a much more sinister intent.

The gifts that the magi bring also offer material for reflection. The gift of gold for a king is not hard to understand, but frankincense and myrrh are not so well known in certain contexts and may require some explanation. 

Both frankincense and myrrh come from the fragrant resins of trees, and both have long been used in perfumes and in the making of incense for worship. Myrrh has some very distinctive properties. The name itself means “bitter” in Arabic. Its yellowish-white resin seeps from the trunk of a small desert tree when wounded and hardens into teardrop shapes, as though the tree itself were weeping. Once exposed to the air, its colour deepens into gold, then amber, and then scarlet—like drops of blood against the bark of the trees. The resin is bitter to taste, but when ground into a powder or burned as incense, it releases an extraordinary fragrance.

Myrrh has long been used for its medicinal qualities as an antiseptic or analgesic agent. According to Mark, Jesus was offered wine mixed with myrrh at his crucifixion (Mark 15:23). In the ancient world, myrrh was also a common agent used for embalming the dead, and according to John’s Gospel, it was used at Jesus’ burial (John 19:39). As such, myrrh seems a strange gift to bring to an infant, a gift more suited for the end of life than its beginning. 

Yet it seems that the magi were indeed wise in their gift-giving. Their gift foreshadows what is to come. Myrrh is a bittersweet gift, but it is a fitting gift for King Jesus born into the world of King Herod, for an infant king born into a world where evil tyrants plot the deaths of innocents. It is a fitting gift for this humble king who will be put to death as a threat against the empire. It is a fitting gift for the shepherd-king who comes to lay down his life for the sheep. The fourth verse of the Christmas carol “We Three Kings” brings out this significance of myrrh very well:                                                                                       

Myrrh is mine; its bitter perfume
breathes a life of gathering gloom,
sorrowing, sighing, bleeding, dying,
sealed in a stone cold tomb.                                                                                         

This is not a very cheery verse for a Christmas or Epiphany carol, but it is deep and profound. Even if we would rather not be reminded, the gift of myrrh reminds us that Jesus’ birth, like every birth, begins a journey toward death. This infant king is born to die, and it is for our sake. At the same time, the healing properties of myrrh remind us that in Jesus’ death and victory over the grave, there is healing for all our ills.

January 11th                                                                                                           

The Baptism of Christ

This week`s reflection on the Gospel (Matthew 3 13-end) is by Rev David F. Sellery, St. John’s Episcopal Church in Salisbury, Connecticut, USA.

“In this week’s gospel, John tells Jesus: I need to be baptized by you.

Jesus tells John: No, I need to be baptized by you.

From a cynical 21stCentury perch this could be seen as just so much polite posturing between preachers… “After you…” “No, after you.”

Today we could be tempted to say why not just skip the whole baptism business and register on-line at the church of your choice. Just leave your credit card number for those annoying collections and I’ll see you next Christmas.

An absurd suggestion; of course it is. But hopefully it illustrates a point. We must come to the water. We need to be baptized in water and the Spirit . There is no virtual reality, computer generated substitute. We must be physically and spiritually cleansed in the waters that flow over and unite the entire community of believers. Whether as consenting adults or as consecrated children we must come to the waters to be claimed for Christ.

Again the cynic’s rebuttal: What’s the big deal? A little water – a dunk or a splash—a couple of prayers, what difference does it make? You’re wasting a whole Sunday afternoon that could be spent watching a playoff game. But infinitely long after Super Bowl 10,000 is forgotten, the waters and the prayers of baptism will still be written on our hearts. The grace of God will remain… perhaps ignored, even profaned, but undiminished as a source of strength and inspiration.

In this gospel we see that the tremendous power of baptism is evident right from the start. It is the first occasion in the Bible that unites the Trinity in full view and in celebration of God’s love. In the form of a dove we see The Holy Spirit come upon Jesus to fortify him for his mission of redemption. We hear the voice of the Father acknowledging Jesus as his beloved Son and endorsing his ministry. And then there is Jesus. He arrives at the Jordan as a humble candidate for baptism and departs as the heaven-proclaimed Son of God. It is a brief plunge into a river, but a giant step closer to realizing the entire purpose of creation. As both God and man, Jesus initiates his public life, setting a humble, loving tone that will mark his ministry from miracles to parables, from Cana to Calvary. In these four brief verses, Matthew proclaims that nothing in human history will ever be the same. The Son of God is among us. And he would bind us to him in the water of baptism.

That is where our own baptism comes in. In John 3, Jesus tells us plainly: Except a man be born again of water and of the Spirit, he cannot enter into the kingdom of God. It doesn’t get any more imperative than that. Baptism is not a suggestion. Christ clearly calls us to the water. Baptism is not an optional initiation ritual.         

It is God’s own medium of saving grace. The Trinity, which was present at the Jordan, blesses each baptism; welcoming infants and adults, children and deathbed converts to the family of the faithful, washing them in the love of Christ.

The simple beauty and the awesome transformational power of baptism have been captured in song by another Matthew, contemporary composer Matt Maher.

O let all who thirst
Let them come to the water
And let all who have nothing
Let them come to the Lord
Without money, without price
Why should you pay the price
Except for the Lord?

And let all who seek
Let them come to the water
And let all who have nothing
Let them come to the Lord
Without money, without strife
Why should you spend your life
Except for the Lord?

And let all who toil
Let them come to the water
And let all who are weary
Let them come to the Lord
All who labour without rest
How can your soul find rest
Except for the Lord?

And let all the poor
Let them come to the water
And let the ones who are laden
Let them come to the Lord
Bring the children without might
Easy the load and light
Come to the Lord

January 18th

Second Sunday of Epiphany

Our reflection on this week`s Gospel, John 1:29-42, is by Karoline Lewis.

“It was about four o’clock in the afternoon.”

I have always been curious about this detail, but have never quite known what to do with it.

I have also frequently been asked about the meaning of this time designation and have responded with my vast Johannine knowledge by saying, “well, I think it means the time of day.” Brilliant. I have changed my mind. You can do that, you know, when it comes to interpreting Scripture. If you can’t, then the Word ceases to be living.

All of a sudden, because of your time and place and space, you see something you overlooked. A word once buried in a passage rises to the surface and calls out to you.

A verse resonates with something deep inside you that you simply cannot explain.             

“It was about four o’clock in the afternoon.”

What is up with that? This is a tough one if you know anything about John. The importance of light and darkness, what light and dark represent. But four o’clock in the afternoon? Is it still light? Getting dark? What time of the year is this again? If the meaning isn’t something about being in the light or being in the dark, believing or not believing, why mention the time of day when these first disciples get to hang out with Jesus?

Here is where we have to think incarnationally. Since the incarnation is at the heart of John’s Gospel, that the Word became flesh, time matters and marking time matters.

Life happens in time and we remember life with time. Important events are not general references — we don’t say, “our wedding was in the evening sometime” or “our baby was born sometime in the morning” or “grandpa died sometime in the afternoon.”

No, we remember these moments with particularity. It was a Tuesday. It was 5:01.

The event started at 4:00.

I remember the specific moment he said that he loved me.

I remember the exact moment she walked across the stage to accept her diploma.

I remember the particular moment when I heard my diagnosis.

I remember the precise moment when I heard about…”

No wonder the time of the first encounter with Jesus had to be recorded.

There’s no way you can forget that kind of moment, right? When did you first meet Jesus? “Well, it was about four o’clock in the afternoon….”

There are events in your life that time has to acknowledge.

What are your personal events?

What are your communal events?

What are our national events?

What are our global events? That `then time` helps us remember. Helps us feel.

Helps us know that it mattered. Time anchors the event.                                                 

Can you name the time when you first met Jesus? Name the time you first realized how much Jesus loves you? Name the time when you knew that a life of ministry, officially or voluntarily, ordained or lay, was how you needed to be in the world?

Time matters in this story, not just to mark time, but to remind us of God’s time.

That God entered into time when God didn’t have to.

That God chose to be limited by time when God didn’t need to.

That God decided time matters when omnipresence could give God a very easy out.             

For these first disciples, about four o’clock in the afternoon was their first time, by invitation from Jesus, to abide. Not just to come and see, but to come and be. Outside of Jesus’ baptism in John 1:32-33 in reference to the Spirit, 1:39 is the first occurrence of the verb meno in John. You all know the meaning of meno — abide.

Used no less than forty-plus times in John it is the primary word to describe the intimate relationship into which Jesus invites us.                                                                             To abide is to belong.

To abide is to be saved (John 4:42).

To abide is to be assured of a future with God (John 14:2).

To abide is to feel a real and committed relationship (John 15:1-17).

No wonder you remember four o’clock in the afternoon.

Your first abiding with the Word of God can’t be some generic memory.

And presence in time is the promise of Epiphany.

Epiphanic moments need timely demarcation.

The incarnation anticipates and even demands timely matters.

Why?

Because time matters to God and our times matter deeply to God.”

January 25th

Third Sunday of Epiphany

Our reflection on the Gospel, Matthew 4:12-24, is taken from an article by David Lose.

“I want to focus on: The Call. Except not just our call, but instead the call,

God’s call, God’s call to each and every one of us.                                   

First, a brief look at this compressed and rather eventful passage. It starts out rather ominously, as John’s imprisonment sparks Jesus to withdrawal to what might be considered the backwaters of Capernaum in Galilee. But lest some think that Jesus’ move to Galilee is prompted by his need to put some distance between himself and Herod, Matthew makes clear that all of these events move in tune with God’s redemptive activity. And, indeed, from that place off the beaten path, Jesus proclaims the coming kingdom of God and invites those listening to turn around (repent) to receive this kingdom. He then begins gathering disciples and finally manifests the nature of the kingdom he’s been proclaiming by teaching, preaching, and healing.

A lot is going on here, and I realize one could go in a variety of directions. But what strikes me is the sense of calling that permeates this passage. The call to John the Baptist, even though it leads to imprisonment. Jesus’ withdrawal, which in Matthew is not about retreating but rather an intentional time to listen and respond to God’s call. Then Jesus’ own call to the crowds to perceive and become a part of God’s in-breaking kingdom, followed by his call to a few specific fishermen, those he has called as his disciples to catch up all kinds of people in the net of God’s grace.

There are different kinds of callings, yet each is from God. And I think our people need to hear that.

Some years ago, a research team I worked with discovered that while most of the graduates of our seminaries identified “vocation” and “calling” as important theological concepts that were at the centre of their preaching and teaching, very few of their parishioners actually felt called. Very few of them, that is, believed that what they did with most of their time mattered to God and the church or made a particular difference in the world.

In some religious traditions “the call” is reserved for ordained ministry. Many of our people, however, have a hard time seeing a direct a connection between what they do and what they believe, which is why they don’t feel called.

Maybe, that is, calling is less about what we do than who we are. Think about it for a moment: God’s call isn’t simply to do something, but rather to be something, a child of God. Maybe being comes before doing. Maybe being even makes doing possible. Is that what made it possible for John to proclaim the coming Messiah and challenge the powers that be, even when it meant his imprisonment? That he knew God had called him to be the forerunner? Is that what summoned such an immediate response from Peter and Andrew, James and John, that they felt called to be more than they had imagined? They probably have no idea what being “fishers of people” even means at this point in the story, but they do know that Jesus sees something in them, something of value and worth. They have no idea where they will go, or what they will do, but they do know that Jesus is calling them to be his disciples, and they trust that the rest will become clear in time.

Perhaps we need to be reminded that we are called to be children of God. Even if we don’t quite know what being a child of God exactly means, we can tell know that God values, honours and loves us. It’s important to remember that before God calls us to do anything God first calls us to be something: God’s own beloved children. And knowing this, we can trust that the rest will follow.

And don’t let it stop there. Because this calling isn’t only for individuals, it’s also for our congregations. Perhaps before figuring out what we are called to do as a congregation, we can remind each other what we are called to be. Because God is calling our congregations to be the gathering of God’s beloved children. God is calling our congregations to be places of welcome and acceptance. God is calling our congregations to be sanctuaries where God’s word is taught, the good news of the kingdom is proclaimed, and all find healing.

Focus first on being – just being – God’s beloved children and let that grace-filled identify seep into the deepest parts of ourselves, I have little doubt that those things we are called to do will become clear in time. You are called to be something, for you are called to be those through whom God offers words of mercy, grace, and hope.”

February 1st

Candlemas

February 2^nd is observed as Candlemas in the liturgical calendar and we will be reflecting on its meaning in worship this Sunday. Below are some thoughts on Candlemas (and the Irish saint Brigid) by Jan Richardson, an artist, writer and ordained minister in the United Methodist Church in the USA.

“The beginning of February offers us another lovely feast day on the heels of today’s Feast of St. Brigid. In the rhythm of the Christian liturgical year, tomorrow marks the Feast of the Presentation of Jesus, also called the Feast of the Purification of Mary.

This day bids us remember Mary and Joseph’s visit to the Temple to present their child Jesus on the fortieth day following his birth, as Jewish law required, and for Mary to undergo the postpartum rites of cleansing.

Luke’s Gospel tells us that a resident prophet named Anna and a man named Simeon immediately recognize and welcome Jesus. Taking the child into his arms, Simeon turns his voice toward God and offers praise for the “light for revelation” that has come into the world.                                                                                                        

Taking a cue from Simeon, some churches began, in time, to mark this day with a celebration of light: the Candle Mass, during which priests would bless the candles to be used in the year to come. Coinciding with the turn toward spring and lengthening of light in the Northern Hemisphere, Candlemas offers a liturgical celebration of the renewing of light and life that comes to us in the natural world at this time of year, as well as in the story of Jesus.

As we emerge from the deep of winter, the feast reminds us of the perpetual presence of Christ our Light in every season.                                                                                        With her feast day just next door, and with the abundance of fire in the stories of her life, it’s no surprise that St. Brigid makes an appearance among the Candlemas legends.

The stories and prayers of Ireland and its neighbours often refer to Brigid as the midwife to Mary and the foster mother of Christ. Chronologically, this would have been a real stretch seeing as how Brigid was born in 454 AD!  

However, the legend says that Brigid walked before Mary with a lighted candle in each hand when she went up to the Temple for purification. The winds were strong on the Temple heights, and the tapers were unprotected, yet they did not flicker nor fail.  

On this Candlemas, where do we find ourselves in this story?

Are we Mary, graced by the light that another sheds on our path?

Or are we Brigid, carrying the light for another in need?”

February 8th

Second Sunday before Lent

Our reflection on the Gospel Matthew 6 vs. 25-34, is taken from a longer article on the reading by Richard Beaton, Principal of De Pree Leadership Centre and Associate Professor of New Testament, Fuller Theological Seminary, Pasadena.

“Jesus is not calling us all to abandon our lives and move to the desert to join a monastery or to empty our savings accounts. Rather, he is addressing the basis for excessive worry and anxiety that can result from a life separated from God.

The text calls us to a different set of values, different priorities. The Gentiles, those who are outside the community of faith, both seek after these things and worry about their life, their physical possessions and the accompanying social status. A life devoted to God, lived under the reign of God, is lived according to the values of the Kingdom of God.

But what does all this mean? In this text, vv. 31-33 provide the interpretive clue for what precedes. The emphasis of the text is upon excessive worrying or anxiety about our needs in life. The paragraph that precedes this text (6.19-24) poses the ultimate question. Is our allegiance solely to God or is our loyalty divided in some way? True discipleship, by which we mean anyone who desires to be a follower of Jesus and thus Christian, involves being resolute in a wholehearted devotion to God. One cannot serve two masters. Matt. 6.25-34 then answers the potential objections to this notion of thoroughgoing devotion to God as it pertains to our physical needs. Jesus places the discussion within the context of anxiety and faith and trust. Do we trust in ourselves, our power, our ability to get things done? Are we excessively anxious about our physical needs?

The text is balanced in three sections.

The first opens with an admonition and has the feel of a fairly strong command. We are not to worry about our lives, namely, what we eat, drink or how we clothe ourselves. In a world much more familiar with abject poverty than what most of us currently experience in the West, these are basic but very real worries. Jesus’ list, however, is only illustrative; anything pertaining to life could be included on it. Two challenges, each illustrated by a scene from nature, follow, and a conclusion balances the passage.

The first admonishment is not to worry about food or drink. Inspiration for it was derived from observing the habits of birds. Birds do not worry, nor do they store up for the winter, yet they are cared for by their heavenly father. The image of God is particularly instructive at this point. God is the compassionate, good father caring for his birds, feeding them as they have need. In the same way, the life of the disciple is not lived in isolation but under the watchful care of a father who attends to their needs. In a harsh world that does not seem to care, this comes as good news.

The second admonishment is to not worry about what they will wear. Now for most of us this is not a problem. I suspect the text is not referring to a bulging wardrobe and the high-anxiety moment faced each morning when trying to decide appropriate attire for the day in colours that actually match. Rather, it is the basic need of clothing, which for many in the culture of first-century Palestine was a concern. Jesus’ response is that the flowers of the field grow and bloom with ease and astonishing beauty. If this is true for mere flowers under the care of God, how much more will God take care of his people.

This paragraph closes with a summary and concluding statement. The life of discipleship is characterized by a life that is singular in its pursuit of God. It does not mean that we will not (or should not) acquire possessions, wealth, or need food, clothing and other necessities.      Rather, once one is devoted to God, one adopts the values, behaviours and priorities that God affirms.

To live in accordance with God’s reign–the Kingdom of God–means that as Christians we are a community within broader society that is aligned with a different values system.

We do not strive or worry endlessly about our needs. Rather, in entrusting our life to God, we look to our good heavenly father to provide them for us, as he does for all of his creation.”

February 15th

Sunday next before Lent

Transfiguration Sunday

This coming Sunday is the last Sunday before the Season of Lent and is also Transfiguration Sunday. For many churches who do not follow the Lectionary, I wonder if their clergy ever actually choose to preach on the Transfiguration. I doubt if it`s in any preacher`s top ten topics for a sermon! This is why I am glad that at college, we were introduced to the Lectionary, as it is a great discipline for both ministers and congregations alike to guide them through the scriptures in an orderly fashion. I have always liked Saint Paul`s call for things in the church to be done “decently and in order”!

So, having set myself up for a fall, what do I make of the biblical story of the transfiguration of Christ?

Those who take a fundamentalist view of scripture, will say that the story speaks for itself, namely, “...the appearance of his (Jesus`) face literally changed and his clothes became dazzling white. Suddenly they saw two men, Moses and Elijah, talking to him. They appeared in glory and were speaking of his departure, which he was about to accomplish at Jerusalem."

Those who take a more nuanced view of scripture might say, using a phrase that is familiar, that the disciples began to see Jesus `in a new light`. Perhaps that is what the gospel writer is trying to convey through this highly symbolic language. Not only is Jesus face and clothing transformed and dazzling, an indication of something otherworldly, even heavenly, but he is joined by two highly important characters from what we call the Old Testament, Moses and Elijah. These are revered figures in Judaism and even the mere mention of them in the same breath as Jesus, helps to confer a special significance on him, an endorsement if you like, in the same way that a politician of today would value the endorsement of revered figures from the party`s past.

Luke combines these two supernatural aspects, Jesus dazzling appearance and historical visitors, to confirm that Jesus is not only special in his own right but is part of the ongoing revelation of God dating back to the beginning of salvation history.

Either way, scripture assures us that Jesus is  not to be ignored and that who he is and what he has to say, is of immense significance for our lives and for the world.

It is my prayer as we stand on the threshold of Lent, that we too might see Jesus afresh in a new way and that having seen him in a new light, will never be the same again, for we too will have been transfigured and transformed.

I leave you with this hymn by Alan Gaunt.

Transfigured Christ, none comprehends
your majesty, whose splendour stuns
all waking souls; whose light transcends
the brightness of a thousand suns!

You stand with Moses on the hill,
you speak of your new exodus:
the way through death, you will fulfil
by dying helpless on the cross.

You stand here with Elijah too,
by whom the still small voice was heard:
and you, yourself, will prove God true,
made mute in death, Incarnate Word.

If we could bear your brightness here
and stay forever in your light,
then we would conquer grief and fear,
and scorn the terrors of the night.

But, from the heights, you bring us down,
to share earth’s agonies with you,
where piercing thorns are made your crown
and death, accepted, proves love true.

Majestic Christ, God’s well-loved Son,

if we must share your grief and loss,
transfigure us, when all is done,
with glory shining from your cross.

February 22nd

First Sunday of Lent

Our reflection this week, the First Sunday of Lent is by Peter Woods, who describes himself as, `a retired Methodist preacher, counsellor, thinker, and forest-dwelling writer.”  

For ten years, he wrote “That’s the Spirit” in the Weekend Post, and a preacher resource blog on Textweek.com.

"Until re-reading this passage in my sermon preparation this week it had never registered with me that there is a sequence in the temptation of Jesus other than the sequence of the three temptations.

Sometimes as a preacher I lock on to any three point passage and away I go with my sermon without reading around the passage to see perhaps the greater structure of the whole.

I am so glad I did the “reading around” this week as it has been revealing.

Apart from, stones to bread, pinnacle of the temple, and the promise of world domination; there is the larger sequence in the passage of:

1. Led to the wilderness by the Spirit
2. Forty days of ritual fasting
3. Profound physical hunger
4. The temptation (nested in this larger sequence)
   1. Stones to Bread
   2. Pinnacle of the temple
   3. World domination
5. The ministrations of angels

It has been the contemplation of this larger structure that has prompted the following thoughts.

The first aspect of the story that impacts me is the fact that Jesus, up to the moment where the Tempter manifests, has been very obedient to his calling and his mission. He has been baptised by John, he has been affirmed by the voice of his heavenly Parent, he has followed the Spirit’s leading to go away into the wilderness and he has been diligent in fasting.

It is at the point of discipline and due diligence that Jesus renders himself most vulnerable. Isn’t it true that we are often most vulnerable to the darkness when we are doing everything correctly and are wearied and worn out from the doing of it all so correctly. Please don’t hear me dismissing discipline and diligence. Not at all. They are the framework of any meaningful spiritual practice. I do however recall a time in my ministry when, totally over-extended by pastoral and community service work, I unlocked the front door one night and thought to myself, “I am really at the top of my game!”. One week later I was in a psych ward undergoing sleep therapy for burnout! It happens that quickly.

There is a false doctrine that wafts around the church as it wafted around the temple in Jesus’ time. It says, “If you are diligent and dutiful and if you keep all the rules, then only good and pleasant things will happen to you.” The life of Job, Jesus and your life and mine attest to the fact that this is not true. Every great spiritual tradition on the planet attests to the fact that shadows are darkest around those that burn brightest. The presence of these shadows doesn’t diminish the devotion and diligence of the devotee, they are the realistic counterpoint to the music of their beautiful lives. The joyless secret journals of Mother Theresa are recent evidence of this reality.

Secondly, I need to confess that I prefer to speak of the singular temptation of Jesus rather than the temptations of Jesus. My reasoning is that I don’t think that the struggle which Our Lord had in the wilderness was merely confined to: the avoidance of suffering (Stones to bread), the lure of cheap sensational showmanship (Pinnacle base jumping sans parachute), and world domination at the cost of Godly obedience (Bow down and worship me).

I speculate that these are merely illustrations of the torment he faced as, filled with power and blessing, he had to submit his ego to the will of God for his life.

Carl Jung said most powerfully, “Any form of neurosis is always a substitute for legitimate suffering”. Are we perhaps, the neurotic society we are, because we recoil from legitimate suffering either as discipline or as duty? The temptation of Jesus is essentially Jesus’ costly choice for mental, spiritual and physical health over the soft and cheap neurotic options he could have embraced for his ministry. I wonder how much healthier I would be if I could do the same?

The third and most striking discovery I have made in this passage for the first Sunday of Lent, lies in the final verses. “Jesus said to him[tempter, ego, false self], “Away with you, Satan! for it is written, ‘Worship the Lord your God, and serve only him.’” Then the devil left him, and suddenly angels came and waited on him.”

The way Matthew tells the story suggests that despite the temptation struggle of the faithful, fasting and thus famished Jesus, this battle does not happen in a place where God is absent. We, as pilgrims of the cross, know that no such Godless place exists! God is. The Israelites regarded the wilderness as a place of demons and devils. For them it was the destination of centuries of scapegoats, those symbolic bearers of the nation’s sin. But the wilderness was also the place where the fledgling Israel, fresh out of Egypt, learnt devotion and dependence to what Daniel Erlander calls their "Manna and Mercy" God.

Jesus learns in the wilderness temptation, as every faithful servant of God has come to learn, that once we put our self-centred, selfish, false-self Satan in its place,

the runway is clear for the hovering angels of God’s grace to land.

Desert Tower to Angel Flight, self is contained, you are cleared to land."

March 1st

Second Sunday of Lent

This week`s reflection on the gospel passage for the Second Sunday of Lent, John 3:1-17 is by Bruce Maples, who has served as a Minister of Music and Minister of Education in various churches in the USA.

“My wife and I have two grown sons. We have experienced many special, wondrous moments with each of them. I have to say, though, that one of the most amazing moments I have ever experienced was the moment when each of them was born. Words like life-filled, miracle, connection, extra-alive, and heart-burst all come to mind — but none are adequate to fully capture the moment. And yet…                                                                                          That moment was the culmination of one long process, and the starting point of another long process. Each boy was able to be born because some months earlier my wife and I conceived them.                                                                                                                       

And THAT act happened because years before that, we met, dated, got engaged, and got married. And all along the journey of our lives, there were events and decisions and influences that affected each of us, and us as a couple, and eventually our two sons.

In other words, “being born” is an event, a point in time — but it is also the result of a process, a process with tendrils that reach sometimes far into the past, but that certainly reach to a matching moment of conception.

So, I think we need a new word; a word that captures both the point in time and the process that got us there. There is “carried,” as in “she carried that baby for nine months.” There’s also “bore” which is where we got “birth.”                                                                     

But just for this Reflection, let’s go with “born-ed” and “born-ing”

to show both the process and the event.

Why make the distinction? Because I think that Jesus’s words in John 3 are sometimes at risk of being too closely associated with that single-point-in-time meaning of “born,” 

and if we do that, we miss something important.

Make no mistake — Jesus is plain about the need for spirit-birth. Without being born from above, of the Spirit, you cannot see nor enter the kingdom of God. Without having your eyes opened by the Spirit, your heart touched by the Spirit, your understanding of the world illumined by the Spirit, you can’t see the kingdom all around you, nor can you enter it.

That much is clear.

But I think we have taken that profound truth and twisted it, cheapened it, by focusing only on the birth event and not on the process of being born-ed. We have reduced that amazing moment that was the culmination of so many other moments and turned it into a question, a question answered in just that single moment and assumed we would get the same result. It’s as if we asked someone “do you want to have a child” and if they answered Yes, then Snap and there’s a newborn in their arms.

What does it change of our understanding of John 3 if we recast “you must be born again” into “you must allow the seeds of the Spirit to enter your soul, germinate there, grow there, until finally they come forth in an amazing and God-filled way, and your very nature and your relationship to all around you is changed forever”?

How does it affect our relationship to others, if we know that the way we deal with them might be part of the process of born-ing?

And finally, are we okay with trusting the process of born-ing as God’s timing and the Spirit moving as it will, rather than us trying to force a new birth through spiritual inducing?

Being born culminates one process of germination and growth and transformation and begins another.

Let’s make our churches and our lives into supporters of both the born-ing process and the be-ing process, and not just delivery rooms.”

March 8th                                                                                         

Third Sunday of Lent

Our reflection on the Gospel passage this Sunday, John 4:4-52, is from an article by Karoline Lewis

“This story is overwhelming. So much going on. So many places to land. Of course, this is the challenge with any text, but somehow with a story of this size and a character with this complexity, it seems like more.

What is frequently overlooked is that frequently overlooked is that this interaction is a conversation. Jesus suggests that conversation matters for theology. That conversation is essential for faith. Lest we assume such claims, observe how religious dialogue happens today — “I’m right. You’re wrong. So there.”

We are living in a time when conversation needs to be cultivated and valued. Practiced and pursued. Longed for and lived. Without real conversation, we lack intimacy and understanding, connection and empathy. Without real conversation, we risk detachment and distance.

No wonder Jesus engages in and insists on conversation when it comes to believing, since believing in John’s Gospel is synonymous with relationship.       

It matters that Jesus’ revelation of who he is to her and her realization of who he can be for her happens in conversation. Their conversation is emblematic of what true relationship looks like — mutuality, reciprocity, and regard.

The church can be the place that shows society what theological conversation can sound like. The church can be the place that demonstrates how dialogue about faith and the Bible might result in religious respect and tolerance. With this mandate, what does faithful conversation, theological conversation look like? The dialogue between the Samaritan woman at the well and Jesus provides an outline that not only offers features so as to model conversive speech but also points to the very nature of God.

First, note that the conversation begins with mutual vulnerability. Jesus is thirsty and she needs the water that only Jesus can provide. That is where truthful conversations must start — from a place of reciprocal vulnerability, from a space that recognizes that each party risks being known and being seen. I suspect that very few conversations begin with the expectation of vulnerability, yet theological conversations have to start there because this is a fundamental characteristic of God.

Second, questions are critical to conversation. Not questions that have already decided on the right answers. Not questions that are asked only to feign manners. No, questions that communicate curiosity, an interest in the other, a longing for information and understanding. The woman at the well is full of questions, thoughtful questions, questions that matter and lead Jesus to reveal to her who he really is. Jesus affirms questions, even invites them. God wants us to ask questions because it is questions that strengthen relationship.

Third, conversations for the sake of intentional and genuine interest in the other take time. They take time because there will likely be moments of misunderstanding. The Samaritan woman is first confused by Jesus’ offer, but unlike Nicodemus, she does not let that halt the conversation. This means that reading this text on Sunday cannot happen as a monologue. Orchestrate a dialogue, a reader’s theatre perhaps, so that your congregation can experience its length. It seems that God is willing to hang in there. To keep on listening. To keep on exposing God’s heart so that it can be seen for the abundant love it holds.

Fourth, when it comes to having a conversation with Jesus or about Jesus, expect to be surprised. Expect God to reveal something about God’s self that you have never seen before. The unnamed woman at the well is the first one to whom Jesus reveals his true identity — I AM, the first absolute I AM in the Gospel of John — not to the Jewish leaders or to the disciples, but to her, a religious, social, political outsider. This is whom God is for because God loves the world.

The final characteristic of theological conversation is to anticipate being changed in the process. The woman at the well goes from shamed to witness. From dismissed to disciple. From alone to being a sheep of Jesus’ own fold.

Let’s start talking!”

March 15th

Fourth Sunday of Lent 

Mothering Sunday

This coming Sunday is the Fourth Sunday of Lent and it is also Mothering Sunday, not to be confused with Mother`s Day, which is an American invention. 

Mothering Sunday has its roots in medieval Christianity when the Latin texts of the Mass on Laetare Sunday referenced mothers and metaphors for mothers. These included a verse from Galatians where Saint Paul refers to Jerusalem as “the mother of us all.”

After the Reformation, the Book of Common Prayer continued to assign the same readings.

During the 16^th century people would return on this Sunday in Lent to their `Mother Church`, which could be the church where they had been baptised or the nearest cathedral, the Mother Church of the diocese.                                                                                            For those who worked and lived away, this meant travelling back to their hometown or village and anyone who did this was commonly said to have “gone mothering,” a term first recorded in 1644.

Sadly, the modern observance of the day has taken on the American title of Mother’s Day and has lost any religious significance. Some of us however, still seek to retain the Christian ethos of the day and honour not only our earthly mothers but the Church, which even the Protestant Reformers regarded as “the mother of us all.”                  

So, as we come to worship and to pay tribute to our mothers, both living and departed, we also remind ourselves of the motherly and nurturing role of the Church in our lives, as it seeks to remind us of the love of God who is our heavenly Parent.

March 22nd

Fifth Sunday of Lent

Our reflection on the Gospel for this Sunday, John 11 vs. 1-45, is by Rev Rick Morely,

Rector of St David’s Episcopal Church in Radnor, Pennsylvania.

“While I don’t use the King James Version of the Bible often, I do happen to love its rendering of the raising of Lazarus. Jesus, after weeping and being emotionally moved, commands those around him to open Lazarus’ tomb.               

There’s instant protest. Lazarus had been dead for a few days, and everyone knew that rolling that stone away wouldn’t be pretty.

Martha calls out: But Lord, he stinketh!

I love that.                                                                                                                     

Of course, John is the Gospel of Signs. There are seven signs, and the raising of Lazarus is that ultimate seventh sign, revealing Jesus’ identity as the Christ.

But, as much as this sign is about Jesus, it’s also about us.

Because we are all Lazarus.

We are all dead and lifeless. We are all wrapped up corpses, bound in the grave clothes which the world lays on us. We are stiff and we have all begun to smell a little rank.

We stinketh.

Until – until! – Jesus calls us out of the tomb. Until he orders everything that binds us and holds us down, to be stripped off of us and tossed aside. Until he breathes his holy breath into us again and makes us a new creation. The Body of Christ, the community of the baptized, and the Communion of Saints – we are all Lazarus.

We stinketh, until Jesus calls us out, frees us, and gives us life. In fact, this is what binds us together, the biologically alive church and the biologically dead church: we have all been called out of the tomb and unwrapped.

In this sense, the raising of Lazarus isn’t just a miracle that Jesus performed thousands of years ago in a land far, far away. It’s the work of Jesus today.

And, I don’t know about you, but I’m glad that Jesus still calls us out, because I still need it.

I still stinketh. And some days I stinketh more than others.

I still find myself from time to time bound up and wound up,                                                by the expectations of others, by my own insecurities, by my sin.                                       

But the promise of the story of Lazarus is that, like Lazarus,                                              Jesus loves us.                                                                                                                He weeps for us.                                                                                                              He is deeply moved by us.                                                                                                And he brings life to our death, freedom to our bondage,                                                      and a shining light to our every darkness.”

June 21st

Third Sunday after Trinity

Our reflection this week is by Colin Yuckman, Duke Divinity School, North Carolina USA.

“This Sunday, Matthew continues the theme of disciples imitating their master.

This time the parallel appears not just in what they will say and do, but in what they will experience in the mission field: rejection, suffering, and for some even death.                  This passage introduces a second stage of the mission instructions for the twelve which began in Matthew 10:1-23.

Directives for their evangelistic task take on a darker tone and resemble a warning as much as an encouragement. If the first part of the instructions focused on practical aspects of the mission journey, the second is taken up with the severe conditions the apostles will experience, though coupled with reasons for hope. Our passage focuses on the commitment of the apostles themselves while revisiting some of the earlier themes.

During a former time, perhaps, such images of a master and his apprentice conveyed the relationship by which trades and various excellences in craft were passed down. In an automated, self-help world, the master-apprentice model seems quaint and antiquated. When I have a leaky tap, I turn to YouTube do-it-yourself videos instead of signing up for an internship with a master plumber. At the same time, becoming Jesus’ disciple is of a different order than plumbing repair. The costs are incalculably higher.

Most of us can probably recall someone who has helped us become who we are, a teacher or pastor or family member. The intensity a life of discipleship demands will require a parallel intensity in the bond we have with Jesus. The idea that mission can simply be tacked on to church life or the Christian “lifestyle” as a secondary trait does not line up with Jesus’ words here.

To become an apostolic witness, according to Jesus, is to experience the intensity of a relationship in which the teacher is in a sense reproduced in the student.

Channelling Martin Luther’s famous words, C. S. Lewis claimed just this:

“[T]he Church exists for nothing else but to draw [people] into Christ, to make them little Christs.”

Nevertheless, Jesus expresses his own vocation as one not of peace, but a sword. Granting its metaphorical language takes nothing away from its severity. Though Jesus may later tell Peter to put away an actual sword, here he takes one up symbolically to point out how his presence and his name will cause division, even within the strongest of human organizational systems, the family unit. Such a sense of division and value system seems offensive to just about every religious tradition for which family matters, not to mention the one which takes seriously the commandment to “honour your mother and father”. In the way that Jesus’ words echo Micah 7:5-7, however, it should be noticed that Jesus does not offer a simple rejection of the family. Obedience to Jesus will relativize household relationships rather than abolish them. By following God’s will the definition of the family unit is redefined. Depending on one’s situation it may mean “family” loses its biological orientation altogether.

When Jesus is pressed about his mother and brothers wanting to talk to him, he follows his own teaching by pointing to his disciples and saying “‘Here are my mother and my brothers! For whoever does the will of my Father in heaven is my brother and sister and mother'. God’s will is the true basis on which human life ought to be organized. And that will has taken on flesh in Jesus.                                                                                                                  For those who might think that discipleship can represent part but not the whole of one’s life, Jesus offers a harsh word; for those accepting this comprehensive calling, his words promise care and sustenance in the midst of costly sacrifice. Even the Gospel’s final words point to the new family paradigm. From here on out disciples will be baptized “in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit”. 

Forthright promises of division, rejection, and suffering are paired with equally strong statements claiming every hair on our heads is counted and our lives, as fragile as they inevitably are, remain in God’s hands. The language (especially in verse 29) recalls the Sermon on the Mount . At the same time, the poles of loss and provision are inscribed in the final verse: “Those who find their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it”. Ultimately, such dramatically good news cannot help but be shared “in the light” and shouted “from the housetops”.

In light of the master-disciple relationship which Matthew has to this point emphasized to the reader, we cannot overlook verse 38: “whoever does not take up the cross and follow me is not worthy of me.” If those sent are going to reflect the life of the sender, then mission itself will be cruciform. We should not be prepared to share in the exaltation of Jesus if we are not ready to share in his humiliation.                                                                        

Remarkably, this is the first time Matthew mentions “cross” in his Gospel, and it is not in direct reference to Jesus’ crucifixion but as a prerequisite to following Jesus. The fact that “cross” precedes crucifixion offers all sorts of potential for homiletical insight. Unless we in a sense take up our cross, we cannot begin to comprehend the way of Jesus Christ, who took up the cross. The preparation of the apostles for Jesus’ death and resurrection was not a matter of thinking the right thoughts, grasping it on a cognitive level. By the ordering of his Gospel, Matthew seems to suggest that only mission in the way of the cross can prepare us for recognizing the Christ of the cross when he comes. It may not be too much to claim that upon Jesus’ return, when he shows us his hands and feet, we will recognize him, but not simply because they show proof of his crucifixion; they should be familiar because they match our own wounds.”

June 28th

Fourth Sunday after Trinity

Our reflection on the Gospel passage, Matthew 10 vs 40-42, is by David Lose, Senior Pastor at Mount Olivet Lutheran Church, Minneapolis, Minn. USA.

“What do you make of this week’s Gospel passage? I have to say that on my first read, I came up rather empty. With last week’s predictions of suffering and persecution in mind, I at first wondered whether this was just the counterpoint — the promise of distant glory in contrast to last week’s declaration of imminent struggle. Kind of a risk and reward assessment for discipleship.

It’s more than that, of course, as Jesus is also talking about how the disciples — then and now — are drawn into relationship with God through their/our testimony, struggle, and the acts of mercy we perform and are performed on our behalf. All well and good, but still a little vague.

And then this one line jumped out at me, the last line of this brief passage: “and whoever gives even a cup of cold water to one of these little ones in the name of a disciple — truly I tell you, none of these will lose their reward.”

What a little thing, don’t you think, to give a cup of cold water? Jesus emphasizes the same by his use of the word “even.” We often imagine discipleship as requiring huge sacrifice or entailing great feats, and sometimes that is exactly what discipleship comes to. But at other times, Jesus seems to say, it’s nothing more than giving a cup of cold water to one in need.

Or offering a hug to someone who is grieving.                                                                  Or a listening ear to someone in need of a friend.                                                           

Or offering a ride to someone without a car.

Or volunteering at the local foodbank.

Or making a donation to an agency like Luther World Relief or Kiva.

Or…you get the idea.

Discipleship doesn’t have to be heroic. Like all the small acts of devotion, tenderness, and forgiveness that go largely unnoticed but tend the relationships that are most important to us, so also the life of faith is composed of a thousand small gestures. Except that, according to Jesus, there is no small gesture. Anything done in faith and love has cosmic significance for the ones involved and, indeed, for the world God loves so much.

You probably know as well as I do Loren Eiseley’s story of “the star thrower” — the one about the guy tossing starfish after starfish back into the sea. When asked why, he replies that if they don’t get back in the water soon, they’ll dry out and die. Looking at a beach strewn with thousands of starfish, his interlocutor responds that he can’t possibly hope to make any difference. To which he says — and this is famous closing line — “To the ones I throw back, it makes all the difference in the world.”

Exactly. Because Jesus has promised to come in time to redeem all in love, to fix all damage, heal all hurts, and wipe the tears from every eye, we can in the meantime devote ourselves to acts of mercy and deeds of compassion small and large, not trying to save the world — Jesus has promised to do that! — but simply trying to care for the little corner of the world in which we have been placed. And so even a cup of cold water can make a huge and unexpected difference to those to whom we give it and, according to Jesus, such acts have eternal and cosmic consequences.

Can you imagine that? That each and every act of mercy rings through the eons and across the universe imbued with Christ’s love for the world, a love we can share anytime and anywhere with gestures that may seem small in the eyes of the world but loom large in the life of those who witness them.                                               

I trust that you are already doing this. You are already, in countless and myriad ways making this world God loves so much a little better, a little more trustworthy, a little more joyful through your gestures of love, mercy, and compassion. There is no small gesture and through your cups of cold water, hugs, helping hands, and listening ears, you are caring for the world God loves so much.”

July 5th

Fifth Sunday after Trinity

Our reflection on this week`s Gospel, Matthew 11 vs. 16-19,25-end, is by Peter Woods, who describes himself as “a retired Methodist preacher, counsellor, thinker, and forest-dwelling writer.”

“I happened to pass the living room and saw his face on the television screen. 

He wore the robes of a monk and looked ever so serene. (The bald head helped)

He was being interviewed on a chat show.  (South Africa’s own Oprah wannabe, Noelene)  Being interested in all things spiritual I stopped long enough to hear this dialogue…

Noelene: Are you telling me that you never get angry?
Monk: No I experience anger but I choose not to act on it.
Nolene(Incredulous): So if you are on the freeway and someone cuts in front of you, you won’t hoot or yell at them?
Monk: I might think of doing those things but I will ask myself this question before acting, “What will this change?”

“What will this change?”

A skilful question to be sure. As a preacher I sometimes ask myself the same question before and after preaching!  Counting conservatively, I realise that I have preached upwards of fourteen hundred sermons.  What did they change?
As I read the gospel this Sunday, I find a deep resonance with Jesus who is remonstrating far more vociferously with his congregation than I have had to courage to do with mine.  It is difficult to pin down the exact emotions Jesus is expressing, but they are incarnationally and beautifully human feelings to be sure! I can follow and serve a God who can experience these emotions that are so much part of my daily life.  Jesus not only confronts, he also condemns.  “Woe to you…”  Wow! He is ticked off!

And then suddenly he changes direction. Matthew marks the change with a time check, “At that time Jesus said…”

I would love to ask Jesus what triggered the change?
Did he notice a facial expression, did he experience a change of feeling tone, or did he simply remember his own parable? 

The one about the reckless sower who doesn’t care where the seed falls or what it produces,

leaving the outcome to God. I will never know.
What I do know is that Jesus, having vented his spleen at the hard of heart, non-responders, then turns to a prayer of thanks to God for those who are able, because of their innocence and of their liminal lives full of pain, to hear and receive what is being offered.

The proud and arrogant, those who have all the answers, those who think they are “self-made”, will never see and receive what the burdened and heavily laden ones will see and receive.
There is something about the pain of human suffering, that tills the soil for the fertile seed of Jesus’ words.
If Jesus had an advertising bill board it could have read, “Troubled? Make the change to Yoke Light”!

What did these words change?
If you ask the burdened heavily laden ones who have come to Jesus down through the ages, they will probably testify, that those words changed everything!

Maybe these words will do that for someone else too.”

July 12th

Sixth Sunday after Trinity

Our reflection on the Gospel passage Matthew 13 vs1-9,18-23, is taken from a longer piece by Warren Carter, Meinders Professor of New Testament, Phillips Theological Seminary, Tulsa, Oklahoma. USA

“The parable presents a scenario involving a male peasant farmer. This scenario was familiar to the gospel’s largely rural audience who knew well the ways of its agriculturally based society. The sower sows seeds which fall into four different types of ground with quite different consequences.

In verse 4, seed that falls on a path is eaten by birds. In verses 5-6, seed that falls among rocks sprouts quickly but, lacking depth of soil, dries up in the sun. In verse 7, seed that falls among the thorns is choked by them. But in verse 8, seed that falls into good soil produces an abundant crop.

The parable ends with an appeal — “let anyone with ears, listen” (13:9). To have ears is an image that points beyond literal hearing to discerning the significance of Jesus’ words. Jesus, though, offers no help to his audience to understand the significance of the scene he has presented.

The disciples, though, ask Jesus confidentially about why he speaks in parables (13:10). After offering an explanation that emphasizes the divisive effect of the parables (13:11-17), he sets about explaining “the parable of the sower” (13:18). Interestingly, while he refers to the parable as “the parable of the sower,” the explanation does not focus on the sower. It does not even identify the sower explicitly.

Yet in identifying the seed as “the word of the kingdom” (13:18), Jesus offers a clear hint that the sower is himself. The phrase “word of the kingdom” resembles the description of Jesus’s work as “proclaiming the good news of the kingdom” (4:23; 9:35).

Jesus’ explanation, instead, focuses on the fate of the seed in different types of ground. These scenarios represent various responses to Jesus’ ministry. The seed that falls on the path represents those who hear but do not understand Jesus’ proclamation (13:19). That is, they do not discern in Jesus’ words and actions the presence of God’s empire (4:17) or saving presence.

But Jesus goes on to say that this non-understanding does not only reflect their dull hearts (13:15). It is simultaneously the work of the devil, the evil one (6:13), who resists God’s purposes by “snatching away” Jesus’ word from the human heart. The heart is the centre of a person’s willing, thinking, knowing, deciding and doing, the centre of their commitments and way of life.

The parable does not pause to explain why the devil seems to be more powerful in influencing the human heart than God’s word.

The seed that falls on the rocky ground sprouts quickly but dies in the sun, exemplifies the person who readily receives Jesus’ preaching about the kingdom but does not endure as a disciple (13:21). In this scenario, the presence of “trouble and persecution” causes the person to stumble. This trouble comes “because of the word.” The person does not understand that God’s empire threatens and conflicts with dominant cultural values and structures. Nor can they resist. It is inevitable that the world “strikes back.”

The seed that is choked by thorns represents the person who hears Jesus’ proclamation but “the cares of the world and lure of wealth choke the word” and bring it to naught (13:23). The “cares of the world” signify an anxiety over daily life. This anxiety is expressed in attempts to secure life without reference to God. “The lure of wealth” exercises a similar hold over the human heart when material gain is the goal and definition of human success. With these commitments, the word about God’s rule is not able to break through and nourish new life. It yields nothing.

After these three scenarios addressing negative responses to Jesus’ preaching, the fourth scenario concerns the seed sown on good soil (13:23).

This seed and soil represent those who hear and understand the word.

Their hearts, the centre of their very being, embrace the good news. They fight off the devil. They endure difficulties and persecutions. They are not defined by worldly cares and wealth. They join the community formed by and committed to God’s empire and marked by doing God’s will (12:46).

So, they live fruitful lives, signified by the abundant crop.”

July 19th

Seventh Sunday after Trinity

Our reflection on the Gospel passage for this week, Matthew 13:24-30,36-43,                    is by Karoline Lewis, Luther Seminary, Saint Paul, Minnesota USA.

“Good and evil side by side, co-existing without set checks and balances, without resolute criteria for adjudicating which is which, without a sense of qualifications and quantifications that might provide certain conclusions to ease our moral consciences?

Perhaps one of the most challenging and problematic issues in the history of theological thought.

Where does evil come from?

Is it as simple as assigning it to an alternate being?

Is it as easily determinable as we tend to think?

Is it so readily recognized as we want to believe?

We are really good at assessing what is good and what is not with the effortless phrase, “the Bible says.” But the problem with evil? With sin? Is that it looks pretty darn good.

So close to what seems right and virtuous.

So close to our vision of what we imagine good should be.

Matthew’s parable this week is in one sense a warning. Lest we think we have it all figured out how to judge evil from good, moral from immoral, right from wrong, virtuous from unvirtuous, think again. According to whom? When? In what contexts? By what standards? This is the time for some prophetic proclamation. Pointing out the places in our history, in our present, when evil was and is justified biblically, theologically, morally, socially.

Such is our human inclination, is it not? Our penchant for judgment and condemnation. For declaring the future of those we deem somehow inadequate in faith and Christian life.

For assuming maleficence in another as if our own actions are above reproach.

This parable is one that should stop us up short. Really? Who do you think you are? God?

Yet many do. We do. A lot.

I recently shared a saying on my Facebook page that appeared in my news feed, “When they discover the centre of the universe, a lot of people will be disappointed they are not it.”          When we start going down the road of making our lot in life electing what is good and evil, we may very well discover that others will make similar conclusions about us.

Matthew’s parable invites some honest thinking about the existence of good and evil. How difficult it is to determine the difference until the point when it’s too late. But that  is ok because in the end, the parable promises that God’s job is not ours. Exuberant efforts to eradicate evil may very well end up only in questioning our own ultimate destiny!

This parable is a description of a reality we’d rather not admit. Maybe even a description of a God in whom we’d rather not believe. Can’t God do something about the enemy, and now? What is God good for anyway if God can’t see to it that evil is eliminated?

The parable of the wheat and the weeds is not told for the sake of action but for the sake of honesty. Our presence in the world as Christians is not about a full-blown plan to get rid of evil at every turn.

That our calling as disciples is to seek out and purge sin and evil?

Frankly, I don’t want that job. I don’t trust myself. But I do trust God.

Our presence in the world as Christians is to be the good. To live the Gospel. To be the light. To be the salt. Because we are, says Jesus to his disciples. This should be good news.

This parable calls us simply to be.

To be the good in the world with the full awareness of what the resistances will be.

To be light when darkness will surely try to snuff us out.

To be salt when blandness and conformity and acceptability are always the easier paths.

Maybe you are wondering, but aren’t we called to call out evil?

To resist the forces that would deprive those who hunger and thirst for righteousness? To make sure that those who mourn are comforted? To uplift the poor in spirit? Yes. Absolutely. 

Perhaps in this instance we believe in the text and take our cue from Matthew’s vision of God. Immanuel. “I am with you to the end of the age.” We are called to just to be. And in order to be we trust that God is with us.

Indeed, God is.”

Sunday July 26th

Eighth Sunday after Trinity

Our reflection on the Gospel passage Matthew 13:31-33,45-52, is by David Lose.

"In a remarkable little book called “How to Do Things with Words”, philosopher J. L. Austin makes the claim that, contrary to conventional wisdom, words don’t simply describe things but actually make things happen.                                                                                      Words, that is, aren’t merely descriptive but are evocative, even creative. When two persons say, “I do” in the context of a marriage ceremony, for instance, they are not merely describing the relationship they are entering into but actually creating it. And when some says “I love you” or “I hate you” we don’t only hear those words but actually feel the force they exert upon us.

Words, in short, are powerful. For this reason, Austin contends that you ultimately know what a word means not from what it says, but from what it does. Is the sentence, “Close the door,” for example, an earnest invitation to greater privacy or an annoyed command to shut out a draft? You don’t know until you feel the force of those words act upon you.

I start with this brief introduction to Austin’s “speech-act theory” because I find his perspective incredibly helpful when reading Jesus’ parables. I have to admit that I love preaching on parables and I think their evocative power is a big reason why. Parables don’t describe the kingdom of God as much as they actually evoke some element of the God’s in-breaking reign and reality in our lives. And so, the key to preaching them is not so much to try to explain, much less decode, the parable at hand than it is to invite people to be moved by the parable, to feel in their bones what it means when God gets involved in your life and in the world.

Jesus’ parables remind us that the faith we preach and the kingdom we announce finally isn’t an intellectual idea but an experience, an experience of the creative and redemptive power of God that continues to change lives. And sometimes the only way to get beyond our head and into our hearts is to, as Emily Dickenson advised, “Tell all the truth but tell it slant.” And so, parables come at us sideways, catching us by surprise to take our breath away at the beauty and depth of God’s promises.

This week’s passage presents us with a series of parables that evoke distinct elements of God’s kingdom. The first two parables are about the surprising presence, even invasiveness, of God’s reality and reign, while the second set leans more in the direction of the extreme surprise and delight we experience when we discover, even stumble upon, the peace and joy of the kingdom. I would suggest choosing one set of parables to focus upon, but whatever direction you take the heart of the sermon will be around re-creating the experience of the parable, not just describing what it means. To illustrate, I’ll work with the first two parables about the mustard seed and leaven.

I have to admit that for much of my life, I’ve fallen prey to the temptation to read these parables as something like a proverb: “big things sometimes have small beginnings” or “don’t judge something based on its size.” Makes sense on a superficial level, as each parable talks about something small – a mustard seed or a bit of yeast – blossoming into something much grander. Until you realize, however, that neither mustard seed nor yeast was viewed positively in Jesus’ world. Mustard was a weed, dreaded by farmers the way today’s gardeners dread kudzu, crabgrass, or bindweed. It starts out small, but before long has taken over your field. Similarly, yeast was a contaminant and almost always represents the pernicious nature of sin when mentioned in the Bible.

Why, then, compare the kingdom of God to a pernicious weed and pollutant? Because both mustard seed and yeast have this way of spreading beyond anything you’d imagined, infiltrating a system and taking over a host.

Might God’s kingdom be like that – far more potent than we’d imagined and ready to spread to every corner of our lives? How might we regard routine invitations to read the Bible, pray, and come to Sunday worship if we thought these things might lead to our lives being infiltrated, changed, and taken over by God’s reality and rule?

To answer those questions, we might return for a moment to Austin. Remembering that we don’t know what a word means until we feel what it does, we might imagine that these parables will do – and therefore mean – several things. Perhaps to some they may function as something as an evangelical warning: Be careful. People who have been infected by the gospel have done crazy, counter-cultural things like sharing all they have with others, standing up for their values in school or the workplace, looking out for the underprivileged, and sharing their faith with the people around them.

Perhaps to others, however, these parables will serve as a much-needed word of encouragement: Hang in there! God’s new reality is closer than you think, already seeping into your life even though you can’t always feel it.

To others still, these parables will come as a profound promise: No matter what it may look like, God’s kingdom will prevail. And so, in the face of war, we claim God’s peace. When confronted with illness, we look to God’s eternal healing.

When faced with hate, we proclaim love. Why?

Because the kingdom is coming and before you know it, will transform everything!"

Minister ~ Rev Alan Kennedy 07733153203 01612703296 alanrk1690@gmail.com