Reflections from The Hill – Pentecost 2 – Luke 7.1-10 – Rattling Cages

 

Every now and then, someone comes along who rattles our cage. Generally, it’s someone whom we least expect and who acts in a way that really throws us off our nicely balanced walk through life.

 

Someone who’s doing this for me currently is Pope Francis. Now, I’m not any kind of Vatican-Watcher – nor am I a Cantabophile, which is like an Anglican version of the afore-mentioned Vatican Watcher.

 

In the last couple of weeks, the Man-in-White has done some stuff and said some things that, if any of the Clergy in our Field of Dreams did it and said them, no-one would turn as much as a hair. It’d be seen as just a part of normal parish life.

 

What Francis did was to pray for someone who was sick, with the laying on of hands. What he said was that everyone is redeemed by Jesus’ sacrifice, whether they believe it or not. Both episodes have turned quite a few hairs, it seems.

 

First, he was accused of ‘performing exorcisms’; and then he proclaimed that it’s not just the Catholics who’ll get to heaven. Poor bloke has obviously been reading the Bible and is fast heading into Loopy Land, such has been the impact.

 

My guess is that the stink in the Vatican ain’t just caused by the universally-acknowledged Italian plumbing system but also by someone taking seriously the story in this week’s Gospel about a Centurion, a Slave and the Onlookers.

 

The issue is not that someone as unlikely as Pope Francis should demonstrate a level of faith. The issue is that we think it unlikely for him to do something like this in the first place.

 

I mean, Popes are supposed to stay inside St Peter’s and occasionally go on world tours or come the window and wave now and then, aren’t they? He shouldn’t be doing that, should he?

 

Amazingly, there’s no record that the person Francis prayed with was healed or ‘came to faith’, as the spitfire pilots of the church would say. Maybe s/he was there already.

 

Nor is there a record yet that some unchurched person has been drawn to the Big Fella’s heart because of what Francis said, although I’m warming to the idea that, sometime, there will be.

 

Think about Jesus and the Centurion. There’s no reason to for us to believe that the centurion became a Follower. He wasn’t even all that excited to meet The Bloke – and that doesn’t cause The Bloke or Luke any problems at all. Instead, The Bloke praises the guy for his outstanding faith.

 

We know nothing about this soldier: where he came from, who his parents were, what school he attended, nothing. All we know is that he’s graduated from Grunt College to become Someone Important in the military hierarchy of Imperial Rome. He’s hardly a candidate for the Faith Test.

 

My guess is, should I do a straw poll of readers of this Reflection, that each of us has or knows someone like him: someone who’s faith doesn’t show, who doesn’t seem to go to church or maybe isn’t a follower of The Bloke at all.

 

As well, I reckon that there are many of us Christians out there who struggle with the outsiders: those family members and friends whose relationship to The Big Fella and The Church is, at best, fragile or, worst, non-existent.

 

Often, and sadly, the only thing we often hear about those outsiders is from those in that part of the church who say that if these folks don’t believe, they’ll go to the only place that offers year-round, mighty hot, central heating. That’s all, nothing else, just heating.

 

Would The Big Fella use him/her? Could s/he be an example of faith? Could s/he be used by Him for His purposes, even if they wouldn’t call it that?

 

Would we have the grace and courage to approve and commend their actions if they did and share our gratitude that The Big Fella loves and uses them, too? My reading of today’s Good News says that we can.

Reflections from The Hill – Put on the Dancing Shoes – John16.12-15

 

I won’t say I was never a wall flower or a shrinking violet; far from it, really. However, I still marvel at the fact that I was never left out when it came to the Ladies Choice.

 

Whether it was a progressive Barn Dance, the stately Pride of Erin or an Old-Time Waltz, I certainly wasn’t on my Pat Malone. Maybe the ladies felt sorry for me, I don’t know.

 

If there was a problem, however, it was because I can’t actually dance – a fact with which My Dearly Beloved will heartily agree. Back then, I must have looked like a dancer, I suppose. There was nothing much else that would commend me.

 

This might be a parable of the way some of us relate to The Big Fella – mostly on the outer, can’t seem to do it, waiting for an invitation to join in. Truth is that the invite is already out there, waiting. For what? Godot, perhaps?

 

For a people who were stuck on The One True God thing, chaps like Abraham and Moses were heroes, and had been so for quite a while. Rightly so; there is only so much room in the camels’ saddle bags for a pile of statues.

 

Then along came the Christians and we really upset the apple cart. What we were banging on about sounded for all the world like a regression to the old pantheon of multiple gods and more saddlebags.

 

“Hmmm, we need a theologian”, cried the populace and a few good men put up their hands in successive, but not always successful, attempts to answer the conundrum of the Three-in-One. As I say, it sounded a lot like three chooks in a basket, at least until Good Ole Auggie came to town.

 

Known as a Thinker, Auggie latched on to the notion of Lover, Beloved, Love-Between-Them to explain the mystery, but, as I’ve said elsewhere, we’ve got to learn that when the church calls something ‘a mystery’ it’s probably because that’s what it is and that it ain’t any good trying to unravel it because it won’t.

 

Eventually, some smart fellers, Yuppies probably, in a real attempt to get away from gender-specific language, reckoned that describing Trinity in terms of what the Trinity did would be good. So we got the Creator, Redeemer, Sanctifier type of words, which are not always on the money, either.

 

It does seem that there’s not enough language available to us to put into words what we want to say or believe – or both – about God-in-Trinity. So, how do we handle all this?

 

It’s instructive for us if we recognise that, throughout the arc of history, certain individuals seem to get such a handle on the Trinity that their insights become helpful for the rest of us and are not consigned to the scrapheap.

 

Some writers, thinkers, artists, musicians, scientists and more, have each had a profound effect on our understanding of this Wonder by doing what they do best.

 

These insights have one thing in common: they each describe God-in-Trinity in terms of a relationship. These insights unpack the identity of the Trinity. What The Trinity does, in fact, comes second.

 

The essence that is most commonly described is Love: Love that is God, a dynamic, affirmative and mutual icon of The Big Fella Himself. God is Love.

 

Moreover, the Trinity is a bit like a Divine Dance that’s taking place, a graceful and intimate set of movements that need no others to complete it but where he has invited us to join, just like my belles at the Ladies Choice.

 

Those invitations have been written and sent out. There’ll be no wallflowers, no onlookers, no outcasts there. He has chosen to create and redeem us to join him on the Dance Floor.

 

The tough thing is to put it into practice, to make it so that each person, each family, parish, church council, school, diocese, nation and so on, has been transformed into a living icon of the Trinity.

 

So, Luke and Lucy, put on your Dancing Shoes. That way, at least, you’ll be ready when the music starts.

Reflections from The Hill – He’s Up To Something – Acts 2.1-11

 

When you stack the Old Book story from Ezekiel about skin-grafted bones rising from the ground with, say, the talking, fiery, tongues of today’s First Reading, it’s hard not to imagine that they might be some left-over story ideas for The Poltergeist or Waking The Dead, only better.

 

And, after three years of following The Bloke around the Holy Land and seeing examples of walking on water, multiplication of loaves and fishes, healings, risings from the dead and exorcisms, The Mob were pretty-well tuned up to expect some crazy stuff.

 

At one level, it must have been fun. So much fun in fact, that if you or I had met one of The Mob in the street, chances is we’d be on the blower quicker than you could say “Mephibosheth” and have them committed.

 

Or we’d disregard them, which is what has happened mostly.

 

Truth is, the Big Fella operates at a phenomenal and surrealist level pretty much all time: it’s just that we’ve chosen to disregard most of what He does.

 

The idea that God is an Englishman, and therefore not prone to excessive behaviour, runs deep.

 

We now need such a massive shift in our religious expectations and frozen beliefs that we tend to take the easy option and stay bland.

 

As a result, our church-going becomes a learned behaviour, a patterned response, rather than a joy to behold or an excitement to celebrate.

 

But rather than bemoan or highlight our way of life (we’re really good at turning the focus onto us), let’s take a gander at what happens when The Big Fella comes to town. Usually there’s a whole lot of shakin’ going on …

 

There’s shaking the thinking, there’s shaking the beliefs, there’s shaking the hearts and there’s a challenge to the on-lookers and readers to testify to the experience.

 

When the Big Fella comes to town, he sends the Spirit and amazing things happen: barriers are broken, communities are formed, opposites are reconciled, and unity is established.

 

When the Big Fella comes to town, diseases are cured, addictions are broken, cities are renewed, races are reconciled, hope is established, people are blessed, and real church happens.

Today the Spirit of God is as present today as He was on the Birthday of the Church (we call it Pentecost). The invitation is to get ready, because He’s up to something. Maybe His presence will look like this in your place:

Discouraged folks cheer up,
Dishonest folks ’fess up,
Sour folks sweeten up,
Closed folk open up,
Gossipers shut up,
Conflicted folks make up,
Sleeping folks wake up,
Lukewarm folk fire up,
Dry bones shake up,
Pew potatoes stand up!
But most of all, Christ the Saviour of all the world is lifted up...
(from  Rick Kirchoff, Germantown Methodist Church, USA):

 

In that first Pentecost of experiential wonders, what we readers pick up is the total immersion by the Spirit of those who were there.

 

It’s as if their whole being was penetrated by Him and they are so bathed with His breath that there is no space for anything else.

 

Like unseen air, the Spirit moves on the ones gathered and his sheer presence and power demonstrates that The Big Fella is serious about what’s happening and he shows it by drawing from each one acclamations of praise, even prophecies.

 

Is it any wonder that The Bloke warned The Mob (in John 16.12) that what he has to say is actually too much to bear?

 

The vast size of The Big Fella’s agenda and the myriads of his ways are just too big for us to get our heads around sometimes.

Reflections from The Hill – Stopping or Staying? – John 14.23-29

 

I am forever indebted to those who have helped me understand the difference between ‘stopping’ and ‘staying’, especially when it comes to relatives.

 

In the first, the idea is that your resting place is only temporary madness, while in the second, a more permanent state of mind is indicated.

 

Some of our friends were really out-there when it came to hospitality. Generous to a tee, one couple we knew actually erected a sign on their front lawn that read “Trespassers Welcome”.

 

I can’t recall whether it was the Council by-laws or the couple themselves that had the sign removed. In any case, it created something of a challenge for everyone. Bravery is not always pre-meditated.

 

Personally, I loved having people come over to our place: the bigger the house, the more people we could fit in. Today, though, living in a shoe box that gets smaller by day, my great sadness is that we haven’t really got the space for more than one extra bottom – and even that’s bit of a squeeze.

 

Preparing for the arrival of a guest/s has always been a bit of a drama, too. You do whatever is needed: wash the floor, vacuum the carpet, scrub the toilet (especially if there are little kids), and fill the pantry with food.

 

You do that rather than get the crumbs out of the cutlery drawer or paint the front door, things you do to avoid the onslaught of people.

 

(Just as an aside, I once knew a family that painted the roof of the house, redecorated the spare room and painted all the ceilings just before rellies arrived. The family still talk to us, which itself is a miracle.)

 

But what about staying, that more permanent arrangement; what about that? I confess that our home has been pretty free of people who come to stay in the sense we’re meaning, although a great aunt came close once. I’m glad she didn’t because I might have done something illegal.

 

Perhaps staying in a church-owned house created a problem for potential guests. Perhaps our own ‘keep-out’ vibes were too strong. Perhaps we were being over-protective of our own space, which I know I can be, even still.

 

In the Big Fella-department, hospitality is definitely an issue. We read about it in today’s Gospel Reading. Sure, I know He wants to come and stay, sure I know He wants to abide. Sure, I know He’s preparing a place. Sure, He’s got lots of rooms in His Mansion, which is a Good Thing.

 

The other side of that, though, is that He wants to prepare us for that place as well. Not just a case of getting the room tidy, or building an extension but actually working on our hearts to live with The Big Fella. That’s more than I ever did for our Auntie.

 

In His place, there are no unwelcomed guests and no-one will ever take away the ‘trespassers welcome’ sign simply because everyone is.

 

I once read the challenge in these words: “We are to make time and space now to welcome Jesus into our lives. Welcoming (Him) to abide in us as we abide in him is the primary and preferred way John describes discipleship…”

 

There will be times when disappointments overtake us and people will let us down. What happens then? Well, something like making a decision to not leave The Big Fella alone in an empty house, especially the one that He has prepared for us to stay in, might be a good start.

Reflections from The Hill – Life As a Pencil – John 10.22-30

 

I get a bit fed up with stories about sheep and shepherds.  I know that I might be buying myself a fight, but really, aren’t there any other kinds of objects that could be used to tell this story?

 

OK, OK. Assumed favouritism with cattle men is probably not a good option to take, nor would an implied liking for the Goat-Herder’s Co-operative or the Duck Fancier’s Association.

 

I desperately want to say a few words about this week’s Gospel but I’m hamstrung by the subject matter. My suggestion is that instead of animals or birds, we use something inanimate like pencils. Yep, pencils.

 

A pencil is a humble thing. Ask any old-fashioned green grocer, butcher, plumber or chippie, if you can find one, and you’ll know what I mean.

 

Stowed behind the ear or in the hair and drawn from its storage like an arrow, it calculated all kinds of measurements – as well as the costs of your lumber, meat and vegetables – on pieces of cardboard, real board, the meat’s wrapping or just on little scraps of paper.

 

We don’t see this very much these days because people use calculators or adding machines. Like a lot of old-fashioned things, time has come to pass for them – and it has – and we are the poorer for it.

 

I know people who have tried running rear-guard actions by refusing to use those inventions of Mr Biro but have ended up with plastic versions of pencils, which is almost an oxymoron. Where to get a good pencil, that’s what I want to know.

 

Why, do I hear you ask? Because there’s more to a pencil than meets the eye, that’s why; certainly more than one of them new-fangled propelling pencils, that’s for sure. It’s not just a bit of wood with a shaft of graphite down the middle, you know.

 

Let’s put ourselves in a pencil’s shoes and try to see life from that perspective.  Unless we’re as thick as two of them, we’ll notice that we’ll only ever do great stuff if we let ourselves be held in The Big Fella’s hand.

 

Left to ourselves, we might find ourselves up somebody’s nose or being used to write rude things on dunny walls but, in The Big Fella’s hands, we have the ability and capacity to do some pretty awesome stuff.

 

We’ll need to watch the tendency we’ll have to get blunt, though. The more we let ourselves be used, the more we’ll find ourselves in need of a good sharpen and, let me tell you, that can be a bit painful.

 

Troubles and trials have a habit of wearing us as flat as a shearing shed floor. Trials might even break us in half but if The Bloke hasn’t overcome the world, The Bloke’s done nothing.

 

Of course, we’ll go outside the lines and run off onto another page so it’d pay to have an eraser handy. There was a time when little erasers were stuck on the end of the pencil but, like a lot of things, I ain’t sure anymore.

 

In any case, arguments and disappointments, even selfishness, spoil the work we do, even in The Big Fella’s hand. Learn to use that eraser quickly; the longer the mistake is left, the harder it is to remove.

 

My own Good Lady used to have a drawer full of pencils, each of them blunt, each of them with a different paint job on the outside, each looking like a contestant in an Indie-500 car race: stripes, solids and sparkly stuff, you know the sort. 

 

I’m here today to remind us that a good paint job does not a good pencil make: it’s what’s on the inside that counts.

 

That’s been said before. When we live our life as if the graphite is the most important thing, then the real pencil shows through. It’s the inner part, in the hands of The Big Fella himself, that’ll do the Good Job.

 

Once upon a time, our kids used to leave marks on whatever was closest: walls, clothes, guitars, antique furniture. I’m glad to report they don’t do that anymore, mainly because I figured out that it might be helpful to slosh some blackboard paint in their direction.

 

It was helpful, and the point is simple: let’s learn allow ourselves to be an instrument in The Big Fella’s hands. Availability is more important than ability.

 

Listen to His Voice as He teaches us how to leave a legacy, a mark, on every surface we are used on. We are making a difference to what- and where-ever He points us towards.

 

Being a pencil in the Boss’s hands is a safe and secure place to be. Lying around on a table, hiding in a handbag or being lost in a drawer is quite the opposite and I know where I’d rather be.

Reflections from The Hill – Surviving Failures – John 21.1-19

 

You may or may not know that I come from a long line of bookies, card sharps and other ne’er-do-wells. Even before the Fine Cotton ring-in (a famous horse-swap race of 1984), my grandpa was switching nags just to pocket a few extra quid.

 

He didn’t always win but, then, losses didn’t deter him. In fact, the one who came off second best was Gran. On a tour of the town where she and Grandpa first lived, we drove past at least six houses that he’d lost on a Good Thing.

 

Then there were the billiard saloons, the racehorse stables at Randwick, the Gun Club, the cars and the Magnums, each of which went the same way, all, that is, except the cigars that he smoked until he died. I figured they won but mainly lost a couple of fortunes in their lifetime.

 

Their life together could well be a parable of the Church. I’m not saying that the world of gambling, country race meetings and dodgy relationships with the police were Good Things. What I am saying is that value-added survival in the midst of failure is the name of the game.

 

Take Big Pete for example. Chosen, nominated and commissioned, Pete was obviously the Leader. Most Leaders get commissioned at the beginning of their Leadership (see Luke 5), but John puts his commissioning story at the end.

 

Yeah, I know what we read for the Gospel today looks like a Resurrection story and it sounds like a Resurrection story, therefore, it should be a Resurrection story … but it’s also a commissioning story. Maybe even a re-commissioning.

 

The apostle John positions himself in the story in such a way as to be the good boy, the only one left standing after The Catastrophe. He alone kept faith with The Bloke and his family right to The End. All the others had fallen away, failed. Now, they couldn’t even catch fish.

 

As for Pete, the last time he was anywhere near a charcoal fire was when he was in the High Priest’s courtyard and a slip of a servant-girl tried to put the finger on him. That’s when he denied The Bloke three times, thus giving new meaning to the phrase “Triple Header.”

 

So here we are again, standing around a charcoal fire and not a servant-girl in sight. It’s The Bloke’s turn to put the wood on Big Pete. Three times The Bloke invites a response from Peter; three times he gets an answer. This time, it’s three strikes and you’re in.

 

Not only is Big Pete restored, he‘s also drawn back into the community of faith and is given some meaningful work to do. That’s important. Why?

 

Simply this; failing to witness and walking away from God is a given. It’s going to happen, people, so be warned and be prepared.

 

But The Bloke doesn’t just forgive the falling short. He doesn’t simply say “That’s OK Pete” and then move on. He actually recommissions him with those healing, hopeful words “feed my sheep, my lambs.”

 

Here, The Bloke is laying out the most encouraging thing he could; a word that creates an opportunity. Would that we could do the same.

 

It’s not simply a matter of Pete trying harder next time; The Bloke wants Big Pete to share what he has with those around about him.

 

Can we bear the weight of that? Can we bear the weight of hearing Jesus’ forgiveness over the whole of our lives? Can we bear the weight of bringing that forgiveness to the cornucopia of Jesus’ own provision for us and value-add it?

 

Of course, we’ll fall short of our goals and aspirations; of course, we’ll compromise on this or that or something else; of course, we won’t follow through on stuff and, of course, there will be times when we’ll disappoint and fall off the pace altogether.

 

To think that we won’t is silly – and that’s why we need to hear John’s story of Peter’s recommissioning, not just the story of Luke’s baptismal instructions that launched them (read ‘us’) into ministry.

 

After each failure, Jesus invites us to try again and to value-add what we have. That’s when we leave our cocoon of worship and go out into the Kingdom for some meaningful work.

Reflections from The Hill – The Never-Ending Story – John 20.19-31

 

 

“Hey Ian, what story did ya tell ‘em last Sunday? The one about the Easter Bunny? Or was it the one about The Easter Egg?” so asked Wal, an ex- chalky-friend of mine.

 

The thing about the stories I read on Sundays, as I constantly reminded Wal, is that every last one of them invites us to be a participant in the action, not to simply be a passive listener whose only activity occurs near the edge of their head.

 

As I say that, I need to be careful that you are clear about this: I’m not saying that the Bible is fantasy … but … I do say that there is a similarity behind many of the stories we read in the Scriptures and the world of fantasy writing.

 

The common ground is that both invite us to participate in the story. Whether it’s The Narnia Series, The Never Ending Story or the scene with the so-called Doubting Thomas that we read today, we’re invited to be part of it.

 

It’s like as if a little window to heaven opens up and we’re being called to step up and into this different dimension. Most certainly, John is not telling us about something that simply happened in the past, like a history lesson.

 

John wants us to get the message that participating in these events will actually change the shape of the immediate present and the on-going future of everyone who reads them.

 

That’s why John tacks on those verses at the end, where he tells us that the reason why he chose these particular stories was so that anyone who heard them would believe that Jesus was the Messiah after all.

 

Where fantasy stories and the Gospel part company is right here: John wants to persuade, to prompt, to provoke us, the reader, to a living faith. The Never-Ending Story and its ilk don’t even come close to doing that, no matter how good they are.

 

The face-to-face meeting with Thomas (included in the Gospel for your edification) is another one of those little windows that invite us to climb through into heaven.

 

I always reckoned that The Bloke was a bit hard on poor old Tom. After all, he was just asking for what everyone else had experienced. All he wanted was a slice of the action, as they say. Anyway, I reckon it’s a bit rough to call him “Doubting”.

 

Think about it for a bit: who else is going to believe without seeing? Every other human person in the whole world from then on, pretty much. That includes me and you and Great-Aunt Maud, and funny little Eric and …

 

Each of us has struggled to continue believing without our peepers or our pinkies. Does The Bloke call us “Doubter”? Nah. He calls us “Blessed” and Tom is at the head of the line. How cool is that?

 

This never-ending story didn’t just start on Easter Day. It actually started when creation happened and it’s still going today and it’ll carry on until the end of time.

 

The awesome thing is that you and I are characters in this story. We’ve been invited to learn from those millions and trillions who’ve come before us, to learn from them about faith and courage and fear and sadness and about making mistakes and getting it wrong and knowing how to put it right.

 

Unlike Tom and the others, our doors aren’t closed any more. We’re not closeted disciples with closeted minds. Despite what we might see, we don’t live in ghettoes or silos. We’ve been called out of them.

 

The Tomb-Breaker is telling us that being cocooned by fear is yesterday’s bread. It’s stale old and useless. Why? Because the breath of the resurrection is still fresh on our cheeks, that’s why.