Sermon Opoho Church Sunday 24 November 2019 Reign of Christ.

Readings: Jeremiah 23:1-6   Luke 23:33-43

We pray: may the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts be acceptable in your sight O God, our rock and our sustainer.  Amen.

There is a hymn, an old one, an anonymous one that goes like this:

Thou shalt not know him when he comes,

Not by any din of drums,

Nor by his manners, nor his airs,

Nor by anything he wears.

Thou shalt know him when he comes,

Not by crown or by gown,

But his coming known shall be,

By the holy harmony

Which his coming shall make in thee.

Thou shalt know him when he comes.  Amen.

I think it could be said that Jesus is the most paradoxical wielder of power in the history of the world.[1] He came to this world not with crown or drum but in a dark dank stable. He promised the world but ended up on a dirty old cross alongside criminals, a disappointment to those who had high expectations of his power and might. 

He restored others to life but could not seem to save himself.

Yet on the cross, in his suffering and weakness, he wielded more power than any earthly ruler.  He was the highest above all yet was treated as the lowest of scum at his death.  King of the lowlands might have been another apt inscription for him.  He was mocked for aspiring to titles that he never claimed, yet in the cruel jibes of the leaders and the soldiers the truth of his greatness was made known.

But Jesus had begun this story of upside down power from the beginning.  Born humbly, he was visited by the venerable wise sages from the east.  An innocent babe, he was perceived as a threat to his crown and hunted down by the powerful Herod.  A simple family became refugees through the warnings of the heavenly hosts.  This was an ordinary child, yet the power of kings could not destroy him and the power of heaven watched over him.

And throughout his ministry, his power always seemed topsy-turvy to those around him.  For it healed the weak and not the important, it sought out the unclean and not the holy, it beckoned to table the tax collector and threw over the tables of the temple.  He saw kingship as best understood by the role of shepherd caring for the flock, even the least and the lost.

If he was the messiah he was behaving in a most unexpected way, confusing and counter cultural.

For there was no doubt that the long awaited messiah was reckoned in worldly terms as a dangerous threat to the establishment– Judas thought so, the temple authorities thought so, Herod thought so too.  All from their different perspectives, they expected someone who would overthrow the rulers of the world and replace them. While this man didn’t quite fit the bill, they were taking no chances.

So they killed him.  Put him on the cross, belittled him, humiliated him, certain that that was end of that. 

Yet their mocking inscription held true –in a truly revolutionary way. King of the Jews.

You know if you were to do that word association thing – I say a word and you come back with the first thing it makes you think of, what would be your response to king?  It would be different to each person and certainly different to those people Jesus was speaking to 2000 years ago.  ‘King’ for us today does not hold as much of the menace or outright authority that it used to.  For them it was an instant connection with full and unassailable power, privilege and right.  The only thing that could possibly challenge it would be an even greater show of power, privilege and right.  That still happens today of course – ‘my bomb is greater than your bomb’ is heard in its many variations still.  Yet this was not the way that Jesus taught or exemplified – not in life or death.

Jesus, the most paradoxical wielder of power the world has ever known.

He seemed to be submissive – and so he was – to his Father.

He seemed to be have lost his assertiveness – but he spearheaded a revolution of love and grace.

He seemed to abdicate kingship in this world – yet he created a new understanding of kingdom not just in the yet to come but also in the now.

Jesus was dangerous, make no mistake about that, he was a true revolutionary, a subversive – but just not in the way everyone expected. 

And that is our legacy is it not?  How might we live it today?

Well perhaps first is the understanding that in we do not live bowed down by the accusations of the world – neither do we throw the accusations back with a louder voice and a better aim.  We offer a different way of living out the kingdom – love and compassion, justice and kindness are the laws we live by. We are the kingdom that Jesus established, by our living and our witness.

Then there is the thought that we are not helpless or hopeless, powerless just because we choose to walk the path of peace rather than war.   Jesus was born to show the world the power of love – yet we shy away from being that power in the world.  The words of Marianne Williamson, slightly adapted, challenge us to be more forthright and confident in the strength of the light of Christ in us:

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.

It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us. We ask ourselves: ‘Who am I to be outspoken,

confident, brimming over with hope, trusting in God’s presence in my life?’ Actually who are you not to be?

You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world.  There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure about you.  We are all meant to shine, as children do.

We were born to make manifest the glory of God within us. It is not just in some, it is in everyone.

And, as we let our light shine, we consciously give other people permission to do the same.

So let us not be cave dwellers, people of the dark – let us take on a bit more of the confidence that what we do in the name of Christ, in the name of love, has the power to make a big difference.

Another question: do we have a bit of the subversive in us, challenging the ways of the world that hurt and harm, especially the powerless. Challenging also the ways of the church when they honour not Christ but the kingdoms of exclusion, judgement, self righteousness, hypocrisy.

Coming at the woes of the world with new solutions, different answers, taking the revolutionary path of love and compassion.  Where is our subversive meter reading sitting at right now and does it need a wee nudge up the way?

It seems fitting to finish by coming back to those words of the old hymn we started with –  the assurance that in the coming of the baby Jesus to our world, and in this child’s unhesitating walk all the way to the cross, we are healed, we are made whole, we are made complete in his holy presence and power.

Thou shalt know him when he comes,

Not by crown or by gown,

But his coming known shall be,

By the holy harmony

Which his coming shall make in thee.

Thou shalt know him when he comes.  Amen                                    Margaret Garland

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[1] Feasting on the Word Year C, Volume 4  Martha Sterne p.315

Sermon Opoho Church Sunday 17 November 2019 Pentecost 23

Readings: Isaiah 65:17-25   Luke 21:5-19

We pray; Loving God, we have listened to your word through scripture, help us now to discern your word for us in this time and place to your purpose and glory.  Amen.

Do not be too prepared in your defence for what is to come; I will give you the words and the wisdom.  So says Jesus as he warns his followers that they are in for a very hard time ahead.  The destruction of the temple, wars and insurrections, earthquakes, famines, plagues – and persecution and personal betrayal.  Not a lot to look forward to, you might say.

As the Hebrew people of the time, we can imagine that they would have been familiar with the stories of their ancestors, where they lived through despair, of persecution, and great trials. The reading from Isaiah today, giving glimpse into the new heaven and the new earth, offers words of thanksgiving after a particularly testing time for the people of God – this scripture they would have known well, and maybe they drew some comfort from it.

But all the same they were horrified, scared, potentially going into shut down mode at this landslide of disaster facing them. Especially I imagine when it gets to family betrayal and death for their faith.  And Jesus, seeing their very natural fearful reaction to his words, told them that this was not the time to raise the drawbridge and hunker down – in fact just the opposite. 

Instead he tells them to have not fear, to in fact enter the fray with confidence because it is in this time of extreme vulnerability that you will have the chance to tell your story – and it will be such a convincing story that none will withstand it.  I will be with you, I will give you the words of conviction that none can challenge.  Do not be afraid. Do not be panicked by fear into doing the wrong thing.

He had said those words to them other times they had panicked: remember the time the disciples were battling the most horrendous sea and Jesus was asleep in the bow, and they awoke him sure they were going to drown.  Then too he said– do not be afraid, I am with you, not a hair on your head will be harmed.

Time and time again the church has grappled with the sense of the end of time, of the world falling down around their ears – through wars and natural disasters and, let’s not forget, the church itself wandering off into institutional incompetence at best and inquisitions or crusades at our worst.

And our 21^st century church – what are the things that feel apocalyptic in our time?

For we can say with certainty that we as church also feel  seriously threatened today – we could be forgiven for thinking we best hunker down and see if we can ride out the storm of indifference, irrelevance, extremism that appears to beset us.  And as for the catastrophe that the planet seems to be approaching at an increasing rate of knots, perhaps we should we simply lock the doors and walk away, too bowed down by fear and hopelessness to continue with any fortitude.  Jesus would understand, surely!

Actually – no.  Instead Jesus says to us also. ‘This will give you the opportunity to testify.’  And to testify from the heart – not with our prepared doctrines or our strategic plans, not with defensive rhetoric but instead leaving all that armour behind and stepping out in faithful vulnerability trusting that Jesus, the word, will be with us.  That goes against just about every best practice that I hold dear.  Be fully prepared, allow for plan b and c, try to anticipate what I will need to be, do and say.  Well actually I should say everything I held dear when I came into ministry.  That  has changed.  I know how it feels to step into a situation where distress and pain is rife, having no idea whatsoever of anything to say that won’t feel stupid or insensitive or shallow – and somehow, in the moment, God is there guiding and giving me the words that are needed.  It’s happened too many times for me to doubt that in our unprepared vulnerability, God speaks or maybe it is that we allow God to speak.

In our world, how do we who have been relatively privileged, how do we respond to the suffering and pain of the world, to the threats of changing climate, increasing exploitation, extremism in God’s name. What does it mean to testify in times of great suffering and great hatred?  Well it means courage.  Courage in the face of fear.  Hope when all seem hopeless.  It means boldness to speak in the midst of suffering.

We in Aotearoa have had a sharp lesson in that this year past and we in the church even more so as we grappled with the hatred of the mosque shooting and its aftermath.  But we also saw the love and compassion of people of faith, the challenge of the right words to speak into the horror, a new beginning of relationship and understanding.

The sometimes the sheer overwhelmedness of what is happening around us has the capacity to paralyse us, to cause us to give up, to retreat into our shells and yet Jesus is teaching us to make the most of this scary vulnerable time – our voice is needed and we must not be intimidated.  We must trust that in our very powerlessness we are well qualified to speak with authority and wisdom – not ours but God’s.  Our words bear witness to Christ’s unshakeable promise to walk with us in all that this world might throw at us to a new creation - remember the words of hope from Isaiah For I am about to create new heavens and a new earth; the former things shall not be remembered or come to mind.

We actually have someone in NZ at the moment who epitomises that boldness and courage in the face of crushing despair.  Behrouz Boochani has been incarcerated on Manu Island for the last 6 years. A Kurdish/Iranian refugee, he left Iran afraid for his life only to be sent to the prison that is Australia’s answer to immigration pressures. He could have kept silent, waited and prayed.  But he didn’t. He spoke out while he was there – sending texts and short video clips out to the world. When his phone was taken he somehow got an another and another, telling the story of the suffering and despair bit by tiny bit.  He did not lie down and he did not keep quiet – he testified to the injustice and cruelty and he would not be quiet. 

Hear the story of Behrouz, ‘Manus Island Psalm’ written by Candi Young and hear the pain and the perseverance of this remarkable man who would not be silenced.  As I pray we will not be.

God, this is not our home, this place of blistering heat

suffocating us slowly with its dank humidity

night odours of sweat and foul breath

of decay, degeneration, degradation

strangling our hearts, our spirits.

The cold-steel eyes of the prison guards

the callous, careless arrogance of the Malaria nurses

God, this is not our home.

We survive during the day thanks to an old tree

spreading its branches, creating a canopy…

our tent in this alien wilderness.

This is not our home, but it is a refuge

from the oppression of this place

from ever-present surveillance

from nights clutching tightly to our nightmares

from being broken down slowly from without and within

…decay, degeneration, degradation.

God, this is not our home, this place of brokenness

of noise for the sake of noise.  Our songs, our poetry

have no meaning here, our images are lost to us

they remain behind in the mountains buried in snow

in rivers and waterfalls drumming the ancient chants.

Our metaphors have no substance here in this barren place.

We would weep, God, if we were not sucked dry.

This is not our home…but that home, that place where we began

grew, soaked up our language and history, turned on us.

So God, teach us to negotiate this culture of oppression

help us to enter into this new landscape, find a language of exile

…help us to survive.

This is not our home, and yet it is our only home.

Jesus said: This too is required of you – in the midst of the world’s turmoil, to have the courage and the boldness to testify to a better way, to trust in the promise of the man who, from his birth, walked towards the cross in the vulnerability and changed the world forever.   Amen.

Margaret Garland

Sermon Opoho Church Sunday 10 November 2019 Pentecost 22

Readings:  Job 19:23-27a   Luke 20:27-38

May the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts be acceptable in your sight O God, our rock and our sustainer. Amen.

On this the penultimate Sunday of the church year, the lectionary today offers us up the gnarly question of the afterlife – how is it going to work for us in heaven. And it is through another tricky question posed by yet another group who are trying to take Jesus on with theological one-up-man-ship. The Sadducees v. Jesus

It has been said that those who ask the question have the power, especially those who ask in expectation of debate rather than conversation.  The Sadducees thought they had found the unanswerable question – one that would prove their thinking right – that there was no such thing as life after death -  and make a bit of an ass of this upstart rabbi Jesus at the same time.  But Jesus doesn’t play their game and we hear that at least some of them were left speechless.

Instead, for Jesus, the question provides an opportunity for a teaching moment on the nature of heaven, a chance to teach about the glory and love of God – and remind us that the way of God is different to ours.

Jesus makes several points:

In responding, not to their artificial question, but to their lack of belief in God’s eternal presence, Jesus is rubbing salt in their wounds by answering from their Torah – the five books of Moses.  Jesus interprets the words of God to Moses from the burning bush as current not past tense – the voice does not say; I was the God of Abraham (until he died) – rather it is ‘I am the God of Abraham, of Isaac, and Jacob’.  To God all of them are alive, part of a new age, children of the resurrecting love of God for them and us.  And the ‘all of them’ Jesus refers to is not just the big guys from the distant past but is in fact each and everyone who is a child of God  – as we spoke last week and remembered our small ‘s’ saints, we remember that they too are part of this inheritance of hope.

The next point Jesus makes is in fact to say ‘this is what we do know: that eternal life is not a continuation of our mortal life here on earth, the way of God is not the way of humanity, the rules and judgements of this world are not transposed into God’s eternity.  We who try to pin down a definition of the resurrected time with our own comfortable sofas and favourite foods might just be wasting our time.  As children of God, as children of the resurrection, all things will be made new – that is God’s promise though Christ.

And then Jesus speaks the words of hope.  Whatever the reality is on the other side of earthly life, God’s love for us is eternal, God mercy is forever sure. To God, all are alive. And this gives us hope, a hint of something beyond our ken, a direction to stop worrying about how life beyond death works and to trust that, in God, all our questions come to rest.

So out of the Sadducees’ rather inappropriate question comes a great deal of teaching and encouraging – not at all sure that is what they meant to do.

Actually it is really interesting to explore the question and the questioners a little bit more.  For it was what we might today identify as a ‘first world’ question – asked from the mouths of those who have time to explore intellectual ‘what ifs’ and to debate death as a concept rather than a reality. The mockery behind the question came from those who have power over their own lives and the lives of others.  In their well heeled, well educated world this lightweight question is useful only as a tool to trip Jesus up.

Mocking a law that was intended to partially at least protect the vulnerable and keep families together didn’t show much empathy or heart it has to be said.  For the Sadducees, described by writers of their time as people from the elite upper crust, there would have been little experience of poverty and compassionate justice, of desperation and despair.

Yet these are exactly the people for whom the eternal, life giving love of God is the only hope left in their broken hearts. The widow of their example was passed from pillar to post, no right to choose, and it wouldn’t have been much better for the brothers, all of them caught in cycle of death and subsistence and duty.

It was for just these people, the widows, the poor, the unclean, the powerless that Jesus preached the eternal and faithful love of God for them, not just in this life but in the life to come.  For in most of their lives on this earth, there wasn’t a lot to celebrate.  

And we see it no more clearly than in the horror of the slavery of the African people in North America - and we hear it so powerfully in the music that has poured out of their despair.  The only place they could see where they might be free was in heaven – certainly not this world, not in their time and sad to say not even in our time. 

And their music resounds with the hope of what is yet to come and how it sustains them in faith and life, sure in the knowledge that, in heaven, they will somehow know the joy and peace that was kept from them on earth.  They understood deep in their hearts the good news of Jesus resurrection and the implications of the gospel promise that resurrected life was for all people, especially the downtrodden and marginalised.

The song ‘I got a robe..’ is a wonderful example of their sustaining belief that God cares for the disenfranchised, the widows, the people considered disposable, discardable, exploitable in their life on earth. 

I got a robe, you got a robe, all God’s children got a robe.

When I get to heaven goin’ to put on my robe, goin’ to should all over God’s heaven.  And then the next verse takes a swipe at the so called piety of their oppressors with some robust theology - if you listen carefully:

Everybody talking ‘bout heaven ain’t going there, Heaven, Heaven, Goin’ to shout all over God’s heav’n

There are other spirituals that speak into their hope in God and a place of peace to come, this one:

I'm just a poor wayfaring stranger. I'm a-travelling through this world of woe,
But there's no sickness, toil, or danger in that sweet home to which I go.
I'm going there to see my mother. She said she'd meet me when I come.
I'm only going over Jordan; I'm only going over home.

I know dark clouds are going to gather around me,
And I know my way will be rough and steep,
But beautiful fields lie just before me, where God's redeemed their vigils keep.

And then this one –

Talk about suffering here below and let's keep a-followin' Jesus
Talk about suffering here below and let's keep a-lovin' Jesus

The gospel train is comin' now don't you want to go
And leave this world of sorrow and troubles here below

Oh, can't you hear it father? And don't you want to go
And leave this world of sorrow and troubles here below

I wonder who is going to tell the English Rugby fans that in singing Swing Low Sweet Chariot so gustily the words ‘coming for to carry me home’ actually mean death and resurrection life for the oppressed, not victory over the opposing rugby team.  And the suffering goes on….

There is one more name that we think of when we talk enormous suffering – and that is Job – and we heard his words of hope in the midst of his deep despair, wanting his faith in the living God to be inscribed in a book, engraved with an iron pen and lead in the rock forever. His heart yearns to be with his God.  When all else had gone, God is.

So have we made any sense of this difficult subject of our lives made eternal in the love of God? 

Are we able to go from here knowing Jesus does not answer all our questions, especially in this matter of death and resurrection, to our satisfaction - and still be at peace? 

Are we assured, deep down in our hearts, that the love of God is immeasurable and inexhaustible, sufficient for all in life and death that we face?

Are we able to believe that in the mystery of the loving and living God, beyond our knowledge, God’s children will together be goin’ over Jordon, goin’ over home?

We are going to finish the sermon together today with words of faith from the 8^th century – please remain seated as we sing ‘Eternal Light’

Hymn

Words Christopher Martin Idle 1938- from a prayer by Alcuin 735-804  Tune Truro WOV 33

            Eternal light, shine in my heart; eternal hope, lift up my eyes;

eternal power, be my support; eternal wisdom, make me wise

eternal life, raise me from death; eternal brightness, help me see;

eternal Spirit, give me breath; eternal Saviour, come to me

until by your most costly grace, invited by your holy word,

at last I come before your face to know you, my eternal God.

Sermon Opoho Church Sunday 3 November 2019 Pentecost 21 All Saints Day Holy Communion

Readings: Ephesians 1:15-23 Luke 6:20-31

We pray: Loving and gracious God, may your word for us today be strong in hope, abundant in wisdom and firm in the assurance of your love.  In Jesus name.  Amen.

I have heard of your faith in the Lord Jesus and your love^* towards all the saints, and for this reason ¹⁶I do not cease to give thanks for you as I remember you in my prayers. So writes Paul to the church in Ephesus as he begins a prayer of intercession for them. And he goes on to talk about how God gathers us in unity as church both in our time and also across time.  He assures us that the blessings that come in the name of Jesus gather us into one huge family we call church,  making us way more than NZ Presbyterians or Reformed Churches or 21^st century churches. And that is a really good thing!

For one thing, it helps us keep our perspective, doesn’t it, helps remind us that we are not big fish in a small pond but part of a much greater fellowship transcending time and space.  And it reminds us too that we are not alone – our Opoho faith community is connected across time, lands, denominations in the blessing of Christ.  Diversity yes, unity even more yes.

And today we especially remember the presence of those who are no longer with us, the saints of our lives and faiths. A few weeks ago Gregor talked about the Saints that we all know – St Andrew, St Francis, St Joan, St Teresa. Today we are talking about what I call the small s saints and I love that it is so.  For we are talking about the ordinary people who impacted our lives of faith, we are talking about the ones we didn’t know but who are part of the fabric of this worshipping community, those who are but a whispered memory and those fresh in our hearts and minds.

We draw strength from our saints do we not?  They are the ones that provide the reassuring hand on the shoulder when we are weighed down, who speak to us of hope when we need it, whose memory of grace nudges our disgraceful thoughts and actions.  We are grateful for their continuing guidance and comfort in our lives, we are encouraged by them and we see the light of God’s love and goodness shining in them still.

And do you know what makes this such an encouragement for us today. The people we remember were not angels, not perfect, not larger than life in the way the world sometimes selects its saints.  They were ordinary people like you and me, at times struggling with faith, sometimes calling God out, sometimes deeply ministering to us without their even knowing.  

In their everydayedness the small s saints of the church have taught us much but perhaps the one thing that stands out for me today is that each and everyone of them knew what it was like to survive the ups and downs of life – to experience blessings and trials in their lives, good and bad times, yet to endure in faith as we must do. In other words, our saints keep us real so that we can continue the story!

Christians throughout time have found sustenance in the reading we heard today of the beatitudes.  For they certainly lay it out that our life as Christians is not plain sailing.  We will know hunger and pain, sorrow and being on the margins.  Our blessings in Christ come as part of that pain – being able to forgive those who have hurt you, being gentle in the face of aggression, peaceful in the midst of violence, Christ centred in the darkest moments, hope-filled in the blackness of despair.

John Bell in his book States of Bliss and Yearning[1] has a chapter titled ‘Dubious Beatitudes’ in which he challenges the view that, as Christians’ we deserve blessings and have to just ‘get through’ the tough times. He points out that while stories of blessings and trials are to be found throughout the psalms, for example Blessed are those whose refuge is in the Lord (Ps 2) as well as I am wearied with moaning, all night long my pillow is wet with tears (Ps 6), Jesus intentionally pulls what Bell calls the bane and blessing of living onto the same page. In other words, Jesus is wanting to point out that misfortune is not separate from blessing but that the deep joy of faith sits right alongside the suffering and pain. Christian faith embraces the totality of life in all its robustness and fragility.  As Bell says, ‘those who wish to know the bliss of shouting Hallelujah need also to know the yearning of those who cry ‘how long?’

You know, that is what I have learned from the saints in my life; how in faith they embraced life, good and bad.  In fact it may be the formula for defining my saints.

The retired minister who was mortified by his arrogance as a parish minister and in his vulnerability, taught me how to forgive self. 

The woman who emerged from a cult (and all the junk that goes with that) with a core of faith that allowed her to be angry but not bitter, forgiving not hating, exploring not giving up.

You will have your own - the small s saints of the church who have blazed their faith and hope in Christ into your hearts, faithful bearers of the inheritance we have received and that we will pass on.  We are grateful for the cloud of saints that surround us, that speak into our lives of faith with encouragement and love.  Amen

Margaret Garland

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[1] Glasgow, Wild Goose Publications, 1998

Sermon Opoho Church Sunday 6 October, 2019 Pentecost 17 World Communion Sunday.

Readings: 2 Timothy 1:1-14  Luke 17:5-10

We pray: May the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts be acceptable in our sight O God, our rock and our sustainer.

A few days ago I was sitting on the bench at the entrance to the Gardens, waiting to meet a parishioner.  And this guy came up to me and said how much he liked the cross I was wearing and what faith was I?

And the conversation progressed – he and his mate asked if they might sit, and as they shared a wine out of the brown paper bag with each other, we discussed God, the church, religious hypocrisy, spiritual clarity and responsibility. They were seekers, explorers of spirituality, askers of the hard questions in the midst of, and shaped by their brokenness.  I have to say it left me feeling humbled, a little confused and very aware of a special moment of encounter with God through these two men of faith.

Some might say their faith was not strong else they would live a better life.

Some might say their faith was not facilitated by doctrine and community – and therefore suspect.

Some might simply say – yuk – they smell bad and choose to walk away.

I say they were people of faith.

So how do we understand faith?  Especially in the light of the Gospel passage today where we are told we only need faith as small as a mustard seed to tell a tree to uproot itself and plant its roots in the sea.  Hints of miracles fed not by our efforts at building our faith but by God working with what we have.

As Paul says to Timothy …’not according to our works but according to [God’s] own purpose and grace.  Paul also talks about the faith of Timothy’s family and that all faith is the gift of God.

When the disciples ask for more faith to counter the troubled times ahead they are acknowledging, understanding two things:

One; that faith is a gift that only God can give, certainly not a result of any work on our part to complete the ten-steps-to-greater-faith programme. Faith is not something that belong to us.  Too often we talk about our faith in God, in Christ with the emphasis on the ‘our’. Faith is not a possession but is God at work in us. 

Two; that, in faith, nothing is impossible for God. 

Their conclusion therefore: more faith has to be the answer to their impossible future.

Well done, disciples.  A B+ pass at least.

Jesus, however, sees a good teaching moment – and grabs it with both hands.  Jesus sees they are still measuring their effectiveness as people of faith by how strong they think their faith is as a Christian.  Jesus wants them to understand that their faith in fact needs to be ‘in’ Christ to do what is needed with whatever faith they have.  Reformed theologian Margit Ernst-Habib puts it like this: When the disciples ask for greater faith, knowing that difficult times lie ahead of them, Jesus responds by asking for something small: a trusting faith the size of a mustard seed, so that the faithful follower might not look to [themselves], judging [their] own faith, relying on its strength or being scared by its weakness, but look instead at the one [they] follow.  [They] know that [their] faith is in that sense not [theirs], but the work of the Holy Spirit binding [them] to Christ.’  

Jesus is asking us to refrain from thinking that the volume, efficiency, and efficacy of our faith has a direct and measurable impact on the work of God in this world. It does not.  Trusting faith as big as a mustard seed, when it is held in the hope of Christ, will equally move mountains and part the waters.

This understanding helps us unpack the somewhat disconcerting statements that follow – that of humbly accepting your lot in life, expecting no thanks or reward for doing the work that is, after all, expected of you.  Rather we can begin to see that even the slave, the lowest and least, receive God’s grace in Christ as a gift and an extraordinary recognition of their worth.  Human merits make no difference to God’s work in and through us, thanks be to God. 

In a sense this frees us up from holding our precious faith in a bank vault, adding to it and building it up as we can.  Instead we are encouraged to throw our tiny seeds around with gay abandon – never sure of the details of the harvest but knowing that in the love of Jesus, it will be abundant.

We do have to be careful reading this passage, don’t we?  It is too easy to read it as Jesus is mocking the disciples, ‘If you only had some faith you would understand this…’ shaking his head at their lack of faith. Rather, it seems to me that Jesus is encouraging both his disciple of then and of now to realise that even ‘this much’ faith is enough – that we already have enough faith to do whatever is required of us.

Faith is a way of life, where we look out for each other, safe in the knowledge that, in the unfailing generosity of God’s grace, what we do and who we are will be enough. 

As Paul encourages Timothy so may we encourage each other to trust in God through the love and faith that are in Jesus Christ.

As I remember those two men I met on a park bench and heard of their faith in Christ, as they earnestly sought to share their beliefs, we trust that God’s work is being done.

As we continue as community here in Opoho remembering to be content with what sometimes seems like a mustard seed of faith, we trust that Jesus Christ will flourish his word and work here abundantly.

As we remember all the different expressions of faith across cultures and countries and over time and the ways in which these communities express their faith (large or small) in Christ Jesus, we trust in the wonderful diversity of God’s people.

And as we gather round this table today, we trust that we who have faith in the living Christ, know the presence of God transcending all boundaries, one people together. Amen.

Margaret Garland

Sermon Opoho Church Sunday 20 October 2019 Pentecost 19

Readings:  Psalm 119:97-104  Luke 18:1-8

We pray:  May the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts be acceptable in your sight O God, our rock and our sustainer. Amen. 

At the political meetings Philip ran here a few weeks ago, one the questions asked of the candidates was ‘who is your favourite superhero?’  I was intrigued partly because it was not one I could have answered easily myself and partly because there appears to be a wealth of superhero’s out there that I haven’t a clue about and was vaguely fascinated by.  It was notable that most people were in the Superman, Spider Man, Batman fold, with Superwoman making an odd appearance.  But we know that where you have a hero there seems to be a villain, an anti hero.  So who would have been the favourite anti-heros do you think?  Here again I am out of my depth – the Joker, Lex Luther?

Did you know that superherodb.com lists 6,438 superheroes and villains? Brittanica keeps it to 46.

The parables of Jesus had their heroes and anti-heros – and we meet one of the anti-heros in our reading from the Gospel of Luke today.  Like the unjust steward, the unjust judge is used by Jesus to illustrate both the goodness, and the grace of God.  And in this particular story to illustrate the power of tenacity of belief.

The judge is a fascinating character – one who had no regard for what other people thought of him, and scant regard for the law when it came to measuring it against personal nuisance value. The judge, a practitioner of the law, breaking the rules of his profession, putting himself outside of the boundaries of this judging business and exercising, in the end, what we know as grace.

So too the woman.  She owned not one iota of power, she was a widow therefore without social standing, a loser in life according to the times.  Yet she was like a dog with a bone – refusing to give up advocating for her cause.

The parallels to our relationship with God are declaring themselves.

A God who refuses to be bound by rules of engagement, not judging the case by its merits but rather for what we might call personal convenience – it calls to mind the words from Paul: while we were yet sinners Christ died for us.[1] God didn’t wait around for us to realise our inadequacies, our lostness but simply steps up and showers us with grace.  Like the father in the story of the prodigal son, falls on us with delight, not caring where we have come from, simply that we have come.

The one we first think of as the anti-hero is in fact the one who is breaking through all the rules, impatient to gather those who are lost, determined to offer grace and mercy to us despite ourselves. 

So can we be like that widow – tenacious in our belief that God cares for us enough to explode through our self imposed rules, our idea of who is in and out, our guilts and our shame, our arrogance and our stumbling, our doubts and fears to reclaim us with impatient and overflowing love.

It’s a powerful picture of the love of God and the grace that covers our lives when we turn to God.

I think that the psalmists of old truly knew this truth – that living in faith meant seeking always the judgement of God, not in that way of expecting punishment but rather generous grace and guidance  – and that they had to be tenacious about it.  No withdrawing when they were angry with God, no hiding themselves when they were ashamed, no holding back on their need to share their innermost thoughts and doubts, and definitely no holding back on their adoration for a God who was faithful, full of grace and mercy.

Our psalm for today speaks specifically about the wisdom of a mature faith, one where the writer has learned that leaning on the precepts of God has been a delight and a light to their lives.  It’s like they are immersed in the presence of God, so much so that they can hold nothing back.

Hear some of those words:

Oh, how I love your law! It is my meditation all day long.
I have more understanding than all my teachers, for your decrees are my meditation.
How sweet are your words to my taste, sweeter than honey to my mouth!
Through your precepts I get understanding; therefore I hate every false way.

How can we be like that – how do we transfer that closeness to God out of the scriptures and into our lives?  Joy Cowley has asked the same question and came up with these helpful words.

Stop!  You are looking in the wrong direction!

I am not two thousand years distant but right here beside you, my shoulder against your shoulder, my hand resting on the back of your neck, my breath mixed with yours in the same moment.  How could you miss me?

Forget the history and the politics that make truth small.  They are not important enough to be pursued or rejected.  Turn with the eyes of your heart and see who has not left your side since your soul took human journey.  Say my name in our own secret language and remember what we have always be to each other.

Lean on me beloved.  Trust to die into my love.[2]

What a difference this would make to faith, to church, to being the people of God in this world, in this day if we could all grasp this understanding that God’s grace is enough, the belief that God will prevail, as strongly did that widow woman.

We could stop deciding who we think is acceptable to God and use the default premise that it is everyone.  The blinkers of racism, sexism, and all the other isms would fall to the ground. 

We could stop thinking we had the only wisdom, the best faith, the only denomination and realise that God speaks into lives and cultures and faiths beyond our experience.

We could stop building up treasures here on earth – think what that would do to the economic inequalities, the starving, the dispossessed.  We could stop too building up treasures in our churches just for the sake of it, or from the fear of letting it go.  Imagine the feeding of the poor, the housing of the homeless, the valuing of the voiceless that could come from releasing our rainy day funds.

We could stop holding ourselves back from leaning on God, stop trying to do everything ourselves, be in control according to our understand – be a people who trust in the grace and love of a God who pushed through all our barriers of distrust and selfishness and sheer arrogance to send Jesus to live among us, to teach us the meaning of love, of grace of mercy. Stop your worrying and lean on me, says Jesus, just like that widow woman.

Using some words from Tom Schuman[3]:

When eternity comes, maybe God will sort it all out:

the unanswered questions that keep us awake at night,

the injustice of it all,

the brokenness which we cannot mend

Someday, when eternity comes, maybe God will sort it all out but until then know this:

love showered earth when Jesus came, and flows from us to others,

hope was planted in our hearts and in God we trust,

joy became our souls companion and yearns to walk with us,

and grace was the gift we cannot exchange;

and these are all the answers we have until eternity comes.

And for this we say: thanks be to God.

Margaret Garland

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[1] Romans 5:8

[2] The Eternal Lover from Psalms for the Road  by Joy Cowley p. 59

[3] Answers from Acorns and Archangels by Thom M Shuman  p. 220

Climate Litany Opoho Church Sunday 29 September 2019

Creation[1]

A Litany of Gratitude

We live in all things and all things live in us
We rejoice in all life.

We live by the sun, we move with the stars
We rejoice in rhythms of living and being.

We eat from the earth, we drink from the rain,

we breathe from the air

We rejoice in the life giving nourishment of this planet

We share with the creatures, we have strength through their gifts
We rejoice in all things created of sea, air and land

We depend on the trees, the bush, the ancient and the new.

We have knowledge through their secrets
We rejoice in all life rooted in the good soil.

We have the privilege of seeing and understanding
We have the responsibility of caring
We have the joy of celebrating
We rejoice in our care for the land and all that the land provides

We are full of the grace of creation, we are grateful

We rejoice in all life

A Litany of Sorrow

We have forgotten who we are.  We have become estranged from the movements of the earth and turned our backs on the cycles of life.

We have forgotten who we are.

We have sought only our own security and exploited simply for our own ends.

We have distorted our knowledge and abused our power.

Response: We have forgotten God’s call to care for creation.

Now the land is barren and the waters are poisoned and the air is polluted.

We have not been good stewards of the land, sea and air.

Now the forests are dying and the creatures are disappearing
and the humans are despairing.

We have not care for the creatures of the land, sea and air.

We ask forgiveness. We ask for the gift of remembering

We ask for the strength to change.

We seek mercy in Jesus holy name.  Amen

A Litany of Committment

As we seek to relax our grip so that the earth, our fragile sister, might rest from our labours, help us to see our world more vividly than we have done in the past. 
Grant us vision for the challenges of this age and give us hearts full of courage for the future.  

As we seek to be wise stewards of the gifts of the earth in timber and oil, coal, and gas, help us to know your world more humanely than we have in the past. 
Grant us the wisdom to walk with care and reverence in this world.  

Deepen our faith and enliven our thinking, nourish our bodies and strengthen our souls, that we may be your message in the world, your servants for the common wellness of the earth.

Make us weavers of a new order, crafters of a new earth. 
Grant us the grace to follow in the footsteps of Jesus, in the love with earth, and with our brothers, and sisters.

May these commitments we make bring new life through God’s holy word, in our communities of faith and in deep solidarity with all creation.   
Amen 

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[1] http://www.letallcreationpraise.org/liturgy/litanies  (adapted)