Readings: Isaiah 43:16-21 John 12:1-8
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.
From Isaiah we hear God’s
words: Do not remember the former things, or consider the things of old. I am
about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?
Would I be right in
thinking that Aotearoa New Zealand is in the midst of a new thing? That our foundations have been shocked to the
core and the opportunity for new ways of being is reverberating throughout our
country across all communities. We are of course responding in different ways
to the events of March 15 but I think it would be fair to say that there has
been a paradigm shift in this land – a fundamental shift in our understanding
of how we live which we are still trying to process. A new thing has happened!
It’s fascinating when you
look at the history of new beginnings, revolutions, reformations, renaissances
– how the passion and the clear understanding of a different, better way hold
the headlines for a while and then often get subsumed into the ordinary, that
which has always been and the new thing
can get a little lost or subverted. Its
ok and probably quite healthy that the very sharp edge of new ways, new
understandings are slightly blunted because few of us could keep up that degree
of focus, of clarity for long. Yet
history allows us to follow the direction of the change and our part in keeping
it connected with the truths we had thrust upon us in the moment of
discovery. The question is always
whether the core truth survives as we inevitably move back into what we were
doing before; whether we continue to live as changed people because something
has happened and nothing can be the same ever again.
We use this language as
Christians, when we say that we have met the living Christ and our lives can
never be the same again. We say these
words when we gather round the communion table – we have met the Christ in this
place and it changes us, gives us a new beginning. It is a fundamental part of
our faith, the transformation that occurs in our lives and our ways when we
encounter Jesus.
By definition I guess there
is always some slippage as we find our place in this new way. It takes time to
change – why else do we have prayers of confession and assurance of pardon each
Sunday? And it takes work to change –
being alert to the truth in a new way takes discipline and awareness – lots of
it. And it can be uncomfortable to change because it assumes some analysis of
what we were doing before that is no longer good enough
A month ago, how many
people thought they were doing ok in cultural and interfaith relationships in
this country? Do we have the same belief
now? I suspect not. Our thinking has undergone a change – and we
realise a much more positive and pro-active role is required from us. We are in a new place.
So too are the disciples
about to be. Their world is about to get
a major shockwave as they approach the gates of Jerusalem and the events of the
week to come. They think they are prepared, that they have come to terms with
this new and radically different approach of their Lord, that they have
absorbed all the teaching, understood and trusted in this new revelation of
truth from God. But it seems not. As we hear the story of Jesus and the
disciples gathering in Bethany at the house of Mary and Martha and Lazarus, it
becomes clear that not all are ready for what is to come. When Mary, with her insight into the
ramifications of the raising from death of her brother Lazarus and in all her
grief for what she knows is before Jesus; when Mary breaks the bottle of
expensive anointing oil over Jesus’ feet, not all the disciples perceived the
extravagant act as being either necessary or helpful. In the Gospel of John, Judas is very much
the unfeeling, uncaring villain of the piece, but in Mark there are multiple
voices complaining of the waste. Jesus
gently chides them for their lack of understanding.
Because, in a sense, theirs
are the voices of the old way – voices of logic and practicality - whereas
Mary, who lets her act speak for her, is a voice that recognises the new order
that is to come – she anoints for a different type of kingship – one that will
come through the cross and the empty tomb.
One that will be a new thing. By
this act of deeply generous love she gives Jesus comfort and us hope in what is
to come.
Thus says the Lord: I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do
you not perceive it?[1]
I don’t know, none of us
do, what it was like to be in the shoes of those who had walked with Jesus all
this time, the men and women who had shared a hope-filled journey that appeared
to be heading for disaster. Had some of
them glimpsed the enormity of the change that was about to take place? Did they perceive the power of this new thing
that was manifested in their friend, their teacher, their Lord suffering and
dying for love of them? And do we understand
how utterly the Easter experience is a new thing in our lives, a point of new
beginning, something that changes forever our way of living and being?
And if we do, what would it
look like – and what resistance might we meet on the way that would subvert us
from the blinding clarity that is the Easter experience?
For in the life, death and
resurrection of Jesus new directions, new understandings, a new way to walk is
given to us. And it might look like this:
That we are to serve, and
be served - not to rule or be served by right.
So often we find that word
‘entitled’ creeping into our vocabulary where we add some judgement around
where and when we serve. The new thing
is to serve from the whole of heart, spontaneous and extravagant just like
Mary’s gift.
We are to love, not to
hate, diminish, fear. Every time we
withdraw our love, leave some outside its circle, or choose to shut ourselves
away from it in case it hurts, we the ones sitting in that room watching Mary
and complaining of the waste. The new
thing is to be beside her, pouring out your extravagant love for the one who
will suffer that you might know new life.
That we are a people of
hope, not of despair or anxiety. When we
let ourselves be pulled down into that place of hopelessness, where we see no
way forward because we are looking through our eyes alone, that is when we are
resisting the Easter experience. The new
thing is to recognise that in Christ all things will come to be – to be strengthened
in the love and grace of a God who sent Jesus to a cross not a jewel encrusted
throne.
To trust God, not demanding
proof of good will or holding back just in case. How many of us don’t quite
trust that God has it in control and prefer our own way – kind of a plan b just
in case God’s way fails. Much of our
paralysis as a people of faith comes from a failure to trust – that in a
stranger God is found; that in ourselves, skills do abound, that
in the extravagant gift of love that Mary recognised, the world is
transformed. The new thing is that the
Easter message is true, that in God’s grace we are completely loved and in that
love, equipped to transform the world.
And so, let us embrace this
is the whole new way of being exemplified in this extravagant anointing of
Jesus – let today and every day be a time of new beginnings built on service
and love and hope and trust – and so we pray.
Oh God, today we give you
our discontent, we give you our restlessness, and we give you our despair. Help
us to be renewed in your abounding love, to cling to your wisdom, and to do the
work that needs to be done. Amen.
Adapted from Common Prayer:
A Liturgy for Ordinary Radicals
Margaret Garland
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