Romance and Truth

Ruth 3.1-5, 4.13-17; Psalm 127; Hebrews 9.24-28; Mark 12.38-44

The story of Ruth is heart-warming and romantic, but also of huge theological significance. The wedding speech words about not so much losing a daughter as gaining a son are perfectly illustrated by this young woman whose loyalty to her foreign mother-in-law outlasts the brief life of her husband and steels her nerve to enter a country where there is no guarantee that she will be welcome.

Once in Israel, Ruth becomes the foreigner: a gentile in the land of the chosen people, some of whose scriptures suggest that the gentiles are to be avoided, enslaved, or even liquidated. The fact that the story of Ruth is included in the canon of scripture is valuable evidence that faith in a loving, inclusive God is the vital centre-piece of the tradition we have inherited.

Ruth stands for the blurring of the boundaries, a tradition represented by some of the less well-known characters in the Bible (e.g. Rahab, Cyrus), but also including a young woman named Mary, and culminating in Christ himself, the ultimate insider-turned-outsider, or vice-versa. Jesus is the great inside-outer, who blurred the boundaries between holiness and unholiness by getting so thoroughly inside the world’s mess that his way of love earned him the death sentence

Like his ancestor Ruth, but on an infinitely bigger stage, Jesus shows us a way of life that does not divide people into those who belong and those who don’t. The rulers of this world erect walls, and imagine they are safe behind them. Jesus makes himself known on the other side of those walls, and invites outsiders in.

All Saints (Sunday 1st November)

Isaiah 25.6-9, Psalms 24.1-6, Revelation 21.1-6a, John 11.32-44

The stories of the saints make it clear that we are not talking about a set of perfect people, but about ordinary people who are remembered for the way in which they lived their Christian lives.

The point of being a Christian is to become Christ-like by inviting God into our lives and allowing God to work on us. God is, as the liturgy reminds us, both the source and the final purpose of our lives: our spring-board and our destination, however distant. The gift of being a Christian is that we are accompanied on life's journey by Christ himself, however inconspicuous. The saints are people who have lived with that purpose and that faith, and we belong with them.

Today's readings remind us that, in our final destination, every tear will be wiped dry. Isaiah even fills in a couple of details of the menu at the grand celebration. The gospel reading, however, gives us a paradoxical glimpse of the way to the kingdom. The resurrection, he says, is about more than a general raising of the dead at the end of the world. He then demonstrates the point by what must have been a very temporary resurrection of Lazarus. Tears are wiped away, only to return later,my it the real focus of the story is in a few words of protest from Martha, implying that Lazarus is too far gone for Jesus' attention to do any good.

What aspects of our lives or our worlds seem 'too far gone'? To be beyond hope of any sort of redemption? The message of today's celebration is that they, too, belong among the saints.

Artists and Engineers (Sunday 25th October)

Job 42.1-6, 10-17, Psalm 34.1-8, Hebrews 7.23-28, Mark 10.46-52

Last week’s readings included these words from Job 38: Then the LORD answered Job out of the whirlwind…  "Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth? Tell me, if you have understanding. Who determined its measurements--surely you know! Or who stretched the line upon it? On what were its bases sunk, or who laid its cornerstone?

We don’t normally think in these terms about the natural world—we’re too used to thinking of it as ‘natural’, which suggests that it ‘just happened’, though the idea of creation might be taken to imply a degree of planning. Our attention has often been focused on artists and mystics who praise the beauty of nature, and often seem to regret the intrusion of anything non-natural. 

It’s easy to forget that a harvest thanksgiving, for all its reference to the natural world, is about not only God’s gifts but also  human industry. How typical of the  Church that, having made much of harvest festivals since the 1840s, it was not until the early 1970s that a hymn was written and published that celebrated other human industries. Perhaps the authors had a premonition that whole swathes of British industry were about to destroy themselves, and felt that it was time to pray about it.

That hymn is rarely sung, but it’s worth giving it an outing now and again. Is there any connection with today’s readings? Possibly that, like the blind man by the side of the road, we sometimes need to have our eyes opened.

Divine Power and Glory (Sunday 18th October)

Job 38.1-7, Psalm 104, Hebrews 5.1-10, Mark 10.35-45

I’m never quite satisfied with what God said to Job when he spoke ‘out of the whirlwind’ (not quite the way ‘he’ spoke to Elijah). Is it really satisfactory, when presented with Job’s understandable complaints, simply to indulge in a poetic monologue about divine power and glory? Unless, of course, what looks like a poetic monologue is really a counter-complaint about what hard work it is being God—an entertaining thought, but without much scholarly support.

The most famous quotation from Job is from 19.25, in which he expresses certainty that he has a living advocate, even though there is nothing in the book or the rest of the Hebrew scriptures to justify such faith. In the letter to the Hebrews, it’s spelt out: ‘we have a great high priest who has passed into the heavens’. Those few words state something of huge importance: Jesus is the vital connection between us and God because he belongs with us just as completely as he belongs with God. In him humanity and divinity are perfectly united, which is why our communion with him is also communion with God.

The priesthood of Christ is quite a contrast with the promotion sought by James and John (blamed on their mother in St. Matthew’s account). They seem to think that sitting at either side of Jesus in God’s kingdom will be the ultimate promotion, and that they are ideally qualified. Jesus gives them a quick interview before explaining the situation and they, to their credit, don’t seem to have gone off in a huff. They realized, at that moment, that they and Jesus really were ‘all in it together’, and that the way to the kingdom lies in living that togetherness fully.

Darkness, Despair, and the Open Kingdom

Job 23.1-9, 16-17, Psalm 22.1-15, Hebrews 4.12-16, Mark 10.17-31

As his life was ebbing away on the cross, Jesus quoted Psalm 22: My God, my God, why have you forsaken me. Today, those words are a response to Job’s suffering. Among his own words are those in verse 17 of today’s first reading: ‘If only I could vanish in darkness, and thick darkness would cover my face!’ people suffering from depression could well identify with those words.

To his mounting despair, Job finds God ‘unavailable for comment’. Again, in his own words,  "If I go forward, he is not there; or backward, I cannot perceive him; on the left he hides, and I cannot behold him; I turn to the right, but I cannot see him.’ What an interesting contrast with Psalm 139, with its celebration of God’s universal presence. What would Job have said, if somebody had quoted Psalm 139 to him? I don’t know, but I can’t imagine that he would instantly have felt better.

In the readings from Hebrews and Mark, we find that the word of God is (as Hebrews says) a two-edged sword: it can comfort or it can scare, or both. Where the Psalmist talks about the inescapable presence of God, Hebrews talks about the penetrating spotlight that God’s word can shine on us. The rich young man who asked Jesus for directions to God’s kingdom seems to have felt that deeply.

Yet Jesus looked at him with love, and didn’t declare the kingdom closed to such as him, any more than it is closed to those who have difficulties other than great wealth. We can take comfort and build hope on two sayings today. One is that we have a great high priest who can sympathise with us. The other is that, in his presence, we can practice his love.

Relationships, God, and the World

Job 1.1, 2.1-10, Psalm 26, Hebrews 1.1-4, 2.5-12, Mark 10.2-16

Job stands for unquestioning faithfulness, persisting in his integrity even when the evidence suggests that it is worth nothing. His wife stands for normal humanity, desiring at least the satisfaction of telling God what you think of ‘him’ before succumbing to the inevitable. When Job scolds her for speaking as a foolish woman would it is not clear whether the implied contrast is with a wise woman or with a foolish man How would a foolish man speak? She had an answer to that, but seems to have been too tactful to mention it.

The problem, for Job’s wife, is that of an unrewarded faith. For Job, on the other hand, faith is not a transaction but a relationship. We don’t get into relationships for what we get out of them, but because they are good in themselves. That said, there are break points beyond which a good relationship can be said to have died.

Job, to his wife’s incomprehension, is not yet at such a point. He regards every turn of his fortunes as a gift of one sort or another, and simply receives what he is given. There’s something child-like about this faith, with its uncomplicated ability to receive, and it may provide a clue towards the understanding of today’s gospel. Jesus tells the disciples that the kingdom of God belongs to ‘such as these’ children, and it’s possible that their simple acceptance of life is the reason.

Another reason could be the obvious fact that the future is theirs in the same way that the present is ours. Everything we have is the gift, not only of God, but of previous generations: we are the stewards of the world, not its owners. For this reason, if for no other, we need to treat the world with reverence, gratitude, and generosity.

Is God working 'his' purpose out?

Proverbs 31, Psalm 1, James 3, Mark 9

It is often difficult to get back into the thought-world of ancient Israel. Today’s example is the reading from Proverbs 31, which celebrates the economic benefits resulting from marriage to a good woman. Hardly the last word in romantic praise, but then the idea that marriage should be based on romantic love may be relatively recent. Or is that just an example of class-unconsciousness? Biblical translation has also affected our understanding of this passage, which used to begin with the immortal words, ‘A good woman who can find? Her price is far above rubies’.

The reading from St. James’ letter, on the other hand, mostly seems quite contemporary. There are two statements in particular that I want to highlight. The first is that ‘a harvest of righteousness is sown in peace for those who make peace ‘ - it expresses a hope, but doesn’t shed any light on how to make peace. The second is ‘You ask and do not receive, because you ask wrongly’, which is clearly an example of the early church agonising over Jesus’ ‘ask, and you will receive’.

How many of the people who ask for peace and justice are asking wrongly? And what would constitute a wrong request for peace? I can suggest a few answers, but none of them helps me to see that ‘God is working his purpose out’. The refugee crisis is still overshadowing everything this week, but there doesn’t seem to be anything new to say about it. All that today’s readings offer us is ‘Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me.’ perhaps that’s all we need.

Out of Control!

Acts 4, Psalm 23, 1st John 3, John 10

One of the themes running through the readings this morning is control—quite interesting, as we prepare to make our small but essential contribution towards deciding who will be in control of the country for the next few years. It probably won’t make any difference who I vote for, but I’ll do it anyway.

Some of the more hysterical commentary has been amusing, to say the least: ‘If you vote for them, everything will go out of control! Do they mean ‘out of control’, or ‘out of our control’?

When the Temple authorities heard about what Peter, James and John had done, and what they were saying about it, they moved quickly in an attempt to regain control. It was as if an alarm had gone off somewhere: UNAUTHORISED SPIRITUAL ACITIVITY!

Imagine! God is working in the Temple without our imprimatur—we can’t allow that. There were, of course,  two or three different fears in the minds of the authorities. One was the entirely legitimate fear of civil disorder followed by a Roman crackdown, another was the rather less respectable fear of being sidelined and upstaged by the ‘un-entitled’, and the third was probably a simple fear of the unknown.

What can we learn from this, with the privilege of hind-sight and an uncomfortable feeling that we are not exactly the ‘un-entitled’. Possibly, that new life often comes from outside our previous experience, that many things are beyond our control, and that the unknown is not always to be feared.