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.

Repent and be Baptised

Acts 3

Peter's words to the crowds, in explanation after a miraculous healing, were, "Repent therefore, and turn to God so that your sins may be wiped out..." We're still responding, 2,000 years later.

We still get baptised, we still confess, we still hear words of forgiveness and make them our own. We still do this in spite of the fact that we are 'in Christ', and scripture assures us that 'no one who abides in him sins'. Are our various sins evidence that St. John got this bit wrong, or evidence that we're don't quite 'abide in him'?

It's worth reflecting on who might have heard Peter's speech, and what their thoughts might have been. Quite possibly, some of those present had been among the crowds who cried out for Jesus' execution and Barabbas' release. To them, the idea that God had raised Jesus would be worrying to say the least. Nobody who made a practice of going to the Temple would have wanted to find that they had condemned somebody whom God found innocent. And, if God's reversal of human judgement could involve raising someone from death, what other reversals might be about to follow?

Other listeners might have wondered how much it all affected them. If they'd not been in the mob that called for Jesus' death, what did they have to repent of? The more reflective might have considered the possibility that, as part of the society that condemned an innocent man, they could not shake off part of the responsibility. Perhaps that is where our repenting, confessing and forgiving belongs. Our sins may be our own, or society's or humanity's. They may be the sins of our church or the sins of our country, but it is still up to us to lay them before God and invite forgiveness into the world, in the faith that God does not allow his word of forgiveness to lie dead and buried.

Sign and Wisdom

Jeremiah 51, Psalm 51, Hebrews 5, John 12

Some Greeks had come to worship in Jerusalem at Passover. They asked Philip if they could see Jesus, Philip asked Andrew, and then they went. There seems to have been an air of exclusivity around Jewish holy men, at least in the minds of some people.


Passover is not the most important Jewish festival. It doesn't define or renew the covenant, but it does celebrate the freedom of God's chosen people and their foundation as a nation. Some Greeks wanted to be part of that. Perhaps that's why Jesus identified the moment as the beginning of his 'hour of glory'.


But why did some Greeks want to identify with a people whose origin lay in an escape from slavery? Did they feel that they, too, were longing for a freedom that seemed slightly beyond reach? Traditionally, Greeks seek wisdom while Jews seek a sign. Did these Greeks recognise in Jesus not only a sign of liberation, but the wisdom that might lead to it? We can't know what was in their minds, but we can work on tho twin ideas of sign and wisdom.


Jesus was, to his followers, a sign that God is active in the world: recognisable as God in action, but not limited to what people already thought they knew about God. Jesus was also a source of wisdom: demonstrating a deep understanding of human life and human nature, and leading people to a new understanding of their own lives.


Create in us a clean heart O God:
And renew a right spirit within us.

Art and Artists

Numbers 21,  Ephesians 2, John 3

One of the three themes running through today's readings is art. The bronze serpent (Numbers 21) was not commissioned as a work of art - more a sacred talisman - but it would undoubtedly be seen as a work of art if, nearly 3,000 years later, we still had it. Unfortunately, it was destroyed during the Reformation on the orders of the King (Hezekiah, 2 Kings 18).


The image of the serpent crops up in Jesus' late night conversation with Nicodemus. The original artefact saved lives. Jesus, similarly lifted up for all to see, would also save lives, but with a difference: we're not getting bitten by snakes. What are we getting bitten by? Is this the moment to explore the symbolic association of the serpent with sin? Or with wisdom? Or is it just the moment to reflect on the fact that being bitten, one way or another, is a more or less common experience?


Like the bronze serpent, a crucifix or a cross can be treated as a work of art. Also like the serpent, the image of suffering can function as a symbol of healing, and carries the risk of becoming an object of devotion in its own right.


Finally, I want to turn from the art treasures of human history to God's work of art: us. We're a work in progress. How do we imagine God working? Chisel? Brushes? A composer's pencil or a conductor's baton? Human beings can be amazing, and there is an occasional risk of treating them as objects of worship. Then, in our occasional reformations, we destroy them. History tells many a fascinating and tragic tale. The unfortunate fact of the matter is that what we get bitten by is usually human beings. The saving grace that we celebrate, however, enables human beings to be a source of healing.