Who is this? (Palm Sunday and a Baptism)

Several years ago I joined my sister for a church service in Japan.  It was December and Winter – a white Christmas was to follow. I was in a country where I didn’t understand the language, let alone the street signs. In church that Sunday, I had no idea what was being said or sung or prayed.  But when a young woman came forward, knelt at the front and was baptised – I knew exactly what was happening.  Matthew 28.19 was being lived out and this young person was being welcomed into my family. Our family.

Angels and people hold their breath in awe as another person is baptised and welcomed into this huge, complex family: Baptised into the family of Jesus Christ, the church of God that expresses its life, witness and service in every corner of the world, ever since that first Christmas, that first Palm Sunday, Good Friday, that first Resurrection day and first Pentecost.

So today, Sarah is both this tiny dot in a very large ocean of people, AND the centre of attention of God’s people. 

Baby Sarah.  Who is she?

Obviously a daughter, Grand-daughter and niece and cousin.

Cutie, chatterbox, wriggler and giggler.

Her parents already know that she is the very best gift they have ever received … and the most frustrating human being in the universe.  They already know that she will grow to be a young woman with her own opinions and perspectives (Exclamation mark!!!).  They now know that a whole congregation has committed itself, with them, to raise her in Christian faith with them as parents.  And they know that they have done so on behalf of millions of others around the world.

Today, all around the world, Christians will celebrate Palm Sunday.  

They will do so in hundreds of different languages;
They will be out in the streets of their towns in South America in processions waving palm branches,
Hunkered down in cold cathedrals as spring starts to make its presence felt in Northern Europe,
Sweating in mud-brick buildings in Kenya,
Or speaking in quiet voices in lounges or cellars in Turkey

-       all of them joining in a huge chorus of voices singing “Hosanna”. 

This is the family that Sarah has been baptised into.

These people will also join us as we step tentatively into this week, the days leading up to Good Friday and Easter Sunday, to listen again to the stories;

of Mary and perfume and anointing;

of washing feet and love;

of bread broken and wine poured;

of Judas and betrayal;

of Peter and denial;

of a garden and light and darkness and whips and spears and crosses and nails and … that final, chilling cry, “It is finished”.

They too will hold their breath … or go about their daily tasks with that nagging hope that the story isn’t over.

And then.

And then on Sunday, many will rise early and, still half asleep, slope again into cathedrals and mud huts and on beaches and lake-fronts and lounges to hear the astounding story of an empty tomb and resurrection and Mary and Peter … and “yes it is true”. Life has triumphed over death; hate can never defeat love.  They will join their voices with millions of others around the world and over centuries to shout “He is Risen; Christ is risen indeed.”

This is the beginning of Holy Week – the Holiest of weeks – the week that this Christian faith is all about – the one central story that binds us together around the world and through many centuries.

“This week is the most beautiful and the most important of the Church’s year. It is the drama of our salvation and our life. It is also a week of profound renewal. We renew our baptismal life because we see again the battle that God in Christ wins against all the powers of darkness and destruction in our world and in our lives. We know that our baptism makes us participators in his victory and so we have the courage to follow him on his journey and to contemplate the mystery of his love for us.” prayasyougo

This is the story that Sarah was baptised into.

All around the world in churches, some will be here for the first time, hearing the story fresh and new.  Others will hear it for the hundredth time.  And wherever the story is retold and relived there are tears, and anger and a wondering. "Would I be Peter or Judas or Thomas or Mary?"

Some who gather will mumble and doubt and puzzle, and wonder if they will be back next year.  But they said that last year too, and something … something in the story brought them back ... a whispering and a nagging that somehow nothing else has come as close to making any sense of the mess that they see around them.  Their doubt is carried by love and community and someone else’s faith and curiosity and a flicker of … maybe, just maybe …

And in all the stories is this one remarkable man.  Jesus goes to Jerusalem knowing that this will probably mean his death.  And the city is abuzz. This royal, political, religious city and its people ask the question, “Who is this?”  And the crowd, who come from the country and other towns and nations, the crowds reply, as if with one voice, “This is the prophet Jesus from Nazareth in Galilee.”

In this week, of all weeks, we are reminded that God’s way is not our way. We expect to see celebrity and superhero. But the way of this One is not about force or coersion or power.  In Jesus Christ we see God in a different way; a way of humility and powerlessness – and yet of immense strength and love. It is what someone would later call “the foolishness of the cross”. His is a love so deep and strong and free that it can hold all doubt and fear and hopelessness. He is even prepared to take on death – the ultimate power.  

And then?  Then comes resurrection – not a logical conclusion or predictable outcome – but a mystery, an ultimate victory and God’s greatest act - in Jesus.

Humility, Death, Resurrection

Faith, hope and love.

Who is this?

This is the One into whom Sarah has been baptised;

Joining this family, to live this story, and to follow this Jesus Christ.

Loved and Living (Adelaide and Lazarus)

This time last week, I was sitting in a café in Adelaide watching people, and listening to the city.  Homeless, lovers, families and those who were there because there was obviously no where else for them to be – we observed and listened and participated in the life of the city centre.  It was a gift to us to be able to slow down enough to really see more than the people across the table and the bottom of our coffee cups.  Each one of these people have a name and stories of life and death, of pain and joy.

Our attendance at the UCA’s Mission and Evangelism conference was a deeply personal reminder that the gospel is not a program, an event or a task to do.  It is about living genuine relationships with a wide variety of people. Even evangelism is about what we do and say about this life-giving good news that God whispers into our hearts every day.  It is about living and being loved today.  It is about allowing God’s stories to slip out of our experiences and seep into our conversations – off our lips and through our hands to others.

Wandering through the Art Gallery in Adelaide, I came across a plate, made around 1840 – obviously meant to be mounted on a wall.  It said, “Prepare to meet thy God”.  It represents a theology that says that what happens after death is more important to God than what happens now – and I don’t read that in scripture.  But more than that, it states that I cannot “meet my God” now – that meeting God is something that has to wait until I die.  It states that “I am” cannot be a currently lived reality.

If the gospel is only about what happens after we die, then Lazarus should have stayed dead.  But this tells a very different story for Lazarus, Mary, Martha and the other astounded people looking on; it is a story of Jesus love, Martha and Mary’s faith, and Lazarus’ new living because of this God-moment.

The one you love is ill

Being loved is an amazing experience – the love of a parent, spouse, child, friend.  Sometimes love is experienced in a deeply moving feeling of warmth and acceptance. At other times it is found in conversations with friends that reach deep into your soul – into your life-stories – and give hope and life to experiences of despair and grief.  In our evening Lenten studies this week, we were talking about friends and friendship – that those rare close friends are people who you can call on at 3am – and whom you know that you can call on for anything. They are people with whom there are shared stories, deep trust and unconditional love.

There is a story in John’s gospel that starts with this line, “God loved the world so much that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who has faith in him will have eternal life and never really die.”  And John’s gospel emphasises this through each personal encounter with Jesus.

We are told several times in this story that Jesus loved Lazarus.  The sisters send a message to Jesus to say that “the one you love is ill”.  As Jesus wept the crowd say, “see how he loved him”.  Martha and Mary deeply loved their brother, and Jesus obviously loved him too.  This is love that doesn’t turn away when the loved one is sick or dying – it is a love that turns up at these times.

Through the story, Lazarus doesn’t say anything.  Love says it all.  Lazarus is known by name, and called out of the tomb by name.  And Jesus, who seemed to be absent earlier, is now very much present.

If you had been here …

We know the feeling of God being present … or at least not being distant.  We have had moments in our prayers or singing or living where God feels closer than our breathing.  They are moments when we are calmer, or more joyful or more alive.

But then there are these moments when we feel very, very alone.  Sometimes it seems like God is absent – like our prayers hit a ceiling and come crashing down around us.  It feels like darkness is closer than we want … and that God must have abandoned us. 

You thought you were the only one who felt this?  

Mary and Martha did.  The psalmist did.  Many of the old testament prophets did. And preachers, poets and prophets have done through the ages.  One wise man in the 15^th century, St John of the Cross described it as “The dark night of the soul”.  Doesn’t that say it all? The dark night of the soul.

What do we do when it happens?  Martha and Mary both take the opportunity to tell Jesus off!  “If you had been here …” I’m pretty sure it wasn’t in a nice voice either!  The Psalmist very clearly describes to God what he thinks, and reminds God of what he promised.  And that got published for people to read!

This is a faith that is bold enough to tell God what is going on in our hearts – in good times and bad. In the words of Psalm 23, its not all banquets and green fields. Sometimes we need to describe the valley of the shadow of death.  But we do so in faith that God is with us. In some way.

Jesus uses this phrase “I am” on seven different occasions in John’s gospel; I am the bread of life, the light of the world, … and here “the resurrection and the life.” These are statements that intentionally describe a present reality, not something we need to wait for until after death. These are signs that point to Jesus as God’s presence with them.  They are John’s version of the Kingdom of God.  For John, Jesus’ presence NOW is that kingdom.  And that presence is Resurrection and life – and the “I am” says that at least a part of that is available now.  It is a lived reality.  Martha operated under the assumption that real living, real life with God, starts after death.

Death is a reality too. I’ve been privileged to walk alongside people in their final moments or days.  My faith rests on an assurance that whatever is beyond death, God is present.  But it also rests on an assurance that God is present now.

Loved and living

Even in life there are deaths and tombs – places where people are bound and dying.  There is an invitation to us to be part of this story of resurrection. When Jesus calls Lazarus out of the tomb, the people need to “unbind” him.  There is a responsibility for us as a community to be involved in the lives of people, to be present where there is darkness and addiction, abuse, injustice, hopelessness and grief; and to offer that tender touch of grace and loving and gentle release from these deaths. Resurrection might seem impossible – for people who are called hope-less - but the gospel word is that there is new life and living to be found. Here and now.

“We are called to know people by name, to be in places of despair and pain in order to unleash the awesome power of love, and we are to walk beside each other, hand in hand, with the one who has loved us from the start.” – Rev Jennie Gordon

Finding Grace in Rain

It rained last night – the first (real) rain I have experienced in Victoria since we arrived shortly after Christmas last year.  One could almost hear the earth sigh and the trees draw a breath of relief.  The soil in the garden had become parched and dry, the grass was almost dead and the trees had become stressed.  The first rush of rain washed leaves and dust away pretty quickly, but it was the steady watering overnight the made a difference. I sat in my study early the next morning and listened to the gentle rain softening up the soil and watering the thirsty plants.

Photo: http://www.mymodernmet.com

What changed even more immediately was the faces and body language of people that evening and the next day – there was a palpable sense of relief, with relaxed shoulders and faces.  It was like a burden had suddenly been lifted.  Just as the dryness of the earth had been reflected in the tired hearts of the people, so the rain had ‘watered and washed’ our souls.

The most unlikely things affect our hearts – weather, news reports, the smile of a child, the greeting of an old friend.

I enjoy the ‘soul cleansing’ of Lent.  Every Lenten season is different for me – depending on what is going on around me.  This year I am learning again about Sabbath, rest and grace through the book Sabbath Keeping written by my friend and colleague Lynne Baab.  The book takes the reader on a journey through stories of people who have chosen to experience God’s grace through observing the Sabbath – a day of rest each week. 

“When I take a break once a week, I remember that God is the one in charge of keeping the world turning and not me.  Taking a day off each week also encourages me to be responsible with how I spend my time on the other six days.” (p19) 

Baab encourages her readers to stop some things on their Sabbath (e.g. give up technology for the day) and to start some ‘Sabbath habits or rhythms’ (e.g. intentionally finding beautiful things to appreciate – art, flowers, etc).  Through Lent we have talked about a similar idea – giving up something and taking up something else.  The invitation this Lent has been to listen to the voice of the Spirit speaking to our hearts.

As we reach the Easter services, we grab hold of Grace in new and deep ways, but we also sit quietly and allow the soaking of the Spirit;
“You may come to me in happiness

Or you may come to me in grief

You may come to me in your deepest faith

Or you may come in disbelief” 

Leonard Cohen; Lover, Lover, Lover 

Like the soil receiving the rain, we don’t have to be ‘right’ or ‘ready’, just open to allowing the Spirit to soak into our souls.

2 days into Lent

Its now Friday after Ash Wednesday.  Little bits of grey/black ash still linger in the pores on my forehead, and I can still faintly feel the movement of the finger that marked me with the cross.

(image from http://worshipingwithchildren.blogspot.co.nz/)

It is probably not coincidence that the Mission Resourcing focus on Congregational Development begins in earnest in time for Lent. Lent drags me wriggling and nervous towards that word "Discipleship" - following Jesus.  Lent jolts me into realising that my faith is not just about turning up to church on a Sunday - but is about the way I live my life, treat others and live / hide from God.

The notes from Mark Pierson / World Vision (NZ) lenten reflections (day 1) quote Maggi Dawn, Giving it up. Lent is "a call to turn away decisively from what keeps us from God, alienates us from other people and stops us living well".  Lent reminds me of this way of living that I am called and drawn to.  It is no wonder then that sensitivity to these things is heightened in this season - that we become more aware of the world around us AND more sensitive to its hurt and cries.

In particular for me in the last few days are the images, footage and sounds of the Christchurch earthquake - on Ash Wednesday this year it was one year ago.  We paused in our Board meeting for two minutes of silent reflection and silent prayer in the morning. That evening I sat stunned again as I watched the news replaying the sounds and images of last year. I confess that I was drawn to it and sat with tears, while at the same time wanting to leave the room and not have to watch and listen. That night was our Ash Wednesday service at church - with the AA group meeting upstairs in the hall.

ash wednesday 

- broken buildings ash dust tears

 - ashes service downstairs, AA upstairs 

- contrite hearts seeking healing 

ash wednesday

Ash and dust and tears mixed. 

No one ever said that Discipleship would be easy. In Maggi's quote above, I'm drawn to the word 'decisively'.  Its not drifting or intending, but deciding.  Stepping into that 'deciding' has had these consequences of more sensitivity to the world around me - and I'm curious (and a bit nervous) about what else might happen.

Question: What things has Lent begun to highlight for you this year? You can leave a comment below.