We have no King but……

Sermon for Christ the King Sunday Yr B  (2 Samuel 23, 1-7; John 18, 33b-37)

I wonder what image comes into your mind when you think of a king?

 

Henry V ( or Laurence Olivier as Henry V!) all done up in his shining armour, leading the English into battle at Agincourt? Or Henry VIII, grotesque and cruel, disposing of wives at will? Or Charles I, going to the scaffold to maintain the divine right of Kings? Or George IV or Edward VII, living lives of pleasure and debauchery?

 

I suspect we tend to think of kings in historical terms, because  it is difficult for most of us in the United Kingdom to have a contemporary image, since we haven’t been ruled by a king for nearly 58 years. We are becoming like the late Victorians, whose female monarch lasted so long that her image defined monarchy for them.

 

Our readings today are both about kings.

 

The first, from 2 Samuel purports to be a psalm written by King David at the end of his reign ( though it probably came from a later period). In it the eternal covenant between God and the house of David is affirmed. David is defined not just as ‘the son of Jesse’ ( his earthly lineage) but as “the man whom God exalted, the anointed ( messiah) of the God of Jacob, the favourite of the Strong One of Israel” affirming that his authority and legitimacy come from the divine. David claims that ‘The Spirit of God speaks through me’ (a claim echoed by Jesus in the synagogue at Nazareth at the beginning of his ministry) and that God’s support of his descendants will last for ever.

 

But the passage also informs us that God’s support for this king and his line is not unconditional. The one who rules with God’s authority must rule ‘in the fear of the Lord’, justly, and, as the other covenants of the Old Testament repeatedly emphasise, with a special care for the disadvantaged – children, women and the poor.

 

The second reading, from John’s account of the trial before Pilate, might seem a strange one for this time of year. Next week, we will be into Advent, and heading full pelt towards Christmas, with our minds full of the baby Jesus, cuddly lambs, exotic wise men or kings from the East, and all the rest of that rather escapist sort of religious celebration. But this week, the last Sunday before Advent, the Gospel pulls us firmly back into reality, makes us look on to the end of the story, and forces us to look clearly at the manner of king whose birth we are preparing to celebrate.

 

In our church, we have an picture of that king to help us to get our thoughts straight. On the wooden screen behind the Lady Chapel altar, we have an image of Christ the King. He is dressed as an earthly king, wearing a crown and a robe and girdle of gold; but the lining of the cloak is blue, hinting at a heavenly dimension to his kingship. His arms are stretched wide: to receive acclaim? Or because they are fixed to the cross on which he is suspended? His kingship is clearly not from this world.

 

The Gospel  reading describes a confrontation between two concepts of kingship. Pilate, who has the power of the Roman Empire behind him faces Jesus, who, even more than David, has the power of God behind him. Who is actually in charge of what is happening? Who is really king? Who has the real and lasting power?

 

From the perspective of the 21st century, we know the answer. We know that the power, authority and influence of the Roman Empire crumbled, in the same way as the houses of many monarchs since have fallen. As Shelley’s poem reminds us:

And on the pedestal these words appear:
“My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!”
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away.

 

But the kingdom of Christ, to whom we now give the title of ‘King of Kings’ has endured: as the lines from that favourite evening hymn tell us:

So be it, Lord; thy throne shall never,
Like earth’s proud empires, pass away:
Thy kingdom stands, and grows forever,
Till all thy creatures own thy sway.

John’s Passion narrative is full of irony. Pilate seems to hold the power of life and death over Jesus, who is apparently a helpless captive. Yet it is Pilate who is terrified. He does everything he can think of to try to avoid exercising his power and putting Jesus to death. He blames the Jewish authorities; he tries to get Jesus to condemn himself out of his own mouth by claiming to be the King of the Jews; he tries to get the crowd to shout for Jesus to be freed; and finally, he washes his hands of responsibility.

 

In earthly terms, Jesus should be the one who is terrified. But he is calm, because he knows he is obeying the One who decides about eternal life or death. So he controls the conversation. Pilate wants to talk about power, conspiracy and politics. Jesus talks about ‘truth’ – a concept that Pilate simply doesn’t understand, asking in frustration  “And what is truth?”

 

Jesus distinguishes quite clearly between the concept of kingship with which the secular world operates – the one in which the king’s will is enforced by fighting with iron bar and shaft of spear (images that come into both readings) and the concept of divine kingship, based on justice and truth and the word of God. HIs words give the lie to the notion that the divine right of kings is something that can be imposed by force; it has to be demonstrated by sacrifice and service. That is the only concept of kingship with which the Church should operate.

 

At the moment we are without a parish priest in this church. One way of referring to our situation is that we are in an interregnum (that is, ‘between kings’). It’s a rather old-fashioned way of describing the way a parish is run; one which fits best with a parish headed by a ‘rector’ a word which comes from the Latin for ruler (although technically in C of E terms it means a priest who has the right to the tithes). We didn’t have a ‘rector’ we had a ‘vicar’, a word which comes from the Latin for ‘substitute’ or ‘in place of’ (because in Church of England terms, he did the work in the parish in place of the person who took the tithes!).  But it can also be interpreted as being a substitute for Christ – ensuring that the kingship of Christ is what holds sway in the life of the parish.

 

However, he was an ‘incumbent’ which means he held the freehold, which gave him certain rights, including  the right to stay as vicar for as long as he wanted. That won’t be the case with his replacement, since the ‘living is being suspended’ which simply means that the next occupant of the office won’t be an incumbent and won’t have freehold. What we are promised, in time,  is a ‘priest in charge’.

 

I haven’t used the term ‘interregnum’ since I heard Bishop Robin Smith, the previous Bishop of Hertford, saying it was a totally inappropriate term to use of the work of a minister in the church, since the only king we have in the Christian context is Jesus! I think that is a good comment for both clergy and laity to keep in mind.

 

The other term usually used for our situation is ‘vacancy’. But that, again, is not really a good description. Yes, the office of parish priest is vacant; yes, the vicarage is vacant. But the church is not ( or shouldn’t be!) vacant.

 

We are in a situation where no one person in the parish is the central figure of authority, the ‘king-pin’ – and some people find that situation uncomfortable. The sad truth about human beings is that many prefer to be in a situation where there is a centre of power or authority, because it means they don’t have to make decisions or take responsibility themselves.

 

In our present situation, there are a number of people with different forms of authority – the bishop’s authority as licensed ministers or as churchwardens, the authority that comes from being elected to serve in different offices, the authority that comes with being entrusted with a particular task in the life of the church. The parish will run most smoothly, and will most clearly reflect the kingship of Christ, if everyone, in whatever role, and with whatever authority they exercise, works together and co-operates for the good of all, as well as with a particular care for those who are most vulnerable.

 

And that situation won’t change after our new priest is appointed ( particularly since he or she will only be paid to work with us half-time!). Collaborative ministry is the buzz-word of the moment – and that implies not just collaboration between people in different forms of authorised ministry, but also between those in ‘official’ ministry positions and those who exercise other forms of informal ministry in administration, in music, in church maintenance and fundraising, in hospitality, in pastoral care and in prayer.

 

When Pilate tried to avoid exercising the authority he had to free or condemn Jesus, the crowd responded by saying “We have no King but Caesar”.  When we in this parish try to work out how we can ensure that the parish thrives during the period until our new parish priest is appointed ( whatever we call that period!) we need to say to ourselves, “We have no King but Jesus Christ”.

 

That way we will be inspired to work together to serve the people of our parish after the model of Christ the King, with the word of God on our tongues, the Spirit of God providing our strength, the truth of God in our hearts and the sacrifice of Christ on the cross as our pattern.

 

Fishing for People

Family Communion Address.

( Mark 1, 14-20)

Have any of you ever been fishing?

What sort of fishing did you do?

‘Proper’ fishing with a rod & line? With bait or flies? What were you hoping to catch?

Or fishing in rock pools with a small net like this – or in a local river for sticklebacks or crabs?

For us fishing tends to be a hobby.

But for Simon Peter & Andrew, James & John, fishing was not a hobby but the way they earned their living.

It was a very hard way to make a living. They had to work all night, and sometimes they caught nothing, so didn’t make any money out of it. They had to look after their boats and mend their nets. Sometimes it was dangerous – on the Sea of Galilee, storms blew up unexpectedly and their little boat could be overturned and they could drown. But it was one of the few ways for people to make a living at that time and in that place.

They didn’t work with bait. They threw their nets over the side of the boat and then pulled them in, hoping they were full of fish. In order to be successful, they needed a good deal of local knowledge – where the best spots were where the shoals of fish lurked – what time of day, and what type of weather was best for catching a large haul of fish.

But although their life was difficult as fishermen, it was not an easy decision to give it all up and follow Jesus to become ‘fishers for people’. They had to leave their equipment behind, and their homes and their families – and who was going to look after their families while they were away following Jesus and working to spread the Gospel? And they were going off to do something for which they had no training and no experience. It could all have been disastrous.

They went because they believed in Jesus, and they had faith in him. They learned from him how to do what he did and how to encourage people to listen to God and follow him. The ‘bait’ they used now was the teaching of Jesus, his example of love and care for everyone, and the power they were given through the Holy Spirit. They said, like our first hymn “I will come, Lord, if you call me”.

When we are baptised, we become disciples of Jesus – and he expects us to ‘fish for people’ in his name, using just the same bait as the original fishermen disciples did – love, service and the good news of the Gospel.

It may not be our full-time job – but it is more than just a hobby – it is a central part of our lives as Christians, not just on a Sunday but every day of the week.

It may be hard – lots of people don’t want to listen. Just like people who fish for trout or fresh water fish or big fish in the oceans, we have to work out what sort of bait is right for different sorts of people, and we may have to work hard for a long time, without seeing any obvious ‘catch’ Just like real fishermen we have to learn patience and persistence.

Not many of us will be in the business of catching large hauls of people ( like those who fished with nets). But every one of us can fish for individual people.

Each of you has been given a small ‘fish’  with your service sheet. In a moment of quiet, I wonder whether you can think of one person – or a group of people – that you would like to catch for Christ. If there is such a person, write their name on the fish, and when you come up to communion, or when the service is over, come and place the ‘fish’ in the ‘net’.  When you leave continue to pray for that person, and ask God to show you how you can ‘catch them for Christ’. And we will pray now that God’s Holy Spirit will give you the wisdom and the skill and the persistence to be good ‘fishers for people’.

Holy Spirit of God, help us to become good ‘fishers for people’. Help us to be good examples by the way we act and what we say. Help us to tell other people about you, and to welcome them into church so that they will know you and follow you.

Amen

Water of Life.

Notes for an address at Harvest Family Service 09

Readings: Exodus 2, 15b-21, John 4, 5-15

Can you tell me all the ways you can think of that you use water at home? What have you used water to do already today? What might you use water for later on?

 

Any other ways you use water?

 

Some of you may have used water this summer to grow your sunflower from the seed I gave you in June. Anyone brought sunflower back? Reward – bottle of clean water.

 

We can see water extremely important to us.

 

Was as important, if not more so, to the people who wrote our Bible.

 

If we run out of something – can go to the shops and get it. But people in Bible times grew their own food, raised animals for food and milk, not as pets. If could not get water they needed because rains failed or rivers and wells ran dry – no shops to provide. Crops wouldn’t grow so went hungry – and no seeds to plant for next year’s crop, so went on being hungry. If could not get water, animals died, so no food and no wealth. If could not get water – they died.

 

Our Bible readings show how important water was to people of Bible times. Jethro’s daughters could not water their animals if others opposed them. Jesus was thirsty – no shop to buy bottled water; had to ask woman to help him.

 

Water so important to people who wrote Bible that it became a symbol for abundant life. In one of the stories written about the creation that we find in Genesis, they imagined the perfect world in the beginning of time – and one story described a garden with a river running through it. (Gen 2.10) And when they imagined the perfect world there would be at the end of time, again they imagined a river, this time flowing out of the throne of God and flowing through the heavenly city of New Jerusalem. (Rev 22,1) Because water was so essential to life, that river was called ‘the water of life’ and in our second reading, that is what Jesus says he gives us – everything that is essential for living a rich, holy and fulfilled life.  Because water was so essential to life, the first Christians chose water to be the symbol of the new and eternal life that is promised to us through baptism.

 

If we want some water, we turn on a tap. Or we go down the road, and buy some bottled water from the supermarket. We can all afford to do that, and there is a plentiful supply of clean water.  And to water our gardens, we can collect water in water butts, because we live in a country where, most of the time, it rains a lot. But for many people in the world, life is not as easy as that.

 

I wonder what you would feel like if you had to carry all the water  you use from somewhere a long way away from your home. Average consumption of water in the UK is 150 litres per person per day. Can two small people volunteer to go and fetch water bottle from back of church. This is 5 litres. Was it heavy. You carried it a short way. How would you feel if you had to walk to the Harlequin Centre and back with it. What if you had to go to St Albans? And what if you had to do that ten times in a day. Think how many hours it would take you.

 

And what if it wasn’t along a road, with pavements and people and safe places to cross. What if it was along rough ground, through lonely places, where there might be wild animals or people who might want to hurt you?

What if there was nowhere to eat or drink on the way. What if the need to collect water meant you had no time to play or go to school?

 

And what if when you got there, the water was not clean and safe to drink, but was muddy and polluted by the droppings of animals?  What if it made you ill when you drank it?

The water we get from our taps is clean, safe, reliable, always there. We don’t have to spend long hours collecting it, and we don’t get ill when we drink it. We are so lucky. It really is ‘Water of Life’ for us.

 

The Bishop of St Albans has asked us to think about how lucky we are this Harvest time, and to give lots of money to help those people in some parts of Africa who don’t have access to clean water. In a little while you will hear the stories of two people who have been helped by Water Action, one of the many charities that is helping people in Ethiopia to have enough clean safe water to drink, to wash and to water their animals and irrigate their crops.  You can see pictures of some of those people on the leaflets you have been given and the posters around the church.

 

Clean water is only the beginning. It leads on to improved health, security, education and work prospects.

 

When we have heard those stories we will pray that God will help us to give as generously as possible to the appeal.

 

Jesus gives us Water of Life through our faith. And he expects that living water to flow through us to transform lives as ours have been transformed through him. We have the great privilege of sharing God’s work  to transform other people’s lives so that they are are as rich and healthy as ours. We pray that  many of the people we are thinking about will have Water for Life as well as the water of life after our service today.

 

Through Jesus Christ our Lord

 

 

Amen.

What do you want me to do for you?

(Proper 25. Yr B. Jer.31, 7-9) Mark 10, 46-52)

“What do you want me to do for you?”

The question which Jesus asks of the blind beggar, Bartimeus. Bartimeus calls him “Teacher” and asks to be allowed to see again.

Just before this incident, Jesus has asked the same question of his disciples, James and John. They had been walking behind him on the road to Jerusalem, arguing amongst themselves. Their answer was “When you sit on your throne in your glorious kingdom, we want you to let us sit with you, one at your right and one at your left.”

Jesus’ reaction to this request was not very encouraging. He asked them if they were prepared to suffer with him, and then, when they said they were, replied that it was not for him to choose who would sit with him in heaven. Then he reminded them again that he was not like an earthly king or master, and his fellow rulers would not be like earthy rulers. If they wanted to be first in the kingdom, they would have to become like slaves, the last in line, ready to give their lives to redeem others.

He was much more encouraging to Bartimeus. “Go, he said to him, “Your faith has made you well.” And immediately, Bartimeus was able to see again, and he followed Jesus ‘in the Way’.

When you read these two passages together, you discover that the narrative can be read on two levels. On the surface they are about a discussion between master and disciples, and a simple healing. But underneath, they are about the call to discipleship, and about understanding what that really means.

James and John are already disciples. They are insiders. They have already been called, and they think they know what this means. They think they can see, both physically, and spiritually. They think they are ‘on the way’.

But, in reality, they are blind to the true nature of Jesus’ Messiahship. They think it is about power, and prestige and status. They don’t really understand that the way to the kingdom is through service, humiliation, even death.
They’ve lost their way.

Bartimeus is not yet a disciple. His poverty and his disability mean he is an outsider and powerless. All he has is his faith, but that is strong. Like the woman with the haemorrhage he is prepared to do anything to make contact with Jesus.

So, he shouts – and in spite of discouragement and disapproval from the people on the inside, he keeps on shouting. And Jesus calls him; in verse 49, the verb call is used three times.

When Jesus asks him what he wants, Bartimeus answers that he wants to see again. But, ironically, because he has such faith in Jesus, although he cannot physically see, his spiritual sight is much better than that of the so-called disciples.

Jesus responds with a phrase that,again, can be understood on two levels: “Your faith has made you well” or “Your faith has brought you salvation”. Then the outsider becomes an insider; the beggar becomes a disciple; he throws away his only possession, his coat, leaps up and follows Jesus ‘in the way’ – on one level, the way to Jerusalem – but on another ‘The Way’ of the Christian life.

Every time we come into church, every time we pray, Jesus is asking us, too, “What do you want me to do for you?” What is your answer?

Are you here because you like flower arranging, or church music, or you enjoy the quiet? Are you here to escape from the outside world, to find refuge in something that doesn’t ever change much? Are you here because you can feel someone important in this small community ? None of these things is wrong. Jesus calls us first of all in order to heal us, so that we may be  free to follow in his Way.

But are you here in the hope that it will ensure you get one of the thrones beside Jesus in his kingdom (or at the very least your own cloud and a harp and a halo!)?That was James’ and John’s mistake, for which they were strongly reproved by Jesus. It is not what disciples are called for.

Or are you here to learn about being a disciple, to practise being a servant, to learn what it means to take up your cross and follow Jesus ‘in the Way’? Are you here to have your spiritual in-sight restored, to be strengthened through word and sacrament, to give your life and your time and your talents for other people? Are you here to have your life turned upside down, if that is what God is demanding of you? This is what these stories of discipleship say is Jesus’ purpose when he calls us.

Our new Bishop, Alan Smith, as he began his ministry among us, has given the diocese three priorities to work on. If we were to ask him “What do you want us to do for you?”, his answer would be: “Go deeper into God; transform your communities; make new disciples”.

Going deeper into God involves placing prayer and worship at the centre of the life of our church, exploring what it means to pray, and ensuring our worship is of the highest quality and attractive to all those who experience it – insiders and outsiders. Worship is important because it transforms us, displaces our own selfish egos, exposes our lust for power and our own self-aggrandisement, and gives us the inner security that enables us to turn outwards.

True, God-centred worship allows us to go out into our communities and transform them in the name of Christ. The Bishop reminded us when he spoke at Deanery Synod that the faith of the Christians of the Victorian age prompted them to transform their communities in the physical sense. They built schools and hospitals, they struggled for social and political reform. They left a real legacy. What are we going to leave as our legacy? How far is our congregation a blessing to the community we live in? Each church, he said, needs to connect prayerfully with the communities in which they are set, and become increasingly open to welcome others to share the journey into God. Just because other people in our communities have different cultures or different religious beliefs, it doesn’t mean we can’t work with them to build up social cohesion and transform our communities into better places for everyone to live in.

Bartimeus was made whole because Jesus called him. Each one of us is here because someone, a parent, or a friend, or a teacher, or a neighbour, called us to come and explore the faith with them; and we have stayed because others have called us to discuss with them when our faith has been challenged. Those people made us ‘new disciples’. How equipped are we to present the faith to other thoughtful educated adults like us? How confident are we to share our faith with our children, and our teenagers, who are constantly challenged to deny their faith in the world outside? How ready are we perhaps to be converted again ourselves (as James and John needed to be converted again) before we are ready to go out and evangelise others?

And if, though God’s grace working through us, we were to become more successful in calling new disciples, how ready will we be to meet their needs? How ready are we to ask those who come though our doors “What do you want us to do for you?”. Will we actually be as disapproving and discouraging as the bystanders were to Bartimeus?

Bishop Alan spoke at some length about the importance of welcoming people properly when they come to church, and gave us some pointers about how to do that. He told us not to assume that everyone wants the same thing of us – or wants what we want. He urged us to be sensitive to the body language of newcomers. Some will come in quietly, and want to leave with just a smile and a handshake, and an expression of interest, especially if they have been bereaved or are going through a personal crisis. Others will want to talk – and be listened to, not talked at! Others come ready to get involved – but we need to train ourselves to distinguish the different needs of different people. He also warned us that new disciples will change our church – and if we don’t want that, we shouldn’t go recruiting them!

In our Old Testament reading we heard the prophet Jeremiah speaking words of encouragement from the Lord, proclaiming God’s promise that a time was near when the sad and the sick in body and in mind, the young and the old would return. Could we make that passage part of our inspiration for our efforts to renew and revive this church?

“What do you want me to do for you?” Jesus asked his disciples – and they gave him the wrong answer. “What do you want me to do for you?” Jesus asked blind Bartimeus – and he was made whole again.

This week, as you say your prayers each day, can you hear Jesus saying to you “What do you want me to do for you?” – and will you give him an answer?

And will you also say to God “What do you want me to do for you?”

And will you be prepared to do what God asks?

Amen.

Escaping the ‘Finger-shaking’ God

( James 1, 17- end. Mark 7, 1-8,14-15, 21-23)

How do you imagine God?

When you worship, when you pray, what picture do you have in your mind of the Being you are addressing?

I have recently been reading a book by Marcus J Borg, called “The God We Never Knew”. It is all about how he moved from the image of God he was taught in his childhood, which became increasingly unsatisfactory as he grew up and studied, to a way of thinking about God and living with God that he never knew as a child, a way that was consistent with the Bible and the tradition, but which made sense to a 21st century mind.

The concept of God with which Borg ( and perhaps many of us) grew up was of a supernatural being ‘out there’ far away, who created the world a long time ago. The best metaphors for this  being are King or Judge, or an authoritarian patriarchal father, totally different and separate from us, all knowing and all powerful. Sometimes, he ( this being was always thought of as masculine) intervened in the world, in the sort of events described in the Bible. But essentially this God was not here, but somewhere else. If we were good enough, and believed strongly enough, we might be allowed to be with this being after death.

Borg calls this way of thinking about God ‘supernatural theism’ or ‘the monarchical model’. Because human beings need something concrete to speak to, when he worshipped or prayed, his picture of God was based on the Lutheran pastor who led the services in his church each Sunday – a big man, with grey hair and a black robe, who always shook his finger as he preached. So Borg saw God as the big eye- in-the-sky, always watching, always disapproving, always judging.

But as he grew older, and studied theology and read the works of theologians such as John Robinson and Paul Tillich, he came to a different understanding of God, panentheisim. This thinks of God as all around us, within us, but also more than everything. What is more, we are within God. God is constantly creating, constantly nurturing,constantly present in the world, but is infinitely more than the world. In this model, the best metaphors for God are Abba/Daddy, lover, mother, Wisdom, companion on the journey. Borg calls this way of thinking about God ‘The Spirit model’. The concrete image which sums up this picture of  God for him is of his wife, a priest, bending down to give a small child who is kneeling at the altar rail the consecrated bread. He says: “I was struck by the difference: an image of God as a male authority figure, shaking his finger at us versus the image of God as a beautiful loving woman bending down to feed us”.( p.71)

Our image of God matters. It affects not only what we believe about God, but also what we think the Christian life is all about, how we think about sin  and how we think we achieve salvation. Borg emphasises that both the monarchical model of God and the Spirit model are true to the Bible and to the tradition, and have nurtured Christian belief and worship through the ages; but that supernatural theism is becoming more and more difficult to maintain alongside a modern world view.

In our readings today, from the Epistle of James and from the Gospel of Mark, we get two different pictures of the requirements of the religious life, of what constitutes sin, and how we achieve salvation.

For the Pharisees who challenge Jesus in the Mark passage, the religious life is about keeping the rules. Over time, the basic rules of the Decalogue and the Torah had grow into a multiplicity of rules about every aspect of life and worship. Salvation is only possible for those who manage to keep all of these rules, or who make proper sacrifice to appease the ‘finger-shaking God’. This view of the religious life became one which was adopted by Christianity, with the added refinement that salvation was possible for many who couldn’t manage to keep all the rules, because the sacrifice of Jesus had been provided to make up for their disobedience – but this was only possible if they acknowledged their sinfulness, and believed all the precepts of the Christian faith without doubt or question.

For the writer of the Epistle of James, the Christian life is less about keeping the rules, and more about living in the right relationship with God and with each other. It is not beliefs that are important but actions. People can study religion and think themselves holy, but unless that results in a life lived for others, their religion is worthless. James ends with a passage that echoes the prophets Micah and Isaiah, saying that what God requires of us is to care for the weak and vulnerable, and not to adopt worldly values. James indicates that the way to salvation is to live a life of compassion, in obedience to the God who gives us birth and who nurtures us with gifts.

There is a danger in taking this view of the Christian life, which is that we can end up believing that we earn our place in heaven ourselves through our good works. It is what Luther seemed to be arguing against when he condemned the idea of justification by works. The counter balance to this is the teaching that our salvation  comes as a gracious gift from God, regardless of how good we are. All we have to do is to accept that, and to demonstrate that we are ‘doers of the word, not just hearers’, by living in the light of that belief. This puts us in a right relationship with ourselves and with our neighbours and with God, such that we begin to experience salvation in this world.

With  the monarchical model of God, religion is all about sin. Sin is disobedience to God and breaking his rules. In this model, Jesus came and died so that we could escape punishment for our sin. Our part is to believe that, to acknowledge ourselves  as miserable sinners, to feel guilty and to repent.

The problem is that the dynamic of that way of religion is hard to live with. It just becomes impossible to keep all the rules, or even to decide which rules we ought to be keeping in different circumstances. We end up not loving ourselves, and so cannot love others, The only way to escape the overwhelming sense of our own unworthiness is to project the nasty bits of ourselves onto others, usually those who are somehow different from ourselves, people of another race, religion, culture, class, gender or sexuality. This results in a fracturing of society and church, and to the blame culture, which seeks to apportion responsibility for our own unhappiness to others. It can also lead to a conviction that everyone needs follows our particular way to God if they are to be saved.

With the Spirit model of God, sin is about unfaithfulness, or idolatry in Old Testament -speak, putting other things like the desire for money, power, prestige, possessions, food or physical gratification before our desire for God. Sin is also failure in compassion and inflicting harm on God’s creatures ( human and other species) and on God’s world. Sin is not breaking laws, it is betraying relationships, and what it results in is not punishment but estrangement – from our fellow beings and from God. As such, we feel the consequences not in the life to come after death, but in this world.

The central dynamic is not guilt and blame with the Spirit model, but nurturing relationships. If we do not say sorry, and do something to mend the hurt and show our change of heart, the relationship will be harmed.

One element in every service of Christian worship is the Confession and Absolution, when we say sorry as individuals and as a congregation. Some confessions are difficult to say. I always disliked leading the confession in the Prayer Book Evensong service, in which we called ourselves ‘miserable sinners’ and asserted that ‘there is no health in us’ – largely because I just didn’t believe that was true. God made us, God’s Spirit lives in us, so of course there is health in us! I know that Norman Moore, the previous Vicar of St Andrew’s, disapproved strongly of what he called ‘grovelling before God’ and sometimes omitted the Confession from services in the belief it was unhealthy.

I agree, confession can be unhealthy if you are working with the model of the ‘finger-wagging God’, if you are trying to earn God’s approval and avert punishment by wallowing in a sense of unworthiness and guilt.

But if you are working with the Spirit model  of God, then reflecting regularly on where we have fallen short of reflecting the image of God within us, as individuals and society, saying sorry and resolving to do better, can only be good for us and for our relationships. And hearing what the standard Methodist Absolution calls ‘the Word of Grace’: “Your sins are forgiven” does, I believe, make a real difference to our ability to live the Christian life. This assures us that, no matter what we do, we are loved the way we are, by a God who is with us, around us and within us, and that makes a real difference to the way we see the world and other people. This model of confession and absolution is not a power relationship, but a dynamic of mutual  support, expressed most  obviously in the confession of the Iona Community, where both minister and congregation confess and are absolved by each other.

Knowing we are forgiven and accepted enables us to forgive and accept others. Knowing that our failures do not condemn us enables us to be less quick to condemn others. Experiencing the compassion of God prompts us to be compassionate to others. There has been a great deal in the media over the past weeks that demands that we don’t just hear this word but live it. The disagreements over the release on compassionate grounds of Ronnie Biggs, the Great Train robber; and Ali al Megrahi, the alleged Lockerbie bomber; and the obituaries to Senator Edward Kennedy, which refer back to his involvement in the drowning of Mary Jo Kopechne all challenge us: do we believe and trust, and live our lives in the Spirit  of the God who is all compassion; or do we continue to be representatives of the finger-shaking God?

Which image of God drives your life?

(The God We Never Knew. Marcus J Borg. Harper One. 1998.)

True bread

( John 6, 24-35. )

There has been a lot of discussion recently on the Forum of the Church of England readers web site about the recently introduced advice for the administration of communion to cope with the risk of swine flu. One correspondent was very much against communion in one kind only, and said “If I went to a church where they offered the bread only, I wouldn’t take communion. I’d  go up for a blessing only.” The response implied that unless we all shared bread and wine, just as Jesus did with his disciples, it wouldn’t be a ‘true’ communion at all.

A line from today’s gospel: “It is my Father who gives you the true Bread from heaven”.

In the Greek of the New Testament, the word for ‘true’ is also the word for ‘real’ and the ‘real’ is something that our age values highly.

People are prepared to pay vast sums for works of art, whose value drops dramatically if they are discovered to be copies of an original, deliberate forgeries, or the work of less famous artists. They are then judged not to be ‘real’ or ‘true’.

With food also, we are engaged in a search for the real. We have campaigns for real ale, and manufacturers advertise their food as ‘free from artificial additives and colourings’ – illustrating their belief that what we want is what is natural – what is real.

This morning we have come together to celebrate the Holy Communion. We will receive part of a wafer of unleavened bread and a sip of wine, in the belief that we are experiencing the real Presence of Christ – but how ‘real’, how ‘true’ will that experience be?

To most people outside the church community, the answer to that is obvious. The things we do in church have nothing to do with reality. Religion is at best an irrelevance, at worst a deliberate escape from reality – ‘the opiate of the people’  Karl Marx called it.

But for those of us who do believe, who find that religion enables us to make contact with that reality which is at the depth of our being, how can we judge if what we do, including a celebration of the Eucharist, is ‘real’ or not?

Traditionally, debates about whether a celebration of Holy Communion is valid or not have concentrated on the externals. Was the person who presided validly ordained and authorised to celebrate? Were the right elements used? Were the right words said at the right time? Were the right actions performed by the president and the communicants?

Which is really strange – because Jesus, who gave us the sacrament of Holy Communion was a person who, in his earthly life, sat very light to externals. He was much more concerned with what was within – with people’s attitudes, motivation, beliefs and faith. It is true that he recognised the importance to the religious faith of human beings of things they could physically experience, like water, bread and wine; but he was constantly urging his followers to see beyond the externals, and penetrate the deeper meaning within.

So I want to suggest to you today that what makes a Eucharist real or unreal is not how close the externals are to what Jesus said or did, but how close these internal elements are to his practice.

The overriding characteristic of Jesus that comes across in all four gospels was how open he was to everyone. It was this that was such a stumbling block to belief in him for pious Jews.  He was free with his time and his teaching – he taught people like Mary of Bethany, and the Samaritan woman at the well, and he welcomed little children when the disciples wanted to send them away.  He shared meals and accepted hospitality even with notorious sinners like Matthew and Zaccheus. He was free with his body, allowing himself to be touched by those whom others considered polluting, like the sinful woman who anointed him at Simon’s house, and the woman with the haemorrhage – and even Judas, who betrayed him, did so with a kiss.

So I would suggest that our Eucharists are ‘real’ and ‘true’ in as much as we experience in them the openness to others that Jesus showed, and are ‘unreal’ and untrue’ insofar as we use them to erect barriers -barriers between ourselves and others, between God and others, between God and ourselves.

In Acts and the Epistles, we see the first disciples having to learn this openness again and again: the truth that Jesus’ Body and Blood are available to all. Think of Peter’s meeting with Cornelius and his family, of Paul and others taking the gospel to the Gentiles, of James warning against discriminating against poorly dressed worshippers, of the Corinthians failing to treat the poorer members of the community with generosity in the agape meal.

Yet how many barriers do we present day disciples  erect to prevent others sharing ‘the bread of life’ with us? Denominations bar one another from receiving; people have been, and still are barred from the communion rail because of their race, or age, or intellectual ability or marital status. People are excluded from taking certain roles within the Communion service because of gender or sexuality. Like the Corinthians, and those whom James criticised, we still often try to ensure that those who share the communion elements with us are dressed properly, behave nicely, come from the same class as us, and hold the right theological beliefs.

We try to exclude those whose words or actions make us feel uncomfortable and disturb our peace. This is partly because the sort of openness that Jesus practised is very frightening, very disturbing. Such openness may bring us to face the death of what we have always believed was ‘real’ and true’. It feels – and it is- dangerous. If we adopt such openness, we face the prospect that we might be, as Jesus was, broken, deserted, reviled, rejected. But Jesus’ example says that only when the ‘real bread’ on our supper table is open to all people – as his was – will our Communion be real.

And that openness includes being open to ourselves; not just to our good bits, but also to the unworthy bits that we would rather forget, and that other people didn’t know about.  So often, when we come to church, we leave that part of ourselves behind, or cover it up with special clothing in the vestry.

But Jesus accepted, and accepts  people just as they are. He did not demand that people repent before he helped them or shared a meal with them. He received them as sinners; he accepted their ministry as sinners, and he died for them and for us, while we were yet sinners.

So if we set different standards from his when we come to receive him, for ourselves or for others – we will not receive the ‘true bread’.

George Herbert, the 17th century priest, pastor and poet, expressed this in his poem, called ‘Love’:

Love bade me welcome, yet my soul drew back

Guilty of dust and sin;

But quick-eyed Love, discerning me grow slack

From my first entrance in,

Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning

If I lacked anything.

‘A guest’, I answered, worthy to be here’

Love said, ’You shall be he’.

‘I the unkind, the ungrateful? Ah, my dear,

I cannot look on thee’

Love took my hand, and smiling did reply,

‘Who made the eyes, but I?’

‘Truth, Lord, but I have marred them Let my shame

Go where it doth deserve’

“And know you not,’ said Love, ‘Who bore the blame?’

‘My dear, then I will serve.’

‘You must sit down,’ said Love, and taste my meat.’

So I did sit, and eat.

If our Communion is to be true, and real, and if we are to feed on the true bread that comes from Heaven, then we must come accepting ourselves, and others, good bits and bad bits, without conditions, and accepting the character of the God who invites us to sit at his table and eat with no conditions, no standards, no masks.

We come with only our trust in Christ’s promise, that his flesh is real food, his blood is real drink, that he is the true bread of life that has been sent from Heaven – and that whoever eats and drinks it possesses eternal life.

The table is set. The host awaits us. Come let us celebrate the feast.

Take Time

( 2 Sam.7,1-14; Ephes. 2, 11-22; Mark 6,30-34 & 53-56)

Do you like sandwiches? I like them as a meal, because I usually don’t have to prepare them. Either we buy them, or my husband makes them, because his sandwiches are tidy and don’t tend to fall apart when you lift them up as mine do. But what really makes a sandwich is the filling!

Our Gospel reading today is like two parts of a sandwich without the filling. We hear in Mark 6, 30-34 about the disciples returning from their first foray into ministry without Jesus, full of excitement; and how Jesus plans a time of quiet debriefing for them and a recharging of batteries in a desert place; but his plans are thwarted when the crowds arrive, hungry for spiritual and material food. Then, in verses 53-56, we find Jesus and the disciples again searching for a quiet space across the lake – but again being overwhelmed by the demands of the crowds seeking teaching and healing.

The ‘filling’ in the sandwich is Mark’s account of the feeding of the 5000, and Jesus walking on the water – miracles designed to show Jesus exercising divine control over the material world. You will get the flavour of that filling over the next five weeks,  as the lectionary sets passages from John’s account of the feeding of the 5000 and the discourses on ‘The Bread of Life’ as the gospel lections for those Sundays.

Perhaps we may wonder why those who planned the lectionary gave us these two passages for this Sunday’s Gospel, the bread on the outside of the sandwich, rather than the more interesting ‘filling’. But the resulting passage does give us important pointers, both as individuals and as congregations, to the way we should exercise ministry in Christ’s name.

In our readings today we recognise many familiar features of Christian life and ministry. In Samuel we hear of David’s plan to build a suitable temple for God. Many of you will be involved in maintaining this building, and in keeping it clean and beautiful for each Sunday, so that it is a worthy place in which to worship God.

In Ephesians we are reminded of the work of evangelism and reconciliation. May of you are involved in taking the Good News to people from many different cultures in this locality and throughout the world, and some of you may also be involved in trying to build bridges between people from different religious and cultural backgrounds.

The passage from Mark is a snapshot of busy parish life. We hear of the disciples reporting on their mission activity, of Jesus reacting to the needs of his ‘flock’ and of the apostles and their master travelling from one place to another, meeting the spiritual and physical needs of those they meet. It gives the impression of lives full of activity, meeting the diverse needs of everyone who approaches.

What it doesn’t show is how this busy life of service and ministry is sustained, or how it is related to the will of God, or what is the cost of it.  Sometimes a busy life can be driven not just by a desire to serve others, but also by a need to avoid facing the big questions of life, even a need to avoid meeting with God, for fear of what that might do.

A number of years ago, I studied for a Masters Degree in Applied Theology. The course was open to anyone in any kind of Christian ministry, ordained and lay, working for the Church or in the secular sphere. One of the things we were taught was how to be ‘reflective practitioners’; how to take time out from the everyday practice of ministry to think and be self-critical, to read and study both the Bible and secular writers, in order to judge whether what we were doing was effective, how it could be improved, and whether it was what God would want us to be doing.  It taught me that being a good Christian minister did not necessarily mean filling every moment of the day with activity; the quiet times before God were an essential part of effective ministry too.

Of course, it is not always as easy as that. Every Christian minister will recognise the scenario in this passage of Mark. After a particularly busy time – Christmas or Easter, or even just the weekend – you are in desperate need of time to yourself, to unwind and to prepare for the next sermon or round of duties. But your carefully planned time disappears  as the phone rings, people call at the door and parish and domestic crises demand your attention.

And I am sure that people who are not in official ministerial positions find the same thing happens to them. Whatever good intentions they may have about  regular time for prayer or Bible Study, other things intervene and they find their ‘time with God’ has disappeared.

One of the consequences of failing to take time out to reflect is shown in a small way in the reading from 2 Samuel. David has been busy doing God’s work – fighting the Philistines, uniting the Israelite tribes, capturing  the city of Jerusalem as their capital, and building a fine palace for himself and his family. Now, he decides, is the time to make his capital city even more splendid by building a magnificent temple to his God. But in all this activity, he has failed to listen for what God now wants of him.  Even his new chief adviser, the prophet Nathan, is too dazzled by recent success to speak God’s will. Luckily Nathan does make time to listen to God – as he will do again very soon, when David strays from the path of right and connives at the death of one of his commanders in order to steal away the man’s wife. The story is a warning to all of us who expend so much time and energy on building and maintaining a physical ‘temple’ or church for God that we forget that the real temples in which God dwells  are our own bodies.

That point is made in the passage from Ephesians, which speaks of the members of the church as citizens with the saints, members of the household of God, growing together around Christ the cornerstone into a holy temple in the Lord. That passage also reminds us of the ultimate cost of ministry – that our power to minister comes through the cross and the blood of Christ.

The Ephesians passage also reminds us that we exercise ministry together.  It is all to easy to imagine that we are the only people who are doing the work of God, and that if we re not constantly active, God’s purposes will not be fulfilled. But no one person can  do everything. Paul often speaks of the church as a body, with different people exercising different, but equally essential functions. So, some people will preach, others will sing, others will beautify the building, others will maintain it; some will look after administration, some teaching, some care of the young and old, some will simply be available as a listening ear and a comforting arm. But all will need time out to listen for God’s word to them if they are to minister effectively in Christ’s name.

We don’t hear, in the passage that was read from Mark’s Gospel today, of how Jesus  provides an example to us of the proper balance  between active ministry, and waiting on God. We simply hear of him being constantly available, showing, no matter how much he is interrupted and how often his plans have to change, the faithfulness and steadfast love that is characteristic of God his Father.

But in the missing ‘filling’ of the sandwich, in Mark 6, verses 45 & 46 we read: “At once, Jesus made his disciples get into the boat and go ahead of him to Bethsaida, on the other side of the lake, while he sent the crowd away. After saying good-bye to the people, he went away to a hill to pray”. Those ‘times out’, of prayer and waiting on God, were the source of Jesus’ power, when he was renewed and filled again with the Holy Spirit. If we want to be his body on earth and to carry on his ministry, we must build occasions like this into our lives too.

Of course, we will want to be busy about God’s work whenever we can. Preaching, and teaching, and worship, and discussion and pastoral care are the ‘bread and butter’ of the Church’s ministry. But unless we make time for God, to listen for the divine voice through reading and study, reflection and prayer, the ‘filling’ of our ministry sandwich will be without flavour, and will not nourish the  people of God as it should.

This anonymous poem makes the point well, I think:

Take time to think;
it is the source of power.
Take time to read;
it is the foundation of wisdom.
Take time to play;
it is the secret of staying young.
Take time to be quiet;
it is the opportunity to seek God.
Take time to be aware;
it is the opportunity to help others.
Take time to love and be loved;
it is God’s greatest gift.
Take time to laugh;
it is the music of the soul.
Take time to be friendly;
it is the road to happiness.
Take time to dream;
it is what the future is made of.
Take time to pray;
it is the greatest power on earth.

R & R is an essential component of serving Christ. So, this summer – and regularly – make sure that you take ‘time out’ for God.

Using your talents

(Notes for a Family Communion address)

( Mark 6, 14-29 )

If “Britain’s got Talent’ came to X would you go for an audition? What would you do? If David Beckham opened a football academy ( or Andy Murray a tennis academy) would you go for trials? Or if Bill Gates opened a school for computer whizz-kids would you apply?

I know there’s lots of talent among adults in our congregation. ( examples from the congregation – performing and skills like woodwork etc)

Children too ( more examples).

Part of growing up is identifying the talents you have, trying things out, finding out what you’re really good at. Devoting time to being as good at it as you can.

But another part of growing up is learning to use your talents wisely – so they don’t bring harm to you or other people or the world.

Herod’s daughter ( some say called Salome, others Herodias like her mother) had a talent for dancing. She danced so well that she could persuade her father to give her anything she wanted. She was led astray by older people to use her talent to destroy the life of another person. Very wrong. A misuse of talents.

For older people – parents and others who encourage the young – also hard questions about how far you push young people who have talents and what is it for – for the good of the young person – for our own pride or satisfaction – for money or fame ?

God has given all of us talents – may be performing arts – may be sporting – may be writing, or speaking – or talent for medical science or research; or politics or advocacy; or may be something less newsworthy, but equally necessary for society – encouraging people to develop or being kind and sympathetic and simply making them feel better.

At whatever age – need to identify what your particular talent is – then learn to put it to proper use – to build God’s Kingdom on earth – make world a better place.

Herod & Herodias didn’t make proper use of their talents. Ask God to help us to use our talents wisely.

Size doesn’t matter!

( 2 Cor. 12, 2-10; Mark 6,1-13 )

Do you remember the ad for the Renault Clio with the slogan “Size matters!”. They were talking about cars – but the church gets het up about size too. Every so often a set of church statistics is published which purports to show declining congregations and church membership, often coupled with gloomy forecasts that churches will close and the Christian religion will cease to exist in the UK in about 30 years time. But, on the other hand, there are claims from one wing or other of the church that only churches advocating their sort of Christianity are ‘growing’, and, by implication, that this proves  their version of the Gospel is ‘right’.

I sometimes wonder if people who talk about size and success in relation to the Christian faith have ever really read their New Testament.

Look at the passage we heard from 2 Corinthians. This shows Paul far from being the honoured founding father of the church in Corinth that we imagine. His position is under challenge from so-called ‘super apostles’ who argue that Paul can’t possibly  be  major church leader: he doesn’t do miraculous signs, he hasn’t had a great spiritual experience, he doesn’t preach great sermons – he doesn’t even look the part!

In response, Paul  talks about his visions as if they happened to someone else, and boasts of his weakness. The whole passage is enigmatic. We don’t know what he means when he talks of being taken up to the third heaven. Is it closer or further away from God than the  “seventh heaven” which we often speak of as absolute bliss? We have no idea. Paul also doesn’t give us any details of his “thorn in the flesh”. We don’t know whether it was a physical ailment, or some sort of neurosis or mental disturbance, or even a family problem. All we do know is that he has eventually come to see it as a gift from God, to prevent him from getting too big-headed about his own success.

In his letter, he parodies the complaints of the ‘super apostles’ about him, and boasts of his own weakness, and the insults, hardships, persecution and calamities he has suffered for the sake of Christ. And why? Because Christ shows us a God revealed in weakness – in a man put to death as a criminal on a cross.

What we can take from this passage is comfort.  It tells us that even the giants of the faith have good days and bad days: times when they are in the third heaven and feel really close to God, and other times when they are in despair, in pain, when their relationships with their congregations have all gone wrong, and they feel hopeless and desolate.

This gives us the assurance us that it doesn’t mean you are a bad Christian, it doesn’t mean you are not doing God’s work, if you happen to get ill, or you lose your job, or you get depressed, or your family life is less than perfect. Only God knows  the true significance of such experiences, and God alone is is the judge of our success. Flashy events and big numbers are not necessarily the mark of success in a church  which follows a crucified Saviour.

Our Gospel reading ( like much in Mark’s Gospel) shows that even Jesus himself did not have what we would think of as ‘success’ in his ministry. He was rejected by the religious authorities of his time, by his family ( who thought he was mad! ) and even by the people of his own town. They are impressed at first, but when worldly considerations come to be taken into account ( “he’s only one of us; his father was a carpenter; his brothers and sisters are nothing special; who is he to be putting on airs?”) they turn against him and drive him out. In a way, this passage is  a true life example of the Parable of the Sower from Mark 4, where the Word of God is sown widely, and bears fruit at first, but then worldly things choke the growth and much of the seed doesn’t bear fruit.

As if to reinforce this, in the second half of the passage we heard, Jesus sends the Twelve out to extend his ministry in Galilee. He promises them success – but also warns them that they must expect to face the same rejection and opposition that he has. Failure will be part of their experience as well.

Given these readings, how should we judge the ‘success’ of a church?

Paul often used the concept of being ‘in Christ’ and spoke of the Christian community as being ‘the Body of Christ’.  This says to me that the only criteria of ‘success’ in a Christian context is how Christ-like a thing is.

Jesus was a man who was  as one with God and as one with the Holy Spirit. So anyone and anything which claims to be Christ-like should also be Spirit-filled. Here again we need to be careful. Some sections of the Church appear to claim that the only manifestations of the Spirit are ‘supernatural’ things, like speaking in tongues, freeing people from demon-possession and miraculous healings. But in his letter to the Galatians, Paul also talks about ‘the fruit of the Spirit’ being made manifest in the enhanced quality of natural human qualities – love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control.  It is less easy to measure the volume of such qualities than the number of ‘bums on seats’ – but if we were to measure those qualities, wouldn’t we have a very different picture of what constitutes a ‘successful’ and ‘growing’ church?

At the end of April, I attended a conference organised by the Beds and Herts Churches Media trust. It was about Communicating Christian Festivals – how churches of many different denominations and traditions can use the major festivals of the Christian year to reach out into the community and make contact with those on the outskirts of, and outside our congregations. We had sessions on event management,  and how the music we use might affect our success; a Muslim academic outlined a Muslim perspective on Christian festivals ( make them more religious and less commercialised, he said); and the Bishop of Hertford urged us to be bold and take risks, and not just keep repeating  what has worked before.

The Anglican Diocesan Mission and Development Officer spoke of six words which should characterise mission today: simplicity, goodness, prayer, rhythm, companionship and story. Nothing about large numbers or miraculous events there, you note. ‘To be effective in communicating the Gospel, people must see something of God in you. Our lifestyle speaks to people’, he said.

Perhaps the most interesting part of the conference was the Question Time, where panellists ranging from an Anglican Bishop to a Salvation Army Captain answered queries about how to communicate better with those outside and on the fringes of our churches. Among the answers were: “ Relationships are important. You need to cater for people where they are.” “You don’t need trendier worship to bring people back to God; you need a relationship with them so that you can address their needs.” “We should not make too many distinctions between ‘us’ and ‘them’. After all, it’s not true that ‘God so loved the holy people…..’ We  know that ‘God so loved the world that he sent his only Son….’”.

Again, nothing about large events or flashy events. Just the fruits of the Spirit in action.

The witness of the New Testament to the life of Christ, and the mission of the early apostles guides us to a different way of assessing the successful church. The criteria for discerning God’s presence are shown to have been radically redefined by the cross. God’s true power is expressed in weakness, not in events that demonstrate might and power.

Size doesn’t matter!

Faith makes you whole

( 2 Cor. 8, 7-15; Mark 5, 21-43)

Over the last two weeks I’ve been reading a book by Barack Obama, the President of the U.S. It’s called ‘Dreams from my Father’ and it’s a personal memoir of his early life until his marriage, and of the lives of his parents and grandparents.

Barack Obama has been hailed as the first black president of the U.S. – but that’s not strictly accurate.  He was the child of a white American mother and a black Kenyan father. His father left them and went back to Kenya when Barack was very young, and he was brought up by his mother and her parents, and, for a while, his mother’s second husband who was Indonesian. Because Barack looked black, he didn’t entirely fit into the white society of his parents and grandparents; but because of how he was brought up, he didn’t fit into black society either. The book charts his quest to reconcile his divided inheritance, via the history of his liberal mother and grandparents, and his experience at school in Hawaii, through a relatively privileged life in Indonesia, and work as a community organiser in the run-down South Side black area of Chicago, and finally to his meeting with his father’s relatives and his Kenyan half-brothers and sisters in the  families ancestral Luo homeland. That meeting, and his experience as a lawyer, finally brought him to a resolution of his internal conflict.

‘Dreams from my Father’ is about the search for individual wholeness and personal authenticity in a society from whose full benefits people were excluded because of race or colour or gender or poverty. It is about how those who are excluded can find wholeness of life without resorting to violence, or being poisoned by hatred for the dominant group. Obama came to believe that the law, for all its faults and failings, was  a long-running conversation in which a nation argues with its conscience, asking  itself questions about what constitutes its community, and how that community can be reconciled with freedom. He came ultimately to the faith that as long as those questions continue to be asked,  then what binds people together might somehow ultimately prevail.  That became the faith by which he lives, and which motivated his move into politics.

That long-running conversation between law and conscience, those questions about what constitutes community are discussion which the church also has – or should have; and today’s Gospel is a major contribution to those discussions.

On the face of it, this passage of Mark contains the interwoven stories of two of Jesus’ miracles. These two provide the climax to a section of miracles in chapters 4 & 5 of the Gospel; each miracle is more astounding than the previous one, concluding with the healing of an illness that was beyond the help of human medicine, and the raising of a dead child. Corresponding to the rise in the miraculous is a rise in faith of those who seek Jesus’ help – from the demoniac who has no faith, to the woman with a haemorrhage, who has faith in Jesus’ power, but dare not show it, and, finally, Jairus, who proclaims openly his faith that only Jesus can save his daughter from death.

But more importantly for us today, these stories are also about prejudice and exclusion. In the Jewish society of Jesus’ time, all adult women were in a state of ritual impurity for half of the month. The ritual laws of Leviticus ch.15, said they were unclean from the time their monthly period started until 7 days after it ended. During that time they themselves were unclean, everything and everyone they touched became unclean, and they were excluded from places of worship and from normal social life and interaction. This was justified by the religious authorities as a result of God’s curse on Eve for her part in the Fall – but it meant that a normal biological process, essential for the continuance of the race, was considered to be disgusting to God, and that women were permanently second-class citizens.

For the woman in Mark’s story, the situation was much worse. She bled constantly, so she was in a permanent state of ritual impurity, permanently isolated from family life and all community activity. That was why she crept secretly to touch Jesus’ clothes. When her action was discovered she expected Jesus to react with disgust – for by law he also had become polluted and would need to be isolated until he had completed ritual purification.

But Jesus called her ‘daughter’,  including her within his family and community. He praised her faith, which he said had made her well and told her to “Go in peace’, healed of her disease, freed from the curse which had isolated her.

The small daughter of Jairus had just reached the stage of her life when this ‘curse’ of being a woman would begin to affect her. She was 12 years old, the age of puberty, the age at which she could be married. She was considered an adult, and because of this any respectable Jewish male should not have touched her, in case he became ritually unclean. By the time Jesus reached her house, she had died; dead bodies also polluted those who touched them ( which was why the women prepared bodies for burial). Jesus however, ignored this taboo also, took her hand and raised her up. He spoke to her in her own language. ‘Talitha cum’ means literally “Little lamb, rise up”. My Mum always called little children ‘Lambkin’, so thiese words to me are a powerful expression of gentleness and family concern. Christ’s concern did not end with her healing; he immediately asked those present to find her something to eat, making practical provision for her continuing health.

On the surface, these stories are about the healing of physical disease. But the language used means there is also an underlying theme, about salvation and resurrection. The Greek words used for “healing” and “made well” can also mean “saved”; the word Jesus used for “she is sleeping” was used by the early Christian community to speak of those who had died before the expected resurrection to eternal life; the command to the little girl to “Rise up” uses the word also used to speak of  resurrection. And, perhaps, the command to give the little girl something to eat has echoes of the community meal of Christians, and is a command to include her in the Eucharist. Jesus is showing concern for the spiritual health of women and children as well as their physical health.

In his actions towards these women, Jesus overturned centuries of prejudice and exclusion, to declare women full and equal members of the community of the saved – just as by his actions he had included other unclean people – lepers, demoniacs, sinners and Gentiles. He greets them and accepts them with warmth and concern; he is not just going through the motions. It was a radical change in religious practice.

But, sadly, it did not take very long for the Christian community to forget his example and reverse his practice. From early on, women were made to sit separately from men during worship, and forbidden to take communion during their monthly period; and, of course,  they were not allowed to take a significant role in worship by reading, or singing, or leading prayers. After the ‘pollution’ of childbirth they had to be ‘cleansed’ before being readmitted to church and society: the ceremony for “The Churching of Women” was still included in the Prayer Book in use when I was growing up, and in my mother’s and grandmother’s generation, no-one would associate with a woman after childbirth before she had been “churched”.

Jesus included; the Church excluded, preferring the laws of Leviticus to the example of her Lord. During the debates about the ordination of women, opponents still used the laws of Leviticus to argue that women priests would pollute the sanctuary and the sacrament if they presided at communion during certain times of the month, or when they were pregnant. There have been people over the last twenty-five years who would not hear me preach or receive communion from my hands because of my gender. The same irrational fear of normal biological processes lies behind the present objections to women bishops, though those who object may try to conceal it; but the fact that most of them will not allow themselves to be touched by hands that have ordained women show that the fear of being made unclean by secondary contact is far from past.

Jeffrey John, Dean of St Albans, in his book “The Meaning in the Miracles” remarks: “this healing shows Jesus throwing aside the irrational fears and inhibitions of his own culture, touching the supposedly untouchable, and welcoming her as God’s beloved child. The cruel, irrational taboo about menstruation, with all its dark, destructive implications for women down the centuries, was cancelled in one warm  and loving word. Alas, it has taken the Church twenty centuries to notice”.

The forename of the President of the United States, Barack, means ‘blessed’ in both Arabic and Hebrew. The teaching of Jesus proclaims that those whom secular society despises – the poor, the humble, the sad, and those who are persecuted – are ‘blessed’. His actions proclaimed that those whom other religious leaders regarded as unclean and impure were full and equal members of the community of the saved, full members of God’s family.

It took twenty centuries for most of the Church to hear his words about women. It took eighteen centuries for the Western church to hear his words and apply them to  people of colour and the natives of Africa, Asia, Australasia and America. It is perhaps only in this 21st century that the community Jesus proclaimed may become a reality in the civil societies of America and Europe: Barack Obama’s election is a sign of hope, but we still have some way to go.

But still the Church avoids the clear lead of Jesus in his words and actions, and returns to the taboos of Leviticus to refuse some Christians full participation in the life of the Christian community and positions of leadership. How long will it take before discrimination against Christians on the basis of their sexuality is seen to be as irrational as fear of pollution by menstruating women?

Jesus said to the woman who was healed simply by touching his cloak: “Your faith has made you whole, Your faith has brought you salvation.” In the Kingdom of Heaven, race, gender, colour, sexuality are all irrelevant. It is faith in Christ alone which makes us whole.