Saturday, 19 March 2016

Four "P"s for Palm Sunday


Passover Supper today - part of a local church Lent Course

Philippians 2: 7-8 And being found in human form, 
he humbled himself
and became obedient to the point of death—
even death on a cross. 

Luke 19:36 As he rode along, people kept spreading their cloaks on the road. As he was now approaching the path down from the Mount of Olives, the whole multitude of the disciples began to praise God joyfully with a loud voice for all the deeds of power that they had seen, saying,
‘Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord!

Sermon for Palm Sunday

about the BBC’s 2-part adaptation of Jesus’s last week on earth, entitled The Passion (2009) staring Joseph Mawle as Jesus.
Mawle was 31 when he was cast in the part.
He has a certain piercing look that is most arresting, but also a bit disconcerting.
There’s something about the eyes and the gaze that is both holy and playful.
I since discovered that Joseph Mawle is almost entirely deaf.
One reviewer has written of Mawle as an actor:

“It took guts to pursue his acting dream after contracting an airborne virus which lead to the disorder labyrinthitis. It destroyed the hairs of his inner ears and he was left with 70 per cent impaired hearing and with tinnitus, a constant ringing in the ears. He wears discreet digital hearing aids but prefers to take them out while he’s acting, relying on lip-reading to know when to say his lines.” (http://www.birminghampost.co.uk/lifestyle/dyslexic-deaf-actor-joseph-mawle-3940626)
It may account for the mesmerising performance he gave as Jesus, a performance which catapulted him into the public eye as an actor of some note.
The Passion traces the last events of Jesus’ life, beginning with his triumphal entry into Jerusalem, on the back of a donkey.

To understand the subversiveness of this act and the subversiveness of Jesus’ humility, we need to paint a picture of what was really going on that day, to examine all the cross currents swirling around - political, religious and spiritual – if you like, the 4 “P”s for Palm Sunday (and not one of them is P for Palm - there's not a palm in sight in Luke’s account!)

Passover, Pilate, Priests and Perception.

Firstly – Passover.
Judea was an occupied territory, governed by the Romans, who in their turn were trying to keep the peace.
And tensions were never so high as at Passover.
We re-enacted a Passover Meal recently as part of our Lent Course (see above) and an amazing experience it was.
A lovely fellowship meal with wine, candles and a very special atmosphere.
But to Jews at the time of Jesus, Passover was always about to boil over politically.
Passover was the single most important Jewish festival in the whole year – the time when Jews from all over the known world would flock to Jerusalem, make sacrifice, and recall their release from captivity under the Pharoah.
Because of this there was a strong sense of national religious fervour around the theme of liberation, which, given the occupation, was a highly charged theme, emotionally and spiritually.

Secondly – Pilate.
In the BBC film, as in the gospel, Pilate is a cynical figure, tired of these zealous Jews, not wanting unnecessary trouble.
Because we all know that crowds have their own dynamic, especially where religion is concerned.
Crowds are volatile  - a sudden change of feeling and they can turn nasty and you can have a riot on your hands.
In The Passion, Pilate and his wife are gearing up for the heady crowds of the Passover, these troublesome Judeans they are obliged to rule over.
You can hardly move in Jerusalem for pilgrims.
Knock into someone and they might just give you a black eye.
Someone has already been murdered – a ruffian called Barabbas is responsible.
‘A Judean will start an argument in an empty house’, says Pilate’s wife.
‘Priests are the worst’, agrees Pilate, dryly.

Thirdly – Priests.
The BBC film very subtly portrays the Jewish High Priest, Ciaphas, as a man torn by conflicting impressions of Jesus.
He has heard that the Jewish people are turning to this Jesus, but Jesus doesn’t do things the normal religious way.
Jesus is a radical.
He claims that he will tear down the Temple and rebuild it in three days.
This is blasphemy.
He forgives prostitutes and heals lepers.
He doesn’t appear to need or even like Temple life.
There’s a powerful scene in part one of The Passion where Jesus enters the Temple Courts with his disciples.
Everywhere pilgrims are bustling and jostling each other, all making their Passover sacrifice, either a lamb if they’re wealthy enough, or a simple white dove.
Judas has been tasked with buying a dove, which he goes off to do, but while this is happening he is cornered by two Temple priests who want to know what Jesus’ plans are.
He says he doesn’t know – you can see he’s looking really nervous and feeling threatened by the power of the Jewish priests to throw him into jail.
What they want is for Judas to lead them to Jesus, and so, for money, he reluctantly agrees…

A few moments later, Judas rejoins the group of disciples and hands Jesus a white dove.
It looks as though Jesus is about to make a sacrifice of it, like everyone else is doing.
At the moment in which he takes the dove in his hands, Ciaphas appears at the top of the steps, smoke rising from the altar where the blood is being poured from the sacrifices.
He looks at Jesus and Jesus looks at him.
You have to imagine what’s going through the mind of each.
One is the Jewish High Priest, the most exalted religious person in the whole of Judaism, responsible for seeing that the Passover comes off without trouble.
The other, an itinerant preacher from Galilee, who is about to lay down his life and become our Great High Priest.
They look at each other for a moment and then, smiling wryly, Jesus turns, and in an act of subversion, instead of offering the dove, he lets it go with a swift upward movement of his arms, and it flies of high into the sky, alive and free.
It’s almost a moment of resurrection.
It’s as if he is saying, there will be no sacrifice save my own.
In letting the bird go free, Jesus is at once innocent, playful and yet deadly serious.
Ciaphas is bemused and troubled.

Although Jesus has ridden into town on a donkey, as the prophet foretold the Messiah would, the high Priest he does not recognise the coming of the King.

Fourthly – Perception.
We had a visit from the pre-school to church this week.
Eight 3 year olds were shown round the church and looked at the font, the windows, the altar and the bible.
I think it may have been the case that some of them had never been in a church before.
Clearly one boy had read some picture books about castles and to him, it was basically an old castle in here.
He kept wandering round looking puzzled and asking, ‘but where’s the king?’
The adults were telling him, ‘there is no king here’, but in a sense we were all wrong, and he was right to be looking for the king!
On Palm Sunday the people were looking for certain kind of king, but they didn’t perceive the king amongst them.
Only the disciples and the children spotted it. And the stones:
Some of the Pharisees in the crowd said to him, ‘Teacher, order your disciples to stop.’ He answered, ‘I tell you, if these were silent, the stones would shout out.’

A final word about humility.
The way of humility is actually quite subversive, if you think about it.
It has been observed that the more defensive someone is, the more they feel the need to justify their behaviour, to cajole and persuade and advertise themselves.
The humble have no such need, because they live by trust.
We notice this as the US election bandwagon rolls on; this week Donald Trump announced that if he didn’t win the nomination, his supporters would riot.
Contrast this with Jesus, who did not seek equality with God, but emptied himself, taking the form of a servant and being obedient to death, even death on a cross.
And before Pilate, Jesus said nothing.

As Christians we cannot afford to be strident about rights and privileges.
If we follow the king who rode on a donkey, we will follow the way of humility.
We will find that God is on the side of the poor – the poor are those who have come to the end of their own resources and who call out to God for his empowering.
As we seek to find the way ahead for our building project, this could very well soon be us.
And it probably needs to be.

In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, Amen.

















Saturday, 5 March 2016

Mothering Sunday Creed

Photos by courtesy of "The Hackney Macs"
I believe in mothers.
I believe in mothers who watched the appearance of the thin blue line with longing.
I believe in mothers who watched for it with dread.
I believe in mothers whose hair became thick and sumptuous.
I believe in mothers whose hair fell out.
I believe in mothers who wore jeans till week 30.
I believe in mothers who never wore jeans again.
I believe in mothers who had a birthing pool in the basement with candles and mood music.
I believe in mothers who yelled for needles.
I believe in mothers who were instantly besotted with every movement of his tiny eyelid.
I believe in mothers who felt numb till the little monster got up and walked out the room.
I believe in mothers who kept their head during potty training (and their carpets).
I believe in mothers who accidentally flushed a pair of very small soiled pants down a neighbour's toilet, and said nothing.
I believe in mothers who researched the league tables of at least five nurseries and purchased simple addition workbooks just in case.
I believe in mothers who didn't know what the word aspiration even meant.
I believe in mothers who returned to work, suspended work, worked for less, worked part time, worked unpaid, changed jobs, worked from home, lost a decade's income, re-trained, looked after other people's children so other women could return to work, change jobs, work part time, etc.
(And who still kept sane when 'experts' devoted column inches to the question of whether women could have it all/not have it all - delete as appropriate).
I believe in mothers who cried when their youngest finally started school.
And in those who cried for joy...

I believe in mothers who nearly hired a secretary to keep up with all the paperwork for their children's extra-curricular activities.
I believe in mothers who missed meals to facilitate Brownies/Cubs/Scout camps/hikes (please make sure your child has a compass and a 20 pence piece in case of emergencies).
I believe in mothers who consulted maps to find obscure village halls for ballet exams (please arrive at least one hour early for the hair nets); drum exams (NB: hopefully you have moved to a house with a sound proof annexe) or football matches (we try to be fair, but your son will only be on for the final 6 minutes of the match which you will have driven 15 miles to watch in the freezing cold, and the other side will have much bigger boys and their coach will invariably be a crazed NUTTER).
I believe in mothers who guiltily stuffed a five pound note into a hastily bought card for yet another birthday friend.
I believe in mothers who mopped up tears because their child had the worst 'best friend' in the entire world, and who felt their heart breaking a little bit more each time.
I believe in mothers who facilitated 3D models of the Parthenon and modified sheets to provide outfits for Hallowe'en/World Book Day/class assembly (delete as appropriate).
I believe in mothers who became accidental experts on Spanish verbs, the Civil Rights Movement and asexual reproduction in plants.

I believe in mothers who woke up with butterflies on results day.
I believe in mothers who became anxious about things they'd never thought of before.
I believe in mothers who avoided news stories about statistics on student alcohol consumption/debt/depression/rape/unemployment.

I believe in mothers who tidied empty bedrooms at home for no apparent reason.
I believe in mothers who retained a dim memory of the sofa as somewhere to sit and relax.
I believe in mothers who carried on cooking too much food when it wasn't needed any more.
And then not enough when it suddenly was.
I believe in mothers who imagined becoming grandmothers.
I believe in mothers who cared for their mothers while worrying about their daughters becoming mothers.

I believe in mothers who lost mothers.
I believe in mothers who lost daughters or sons.
I believe in mothers who unsuccessfully prayed to be mothers.
I believe in mothers who mothered children who had lost a mother.


I believe in mothers who were everyone else's mother except an actual one themselves.
I believe in accidental mothers.
I believe in older mothers.
I believe in teenage mothers.
I believe in the mother of God.
I believe in God as mother.
I believe in myself as mother.

I believe in mothers.












Saturday, 20 February 2016

Foxes and Hens


Philippians 3: 18-19For many live as enemies of the cross of Christ; I have often told you of them, and now I tell you even with tears. Their end is destruction; their god is the belly...

 Luke 3:31-32 At that very hour some Pharisees came and said to him, ‘Get away from here, for Herod wants to kill you.’ He said to them, ‘Go and tell that fox for me, “Listen, I am casting out demons and performing cures today and tomorrow, and on the third day I finish my work". 

Sermon for Second Sunday in Lent: Foxes and Hens.



I wonder if you are familiar with the fable often read in childhood: The Sly Fox and the Little Red Hen?

It was a well-loved Ladybird book and today will set you back nearly £10 on eBay.
It told the story of how the sly fox coaxed the little red hen out of her hidey-hole in the woods and caught her in a bag from where he planned to take her home and cook her for supper.
But on the way he fell asleep and she hopped out, filled the bag instead with stones and toddled off home.
The fox woke up, picked up the heavy bag and proceeded to his house where he stoked up a big fire, above which boiled a large pot of water.
As the stones, and not the hen, fell into the pot, boiling water splashed out over the fox and killed him outright.

Today’s gospel is about a sly fox and a hen – the sly fox is Herod Antipas, he who had John the Baptist killed and who ‘desired to see Jesus’ in Luke 9:9.
The hen, you might be surprised to learn, is Christ.
However people might try to picture God, whether as a bright light, or a kindly old man, or as glorious King, perhaps not many will come up with the image of a hen.
A hen is not memorable, just ordinary, small; trying to keep her chicks safe, waddling after them when they go astray and squawking at predators.
Christ the mother hen, who wants only to round up her children and hide them under her maternal wing, especially after they’ve wandered off…

Page One. Trouble in the text.
Jesus is tempted to avoid the cross.
Today on this second Sunday in Lent, we see Jesus being tempted to avoid the cross.
We were told at the end of last Sunday’s gospel that the Devil left him ‘till an opportune time’ (Luke 4:13).
Here, it seems, is just that time.
His temptation comes in the form of what initially seems like a sympathetic warning from the Pharisees, of all people.
‘At that very hour, some Pharisees came and said to him, “Get away from here, for Herod wants to kill you”.’
Jesus’ reply is curt – even rude.
‘”That fox!”’
The advice of the Pharisees is merely a temptation to avoid the cross.
Go away and hide somewhere, is what they are really saying.
They cannot understand that Jesus deliberately chooses the way of the cross.
He says ‘today, tomorrow and the next day I must be on my way’, and immediately mentions his destination – Jerusalem.
In other words, his destination is the cross and his way is the way of the cross.
It was the most difficult thing to choose the cross – everyone was counseling against it.
The disciples didn’t understand; the Pharisees said flee; Herod is simply a voyeur, and a violent man.
Yet though Jesus is clear about his mission, his rejection by Israel pains him.
He laments over Jerusalem, capital city of the chosen nation that is about to crucify its long awaited Messiah…
‘”Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets, and stones those who are sent to it! How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing.”’
Jesus’ path is the hardest one, filled with deep frustration, sadness and a sense of missed opportunity.
Yet he cannot force a following – this is the theological conundrum of free will.
We feel his loneliness, his humanity, his struggle, as he is tempted to avoid the cross.

Page Two. Trouble for us.
We are tempted to avoid the cross.
Are we, too, tempted to avoid the cross?
If we are tempted to avoid the cross, how does this play out?
Let’s look at Paul, because he has a lament too, in our reading from Philippians.
He laments those who live as enemies of the cross of Christ.
‘I have often told you of them’, he says; ‘and now I tell you even with tears’ (Phil. 3:18).
Who are these people who live as enemies of the cross?
It’s tempting (excuse the pun) to see them as unbelievers – we live the way of the cross, and those outside the church do not.
But the temptation to avoid the cross is maybe a bit more insidious than that for us believers.
Because the way of the cross is not particularly attractive.
The way of the cross involves my dying to self, and that’s never comfortable.
The way of the cross is deeply contrary to much of what passes for modern life today.
The ways we’re conditioned to think and behave in society reveal a deep propensity in us to avoid the way of the cross.
Take an average Saturday Colour Supplement – such as the one we bought over half term – I think it was the Guardian – but the Times or Telegraph would be no different.
What are the themes?
Just at a glance, looking at the 13th February edition, we have an article about finding romance on specialist dating sites; an article about living with the guilt of having been the mother of a mass murderer; an article about the latest adaptation of Tolstoy’s War and Peace, which doesn’t refer once to any of the spiritual themes; a piece from a stay at home mother who feels trapped and one form a woman who went on a trip to visit all her old boyfriends; 4 pages on property, 6 on travel and ten devoted to food.
‘Their god is their belly’, says Paul.
Nothing, in short, on the spiritual life; nothing about the inner life or how to develop it in humility, truth or self sacrificing love.
We cannot be unaffected by this complete emphasis on what Paul calls ‘earthly things’.
Of course we need to eat, we sometimes travel, we all look for love, but we have neglected the spiritual, even though ‘our citizenship is in heaven’ (Phil. 3:20) from where we expect a Saviour.
If we truly expected a Saviour to show up this morning, in the midst of our worship, would we be half attentive, would we have a hand casually in the pocket as we stood to sing…?
We have neglected the spiritual; we have been tempted to avoid the cross.

Page 3. Grace in the text.
The way of the cross is the only way.
So we return to Jesus – walking that literal and figurative path that we also share at Lent.
He has set his mind towards Jerusalem, and he keeps faithful to it.
He is the mother hen who, even when her chicks stray, goes after them and brings them back.
In a hot Middle Eastern culture, fires were commonplace.
It sometimes happened that in the fire ripping through the buildings, a mother hen would hide her chicks under the protection of their wings, and in the resulting smoke, she would die, but her chicks would survive.
It is not for nothing that Christ compares himself to a hen
The abiding image of these verses in Luke is of Jesus moving forward towards Jerusalem, towards the cross.
He knows that the way of the cross is the only way.
He hears from either side the voices of those who think they know a better way: avoid the pain; go into hiding; turn these stones into bread; impress us with a miracle.
But the way of the cross is the only way.
It’s the way God redeems us, and redeems everything that’s gone wrong for us.
Jesus holds fast to it and blazes a trail, as it were.
The long days of fasting in the wilderness have developed in him a quick ear for God’s voice, and the habits needed to obey that voice.
He doesn’t put a foot wrong along that dusty, bumpy, hot and crowded road to Jerusalem.
In fact four chapters back, in Luke 9:51 we already have a very revealing verse for Jesus’ frame of mind here.
It says, he set his face towards Jerusalem – the verb is to resolutely decide on something and not be dissuaded from one’s end.
We might say he steeled himself for the journey (the Message) or that his face was set like flint (cf. Isaiah 50:7).
Flint is a hard material, so hard that other things, when hitting into it, are set on fire.
Jesus journey to the cross is tough, and in it he shows us his tough love.
And he never loses hope.
His last words over Jerusalem hint at hope.
Yes, they have missed their Messiah, but there will come a day when they will say, miraculously, ‘Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord (verse 35).
Salvation history is in his hands, and is achieved through the way of the cross.

Page 4. Grace for us.
We can continue on the Way because of Jesus.
As we look around the world this Lent, God reminds us that salvation history is in his hands.
We keep on going on the way whenever we come to church together to share, to pray, to sing, to gather around the Word and around the Lord’s Table.
God keeps us going because God has provided the way by reconciling the world to himself on the cross.
Even when we look at the news and wonder what will come of war and displacements of peoples, referenda on the EU and the various scandals that plague our public life, especially those involving vulnerable children and those whom society has forgotten.
The way of the cross gives us hope.
Jesus did not give up – he kept going so that we could keep going.
Thanks be to God who keeps us on the way – the way of the cross.
And to return to the Ladybird tale where we began…
Avoid the crafty foxes and snuggle up under the mother hen.

Amen.


(Initial idea from The Word is very near you, John Pridmore.
Structure from The Four Pages of the Sermon, Paul Scott Wilson).