Author: Gregory C. Jenks

  • A week later

    Easter 2A
    St Andrew’s Church, Lismore
    16 April 2023

    [ video ]

    A week has passed.

    Last week the churches were abuzz with activity, beautiful flowers, fine music, the best robes, and as many candles as we could find.

    A week has passed.

    A week ago—as the Gospel of John tells the story—the disciples were surprised (freaked out, one imagines), when the risen Jesus appears in their secret hideaway. Luke tells a very different story about that first Easter night, as we shall hear next weekend. For now, let’s stay with John’s way of telling the story.

    A week has passed.

    John chooses to tell the story of Easter in intervals that will resonate with his readers, who gathered weekly—as we also still do—for the community meal and other shared business.

    A week has passed.

    John tells the story as if Jesus was off the radar for the days in between the Sunday gathering. That seems a bit odd. What kind of schedule is Jesus keeping during those first few weeks after Easter?

    On Easter night only ten followers are in the room when Jesus appears among them. Thomas is not there, but neither are the women disciples or any of the wider circle. No Mary and Martha? No Lazarus? No Mary Magdalene? Just a small group of confused and frightened guys.

    But let’s stay with Thomas for now.

    Thomas is not impressed by spooky stories from such a bunch of people.

    He wants evidence.

    A week has passed.

    They are back in that same room. Again? Or perhaps, still? But this time Thomas is with them.


    Thomas.

    Doubting Thomas has had a tough time during the history of the church.

    But he may well be a saint for our time and culture, since we are people who want to see the evidence, and are not going to believe something just because someone else says it is true.

    Thomas is portrayed as crippled by doubt, but perhaps he was trying to make sense of something which is way beyond our everyday experience.

    Not so much doubting, as seeking to integrate this mind-boggling new reality.

    Perhaps it is often the same for us?

    Are we doubting, or just asking questions to seek a better understanding of something that changes everything?

    We often overlook this point, but in Matthew 28 even when the 11 disciples (again, just the inner group of blokes) meet Jesus atop a mountain in Galilee, the text says: “When they saw him, they worshipped him; but some doubted.” (v 18)

    Even then, some still doubted.

    It was not just Thomas.

    I like to think they were “processing” information that was going to turn their lives upside down.

    Questioning. 

    Wondering. 

    Doubting. 

    Confused. 

    Excited. 

    Perturbed.

    Perhaps we have stopped asking questions?

    Perhaps we have settled for the safe answers fashioned by someone else?

    Perhaps our lives are no longer turned upside down by the Eastering process I mentioned last week.

    But perhaps living with unanswered questions is a key element of Eastering.

    Questions and doubts may be essential for the Eastering that God seeks to do in us.


    The 100 days @ half time

    Last Sunday we reached the midpoint of the 100 days (or so, 97 to be exact) from Ash Wednesday to Pentecost. We are now in the Great 50 Days of Easter, which will culminate on Pentecost Sunday; 50 days after Easter.

    During the 100 days we have been encouraged to reflect on how the events we celebrate throughout this double holy period change everything for us.

    These are days for questions, for doubts, for insights and for new resolutions.

    During the days of LENT we often give up something as a spiritual discipline.

    During the 50 DAYS OF EASTER perhaps we might instead think of something to add as a spiritual discipline.

    To determine what we might best embrace as a new spiritual practice, we need to be asking questions about how Easter changes everything, what that looks like in our own lives, and inviting God to start eastering us; as individuals and as a church.

    Don’t avoid those questions or suppress those doubts; they could well be the points where fresh eastering can occur.

  • When Easter is a verb

    IMAGE: First-century rolling stone tomb below the Convent of the Sisters of Nazareth, Nazareth. Photo by Gregory C. Jenks.

    Easter Day
    St Andrew’s Church, Lismore
    9 April 2023

    [ video ]

    What if Easter is a verb?

    I had been planning to shape today’s sermon around the idea of God saying YES to Jesus, as a kind of sequel to Friday’s sermon in which I reflected on Jesus saying YES to God.

    But instead I want to explore the idea that “easter” might be a verb.

    I was alerted to this idea, found in the poem “The Wreck of the Deutschland” by Gerard Manley Hopkins, by a Facebook post from Bishop Jeremy Greaves in Brisbane. That poem was composed as a homage to 5 Franciscan nuns who drowned when The Deutschland ran ashore on a sandbar on 7 December 1875. They had been expelled from the German Empire as part of the ongoing conflict between the Kaiser and the Pope.

    Towards the end of his lengthy poem, Hopkins put these words on the lips of the drowning nuns:

    Let him easter in us, be a dayspring to the dimness of us, be a crimson-cresseted east,
    More brightening her, rare-dear Britain, as his reign rolls,
    Pride, rose, prince, hero of us, high-priest,
    Our hearts’ charity’s hearth’s fire, our thoughts’ chivalry’s throng’s Lord.

    Gerad Manley Hopkins, The Wreck of the Deutshchland

    Let him easter in us …

    We are familiar with “easter” being used as an adjective, but what if we play with the idea of it being a verb?

    And—if so—is “easter” the verb for when God says, “Yes;” to Jesus—and to us.

    Like the nuns drowning in a stricken vessel off the SE coast of England, Jesus needed to be eastered.

    And he was.


    There is much more eastering needed than the raising of Jesus:

    Our beautiful blue planet circling around the sun, needs to be eastered.

    The indigenous people of Palestine, yearn to be eastered.

    The state of Israel needs to be eastered.

    The people of Ukraine are desperate to be eastered.

    The Indigenous people of this ancient land yearn to be eastered.

    The city of Lismore and our neighbouring villages hope to be eastered.

    The whole Northern Rivers region looks to be eastered.

    Our families yearn to be eastered.

    Those living with chronic illness look to be eastered.

    Those lingering at the end of their lives yearn to be eastered.

    The diverse Christian community across our nation, needs to be eastered.

    The Anglican Church of Australia is in profound need of eastering.

    Our parish here needs to be eastered.

    I need to be eastered.

    Perhaps you also need to be eastered?


    Eastering is the power of God seen in the powerful wind that hovered over the primal sea in Genesis.

    Eastering is the story of a slave community finding its identity and its freedom as they walk into the waters of the Red Sea.

    Eastering is the sound of dry bones—scattered across a battlefield—returning to life as the Spirit of YHWH moves gently but powerfully among them.

    Eastering begins when a young girl from Nazareth says yes to God.

    Eastering transforms the dead Jesus into the risen Lord.

    Eastering happens when Mary meets her beloved in the garden.

    Eastering can be seeen when the Stranger breaks the bread in a house at Emmaus.

    Eastering occurs when the Risen Lord joins the frightened disciples behind their locked doors.

    Eastering continues when Paul encounters Jesus on the road to Damascus.

    Eastering is our experience when we say, “Yes” to God 

    Eastering occurs when we claim our place at the Table of Jesus.

  • When Jesus said YES to God

    Good Friday
    St Andrew’s Church, Lismore
    7 April 2023

    When Jesus said YES to God

    Today we face a brute fact: Jesus was killed by the empire.

    The people with privilege, power and position eliminated Jesus, because he posed an existential threat to their privilege, their power and their position.

    It was him or them.

    So it was him!

    Except that there was so much more happening, which was mostly beyond their understanding.


    The means chosen by the empire to get rid of the threat posed by Jesus reveals their assessment of things. He was despatched by the authorities as if he were a rebel. His death was intended to be slow and deliberate. The process of crucifixion was not so much about killing the victim (although it certainly did that), as it was designed to evoke fear, terror and submission in other people as they observed what had happened to the victim.

    This process was also in play near the start of Jesus’ life as well.

    When Herod the Great died in 4 BCE, the city of Sepphoris in Galilee declared its independence and refused to accept continued Herodian rule. Rome suppressed the revolt. They destroyed the city, which was just a few km from the village of Nazareth. And they crucified a Jewish rebel every mile along the roads leading away from Sepphoris, which was the capital city for the Galilee.

    Whether Jesus actually saw those crucified Jews, or simply heard about this act of state terror from the older people in his village, we can be sure that he knew from an early age what happens to people who cause trouble for Rome.


    The earliest followers of Jesus quickly saw the cross as the defining moment of Jesus’ life, and we can hardly disagree. But they did not have a single way of explaining how the death of Jesus could be the event that changed everything. They never solved that puzzle, even though they were certain that the cross was a pivotal moment of atonement, or reconciliation between God and humanity. 

    The Great Church has never defined the doctrine of atonement either, although that comes as surprise to many Christians. We simply affirm that the cross changed everything. But just how that works has been left undefined, despite the many prayers, hymns and sermons that seem so certain about their own explanations.

    As we think about the death of Jesus and the atonement that it secures, we need to avoid some classic mistakes found in the answers that been popular from time to time.

    One of those bad ideas about the cross, is that there was no other way for God to forgive sins. Of course, that is not true. It is of the very essence of God to forgive, and God did not need Jesus to die on the cross to be able to forgive people. God was already known as a compassionate and forgiving God in the Old Testament, long before the time of Jesus.

    Another bad idea is that the physical and psycho-spiritual suffering experienced by Jesus is what secures our atonement, our reconciliation with God. This is not only a bad idea, but it portrays God in a very poor light. Such ideas also make suffering inherently redemptive and have led generations of male priests to tell women and children to stay in abusive relationships, and more generally to encourage people to see their own suffering as somehow “good for them” and something that God wants them to accept.

    We hear a lot about the blood of Jesus in Christian songs and prayers, but we hardly ever come across the idea in the NT itself.

    There are almost 450 references to blood in the Bible, but only 21 of them refer to the blood of Jesus having some kind of saving power. Only 2 of those 21 instances occur in Paul’s authentic letters (both in Romans as it happens). The idea never occurs in Galatians, 1 Thessalonians, 1 or 2 Corinthians, Philippians or Philemon. It isn’t even found in the Pastoral Epistles, but is found several times in Hebrews and Revelation.

    [For the curious, the complete list of NT references to the blood of Jesus includes: the 4 accounts of the institution of the Lord’s Supper; Rom 3:25 & 5:9; Eph 1:7 & 2:13; Col 1:20; Heb 10:19, 29; 12:24; 13:12 & 20; 1 Petr 1:2 & 19; 1 John 1:7; Rev 1:5; 5:9; 7:14 & 12:11.]


    There is a much stronger idea expressed in some detail in Romans 4, where Paul develops the comparison between the faith of Abraham that secured God’s blessing for the Jews, and the faith of Jesus that secures God’s blessing on all humanity.

    We do not even have to agree with Paul’s logic here (and it is not very convincing actually) to see that he offers a far more elegant and eloquent explanation for how the death of Jesus on the cross has been an immense blessing for all people everywhere.

    It is simply that Jesus trusted God, and that this faith demonstrated by Jesus secured a blessing first of all for Jesus (resurrection) but also a blessing in which we can each choose to participate if we adopt a similar attitude of trust (faith) in God’s compassion, goodness and love.

    What I like most about Paul’s proposal, even though I think his argument is a bit stretched, is that it coheres with the words and actions of Jesus during his lifetime.

    The message of Jesus as expressed in his parables and in his miracles is that the blessings of God are available here and now. Jesus calls that reality the kingdom of God. He does not speak about the need to find some way to secure God’s forgiveness of our sins. He simply invites us to act as if God already loves us, and all we need to do is express trust or have faith.

    How many times does Jesus say to someone, “Your faith has made you whole.”

    Today we celebrate the faith of Jesus as he says YES to God.

    And we ask for grace to have the faith to say YES to God as well.

  • Glimpsing the kingdom here among us

    MaundyThursday
    St Andrew’s Church, Lismore
    6 April 2023

    [ video ]

    IMAGE: Wikipedia Commons. Iglesia de Sant Jaume, Alcúdia, Mallorca, Spain

    Tonight our liturgy is closely connected with the services that will follow on Good Friday, Easter Eve and Easter Day.

    These are the great three days: the Easter triduum.

    This year I have the privilege of preaching at all of the services, rather than sharing that ministry with colleagues as was the case when I was at the Cathedral in Grafton.

    While I realise that not everyone can be at each service, I have been drafting my sermons as a set of three rather than as three standalone homilies.

    The livestream recordings may allow people to catch up with the whole series even when they cannot be here in the building for every service.

    In this first sermon for the Easter triduum, I am asking: What does the kingdom of God look like?


    What is the scene in the Gospels?

    A meal in an “upper room,” carefully prepared in advance, where Jesus could meet with his innermost circle for a Passover meal. Or—at least—a meal around the time of Passover and with Passover themes overshadowing their gathering.

    So the first answer to my main question is that kingdom of God looks like a small group of people gathered for an intimate meal.

    Nothing to see here, we might think.

    But we would be wrong.

    The dozen or so people at that meal were about to have their lives turned upside down, and in turn they were about to turn the world upside down.

    With the possible exception of Jesus, none of them had any idea of what was about to happen.


    In a sense, that is true each time we gather around of Table of Jesus—around the Table with Jesus—here at St Andrew’s.

    These days we are usually a pretty small group.

    Our numbers and our age profile do not suggest that the status quo is at risk. But that is actually the case each and every time we gather for Eucharist, as every celebration of Eucharist takes us back to this “night when he was betrayed” while also driving us out to spread the disturbing news of God’s reign (the kingdom of God).

    This is true each time we say the Lord’s Prayer, with its call for God’s kingdom to come.

    But it is even more true each time we gather around the Table of Jesus.

    What is happening here:

    • We are forming community
    • We are keeping alive the memory of Jesus
    • We are fashioning another “afterlife” of Jesus, in a set of afterlives
    • We pray for God to set things right, and we commit ourselves to be part of the answer to those prayers.
    • We celebrate reconciliation and healing of broken relationships.
    • We break the bread and drink the cup; we step up to the call of the Master.
    • We receive what we are and we become what we receive. (St Augustine, Sermon 57)
    • We renew our discipleship.
    • We go out on mission.

    I remind you of the words from our opening song, “Here in this place.”

    Here we will take the wine and the water, here we will take the bread of new birth,
    here you shall call your sons and your daughters, call us anew to be salt for the earth.
    Give us to drink the wine of compassion, give us to eat the bread that is you;
    nourish us well, and teach us to fashion lives that are holy and hearts that are true.

    Marty Haugen, b. 1952

    Take time to read and reflect on those beautiful words, whether here during the vigil prayers this evening or at home in the next few days.

    Various themes swirl around us on this special night:

    • The imminence of the cross
    • The gathering around the Table, do this is remembrance of me
    • The new commandment to love one another
    • The call to serve one another
    • The challenge to allow others to serve us

    The service tonight will end in darkness and confusion, as we seek to recapture something of the disciples’ experience in the Garden of Gethsemane as Jesus is arrested.

    But before we reach that point, we catch a glimpse of the kingdom of God among us.

    God is among us, and God has work for us to do: here in this place, here in this city.

  • Always on a donkey

    Palm Sunday 2023
    St Andrew’s Church, Lismore
    2 April 2023

    Here we are at the beginning of Holy Week, that rare point in the lectionary cycle where we can almost track the action day by day thanks to the time markers embedded in Mark’s account of Jesus’ final days:

    • Sunday – “when they were approaching Jerusalem …” [Mark 11:1]
    • Monday – “on the following day …” [Mark 11:12]
    • Tuesday – “In the morning …” [Mark 11:20]
    • Wednesday – “It was two days before Passover …” [Mark 14:1]
    • Thursday – “On the first day of Unleavened Bread …” [Mark 14:12]
    • Friday – “As soon as it was morning …” [Mark 15:1]
    • Saturday – “When the Sabbath was over …” [Mark 16:1] 
    • Sunday – “Early on the first day of the week …” [Mark 16:2]

    Earlier we heard the call to walk the way of the Cross with Jesus during this coming week:

    This morning begins the Great Week of the Christian Year.

    During Lent we have been preparing
    for the celebration of the Lord’s death and resurrection.
    With Christians throughout the world
    we come together this week to call to mind,
    and to express in word and action,
    the centre of the Easter mystery:
    our Lord’s Passover from death to life.

    Christ entered in triumph into the Holy City 
    to complete his work as Messiah:
    to suffer, to die and to rise to a new life.

    Today we commit ourselves to walk the way of the cross,
    so that, sharing his sufferings,
    we may be united with him in his risen life.

    Over these coming days, there will be opportunities for us to gather every single day and reflect on the spiritual wisdom we discern as we share that journey during Jesus’ final days.

    It was a special privilege for me to spend the previous Saturday with a group of men from across the Diocese as we read and reflected on the story of Jesus’ final week in the Gospels of Mark and Matthew.

    You may want to do that spiritual exercise for yourself this week and, in that case, you are welcome to download the PDF that I prepared for the retreat and which sets those two gospels side by side for easy comparison of how Mark first told the story and how Matthew later edited Mark’s account to give us the version found in the Gospel according to Matthew. 

    Along the way, you will find as we also did last weekend, that several familiar elements of the story are only found in Luke and others are only found in John. The one story is told four different ways in the New Testament and—like the two different stories of Christmas in the Bible—it is best not to mash them into a single story never found as such in the Bible, but rather appreciate the particular focus and message of each version.

    So, there’s your homework for this week, eh?

    Palm Sunday

    Holy Week begins with the celebration of Palm Sunday.

    This a day when the liturgy really does speak for itself, and there really is no need for a sermon.

    But you are not getting off that lightly!

    Let me offer a brief reflection on the details in that story, where Jesus rides into town on a donkey.

    It is a simple but important piece of wisdom.

    Donkeys then and now in Palestine are like the small Massey-Ferguson tractors from the 1950s. 

    These are often described as “work horses” but are better described as mechanical donkeys. Had they been around Jerusalem in the first century, I am sure that is what Jesus would have ridden into the city.

    Here is the point for you to ponder this week: powerful people did not ride donkeys.

    And they still do not.

    When Pontius Pilate rode into Jerusalem at some stage during that same week, he would not have been sitting on a donkey. He would have been mounted on a horse and accompanied by a detachment of armed soldiers in gleaming armour.

    The contrast was obvious.

    The serving of spiritual wisdom for us today is also clear.

    The church is always at her best when she rides a donkey rather than a horse.

    When we seek power and influence, we tend to lose our spiritual integrity. Perhaps it is because once we have power and privilege, we are loathe to relinquish it.

    Christians in general and Anglicans in particular, have been cutting a deal with the powers that be for a long time. It began with Constantine around 300 years after the death of Jesus. It has continued in various countries and political systems ever since. 

    Our own connection with power is literally carved in stone at the bottom of the hill: Church of England. But perhaps our location on the high point inside the government quarter from the 1800s says it most vividly. Not to mention the Warrior’s Chapel with the colours and other precious items from the 41st Battalion.

    However, we are no longer on the white horse of privilege.

    We have been demoted to the donkey.

    And that is a good place for us to be.

    Religion never flourishes when it has political power.

    Christianity is at its best when we are located with and among the little people.

    We follow a spiritual master who rode into Jerusalem on a donkey and we must never be tempted to mount the horse.


    Postscript: For a powerful reflection in the donkey and horse theme, see this piece by my colleague and friend, John Squires

  • Devastation and beyond

    St Andrew’s Church, Lismore
    Fifth Sunday of Lent (Year A)
    26 March 2023

    [ video ]

    Our readings today offer two powerful images of profound loss and devastation:

    • The valley of dry bones vision in Ezekiel 37, and 
    • The death of Lazarus, from the village of Bethany outside Jerusalem

    As is often the case with the lectionary cycle, there is a kind of intertextual symmetry between these readings chosen for this final Sunday before Holy Week commences on Palm Sunday next weekend.

    On the one hand, we have a vast valley in ancient Palestine covered with the scattered bones of the cream of Israelite and Judean society not long after 600 BCE. 

    On the other hand, we have the carefully gathered and wrapped corpse of Lazarus laid in a tomb by his grieving sisters.

    National catastrophe and family tragedy.

    The scale is different, but the sense of devastation cuts to the core of those involved.

    As the vision unfolds before Ezekiel, he hears God saying to him: “Mortal, can these bones live?”

    Is there any future for these people, their nations and their families?

    And we overhear similar conversations between Jesus and the sisters of Lazarus in the Gospel today:

    Martha said to Jesus, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died. But even now I know that God will give you whatever you ask of him.” Jesus said to her, “Your brother will rise again.” Martha said to him, “I know that he will rise again in the resurrection on the last day.” Jesus said to her, “I am the resurrection and the life. Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die. Do you believe this?”

    The depth of the pain, and the extent of the loss, is not limited by the number of people killed. 

    A letter from the Vice-Chancellor

    A strange thing happened during the week as I pondered what I might say on this last Sunday before Holy Week.

    As a member of the teaching faculty of the University of Divinity, I received an email from the Vice-Chancellor of the University, Dr Peter Sherlock.

    Peter was reflecting, as he often does, on just what value we theologians add to our wider society here in Australia.

    He is currently engaged in a research project tracking the careers of people who have studied Theology but not chosen to work within the life of the churches.

    In his own words, Peter’s research examines:

    … how their theological education has played out in their professional lives, primarily in areas other than religious ministry. All have made significant contributions in fields such as social justice, education, community development, journalism, art, medical ethics, executive leadership and politics. 

    He goes on to share the interim findings of this research:

    theological graduates stand out from their colleagues because of their capacity to think outside the box, to interpret and question their context on a larger scale than others, to look to the long term – and to treat other humans with compassion because they are seen through a unique lens. 

    Let me repeat that powerful set of words, but with a small adjustment:

    [the people of St Andrew’s Church in Lismore …] stand out from [others] because of their capacity:

    • to think outside the box, 
    • to interpret and question their context on a larger scale than others, 
    • to look to the long term – 
    • and to treat other humans with compassion because they are seen through a unique lens. 

    At our best, people of faith—whether university-educated or Sunday School-trained—stand out from [others]because of their capacity:

    • to think outside the box, 
    • to interpret and question their context on a larger scale than others, 
    • to look to the long term – 
    • and to treat other humans with compassion because they are seen through a unique lens. 

    Saying YES to the future

    I have laboured this point, because I think it is important for us during this time of transition.

    These insights—I think—speak to the immense spiritual gift which we have in our hands, and which we need to share with those around us.

    This is our mission to the community of Lismore and its surrounding villages.

    We look at the valley of dry bones (which in our case looks like houses damaged in the massive floods last year) and we dare to imagine a fresh start for our city and our villages.

    God says to us: Community of Andrew, can these bones live?

    From the grieving family to the devastated Far North Coast: Can these bones live?

    Is there a future here?

    How do we imagine its outlines?

    How do we choose to live with compassion despite all that seems broken and … frankly, over?

    Peter Sherlock included in his email some reflections on a recent interview with the well-known journalist, author and Wiradjuri and Kamilaroi man, Stan Grant. Sherlock notes that Grant:

    … passionately [affirms] that:

    • theology is the only discipline that can truly account for the state of our world, 
    • that faith is the only practice that can sustain human communities through incomprehensible suffering from the horrors of war and colonialism to the violence that humans inflict on one another. 
    • Only theology has the necessary scale of vision in its apprehension of divine and human natures to meet these tasks, where politics and philosophy fail. 

    While Sherlock and Grant are speaking about academic theology, they are also describing us and calling us to embrace who we are … at our best.

    Is the Anglican Church in Lismore a valley of dry bones?

    Are we busy preparing our church for burial?

    Can we even imagine a future in which this church is truly a light set on a hill?

    Stan Grant would tell us that only people of faith can give our city and our nation a future worth having.

    This is not just an Anglican thing.

    Together with other churches and together with other faiths, we are called—like Ezekiel—to speak of a future over the valley of dry bones, and—like Jesus—to call for Lazarus to come out of the tomb.

    Lismore needs us to recover our mojo as people of faith.

    Imagine if that happened!


    From this link you can listen to Stan Grant’s 2022 Brian Jones lecture, “Faith in Troubled Times

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