Category: Sermons

  • None so blind …

    St Paul’s Anglican Church, Byron Bay
    St Oswald’s Church, Broken Head
    FOURTH SUNDAY OF LENT
    26 March 2017

    Introduction

    Well, that was a long reading: all 41 verses of John chapter 9!

    It is part of a series of readings from John during these central weeks of Lent. All of them are lengthy readings, and there will be another long one next week:

    • Lent 2 – Nicodemus comes to speak with Jesus under cover of darkness
    • Lent 3 – the Samaritan woman encounters Jesus at Jacob’s well
    • Lent 4 – Jesus heals a man born blind
    • Lent 5 – Jesus raises Lazarus to life

    In these readings, we see John’s art as a storyteller on display. He begins with a simple event: a late-night visitor, a chance encounter at a village well, healing of a blind beggar, the death of a close friend.  John then describes some form of confusion or misunderstanding which Jesus seeks to resolve by further explanation, often in the form of a lengthy speech. In this case, we do not have the lengthy speech, but we do have a very elaborate account of the conflict that followed Jesus healing the man born blind.

    At first sight this is a very simple story. But—as we discovered when we teased it out during the Bible study on Wednesday morning—it is a rather more complex story that can be quite challenging when we pay close attention.

    John offers us a story that invites us to ask the question: Who is the blind person here? Who are the ones lacking the capacity to see what God is doing right in front of them?

    THE STORY

    Let’s review the story and then reflect on the sacred wisdom that God is offering us today.

    The story begins with a chance encounter of Jesus and his disciples with a blind beggar. Nothing unusual about that. Beggars were a common sight in the streets of first-century Palestine.

    The disciples travelling with Jesus demonstrate their profound lack of spiritual wisdom when they respond to the sight of the blind beggar. They ask,”Who sinned, this man or his parents, to cause this blindness?” That is very bad theology, and Jesus simply brushes it aside. The victims are not to be blamed. He was born blind. Our obligation is to do God’s work, not to add to their pain by heartless speculation about them being to blame for their predicament.

    Jesus heals the blind man.

    Well we expected that! This is, after all, the New Testament. But notice how Jesus went about this healing.

    In the other Gospels, Jesus often prefers for his miracles not to be widely reported. At times the beneficiary is sent home and told to remain silent.

    Not so in this story.

    Jesus goes out of his way to ensure his actions are noticed and that conflict with the local religious authorities (represented in this story by the Pharisees) is provoked.

    • No private healing out of the public eye.
    • A paste made of saliva and dirt is applied to the man’s eyes.
    • He is sent to the Pool of Siloam, a very conspicuous location.
    • All this happens on Shabbat.

    As the story unfolds the Pharisees react to this provocation. The extended middle section of chapter 9 is a series of interrogations as the healed man and his parents experience the hostility of Jesus’ opponents.

    • The healed man is interrogated.
    • His parents are summoned but refuse to cooperate.
    • The man is subjected to further questioning and then expelled from the Jewish community.

    Finally, as the story concludes, Jesus catches up with the guy he had healed earlier in the day. Their conversation brings the story to a close, and it ends with a remarkable—and highly confronting—statement by Jesus:

    I came so those who are blind may see,
    and so those who do see may become blind.

    What is John up to here? Why has he chosen to finish this healing story with such a statement?

    If we can engage with that question we may well stumble on the wisdom this text has to offer.

    SELECTIVE BLINDNESS

    As I reflected on this passage during the past week, I found myself thinking of the ancient English aphorism:

    There is none so blind
    as those who will not see.

    When I was searching for the history of this saying, one web website suggested that the lines were first used by the American singer, Ray Stevens in his 1970 song, ‘Everything is beautiful’.

    But in searching further I found that these words have a much longer pedigree, with the  earliest known version of this saying found in the writings of John Heywood in 1546:

    Who is so deafe, or so blynde, as is hee,
    That wilfully will nother here nor see.

    In John 9 there are none so blind as the Pharisees who simply do not wish to see what has happened in the experience of this man born blind. They are masters of the tradition, and this event lies outside their sacred knowledge.

    The temptation for us is to sit back with a sense of spiritual complacency.

    We are not like them. We can discern God at work in our midst. We can see clearly what is happening in our own lives.

    Unlike ‘them’ we do not suffer from selective, self-serving and so-very-convenient blindness.

    If only that were so.

    If only we were indeed free from spiritual myopia.

    WISDOM FOR TODAY

    How does this ancient story connect with us here in the Bay?

    Right now this parish community is at a critical moment in its history. The three or four months that I shall be serving here as your locum priest provide a window during which time we have some serious work to do.

    We need to glimpse a new future.

    That will be real challenge for us. It always is. But before we can call a new priest to serve here, this community needs to discern what is the work to which God is calling us, and not just the new priest.

    If we are able to glimpse a new future, even that will not be enough.

    We shall then need to find the courage to embrace the new and different future that we have glimpsed. That may be even more challenging than discerning what to do. But even that is not the end.

    We—and that really means, ‘you’—will also need the commitment required to pursue the new vision that we glimpse.

    That will be a long journey into an uncertain future.

    But it will begin with a new vision, the capacity to see into the future.

    So the question for us this morning is whether can see? Do we have a blind spot? Are we living with a collective case of spiritual myopia?

    Do we want to glimpse a different future for the Anglican Church in this community?

    Do we dare to look?

    That might be the blessing we seek from God as we come to the Table of Jesus for Holy Communion this morning. Open our eyes, Lord. Help us to see clearly. And give us the courage to embrace that future. Not for our sake, but the sake of those people in this community—whether locals or visitors—who need us to see and embrace a different way of being church here in the Bay.

    I do not yet know what that future will look like, but I am certain we shall never glimpse it unless we are willing to see what God has to show us.

  • A Sermon at the Well

    A Sermon at the Well

    Second Sunday of Lent, Year A (19 March 2017)
    St Paul’s Anglican Church, Byron Bay

    It is not often we can identify the actual location of a Gospel episode, but today’s Gospel reading may be one of those rare times.

    Jesus’ conversation with a Samaritan woman in John 4 takes place at Jacob’s Well, the ancient water source for a series of Canaanite and Israelite villages now preserved under the archaeological site of Balata.

    The well still exists and has been venerated in a series of Christian churches, built one on top of the other. These days the web is located in a crypt below a large Orthodox Church build only in the last few decades.

    Jacob's Well web

    The well itself is very ancient, although the structures have been rebuilt and repaired after different phases of destruction over the years. As mentioned, the well is integrated with the nearby archaeological site of Balata, and that gives us increased confidence in the historicity of the well’s location.

    In today’s Gospel, the focus is not so much the antiquity of the well as the conversation between Jesus and the anonymous local woman that he meets at the well.

    160116 Jacobs Well Icon

    In the biblical tradition, significant encounters often take place at wells. So anyone listening to this story in the ancient world will know immediately that they should expect something special to happen here.

    Let’s engage with the story and see what wisdom we may be able to draw from the ancient well of Scripture this morning.

    ENGAGING WITH THE TEXT

    Where is this story happening?

    The story is set in Samaria, a region with a troubled relationship with Jerusalem after centuries of deep religious rivalry between these two factions in the biblical community.  The Jewish Jesus in Samaria is rather like a Catholic priest in Ulster.

    The location is quite specific, as already mentioned. At the ancient well outside the village of Sychar.

    The well is a short distance outside the village, and the women will have come early in the day or late in the afternoon to draw water for their families.

    It is around noon.

    Only an outsider will come to draw water at that hour.

    Who is in this story?

    The lead character, of course, is Jesus. He is exhausted by his travels, but that is not the point of the story. Like many a male hero from the biblical narratives, he stops at the well and rests from his journey.

    The disciples play a minor role in this story, as Jesus has sent them away to the nearby village looking for supplies. By the time they return, the action is over.

    Then there is a woman with a complex personal history. She is a seeker, although not exactly a puritan. She has had a colourful history, but comes across as a feisty woman. This anonymous Samaritan woman is the central figure in our story.

    As an aside, let me mention that the later tradition could not leave this amazing woman nameless. She had seen the light, so to speak. She was given the name Photine (or sometimes Photina), which means “the luminous one”, as it is derived from the Greek word for ‘light’, φως (phos).

    What is happening in this story?

    At the heart of this story we see Jesus crossing boundaries:

    • The ethnic/nationalist hostility between Jews and Samaritans.
    • The gender divide between male and female in the Jewish world.
    • The additional gap between a holy man and a woman with a colourful sexual history.

    This story is about scandal, but we have so domesticated it that it now mostly functions as a pale echo of the original dramatic story. The disciples were rightly shocked to find Jesus speaking to such a woman when they returned from the village. We have been taught to think they were lacking in spiritual perception, but perhaps we are the ones who have not been able to see what is happening here.

    So let’s now stand back from the story and think about what is happening!

    REFLECTIONS

    None of this was in the mission plan for Jesus and his disciples as they made their way to Jerusalem. This was not how they usually did things in the Jesus group. Jesus was going off script. His handlers were getting anxious.

    • Do we think we are Jesus’ handlers?
    • Do we have a monopoly on the Jesus franchise in this place?
    • Do we have the only well from which people can draw the living water?

    Where are the places in the Bay where we may encounter people who will never be found inside these walls?

    • Are we willing to go off script?
    • Can we look beyond lifestyle to see the person?
    • Can we discern the fragment of the God story in their lives?
    • Can we call them on to the better rather than berate them for the past?
    • Can we be a safe place for people to explore the future into which God is calling them?
  • A sermon for St Andrew’s Day

    Andrew of Bethsaida, the ‘first-called’

     A sermon preached at St Andrew’s Theological Seminary, Manila on St Andrew’s Day, 2016.

    sats-greg-day2

    Introduction

    It is an immense honor for me to stand here among you on this feast day of St Andrew, and it is with a deep sense of privilege that I bring you greetings from the Christian community in the Holy Land, in Bethlehem, in Jerusalem, and in Nazareth.

    Greetings in the name of Jesus our Lord from your sisters and brothers in Palestine, and Israel, and Jordan, and Lebanon.

    Greetings, in particular, from Archbishop Suheil Dawani, the Anglican Archbishop in Jerusalem.

    The land of the Holy One, the land that Jesus knew, is now divided among four nations.

    It is the one land, with two peoples, and three faiths.

    The Christians of that land give thanks to God for you, and they ask you to remember them in your prayers.

    They do not ask you to take side in their national, political, and social conflicts, but they do ask for your solidarity in Christ as they seek to be faithful people of God in their land at this time.

    And they make the same prayer for you here in this land at this time.

    Andrew of Bethsaida

    It is sad but true that Andrew’s connections with Bethsaida are not often considered. Sadly this is true even for someone such as myself who is one of the co-directors for the Bethsaida archaeology project.

    We tend to focus on Bethsaida as the city of Simon Peter and the city of Philip, but not to give much thought to Bethsaida as the city of Andrew.

    That is an oversight I regret, and the invitation to be here with you today offers me an opportunity to make amends!

    After 30 years of excavations at Bethsaida we have a pretty good idea of what Andrew’s town was like.

    It was located at twelve o’clock on the Sea of Galilee, right next to the point where the rapidly running waters of the Jordan River flow into the still waters of the lake. After dropping 3000m from the Lebanese mountains to the lake, the water is moving at a pace and carrying lots of silt. As it meets the lake it loses its momentum and drops its load of soil and nutrients at the northwestern edge of the lake.

    Over time the silt accumulates. The water slowly becomes shallow. It is warm. It is rich in nutrients. It creates the fish breeding grounds of the Kinneret then and now. This slow physical process created Bethsaida, and its was to destroy it as well.

    Andrew lived in Bethsaida at a time when its natural advantages as a fishing village had expired. As the delta in the NW corner of the lake grew in size, Bethsaida found itself cut off from the lake. A fishing village without access to the lake is a village without a future.

    Maybe that is why Andrew and Peter were to encounter Jesus in the nearby village of Nahum, better known to us as Kefar Naoum, Capernaum? There the fishers had good access to the rich fish breeding grounds in the NW corner of the lake,

    Andrew was proactive in the face of adversity.

    Together with his brother, Simon—and perhaps other fishing colleagues from Bethsaida—Andrew relocated to Capernaum. It was not a long journey, But it was on the other side of a deep political divide. That is a story to which we shall need to turn shortly.

    First, let me observe that Andrew was known by his Greek name, as was his neighbour, Philip. This is in contrast to Jesus and his family, all of whom—according to the tradition preserved in Mark 6—had Jewish names with good biblical pedigrees:

    Mary/Miriam – sister of Moses
    Joseph – the dreamer, one the 12 sons of Jacob/Israel
    James/Jacob – the ancestor of the 12 tribes
    Jeshua/Jesus – Joshua
    Joses/Joseph – perhaps named for their father
    Simon – another of the 12 sons of Jacob/Israel
    Jude – yet another of the 12 sons of Jacob/Israel

    Andrew’s name reflects the character of Bethsaida as we have come to know it from its material culture that we have unearthed in our excavations.

    Once the capital of the Aramean kingdom of Tsur during the Iron Age, this village had never been an Israelite town. It was always a border town, in the foothills of the Golan.

    We can trace the contours of its culture and its political fortunes as we sift through the layers of Iron Age city and then the new village that was established by settlers from Tyre and Sidon in the Hellenistic period. For a hundred years and more after the conquests of Alexander the Great, this was a frontier village on the northwest boundary of the Ptolemaic Kingdom. It then came within the Seleucid Empire, and we can trace the change of administration in the coins at Bethsaida that now celebrated Antiochus rather than Ptolemy. Finally, not long before the time of Jesus, it became a Jewish outpost as Herod the Great completed the unsuccessful attempt by the Hasmonean to impose Jerusalem control on this northern edge of the biblical lands.

    The village had become Jewish, as we can see from the Herodian oil lamps, the limestone vessels, the Herodian coins, and from the deliberate desecration of a small pagan temple from the second or third century BCE. But the town retained some vestiges of its non-Jewish past.

    Following the death of Herod the Great in 4 BCE, the north east corner of his kingdom was assigned to one of his three surviving sons: Philip the Tetrarch. Another son, Antipas, was assigned the fertile country between the Sea of Galilee and the Mediterranean as well as the territory of Perea on the eastern side of the Jordan River (opposite Jericho).

    The two sons engaged in a long running competition for Roman endorsement as their father’s heir, and each aspired to the title, “King of the Jews”. Bethsaida was destined to play a role in that conflict, even though it was too little too late for Philip. And this takes us back to the political divide between Bethsaida and Capernaum that I mentioned earlier.

    Non-Jewish traditions flourished in Philip’s jurisdiction, as we see from his coins which feature the head of the Roman emperor and (just once) his own image. Neither Herod nor Antipas ever issued coins with such images, which were deeply offensive to pious Jews. In the far north of his territory Philip was delighted to have inherited the Augusteum, a temple in honor of the divine Emperor. This building at Caesarea Philippi, the city Philip built for Caesar, featured on most of his coins. and it celebrated pagan traditions connected with the emperor cult.

    A year after the execution of Jesus (on the first anniversary of the death of Julia, mother of Tiberias), Philip transformed Bethsaida into a Greek city with the name, Julias. He most likely rededicated the Hellenistic pagan temple as a shrine in honour of the divine Julia. Sacred images of Julia have been recovered from the site in our excavations.

    So Andrew of Bethsaida is not just a fisherman from a small village on the northern shore of the Sea of Galilee. He carried a Greek name and will have lived through times of significant social change in his home village.

    But there is more to Andrew than an interesting multicultural zip code.

    At this point we shift our focus from Philip the Tetrarch to his brother, Herod Antipas.

    Antipas was in many ways a worthy candidate for his father’s throne. He was ambitious and calculating. Jesus called him “that fox” (Luke 13:32).

    After initially rebuilding Sepphoris to be the capital city of his new jurisdiction, by 18 CE he has moved to a new project. With the succession of Tiberius as emperor after Augustus, Antipas decided to found a new city on the western side of the lake. He named it Tiberias and the centre of gravity for his administration shifted from Sepphoris to the lake.

    He taxed the fishing industry hard, as it was one of the few natural resources at his disposal.

    Tiberias lay then (as now) at the southern end of the fish breeding grounds in the NW corner of the lake. Capernaum and Migdal to the north were key centres for the fishing industry.

    Despite the burden of these heavy taxes, Andrew relocates to Capernaum. Along with Peter—and perhaps also James and John, the sons of Zebedee—Andrew chooses to live in the jurisdiction of Herod Antipas.

    But there is more to the story of Andrew and Antipas.

    Andrew was also a follower of John the Baptist, and John was critic of Antipas. His criticism of Antipas for divorcing his own wife to marry the wife of his brother, Philip, was to cost John his life.

    So let’s tease this out a little further,

    Andrew has relocated from Bethsaida to Capernaum, but in John 1 we find Andrew among the disciples of John the Baptism in the southern area of Antipas, at Bethany-beyond-Jordan, on the eastern side of the Jordan River.

    The next day John again was standing with two of his disciples, and as he watched Jesus walk by, he exclaimed, “Look, here is the Lamb of God!” The two disciples heard him say this, and they followed Jesus. When Jesus turned and saw them following, he said to them, “What are you looking for?” They said to him, “Rabbi” (which translated means Teacher), “where are you staying?” He said to them, “Come and see.” They came and saw where he was staying, and they remained with him that day. It was about four o’clock in the afternoon. One of the two who heard John speak and followed him was Andrew, Simon Peter’s brother. He first found his brother Simon and said to him, “We have found the Messiah” (which is translated Anointed). He brought Simon to Jesus, who looked at him and said, “You are Simon son of John. You are to be called Cephas” (which is translated Peter). (John 1:35–42 NRSV)

    This suggests that Andrew had been drawn into the prophetic renewal movement associated with John the Baptiser. Andrew—along with his brother, Peter, and at least one other person from Bethsaida, Philip—had travelled down to the southern end of the Jordan Valley to participate in John’s mission.

    We would love to know more.

    One thing we can be sure of: this was not a fishing expedition!

    Like Jesus himself, Andrew and his close associates from Bethsaida had been drawn into the crowds responding to John’s preaching in the wilderness. He was already on a spiritual journey before he encountered Jesus.

    And that journey was political as well as religious.

    To associate with John was to oppose Antipas.

    Then we see Andrew among the first to shift his allegiance from John to Jesus.

    After that, Andrew tells Peter that he has found the Messiah. In the classic turn of phrase, “he brought Simon to Jesus.” Not a bad achievement for the first convert of the ‘first-called’.

    Later in John’s Gospel, Andrew will bring to Jesus the small boy with the five barley loaves and two small fish (John 6:6–10), and then he and Philip will go to tell Jesus that some ‘Greeks’ are wanting to meet him (John 12:20–24).

    Apart from being consistently named among the Twelve, there are two other traditions about Andrew in New Testament.

    In Mark 1, Andrew is described as jointly owning with Peter the house in Capernaum that we tend to call “Peter’s house”. This house became a place of hospitality and healing, a place of teaching and wisdom, and the place that Jesus himself would call home.

    Finally, in Mark’s version of the apocalyptic discourse (Mark 13:3), Andrew is named among the inner circle of disciples who ask Jesus to explain his teaching on the end of the world.

    Conclusion

    Andrew of Bethsaida then disappears from our sight, and is never included among the “so-called pillars” of the church in Paul’s correspondence. We have no reliable information about him after Easter, although that has not prevented Christians in various parts of the world claiming him as their patron saint.

    What thumbnail sketch of Andrew emerges from this survey of archaeology and text?

    What wisdom for our journey of faith?

    What insights for our mission?

    Andrew was grounded in his own faith tradition.

    He also lived in a pluralistic community where his tradition was not the only option.

    Andrew of Bethsaida lived in a mixed community with Jews and pagans, and his own name reflects the cultural and religious diversity of Bethsaida.

    He lived at time when ecological changes in the local environment made traditional life difficult, and required him to relocate to a more sustainable location.

    Andrew never forgot his roots even when creating a new future for himself and his family.

    He lived in a time of political tension as the surviving sons of Herod the Great pursued their personal political ambitions with no regard for the people under their rule.

    Andrew was drawn into the Jewish renewal movement led by John the Baptist, and traveled to the southern end of the Jordan valley to explore what this might mean for him and for his family.

    He was not content just to be a passive participant in the crowds that came to hear John, but we find him spending time in John’s company and seeking to go deeper.

    Andrew was with John when Jesus walks by and decides to go after this stranger of whom John spoke so highly.

    With the patience of an experienced fisherman, Andrew spends a whole day with Jesus: observing, listening, asking questions.

    Andrew becomes the first-called, the first person we know who was called to follow Jesus.

    He embraced the call to be a disciple, and he invited others to do the same.

    This is the person we celebrate today, and this is the legacy we claim as our own. The Jesus who called Andrew, calls us.

    May our response be as strong as Andrew’s, and as true to our own context in this place at this time.

  • Saying YES to God

    A sermon for the Feast of the Annunciation to the Blessed Virgin Mary at the Cathedral Church of St George the Martyr, Jerusalem on Monday, 4 April 2016.


    Today we celebrate the courage of a young woman who said YES to God.

    Luke the master storyteller has crafted a beautiful story about the birth of Jesus.

    He has woven together elements from Jewish tradition as well as the Roman world in which he lived. The world of his principal addressee, Theophilus.

    Luke is celebrating the strange workings of God among us.

    The strange workings of a God who calls Abraham from Ur of the Chaldees.

    The strange workings of a God who speaks to Musa from the burning bush.

    The strange workings of a God who calls the people of Israel into being in this land of promise.

    The strange workings of a God who comes among us in the person of Jesus.

    The strange workings of a God who calls the Jewish people back from Diaspora to renew their ancient connections with this land.

    Luke begins with a story of two births.

    Two women who find themselves pregnant in unusual circumstances. An elderly woman who has not conceived despite several decades of married life. And a maiden not yet married.

    Two miraculous births.

    At the heart of the story is a young Palestine Jewish woman from Nazareth who says YES to God.

    This evening we are invited to imitate Mary by making our own YES to God.

    God invites our YES.

    That is amazing. Think about it. God waits for us to respond before acting. In creation we are called to collaborate with God, but in salvation God chooses to wait for us.

    God comes to us. In the reading from Isaiah 52 just now, God says, “Here am I.” The words later found on the lips of Mary in Luke 1, and on the lips of Jesus in Hebrews 2, are also found on the lips of God. “Here am I.”

    God waits for us.

    God invites our response.

    God chooses not to act until we are ready to say YES.

    How shall we respond to the God who invites our response?

    And to what might we be saying YES?

    We will be saying YES to hope

    We will be saying YES to trust

    We will be saying YES to life

    We will be saying YES to justice

    We will be saying YES to compassion

    We will be saying YES to freedom

    We will be saying YES to joy

    We will be saying YES to love

    The world needs people who say YES to these things.

    The world needs people who say YES to God.

    We need to be people who say YES to the God who invites us to work with God to heal and save a broken world. AMEN

  • The God who Reconciles

    A sermon delivered at the Cathedral Church of St George the Martyr, Jerusalem on the Fourth Sunday of Lent, 6 March 2016.

    Today we enter the second half of our Lenten journey.

    Behind us lie the first three Sundays of Lent:

    • Lent 1 – Jesus is tempted in the wilderness by Satan (Luke 4:1-13)
    • Lent 2 – Jesus condemns Jerusalem for its treatment of the prophets (Luke 13:31-35)
    • Lent 3 – the parable of the barren fig tree (Luke 13:1-9)

    Those are all fairly grim texts.

    Ahead of us the two Sundays that especially focus on the Passion of Christ:

    • Lent 5 – a woman anoints Jesus for burial (John 12:1–8)
    • Lent 6 – Palm Sunday (Luke 22 & 23)

    Today we have something of a respite.

    In some Christian traditions today is known as ‘Refreshment Sunday’ because it offers a slight relaxation of the Lenten fast, and something of a respite from the penitential focus of this season.

    Sometimes rose-colored vestments are worn, instead of the traditional purple. (You may recall a similar thing happens on the Third Sunday of Advent.)

    In the UK and some parts of the Anglican Communion today is also observed as Mothering Sunday.

    That observance has its origins in the tradition that servants and apprentices were released from regular duties to visit the church of their baptism and also to see their mothers, perhaps even taking them a gift from the place where they served.

    Here in this land, Mothers’ Day is observed on March 21, so we can focus on today as the Fourth Sunday of Lent.

    Reconciliation as the Mission of God in our Time

    Given the themes of the NT readings for this Sunday, we could consider designating today as ‘Reconciliation Sunday’. That is not its official title, but it would certainly fit with the readings.

    In Christ, God was reconciling the world to himself … (2 Cor 5:19)

    This is a powerful piece of very early Christology. The letters to the Corinthians preserve pastoral communications between Paul and the emerging Christian community in Corinth. They date from a time in the 50s, around 20 years after Easter.

    In these letters, which predate the Gospels by several decades and perhaps 100 years in the case of Luke, we get the first evidence of how the followers of Jesus were already making sense of his death as something God did for our benefit.

    Everybody in Corinth realised that crucifixion was something awful. It was the worst form of capital punishment used in the Roman Empire. It reflected final condemnation and exclusion from society. There was no honour attached to such a death. Nothing could be rescued from such a disaster.

    But the followers of Jesus came to see the cross as an action in which God reconciled the world to himself.

    It is a far richer concept than the medieval idea that someone had to pay for sin, so Jesus suffered in order to preserve the patriarchal honor of God.

    Instead, here we have God taking the worst that Rome could inflict on Jesus, and making that very act the occasion for reconciliation.

    Not merely the forgiveness of sins, but the reconciliation of a world gone awry.

    The prodigal and the loving father (Luke 15)

    The lectionary matches that Pauline text with one of the most confronting parables of Jesus, the so-called Prodigal Son.

    Here we see reconciliation at work, and also its limits.

    We all know the story. It has three main characters, as in many oral stories:

    • the ungrateful son
    • the generous father
    • the grumpy older brother

    These are exaggerated caricatures, and that exaggeration invites us to reflect on those times when we are one or more of these characters.

    The wealth of the father is matched by the selfishness of the younger son, which is in turn matched by the self-less love of the father, which itself is trumped by the self-righteous indignation of ‘Mr Perfect’, the elder brother.

    Reconciliation is hard work, and not everyone will agree to be reconciled.

    Yet it remains our work, because it is the mission of God.

    … and entrusting the message of reconciliation to us. (2 Cor 5:19)

    The divine mission of turning hatred, death and rejection into an act of cosmic reconciliation has been entrusted to us.

    To us.

    Of all people, to us.

    Here.

    Of all places, here in this conflicted city and divided land.

    Not only here.

    But especially here, because this is where the cross become Ground Zero for the divine mission of reconciliation.

    As we come to the Table of the Lord this morning and stretch out our hands to receive the Body of Christ, we ask for grace to be ambassadors for Christ, spending our lives in the mission of reconciliation.

  • A Christian theology of Jewish presence

    The first reading for this Second Sunday after Christmas is Jeremiah 31:7–14:

    For thus says the LORD: Sing aloud with gladness for Jacob, and raise shouts for the chief of the nations; proclaim, give praise, and say, “Save, O LORD, your people, the remnant of Israel.”

     See, I am going to bring them from the land of the north, and gather them from the farthest parts of the earth, among them the blind and the lame, those with child and those in labor, together; a great company, they shall return here.

     With weeping they shall come, and with consolations I will lead them back, I will let them walk by brooks of water, in a straight path in which they shall not stumble; for I have become a father to Israel, and Ephraim is my firstborn.

     Hear the word of the LORD, O nations, and declare it in the coastlands far away; say, “He who scattered Israel will gather him, and will keep him as a shepherd a flock.”

     For the LORD has ransomed Jacob, and has redeemed him from hands too strong for him.

     They shall come and sing aloud on the height of Zion, and they shall be radiant over the goodness of the LORD, over the grain, the wine, and the oil, and over the young of the flock and the herd; their life shall become like a watered garden, and they shall never languish again.

     Then shall the young women rejoice in the dance, and the young men and the old shall be merry. I will turn their mourning into joy, I will comfort them, and give them gladness for sorrow.

     I will give the priests their fill of fatness, and my people shall be satisfied with my bounty, says the LORD.  (Jer 31:7–14 NRSV)

    How is a Palestinian Christian reading that those words in Israeli-occupied Jerusalem supposed to respond to the ‘word of the Lord’?

    My first reaction as someone listed to preach today at the Cathedral Church of St George the Martyr in Jerusalem was dismay. This is a problematic text for Palestinian Christians living with dispossession, ethnic cleansing, occupation, and systemic—even if sometimes unofficial—discrimination. How can such a text serve as the word of life for a Christian Arab?

    This is not a new problem. Many OT texts offer exactly the same challenge, and specially those associated with the exodus from Egypt and the conquest of the land by Joshua. How does an Arab Christian read these Jewish texts in Palestine today?

    On the one hand, I am grateful for the discipline of the lectionary. With all its faults (and they are many), the lectionary requires us to move beyond our comfort zones and engage with portions of Scripture that we might otherwise choose to ignore.

    In this case, we have a text set for the second Sunday after Christmas, which is a rare Sunday in the cycle. It only occurs in those years when two Sundays fall between December 25 and January 6. So it would be possible to attend church regularly and never encounter this part of Jeremiah 31.

    Just my luck, then, to be the rostered preacher today!

    My first response was to consult the Ancient Christian Commentaries on Scripture, a module in my ever useful Accordance Bible software package. What I found was that those early Fathers who addressed this passage tended to spiritualise the meaning, and interpret the ‘remnant of Israel’ as the Christian Church. That is a hermeneutical strategy that I cannot and will not employ as it fails to take seriously the continued presence of the Jewish people as the covenant community among the nations.

    Of course, I can quite properly observe that these words from Jeremiah themselves derive from a context: ancient Judah, around 580 BCE. At that time Jerusalem was in ruins following the conquest of Nebuchadnezzar and his Babylonian army. Many Jews—and most of the elite—were languishing in Exile in Babylon, present day Iraq. Others had fled to Egypt as refugees. Jeremiah himself was soon to be kidnapped and taken off to Egypt with one band of refugees.

    In that context, Jeremiah speaks a message of hope. This too will pass. YHWH will bring the scattered Jews home to the land of promise. They will prosper once more in their own land.

    We cannot limit the spiritual significance of Jeremiah 31 to the sixth century BCE. His words were received by the ancient Jewish community and found their way into the future Jewish Bible that is itself the ground of the larger Christian Bible.

    These ancient texts have an ‘afterlife’ that extends way beyond their original context. We read them today in Christian churches all around the world. And we read them this morning at the Anglican  Cathedral in Jerusalem.

    So how is a Palestinian Christian supposed to ‘hear what the Spirit is saying to the church’ when this text is read in our liturgies today?

    It seems to me that the Spirit is inviting us to engage with the challenge of fashioning a constructive Christian theology of the Jewish presence in Palestine.

    That was not what Jeremiah had in mind when these words were first written, but we are accountable for what we make of these words here and now—in this context, right now—rather than for their significance 2,500 years ago.

    How can a Palestinian Christian enunciate a theology of Jewish presence in Palestine? Why should we bother? Why not just complain of the injustice, and appeal to the international bodies to intervene on our behalf?

    It is too easy to complain and protest. That also needs to happen, and especially when the injustice is so clear and so prolonged. But we must do more than complain about the injustice. We must offer a theology of hope for the future, and such a theology must include a positive and constructive proposal for the presence of the Jewish people among us in this land.

    I do not claim to have such a theology prepared, and I will not keep talking this morning until I finish the task of shaping one. We may never get to have lunch!

    However, I think this is the challenge that the Spirit places before us today as we reflect on this passage from Jeremiah, in the context of occupied Palestine, and in the days after Christmas. If the angels promised peace on earth to those of goodwill, perhaps we need to demonstrate our goodwill if we are to experience God’s peace.

    Imagine the contribution that Christians could make to reconciliation and peace in this land if we could find a way to speak in positive terms of the proper place of the Jewish people among us in Palestine. This is their land as much as it is our land. How we can find the grace to say that, and to work for a solution to the conflict between our two peoples, who share both a common history and the same land?

    I do not imagine that I have the words yet, but I do think God is calling us to the task of being peacemakers who can see Christ in the other, even in the one who steals our land and denies our own right to be here.

    God give us the grace to begin that immense project.