Level Ground

 

The Gospel of Luke brings us a raw version of the Beatitudes — it is not a message we hear from the world, especially in this time when we see the very rich and powerful holding position and dominating all the decision making. 

As I read the text (Luke 6.17-26) the first thing I noticed is that in Luke’s version of this story, Jesus stands on level ground (17) and looks into the eyes of the crowd. I don’t think I have ever paid specific attention to that verse before. It has sort of been the introductory verse leading into the main points, perhaps skipped over a little too quickly. Today, I lingered there and thought about that approach to talking to others — level ground and looking into their eyes. I think there is something very significant here, something very powerful. 

So, Jesus stands on level ground, looks into the eyes of the crowd, and speaks a dangerous truth: Blessed are the poor. Blessed are the hungry. Blessed are the weeping. Blessed are the ones the world rejects. This is not a comfortable word. This is a revolutionary word. 

In Luke the words poverty and hunger are not spiritualized. There’s nothing to soften the blow. Jesus is speaking to those who have nothing, who feel the gnawing ache of hunger, who weep. Jesus is speaking to those who are hated, excluded, reviled and defamed. 

And Jesus is saying to them, God is on your side.

I think this is a challenging message for these days. We need to stand on level ground and look into the eyes of the hungry, the poor, the excluded, the reviled and the rejected. It is hard to do, especially as in the face of what we see there can be a sense of our own inability to help

And if that message alone was not radical enough, Jesus then delivers the woes. Woe to you who are rich, who are full, who are laughing now. 

I don’t think this is because wealth, food, or joy are bad in themselves, but more because if we allow them to, they can lull us into complacency. They so easily convince us that we have no responsibility to our neighbor. However, after our conversations at the retreat yesterday, during our discussion on the theme of theodicy, it was encouraging to hear everyone express concern for the plight of others in this current time plus a willingness to do what they could to change the situation.

Today’s gospel fits well with that theme as a radical Jesus invites each of us to live differently recognizing that those who are blessed are the unhoused person in the cold, the refugee seeking safety.

Jesus’ message is clear. If we find ourselves in places of abundance, we are called to stand in solidarity with those who are hungry, poor, excluded, reviled and rejected — to look at them from level ground.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Anna and Simeon

The author of the gospel writes of two older people—Simeon and Anna—who waited for the birth of a savior (Luke 2:22-40). The story talks of Mary and Joseph taking the infant Jesus to the Temple as required by the law. They had two significant encounters. They met Simeon and they met Anna, who both confirmed that this child was indeed the promised Messiah.

Simeon, who was described as righteous, devout, and one on whom the Holy Spirit rested, had been told that he would not die until he saw the birth of the Messiah. As he saw the baby, he praised and prophesied, saying he was now content to depart the world.

Simeon also added a word to Mary—that “a sword would pierce her soul” (v.35). I often wonder how it would feel for Mary to be told these things. A bit like saying your child will do great things, but it will be a rough ride and all end in heartbreak. How hard must that be for any parent to hear?

Anna was 84 years old. She had resided in the Temple since being widowed seven years after her marriage. I calculate that must be about 60 years. She too praised and prophesied about the child.

I can’t resist interjecting a feminist thought here—note the ways the two prophets are described. Simeon is described through his character—righteous, devout, Holy Spirit on him (v.25). Anna, on the other hand, is introduced through her relationship to men—her father, her husband, and her late ancestor. Yet, Anna was a prophetess, and not just in name. She played an essential role in Temple life, and her presence there for decades suggests she was deeply respected.

Anna was not alone in her lifelong dedication to the Temple. Historical evidence suggests that certain women—especially widows and prophetesses—were part of the spiritual fabric of the Temple. The Court of Women was an active space of worship, and some women, like Anna, took on a more sustained role.

These women were not merely passive worshippers; they engaged in acts of prayer, fasting, teaching, and service. Anna’s life of devotion mirrors what we later see in early Christian communities, where widows and women of faith were called to intercession and guidance (1 Timothy 5:5-10).

Anna, then, was not simply a background character. She was a spiritual leader, a woman who recognized the Messiah before almost anyone else. She stands as a witness, reminding us that the voices of women in faith communities’ matter.

I also want to dwell briefly on two aspects of both these people that stood out as I read the passage.

The first thing I want to mention was the patience both Simeon and Anna exercised. We live in an age of instant results—where we expect immediate responses from technology, whether it’s a search engine delivering answers in milliseconds or AI predicting our next move before we’ve even finished typing. We’ve become so accustomed to speed that waiting can feel like a waste of time.

Yet, Simeon and Anna waited for years to see the fulfillment of their hopes. And the passage gives no sense that their lives were wasted in that waiting. Instead, their patience was a practice of trust, an active kind of faithfulness. They lived fully, with meaning and purpose, even as they waited. Perhaps that’s the deeper lesson—waiting is not an empty pause but a space where wisdom, readiness, and hope are cultivated.

The second thing I considered was that they were both elderly. Anna was documented as 84, and although Simeon’s age is not mentioned, it is reasonable to assume that he was also advanced in years, given his expectation of departing the world soon.

In our contemporary times, there is sometimes a disdain for the elderly, and society is poorer for it. Wisdom and experience are lost. Youth can be arrogant, brushing aside the knowledge of those who have lived longer. And yet, youth often bring energy, vision, and passion.

Both contributions have value. The ideal is not one over the other, but the partnership of wisdom and enthusiasm. What a good thing Mary and Joseph took time to listen to the words of the elderly. What a blessing would have been missed if they had ignored Simeon and Anna because of their age.

Anna and Simeon remind us that waiting is not wasted time, wisdom is not irrelevant, and women’s voices—though often overlooked—have always been central to the story of faith.

(Photo: Seagulls on a Snowy Beach — Lewes Beach, January 2025).

 

Mary's Revelatory Role

Today’s gospel lectionary reading brings us to a familiar and well-loved story: the wedding at Cana (John 2:1-11). Weddings are joyous occasions. They brim with celebration, hope, and the anticipation of a new chapter in life.

I have written and reflected on this wedding several times as it holds a unique place in the gospel narrative. Yet, it feels right to return to it again and again because it is foundational. This is the moment where Jesus’ public ministry begins—a pivotal scene that sets the stage for the journey ahead. It’s also a key text for exploring feminist theology and the role of women in scripture because Mary is a central figure in this story.

The gospel doesn’t specify who was getting married, but there are hints. The mother of Jesus appears to play the role of host, suggesting the wedding involved a close male relative, perhaps a brother or cousin. Cultural context provides further clues. In Jewish tradition, the groom’s family was responsible for hosting the feast. Weddings of that time were deeply rooted in social and economic transactions: marriages marked the transfer of a bride from her father’s household to her husband’s, often accompanied by negotiations of property, gifts, and wealth.

The preparation for marriage could take over a year, with the groom building a bridal chamber within his father’s home. Meanwhile the bride would take part in ritual cleansings. The timing of the wedding was determined by the groom’s father, and the bride wouldn’t always know the exact day. This uncertainty led to the tradition of trumpet blasts and shouts to announce the groom’s arrival.

Once the ceremony concluded, the groom’s family hosted a feast—a grand event meant to display their status and hospitality. To run out of food or wine would be a source of deep shame and public disgrace.

Returning to the text, it’s clear that Mary is at the center of the narrative. When the wine runs out, the servants turn to her. Her pivotal role highlights her agency, though John’s gospel notably omits her name, identifying her only as “the mother of Jesus.” This is, unfortunately, common for women in scripture—defined only by their relationships to men rather than as individuals.

Another notable detail is the apparent affluence of this wedding. It’s easy to think of Jesus’ family as poor, but Joseph, a carpenter, was a skilled tradesman, and this account suggests a certain level of means. The presence of servants, stewards, and the free-flowing wine indicates a celebration of some scale.

Now, I want to return to the heart of the story: the miraculous turning of water into wine. I want to focus on the exchange between Jesus and his mother which is fascinating. This conversation is a clear indication that Joseph had already died. As the eldest son, Jesus would be the head of the household and thus the one to take responsibility for the feast. When Mary alerts Jesus to the problem, strangely he replies, “Woman, what concern is that to you and to me? My hour has not yet come.” It’s an enigmatic response. On the surface, Jesus seems reluctant to intervene. Yet Mary remains undeterred.

She doesn’t argue or plead but simply tells the servants, “Do whatever he tells you.” In that moment, Mary demonstrates remarkable faith and insight. She knows it is the right time, even if Jesus hesitates. And in an act of quiet submission to her wisdom, Jesus performs the miracle.

The transformation of water into wine wasn’t just a solution to a social faux pas; it marked the beginning of Jesus’ ministry. Mary, often remembered for birthing and nurturing the Christ child, is now the one who recognizes and reveals the moment for the ministry to begin. Her role is not peripheral—it’s central.

This story reminds us of the essential contributions of women in scripture, even when their names go unspoken. It challenges us to honor Mary not only as the mother of Jesus but also as a woman of vision, courage, and faith. She knew the significance of the moment and helped unlock the door for Jesus to step into his calling.

 

Finding Joy, Sharing Joy

 

Today, on Gaudete Sunday, the lectionary invites us to rejoice; “Rejoice in G*d always; again, I say, rejoice!” (Philippians 4:4). The word “Gaudete” means “rejoice” in Latin. We light the third candle of the Advent wreath. The pink candle which represents joy serves as a reminder that even in a solemn season of waiting and preparation, joy is at the heart of our journey.

 

Advent is the time when we prepare our hearts for the coming of Christ, both in the celebration of Jesus’ birth at Christmas and in the anticipation of the future realm. It always seems little ironic that a season where we focus on waiting and solemn preparation is one, that for many of us, is the busiest time of the year. Maybe amidst this busyness, Gaudete Sunday calls us to stop and ask the question, “What brings me joy?”. 

 

This joy isn’t about fleeting happiness, it’s deeper. It’s the joy of knowing that Christ is near, and that love has already broken into our world. It is also a joy that grows when we encounter this love as kindness.

 

Over the last couple of weeks, as I am starting the long journey towards healing from my fall, fractured arm and ensuing surgery to plate and pin the bones back together (I counted ten screws on the X-ray!), one of the joys has been the amount of kindness I have received. Kindness from the emergency room staff, the surgical unit (which they opened on a Saturday just for me!), from family, friends and neighbours. The kindness has been overwhelming but much appreciated — I am deeply grateful to all who have sent good wishes, prayers, meals, flowers and other helpful gifts. If you are reading this, words are inadequate but thank you.

 

The gospel lectionary reading today gives some hints about acts of kindness, which I’m sure brought joy to others. The text (Luke 3:7-18) is a story of John the Baptizer talking to the crowds, warning them that their lives need to change. John gives three examples all of which show kindness.

 

The first example is, “Whoever has two coats must share with anyone who has none; and whoever has food must do likewise” (11). 

 

The second illustration is about tax collectors. They are told “Collect no more than the amount prescribed for you” (13). 

 

The third reminder is “Do not extort money from anyone by threats or false accusation, and be satisfied with your wages” (14)

 

As I read these commands from John, I saw acts of kindness illustrated which would bring joy to others and to self — generosity, sharing, honesty and satisfaction with one’s life. It also reminds me as I seek to be as Christ to those I meet, that a second question is “How can I bring joy to others?”.

 

Gaudete Sunday reminds us that joy often begins in small, quiet ways, I don’t think Joy is meant to be hoarded; it’s meant to be shared. Little acts of kindness are the seeds of joy—both for the giver and the receiver. When we offer kindness, we reflect God’s care and create spaces where joy can grow. When we choose kindness, we become vessels of God’s joy for the world.

 

I wish everyone a happy and joy filled Gaudete Sunday.

 

Lest We Forget

Today is Remembrance Sunday and I’m going to pause blogging through the gospels to reflect on it. 

 

Last night I caught a bit of the Royal British Legion Festival of Remembrance 2024. We will watch it in full today. It was an impressive event. I have included the link if anyone wants to join us in doing that.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HurhWjpRkD4

 

As the clock struck 11:00 a.m. on November 11, 1918, the guns fell silent along the Western Front, marking the end of hostilities in what was described as “the war to end all wars.”. Therefore, each year on November 11, the United States, the United Kingdom and many nations worldwide pause to remember and honour their military personnel. Today we are grateful, and thank those we know and meet for their service.

 

 In American, this observance is Veterans Day, while in the UK and other Commonwealth countries, it is known as Remembrance Day, also called Poppy Day. Though these holidays share historical roots, they differ in tone, traditions, and focus, reflecting each nation’s unique approach to honouring those who served in the wars.

 

Veterans Day and Remembrance Day both originated in response to the immense losses of World War I. They date back to 1919, marking the end of the war on November 11, 1918, when an armistice agreement was signed between Allied nations and Germany. Originally known as Armistice Day, this initial observance was to honour those who served in World War I and reflect on the cost of conflict. 

 

As time passed, however, each country’s approach evolved, with the United States eventually broadening the day to encompass veterans of all wars, while the UK and Commonwealth countries expanded their focus to honour all who died in military service, not only in World War I but also in conflicts since.

 

In the U.S. in 1938 Armistice Day became an official U.S. holiday to honour World War I veterans. However, after World War II and the Korean War, there was a movement to recognize veterans of all wars. In 1954, Congress amended the holiday, renaming it Veterans Day to honor all U.S. veterans. The emphasis is on recognizing the contributions and sacrifices of veterans who are still with us and acknowledging their service across all eras. Veterans Day in the United States has a celebratory quality, focusing on gratitude toward all who have served in the military, both living and deceased. Parades, community events, and speeches in honour of veterans are common across the country, contributing to a day of national pride and respect for those who answered the call to serve. One of the most prominent observances take place at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier at Arlington National Cemetery, where wreaths are laid, and a moment of silence is held.

 

In contrast, Remembrance Day in the UK and Commonwealth countries is a much more solemn occasion, dedicated primarily to remembering the fallen. The day has a reflective tone, honouring those who made the ultimate sacrifice, with a particular focus on those who died in World War I, World War II, and subsequent conflicts. 

 

The red poppy, inspired by John McCrae’s famous poem “In Flanders Fields,” has become a symbol of remembrance in these nations, worn by millions in the days leading up to November 11 as a tribute to the lives lost in war. In the Festival of Remembrance video poppies play a prominent part. Poppy wreaths are laid at war memorials across the country, including the Cenotaph in London, where a formal ceremony is held each year with members of the royal family, government officials, and military leaders

 

“In Flanders fields the poppies blow

Between the crosses, row on row,

    That mark our place; and in the sky

    The larks, still bravely singing, fly

Scarce heard amid the guns below.

 

We are the Dead. Short days ago

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,

    Loved and were loved, and now we lie,

        In Flanders fields.

 

Take up our quarrel with the foe:

To you from failing hands we throw

    The torch; be yours to hold it high.

    If ye break faith with us who die

We shall not sleep, though poppies grow

        In Flanders fields.

 

 The observance often includes two minutes of silence at 11 a.m., a reflective gesture marking the “eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month,” symbolizing the moment the armistice went into effect in 1918. I remember the phrase well, even as a very young child in school the two-minute silence was observed.

 

So today,  we honour and reflect on those who served in the wars, I can’t help but think about the current world situation and how unstable it seems to be — a solemn time. It makes the words of the psalmist in today’s lectionary reading even more poignant.

 

“For G*d alone my soul in silence waits,

truly, my hope is in G*d.

G*d alone is my rock and my salvation,

my stronghold, so that I shall not be shaken.”  (62. 6-7)

(Photos: Poppies at our house, Arlington cemetery, war memorial where my great-uncle is honoured)

 

 

 

 

 

  

Manipulation and Service

 Two disciples, James and John, came to Jesus with a strange demand (Mark 10:35-45).

 They began the conversation in a way I would define as manipulative, if not slightly aggressive.

 

“Teacher, we want you to do for us whatever we ask of you” (v. 35).

 

Whoa—that could be a lesson on how not to approach a teacher! I can imagine what I would say if one of my students came to me and said, “Jane, we want you to do whatever we ask of you.”

 

I would be taken aback. It would feel they were trying to manipulate me, and even before hearing their request, I'd be thinking, “Not a chance.” I imagine any of you who are teachers would feel the same.

 

Jesus reacted exactly as I would (although I would probably be a little sarcastic!), "Let’s hear the request, then."

 

And the request was selfish: “Grant us to sit, one at your right hand and one at your left, in your glory.”

 

What had happened to the unity among the Twelve (if it ever existed)? Did James and John see themselves as better or more worthy than the other ten?

 

Before I ponder that further, I want to set this story in context.

 

I spoke a few weeks ago about the unique structure of Mark’s Gospel, where both halves begin with a declaration that Jesus is the Messiah.

 

The first half (1:1 to 8:26) focuses on Jesus’ ministry. There are no birth stories or childhood anecdotes in Mark. The Gospel opens with, “The beginning of the good news about Jesus the Messiah,” and from there, it’s a fast-paced series of miracles, healings, and teachings. Blind people see, women and children are healed, multitudes are fed—caring for others even takes precedence over observing the Sabbath.

 

But Mark 8:27 marks a turning point. Here, Peter declares that Jesus is the Messiah, and from then on, the journey shifts from Galilee toward Jerusalem. The second half focuses less on public ministry and more on preparing for what is to come.

 

Today’s text is part of that journey to Jerusalem. This conversation happens immediately after Jesus’ third prediction of his death.

 

I should also mention that the Gospel of Matthew (20:20-28) contains this story almost word for word, with one significant difference: in Matthew, it is the mother of James and John who makes the request. Sadly, she’s another unnamed woman defined by her relationship to males—in this case, three of them.

 

As an aside, I wonder why Mark leaves her out, or conversely, why Matthew includes her. Was the woman so totally insignificant to Mark that she was invisible?

Did Matthew think it was more acceptable for a woman to be manipulative, but not men?

 

But let’s return to the text and the dilemma of James and John trying to manipulate Jesus with their selfish request. It seems human nature hasn’t changed much over the centuries. This need to be better than one’s peers is pervasive. Our whole culture is soaked in it—competition, comparison, and the desire to outdo others. I think it’s something worth reflecting on.

When is competition healthy and encouraging? 

When does it become dark, destructive, and bring out the worst in human nature?

 

James and John wanted higher honour than the other ten disciples. The result? Discord and division within this small group of twelve (v. 41). The others were angry with James and John. By trying to elevate  themselves and make themselves superior, they made the others inferior.

 

Jesus used this moment to teach them all. Jesus response to their desire to be the greatest and most honoured was simple: serve.

If you want to be great—serve. 

If you want to be first—serve.

 

Jesus is the example: “The Child of Humanity came not to be served but to serve, and to give their life as a ransom for many.”

 

As I reflect on the story of James and John, I realise that the desire to be great may not be inherently wrong—it’s natural. But what really matters is how we define greatness. 

 

Jesus redefines it for us, showing that true greatness is found in humble service, not in seeking power or position. Jesus invites us to follow his example, where serving others leads to a richer, more meaningful life.

 

So, more questions to ponder this week:

In my own life am I ever tempted to seek recognition or status over service?

Do I ever try to manipulate others?

How can I create more opportunities to serve the people around me?

 

The path to greatness, according to Jesus, isn’t about climbing to the top. It’s about lifting others up. Imagine what could happen if we embraced that call. Imagine the change it could bring—in our lives, in our families, in our world.

 

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Character Matters

Character matters — I think that is maybe one of the main messages of the gospel lectionary this week (John 1.47-end).

 

The text opens with Nathanael coming towards Jesus who looked up and exclaimed, “Here is truly an Israelite in whom there is no deceit.” (47)

 

What a commendation that is. A person with no deceit, a person who is honest, genuine and straightforward — a great character.

 

In my last two blogs I commented about how apt the texts were in the light of the upcoming election with all the lies, half-truths and derogatory remarks being made with no thought to the harm such accusations cause. One only needs to look at the Haitian community to see the harm caused by lies told for political gain. I think this opening phrase is also very apt for this particular time.

 

I want to look a little more at Nathanael. It is assumed that Nathanael in John’s gospel is the Bartholomew of the synoptics. The scriptures give no direct link, but the comparison of the lists of apostles has led to that understanding. It is often thought that Nathanael is the given name while Bartholomew was the surname.

 

Today, I want to ponder only on this first encounter with Jesus. To do so, I want to back up a little and set the text in context. Nathanael was invited to come and see Jesus by his friend Philip. It is clear they were both versed in the scriptures, “We have found the one Moses wrote about in the law, and about whom the prophets wrote — Jesus of Nazareth” (45)

 

“Nazareth! Can anything good come from there?” (46) was the response. It is here I want to pause and dwell for a moment. It is quite a response showing blatantly the prejudice against people from Nazareth. Nazareth was a tiny place; Nathanael was from Cana and was likely emphasizing a commonly held view.

 

So where do such prejudices come from? They are deeply ingrained and often held without people realizing they hold them. Prejudices come from our family, our upbringing, our social circle, our culture and, more recently, from social media.

 

Often, it is easy to see where a prejudice is coming from in others. I read or hear something, I recognize the bias and refuse to accept it until I check it out — especially those opinions on social media!

 

However, most of the prejudice we hold are unconscious. Others are needed to open our eyes to them and reveal them for the bias they hold. That is exactly what happened to Nathanael. He was challenged by his friend, Philip, “Come and see.” (46). 

 

A short sentence, but a profound one and a very important one. Those few words issue a challenge — don’t remain with your prejudice, Nathanael but come and check it out. I don’t know what went on in Nathanael’s mind and heart, the text offers no detail or insight. 

 

Facing our prejudices is often like that, a short phrase or action challenges and everything changes. It is like a veil has fallen away. There is no going back — I’m sure, like me, you can look back and see times when this has happened in your lives. These are significant moments.

 

Everything changed for Nathanael, he laid aside the deep-seated prejudice and went to meet Jesus. And was met by that wonderful phrase, “an Israelite in whom there is no deceit”. 

 

Nathanael was honest, open and straightforward. He had received the challenge to his innate prejudice, accepted the challenge and moved beyond it revealing the character of the person he was. Character matters!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Follow Me!

The lectionary passage is Mark 8.27-end. I have talked before about the unique structure of the Gospel of Mark, but it is worth noting again.

 

The first half (1:1 to 8:26) is all about the ministry of Jesus. There are no birth stories or childhood tales in the Gospel of Mark.  The gospel opens with the words “The beginning of the good news about Jesus the Messiah …” followed by the appearance of John the Baptizer, who is shown to be a fulfillment of a prophecy by Isaiah (1:2-3). After which the verses are full of miracles, healings and teachings on how to live. The stories come thick and fast, short, concise tales one after the other — blind people see, women and children are healed, multitudes are fed, caring for people supersedes the sabbath, the disciples are sent out to expand the message of Jesus and Jesus’ mission is shown to be for all. 

 

Mark 8: 27 (and the first verse of today’s text) is a turning point as the journey to the cross begins. Peter declares Jesus is the Messiah and from there on the journey moves away from Galilee and towards Jerusalem. The focus of the second half is less on public ministry and more on preparation for what is to come. It is worth noting that both sections of the Gospel of Mark begin with a declaration that Jesus is the Messiah. 

 

Interestingly, immediately after Peter’s declaration, Jesus’ response is to “sternly order them not to tell anyone about him.” (30). I wonder why this was as it is a departure from the focus of the preceding chapters when the disciples were sent out to proclaim the good news. Perhaps, it was merely because the word “Messiah” was loaded with expectations of someone who would arise to lead the people into victory and thus create a different mission for Jesus.  But I prefer to think that it is more about revelation. Recognising Jesus as Messiah was about something deeper than could be told in words, is that sense of inward knowing. 

 

As the text continues Jesus begins the preparation of his followers by talking about suffering and dying. Then Jesus spoke to the crowds and issued a challenge, “if any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.” (8:35).

 

I always like to highlight the impact this phrase would have had on the crowds hearing it. It would cause a ripple of shock and horror. In that society the word “cross” was not spoken, it was shameful, it was disgusting. Cicero (106-43 BCE) said that the mere mention or thought of the word cross was unworthy of a Roman citizen or free person. (Cic.Rab.Perd. 5:16)

 

Not only is Jesus uttering a word that should not be uttered but is stating that the only way to become a follower is to embrace something which is shameful, degrading and excruciatingly painful. Jesus is asking a lot of the crowds who follow him.

 

I think it is important to remember as one reads passages like this, that by the time this gospel was penned (approx. 60 CE) Jesus’ followers were already undergoing persecution which is thought to have started 35 CE. So, these words would bring a measure of comfort and encouragement that this was to be expected. This was the price for following Jesus and the reward would be reaped when Jesus “comes in glory of the Father-Mother with the angels.” (38)

 

I think it is difficult to think of a contemporary application of these words for today. In a sense, there was a simplicity about the message although definite not an easy one. — 

 

Receive revelation that Jesus was Messiah, 

Choose to follow Jesus 

Accept that the decision may cause persecution and loss of life 

Look forward to future reward. 

 

It is not so straightforward these days. This has been highlighted by the current political situation. It seems that it is no longer receiving the revelation that Jesus is Messiah that determines whether one is a follower of Jesus. It comes with a whole host of expectations — this week I got told by several people (in extreme and very unkind terms) that I was not a Christian simple because I voiced that I thought one presidential candidate was “fantastic”! 

 

I know others who have had the same experience. It makes me feel sad, somehow it feels like something important has been lost when religion becomes tangled with politics. I’m not sure what can be done about it. I have no answers. Simply a determination to speak for what I think is right and just but to treat those who disagree with kindness. 

 

A Warning!

I am reading the lectionary gospel (Mark 7.1-8, 14-15, 21-23) and epistle (James 1. 17 to end) in tandem today. The passages are connected, they address the same thing. They are not uplifting, maybe a little weird with the potential for condemnation of both self and others. And the last thing I want to blog about is a topic that leaves people feeling low and perhaps guilty that they aren’t good enough. I see no profit in that whatsoever.

 

Both these passages talk about things that one needs to rid oneself of. Having lived quite a lot of years now, I know one thing — no one is perfect! All will fail and do things they regret both in the past and likely in the future. This is part of our humanness. God created humanity with all the wonderful potential for living our own lives and making our own mistakes. A popular adage tells that “We learn by our mistakes”, and there is a lot of truth in that.

 

Yet, I think there is a warning to be heeded in these two passages. A warning that is perhaps more needed now than usual as the US moves into a pre-election period. The warning in both texts is simply that it is what utters forth from a person that causes harm.

 

It saddens me a lot to hear and read ugly words that are intended to harm, belittle and incite others to hatred. Surely, there must be a way to disagree on policies without hating the person who is voicing them. 

 

Of course, I know nothing much will change over the next couple of months, but I can refuse to be part of it. And, I can tell you there has been quite a few times lately when I have been tempted to forward a clever cartoon or meme showing a candidate in bad light. (I’m only human after all!)  But I have resisted sharing them.

 

Now don’t hear me wrongly. I’m not in any way suggesting that our political situation should be ignored. This is an important election; it determines the future of this country. I’m all for supporting an issue, for speaking against injustice and for working for those who are marginalized. That is an important part of our calling to serve which is part of our community rule — to love, to serve, to forgive.

 

It is important that a way is found where that can be done without making personal inflammatory attacks on someone’s looks or behavior. Over the next few weeks, I want to make a commitment to doing that. 

 

Will I fail at times — probably! 

 

But that is okay, I’ll learn, pick myself up and continue, all the time thanking God for my humanness.

 

 

 

 

For the third Sunday on the run the lectionary focuses on bread as it slowly meanders through chapter 6 of the gospel according to John. Yet within this extended metaphor of bread there are lots of themes. 

 

In the first part of the metaphor (25-33) the focus is on whom the bread came from — the Mother-Father. This section culminates with the phrase “For the bread of God is the bread that comes down from heaven and gives life to the world.” (33) The focus is all on the one who sends — bread from God, bread from heaven.

 

Then in verse 34 the focus changes. Jesus declares, “I am the bread of life.” I talked about this in my last blog. But here, in the sequential view of the passage, it is written to establish who Jesus was. Jesus is the one who came from God, “I am the bread that came down from heaven”. (41).

 

Today, the lectionary passage starts with verse 51. It is a transitional verse between the second and third parts of the discourse on bread. It is the conclusion on the focus on Jesus as the bread — “I am the living bread that came down from heaven” (51a).  Then the beginning of the introduction to the concept of flesh — “this bread is my flesh which I give for the life of the world” (51c)

 

This is a significant change in the metaphor. To recap, firstly was the bread sent from heaven the focus on the one who sent it. Secondly the focus was on Jesus as the bread that was sent from heaven (the divinity of Jesus) and now the focus has moved to bread as the flesh of Jesus. It is no longer on the divinity but on the humanity. The one who came as flesh.

 

Earlier, I read several articles about whether this section of John 6 is Eucharistic or not — both sides had good points. Personally, I suspect there is a hint of Eucharistic understanding in it especially given the late dating of the book of John but there is also so much more. By seeing it as only Eucharistic something is lost.

 

As I often do, I want to think about the impact these words (51-58) would have had on the contemporary audience. I think that often helps when considering a passage. Personally I have read and heard these seven verses so many times that they have become commonplace. They are part of our faith, our tradition and are accepted and read as such. They don’t cause any major unrest.

 

But for those following Jesus, and the later first and second readers of the gospel, they would have been totally shocking. Really, really offensive. As they were said, I can imagine a stunned silence. I can imagine a wave indignation. Even questioning, did Jesus really say that — “whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life.” 

 

This phrase and concept go against everything the audience has understood and been taught from childhood. It is against the Jewish tradition and law and would have been heard as such.

 

“No one among you shall eat blood, nor shall any stranger who dwells among you eat blood” (Leviticus 17:12)

 

So, this would have been very offensive to the Jewish audience. This attacked their culture — who they were at the very centre of their beings. It destabilised everything they were, loved and felt. Culture, tradition and upbringing are really important. I feel English, nothing will change that, it doesn’t matter how long I have lived in USA, my culture is English. I have neighbours from different countries, we talk and share our different experiences. They too feel a sense of belonging to their cultures. In addition to my experience, one only has to look at the contemporary media to see how offensive an attack on a person’s culture is and how important and deeply ingrained culture is. 

 

It is hard, if not impossible, to understand why the bread metaphor went from a pleasant metaphor about bread as nourishing and sustaining to something that would be a stumbling block for many. 

 

The lectionary passage concludes with a re-emphasis on the bread metaphor, “the one who eats this bread will live forever” (58). Clearly, this not a reference to physical life as at the time the gospel was penned many would have already died. Nevertheless, certainly an encouragement after a hard passage. Yet, it does not negate the impact of those few verses about eating flesh and blood.

 

Although today’s lectionary text ends with that final bread phrase, there is a fourth section to this bread discourse (although bread in not actually mentioned).  It is important as it reenforces how much offence was caused. I wonder if, maybe, it provided an explanation to why so many followers left Jesus. 

 

The concluding section starts with the words that Jesus said this “while teaching in the synagogue in Capernaum”. (59)  

 

No longer on a mountain but in a synagogue — wow! That must have felt even worse to the listeners, maybe even heretical. The disciples grumbled and one acknowledged, “This is a hard teaching”.  (60-61) 

 

But then the story twists again, “The Spirit gives life, the flesh counts for nothing”.  (62) This was clearly included later as the text goes on to references the ascension and ensuing Spirit. 

 

I can’t help but wonder if this was penned to minimize damage as the word blood is omitted?  Nevertheless, at this point in the story many leave and no longer follow Jesus (66). The twelve remain, culminating with Peter acknowledging that they believe Jesus was the one from God. (69)

 

The metaphor of bread in John 6 is a bit like a roller-coaster ride there are so many twists and turns, highs and lows. But, I want to end back at today’s interesting lectionary passage which I have tried to set in a little context. 

 

As it clearly caused offence talking about eating flesh and blood, it does raise for me lots to ponder about offence and should one abandon a cause if one is offended. And, of course, I’m not talking about trivial little offences but those that challenge everything one is and has held dear.

 

So, this week I’ll be thinking a lot about principles, upbringing and tradition — 

What is heresy and what is new revelation? 

When does one remain with one’s tradition or when does one abandon it to embrace new concepts?

 

Lots to muse on

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 “I am the bread of life” is the dramatic climax of today’s lectionary reading (John 6:24-35). 

 Bread —a simple word that often conjures up a wealth of images and memories for most people in the west. Often the most inviting sight in a supermarket is shelves full of different breads, often hard to resist. Or the aroma when walking past a bakery entices one to go in and buy bread. Or walking into the kitchen when I have been baking and the smell hits me — tempting to break off a small piece of cooling bread. 

 

There is nothing quite like the aroma of baking bread!

 

Bread has sustained humanity for millennia. It is not surprising then that it is mentioned often in religious texts. The focus of the gospel lectionary for the last two weeks has been bread (John 6) — the feeding of the five thousand, recalling the story of manna in the wilderness and this declaration by Jesus that he is the bread of life. Stories that are well-known, capturing the imagination of generations of readers. Stories that have both physical and spiritual implications.

 

Even the stories themselves sit in juxtaposition to each other and that, in itself, is worth pondering. How do the relate to and expand on each other.

 

Firstly, the recalling of manna in the wilderness — God providing food for hungry people out of nothing earthly for an extended period of time. Although, I’m not focusing on it today, the story makes interesting reading about care and sustenance.

 

Secondly, the feeding of the many thousands of people. In this story, people are not fed out of nothing, but fed from the giving of the five loafs — an oft overlooked part of the story is the generosity of the child who gave up their picnic to share with others. Bread was multiplied and all were fed and satisfied.

 

Thirdly, Jesus uses the metaphor of bread to declare that he is the bread that will satisfy and sustain life.

 

And, although it is not part of today’s lectionary, as we celebrate Eucharist today, bread will feature prominently as it does each week. A reminder, or enactment, of betrayal, death and ultimately new life. 

 

But today, I am not thinking about the details of each story but pondering the metaphor of bread used. 

 

Perhaps, today, my most notable observation is the huge compassion for those who were physically hungry. The pre-eminent concern in both the story of the feeding of the five thousand and the gift of manna was ensuring everyone got enough to eat. It is important that no one went hungry that day, a point emphasized by showing that there was surplus.

 

Throughout the years in my work in schools and with foster children taking care of physical needs is often the priority. Hungry, hurting children and teenagers can’t think about anything else. They can’t learn when they are hungry. Well-being depends on their physical needs being met. Bread is needed!

 

I also know when I come home from teaching, or some other meeting, the first thing I do is put the kettle on. I take care of the physical need; only then can I focus on the myriads of tasks I need to do. 

 

In these stories in the gospel of John the physical needs are taken care of before the spiritual ones. Even the one who ultimately betrayed was fed before leaving. I find much to ponder in this idea. It is an important one. In many ways, it is a reversal of what is often taught about spirituality. It is only after people have been fed the texts turn to a spiritual application, of deep inner hungers being satisfied. 

 

So, I will continue to ponder these bread stories this week as I hold in tension the connection between them, the interplay of the physical and the spiritual. 

Self-Sacrifice v Self-Care

Yesterday, we drove for six and three-quarter hours! As many of you know (and thanks for the good wishes) we have been on vacation.  For us, vacation means ocean, sunshine and sea breezes. So as in previous years, we headed for the Delaware beaches and set up our campsite in one of the many state parks enjoying the sands and the miles of cycle tracks. 

 

Now we often go camping, but many of our trips are working ones — books are written and proofread, online courses and meetings are held although we enjoy the change of scenery. But our ocean time in Delaware is all holiday — we relax.  Of course, there were a couple or of mornings dealing with essential work emails and the needs of people. But mostly it was a time to recharge the batteries! 

 

In the lectionary reading (Mark 6. 30-34, 53-end), the disciples were urged to do just that. They had been sent out in pairs to go round the villages, to preach, to heal, to anoint with oil and to stay with strangers. At the beginning of today’s text, they were gathered around Jesus to report about all they had “done and taught”. (30) But it was busy, and Jesus suggested they go with him to a “to a quiet place and get some rest” (31). 

 

They sailed away to their place of rest, but the crowds followed. Jesus saw them and had compassion on them. He spent time teaching them many things. The lectionary passage skips the next bit of the story where Jesus’ compassion was not only on their spiritual wellbeing but on their physical wellbeing as he fed the crowd. The reading jumps to the end, where having found no rest they returned on their boat and more people met them bringing sick for help. 

 

Jesus’ ministry was one of self-sacrifice, the disciples followed that example. Their own need for quiet and rest was laid aside, as compassion for the people became the preeminent agenda.  It is a recurring theme in the gospels — setting the needs of oneself against the needs of those around. 

 

It is a theme I have mused on before; it even came up a bit at the retreat. If we follow the example of Jesus our lives become lives of self-sacrifice. Modern parlance talks a lot about self-care although that was not a concept in the first century. In today’s story attempts at looking after oneself seem to be thwarted by looking with compassion on the needs of those around. 

 

So, some hypothetical questions that I will continue to ponder this week

 

So, when does self-care become selfish? 

How do I get the balance? 

Should I even try and get the balance or follow the example of self-sacrifice pitted in today’s reading?

 

It was compassion that caused Jesus and friends to set aside their need for quiet. So, a second train of thought. 

 

I can’t feed the more than 5,000 people who follow me up a mountain! (Indeed, I don’t think 5,000 people would follow me up a mountain!)

 

So how is compassion manifest — I look at our community

Many have chosen careers that show compassion

Many financially support organisations that show compassion to both human and non-human people

Many work as volunteers to help others

In an election year — many will show compassion through their choice of voting.

 

So, a final thought to muse this week.

 

How do I show compassion and what’s the cost?