Sacred pause

 

Luke 1:39-45

Mary Visits Elizabeth

In those days Mary set out and went with haste to a Judean town in the hill country, where she entered the house of Zechariah and greeted Elizabeth. When Elizabeth heard Mary’s greeting, the child leaped in her womb. And Elizabeth was filled with the Holy Spirit and exclaimed with a loud cry, “Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb. And why has this happened to me, that the mother of my Lord comes to me? For as soon as I heard the sound of your greeting, the child in my womb leaped for joy. And blessed is she who believed that there would be a fulfilment of what was spoken to her by the Lord.”

In the name of the Creator, the Redeemer and the Sustainer Amen

When Elizabeth heard Mary’s greeting, the child leaped in her womb.

What a lovely moment in our journey through advent

Two women sharing a pause.

The very young Mary, seeking out her elder relative Elizabeth.

Sharing the joy and anxiety of motherhood.

Two women, unexpectedly pregnant - Mary, because she was not yet married - and Elizabeth, because she thought she was beyond the age of bearing a child

Two women, pregnant with potential, sharing a moment, each recognising in the other the blessing of God

Knowing that they carried within them the world’s salvation, promised forever, knowing that they had a role in the fulfilment of that promise.

Two women, taking a moment to pause at the wonder of it all.

So let us pause for a moment.

Let’s pause.

To breathe in grace…

And breathe out fear…

Breathing in grace…

And breathing out fear…

If we learn anything from Mary and Elizabeth, it is that their joy in the Lord was embodied.

It wasn’t just in their head.

Or even just in their heart.

Their whole body cried out in joy.

Elizabeth was filled with the Holy Spirit just as she was filled with the child in her womb - and she cried out:

“Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb. And why has this happened to me, that the mother of my Lord comes to me? For as soon as I heard the sound of your greeting, the child in my womb leaped for joy. And blessed is she who believed that there would be a fulfilment of what was spoken to her by the Lord.”

Mary’s song, that we read as our canticle this morning- is just as Spirit filled, just as full of passion- The Magnificat - a song of utter faith and trust in God to fulfil God’s promise - 

He has shown strength with his arm;

he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts.

He has brought down the powerful from their thrones,

and lifted up the lowly;

he has filled the hungry with good things,

and sent the rich away empty.

Embodied faith.

Embodied grace.

Something that plays out in our everyday lives.

As we were reminded us last week - when crowds went out to hear John the Baptist in the wilderness, he didn’t ask them to stay there with him - he urged them to go back and live out faith where they were - by sharing what they had - if you have two coats, give one away, share your food, don’t cheat others…

The faith we profess has to be visible in our lives, has to be embodied, not just held in our minds or our hearts - but lived out.

Mary and Elizabeth embodied their complete trust in God.

As their sons grew, they would experience great sorrow, witness things that no mother should ever have to witness for their children, the kinds of things that countless mothers still endure today.

Yet each of them, knowing that sorrow awaited, rejoiced in the moment of being chosen by God to bear the herald of God and the Son of God.

We are told that Mary stayed with Elizabeth about 3 months.

And I can’t help wondering if that was the most peaceful time that both Mary and Elizabeth knew.

Because once their sons arrived, the world was changed forever.

Perhaps they knew that they had to make the most of the time before.

The time when they still had the power to protect and nurture their sons.

A blessed time for two women to care for one another, to rejoice, to soothe and comfort and to share strength with one another for the journey ahead.

And it seems like this might be a good time for us, in our race through Advent, to take some sacred pause.

To marvel at God’s blessing and God’s care for each of us.

To feel, not just in our hearts and minds, but with our whole being, the love and care of God for us - the grace that is ours, freely, extravagantly given in love by a God who chooses us.

It’s a good time to take a sacred pause and to notice - How are we embodying that grace?

Where do we feel it in our bodies?

Where does it ooze out into our everyday lives?

Let’s take a sacred pause.

Let us pause, from our preparations, from our anxiety, from our wondering what government announcements await us tomorrow.

Let’s pause.

To breathe in grace.

And breathe out fear.

Breathing in grace.

And breathing out fear.

As we pause here, with Elizabeth and Mary, may we gather strength, from one another and from God, to face whatever is next this Advent, knowing that the grace of God accompanies us as we go from here, filling us and equipping us for abundant life.

To the glory of God

Amen

Finding our wilderness

Luke 3:1-6

In the fifteenth year of the reign of Emperor Tiberius, when Pontius Pilate was governor of Judea, and Herod was ruler of Galilee, and his brother Philip ruler of the region of Ituraea and Trachonitis, and Lysanias ruler of Abilene, during the high priesthood of Annas and Caiaphas, the word of God came to John son of Zechariah in the wilderness. He went into all the region around the Jordan, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins,

as it is written in the book of the words of the prophet Isaiah,

“The voice of one crying out in the wilderness:

‘Prepare the way of the Lord,

make his paths straight.

Every valley shall be filled,

and every mountain and hill shall be made low,

and the crooked shall be made straight,

and the rough ways made smooth;

and all flesh shall see the salvation of God.’ ”

In the Name of the Creator, the Redeemer and the Sustainer. Amen

In the fifteenth year of the reign of Emperor Tiberius…Pontius Pilate was governor…Herod and Philip and Lysanias were rulers of the regions. Annas and Caiaphas were high priests…and John was in the wilderness - perhaps as far removed from all this power as it was possible to be.

John the Baptist was born into a priestly line - his future was pretty much mapped out - to serve in the temple.

Instead, he chose to follow God’s call to be a prophet.

Giving up the luxury and status that he might have known, John followed a much rockier, uncomfortable path as a prophet.

And so, miles from all the power and posturing, John was in the wilderness preaching repentance.

And, by all accounts, people flocked to hear him and to be baptised by him.

People, longing for something different, went to hear John in the wilderness - at the edge, far from all the political turmoil and oppression.

That made me think about us today.

In the midst of political sleaze, where global pandemic rules apply to some and not others, and where access to vaccination depends on where in the world you live… where those already struggling are plunged further into deprivation… In the midst of all this - where is our wilderness?

Where is that place to which we can retreat- and hear something different?

Where can we be engaged in a new way of being- that’s not about power or posturing?

Where is that place that we can own our vulnerability and confront our fear and find ourselves met? Perhaps even changed?

Wilderness places hold out the promise of transformation.

When we stop running.

And stop trying to talk or think our way out of our current predicament.

When we simply take a moment to acknowledge how hard things are.

How weary we are.

How worried we are.

Not because we don’t have hope. We do.

But that doesn’t mean we don’t still worry.

That doesn’t mean we don’t feel weary.

Almost two years of a life we would never have imagined takes it’s toll.

The wilderness, wherever that may be for you, that place of pause, is not an escape.

But it is an opportunity to sit with our vulnerability.

To acknowledge loss and longings.

To confront our fears.

And, in our wilderness, to be met by God.

To be met by God, who doesn’t condemn us for our weariness or our fear…

To be met by God, who does not dismiss our longings…

To be met by God, who does not even comfort us, telling us everything will be alright…

To be met by God, who sits with us in all the darkness, a constant companion.

To be met by God until we are ready to listen again to words of hope - like the words in today’s gospel - all flesh shall see the salvation of God 

That is the promise- that things will be turned on their head - the mighty shall be brought low, the humble will be lifted up - that all flesh shall see the salvation of God.

And in the meantime?

In the meantime, God comes to us in all our wilderness places.

God enters our lives here and now, simply to be with us.

Yet into our despair God pours hope

Into our sorrow, God pours joy.

Into our darkness, God pours light.

Our wilderness is transformed by good news.

Good news that is for all the world.

And so, however long it takes, however long we need God simply to sit with us.

In the end, like John, we are called to Prepare the way of the Lord.

We are called to sit with others - for as long as it takes.

And, when the time is right - to be light in the darkness, to be joy in sorrow, to be hope in fear and to be the good news that our world needs today more than ever.

Prepare the way of the Lord until all the world sees the salvation of God.

May we all become more familiar with the wilderness places this Advent.

For the glory of God.

Amen 

Called to disappoint

John 18:33-37

Then Pilate entered the headquarters again, summoned Jesus, and asked him, “Are you the King of the Jews?” Jesus answered, “Do you ask this on your own, or did others tell you about me?” Pilate replied, “I am not a Jew , am I? Your own nation and the chief priests have handed you over to me. What have you done?” Jesus answered, “My kingdom is not from this world. If my kingdom were from this world, my followers would be fighting to keep me from being handed over to the Jews. But as it is, my kingdom is not from here.” Pilate asked him, “So you are a king?” Jesus answered, “You say that I am a king. For this I was born, and for this I came into the world, to testify to the truth. Everyone who belongs to the truth listens to my voice.”

In the Name of the Creator, the Redeemer and the Sustainer. Amen

Are you the king of the Jews?

It’s a human trait to want to label things, to pin them down.

Being able to name and thus identify something gives many people security.

That’s why Jesus was so annoying.

He refused to be labelled, refused to conform.

Just when folk around him thought they had him sussed - calling him rabbi, teacher, healer, king… Jesus would confound them and do something unconventional, something that meant he could no longer be typified, no longer fit into the boxes that folk constructed for him.

And the authorities around him, church and state, were so riled by their inability to work him out, to define him and control him, that they resorted to violence.

And, lest we think the insecurity of religious authorities that Jesus encountered was simply of his time, let me share with you just a snippet of when I’ve bumped up against that same sort of frustration when I’ve confounded folk because I didn’t follow convention or conform the their stereotypes.

30 years ago, when my call to ordained ministry was being assessed, the panel of 10 men and 1 woman wanted to know: Do you have a desire to preach.

In my tradition at the time, preaching was deemed to be a big part of vocational identity.

But it wasn’t mine.

Somehow, I circumnavigated that stumbling block and went on to training.

After University, however, came the next stumbling block - I didn’t feel called to serve in parish ministry - which was the expected and, I would say, the only acceptable route for a new ordinand to take.

I felt called to serve in Hospital Chaplaincy.

One of my colleagues asked at that point - Do you want to be a minister or not?

I was very aware of their frustration - but I couldn’t simply comply when God was calling me to another form of ministry.

Eventually I did embrace parish ministry - that brought me to Ayr. But, 30 years after my first experience of ‘not fitting in’ I confounded colleagues again when I took up a National post working on renewal in the church.

Again, there was murmuring and shaking of heads.

And, sadly, what I learned, or what I had confirmed, is that when folk don’t conform or can’t be labelled or can’t be put in a box, they are seen as a threat!

I think I’ve spent most of my ministry disappointing folk.

It’s not a comfortable place to be.

But I believe it is the ministry to which God calls us.

A ministry of disappointing folk.

A ministry of refusing to conform

Refusing to be labelled.

Refusing to be pinned down.

Not because we are fickle.

But because we are committed to the unconventional ministry of love and of service.

We are called, when folk expect to be met with judgement, to offer love.

We are called, when folk expect rejection, to offer acceptance.

We are called when folk expect certainty, to offer possibility.

And we are called, when folk expect censure, to offer service.

Following in the way of Christ the king

Who humbled himself

Who emptied himself

Who became poor

Jesus, labelled king of the Jews said: For this I was born, and for this I came into the world to testify to the truth. Everyone who belongs to the truth listens to my voice.”

For what are we born?

To what are we called?

Let me suggest that we are called to disappoint.

We are called to confound expectations.

We are called to follow the way of a servant king

We are called to climb out of the boxes that folk construct for us, to discard the labels that folk pin on us - and to love and to love and to love some more.

In the Name of Christ the king.

Amen

Come Out!

 John 11:32-44

When Mary came where Jesus was and saw him, she knelt at his feet and said to him, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” When Jesus saw her weeping, and the Jews who came with her also weeping, he was greatly disturbed in spirit and deeply moved. He said, “Where have you laid him?” They said to him, “Lord, come and see.” Jesus began to weep. So the Jews said, “See how he loved him!” But some of them said, “Could not he who opened the eyes of the blind man have kept this man from dying?”

Jesus Raises Lazarus to Life

Then Jesus, again greatly disturbed, came to the tomb. It was a cave, and a stone was lying against it. Jesus said, “Take away the stone.” Martha, the sister of the dead man, said to him, “Lord, already there is a stench because he has been dead four days.” Jesus said to her, “Did I not tell you that if you believed, you would see the glory of God?” So they took away the stone. And Jesus looked upward and said, “Father, I thank you for having heard me. I knew that you always hear me, but I have said this for the sake of the crowd standing here, so that they may believe that you sent me.” When he had said this, he cried with a loud voice, “Lazarus, come out!” The dead man came out, his hands and feet bound with strips of cloth, and his face wrapped in a cloth. Jesus said to them, “Unbind him, and let him go.”

In the Name of the Creator, the Redeemer and the Sustainer. Amen

Jesus began to weep. 

That short verse, from our gospel today is oft quoted.

It’s quoted as the shortest verse in the bible.

It’s quoted as proof of Jesus humanity - that he was so moved by the death of his friend.

But, as I spent time with this gospel this week, I wondered.

Was Jesus weeping because his friend had died?

Or was he weeping because the people around him, even those closest to him, still didn’t get what he was about, still didn’t get his teaching, still didn’t understand who he was?

In the gospel of John, the crowds who follow Jesus are always looking for a sign.

They show up to see what miracle he is going to perform next - always looking for just one more sign. Some do come to believe but others always need just one more sign.

Jesus often confronts the crowds who followed him about their need to keep on witnessing the miraculous.

And, as Jesus confronts the crowd again, around the tomb of Lazarus, I couldn’t help wondering if his tears were tears of frustration.

Do you still not get it?

Jesus, it seems, faces resistance at every turn.

Even as he asks for the stone to be moved from the tomb, Martha confronts him with complaints about the smell of death. 

“Lord, already there is a stench because he has been dead four days.”

And Jesus says to her:

Did I not tell you that if you believed, you would see the glory of God?”

You can almost hear the frustration in his voice.

And the prayer that he prays - it’s the kind of prayer that, when we are teaching folk to lead prayer, we encourage them to avoid - the kind of prayer that tells God the things that God already knows:

Jesus looked upward and said, “Father, I thank you for having heard me. I knew that you always hear me, but I have said this for the sake of the crowd standing here, so that they may believe that you sent me.”

It is like Jesus having a wee aside with the Father, - Do you see what I have to put up with- help me out here - I know you always hear me - but I need this crowd to know that too.

And then Jesus gets on with the task before him.

Gathered with the crowd around the stinking tomb, Jesus calls to Lazarus: 

“Lazarus, come out!”

And the crowd finally have the miracle they seek - the dead brought to life.

Lazarus comes out of the tomb.

But, there’s one more detail in the story that I think is significant.

Lazarus emerges from the tomb at Jesus’ command - but there’s one more step to his healing.

Lazarus emerges with his hands and feet bound with strips of cloth - and Jesus calls on his community to complete the work of healing:

Jesus said to them, “Unbind him, and let him go.”

Lazarus’ healing was not complete until he had been released from his bindings by his community.

Jesus said to them, “Unbind him, and let him go.”

The events in this gospel narrative prove to be a turning point for Jesus - after he raises Lazarus form the dead, the authorities, who are already uncomfortable with the following he has and with the teaching he shares, decide that they really have to put a stop to him - and they up their efforts to find a way to silence him.

As we celebrate All Saints, on the eve of a major Climate Conference, I wonder if today’s gospel speaks even more potently to us in this age.

I wonder if the sense of urgency and the sense of a changing tide are more relevant than ever to us today.

Is Jesus still weeping at our inability to get the message - at our inability to act with love and compassion for all our neighbours and for all of creation?

Is Jesus still calling to us - Come out - come out of your tombs of inertia, of avoidance, of denial.

Come out of the tombs you hide in, embrace life and make a difference.

And is Jesus calling on us to act together in community to unbind - to free ourselves from all that holds us back from making a difference.

As we gather around this altar today, at Jesus invitation, surrounded by all the saints, the living - each one of you - and the dead, all crowding around the Lords table, feasting together at Christ’s supper, may we know the risen Christ calling to us to Come out of our tombs, to be freed from all that holds us back and to take up the urgency of the gospel - to set Gods people free to love and serve one another and the creation God has given into our care.

Saints of today:

May we not cause Jesus to weep at our lack of understanding of the love and grace of God

May we be willing to come out of the tombs that we’ve become comfortable in

And may we together find the freedom it will take, freedom from many things we hold dearly to address the challenges facing creation, not least climate change, so that we can serve God and each other better.

In the name of all that is Holy

Amen

Finding the questions

 Mark 10:35-45

James and John, the sons of Zebedee, came forward to him and said to him, “Teacher, we want you to do for us whatever we ask of you.” And he said to them, “What is it you want me to do for you?” And they said to him, “Grant us to sit, one at your right hand and one at your left, in your glory.” But Jesus said to them, “You do not know what you are asking. Are you able to drink the cup that I drink, or be baptised with the baptism that I am baptised with?” They replied, “We are able.” Then Jesus said to them, “The cup that I drink you will drink; and with the baptism with which I am baptised, you will be baptised; but to sit at my right hand or at my left is not mine to grant, but it is for those for whom it has been prepared.”

When the ten heard this, they began to be angry with James and John. So Jesus called them and said to them, “You know that among the Gentiles those whom they recognise as their rulers lord it over them, and their great ones are tyrants over them. But it is not so among you; but whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all. For the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life a ransom for many.”

In the Name of the Creator, the Redeemer and the Sustainer, Amen

One of the things I loved most about the work I’ve been doing the last few years was bringing colleagues together - to get to know one another, to build relationship.

It was as we worked and prayed and played together, as we shared our struggles and vulnerabilities and as we discerned together, who God was calling us to be, in all our different contexts, that we were able to show up, not as competitors in ministry but as colleagues, beloved of God, all about the work of God’s mission.

I’ve  read a lot of articles recently that remind us that, in this season, of trying to figure out who God calls us to be, it’s not the answers that are important - it’s asking the right questions.

And making friends along the way.

All these years on from James and John asking “Who is the greatest”, we’re still asking the wrong questions.

Trying to pin God down.

Trying to formulate rules.

Trying to find the least that we can do to be called Christian.

Trying to side with power.

God calls us back time and again to remind us - it’s not about doing the right things - it’s not about choosing the right side - it’s about relationships.

Always has been

Always will be.

From the creation of the world, God created us to be in relationship.

With the earth and with one another.

Jesus came to earth to be in relationship with us.

And, if we seek to follow that relational God, we, too, must be relational.

Simple.

And excruciatingly difficult.

It’s not “how close to God can we be?”

It’s how close to our neighbour - especially those who are not like us.

I don’t know about you, but I grew up being told that the most important thing was to get ourselves right with God - and sure we want to be close to God - but that’s a relationship that is played out in how we treat others - in how we serve one another.

Those who want to be great, must first serve.

Once again, in our gospel this week, Mark’s portrayal of the disciples’ ineptness mirrors ours.

When we are faced with chaos, we resort to trying to find a semblance of order.

Jesus has been consistently teaching his disciples about his suffering and death.

That must have been hard to hear.

And, as a counter to that, James and John seek reassurance that there are some things that will remain as they should be, that they will be rewarded for sticking with Jesus, that all they know of the life to come will be as it should - with them taking up their rightful place with Jesus in glory.

And Jesus reminds them that none of the usual worldly measures of greatness have any status in the kingdom of God.

But it is not so among you; whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all. 

In many of our congregations and gatherings today, we’re hoping against hope that the world will revert to something more recognisable. That the chaos of the last few months will settle down and that we will be able to carry on as normal. We are like the disciples trying to at least pin one thing down when all is topsy turvy.

Jesus word for us today, like his word for James and John is not what we want to hear.

There is more trouble ahead.

There is no way back to things “as they should be”.

It’s not the wrong answers - it’s the wrong questions.

Instead of looking for what we might know, what we might recognise, our calling is to work with what we have.

To see all around us opportunities to serve.

To serve and be served by those whose who are struggling to make ends meet.

To serve and be served by those whose mental health is deteriorating.

To serve and be served by those who are isolated or frightened.

We have much to give.

We also have much to learn from those we seek to serve.

We have all been weathering a storm whose effects continue to manifest themselves.

We cannot go back to what we thought was solid ground - it never was anyway.

And, like James and John, we don’t really have much idea yet what being church today looks like mid trauma with all the signs of more disruption to come.

But we are being given an opportunity to discover who God calls us to be as we try to rebuild.

Servants, who build relationships, creating community by serving one another.

May our relationship with God play out in our relationship with others and with Creation - in love and service.

For the glory of the Creator.

Amen.

One more thing

 

Mark 10:17-31

The Rich Man

As he was setting out on a journey, a man ran up and knelt before him, and asked him, “Good Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?” Jesus said to him, “Why do you call me good? No one is good but God alone. You know the commandments: ‘You shall not murder; You shall not commit adultery; You shall not steal; You shall not bear false witness; You shall not defraud; Honour your father and mother.’ ” He said to him, “Teacher, I have kept all these since my youth.” Jesus, looking at him, loved him and said, “You lack one thing; go, sell what you own, and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me.” When he heard this, he was shocked and went away grieving, for he had many possessions.

Then Jesus looked around and said to his disciples, “How hard it will be for those who have wealth to enter the kingdom of God!” And the disciples were perplexed at these words. But Jesus said to them again, “Children, how hard it is to enter the kingdom of God! It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of God.” They were greatly astounded and said to one another, “Then who can be saved?” Jesus looked at them and said, “For mortals it is impossible, but not for God; for God all things are possible.”

Peter began to say to him, “Look, we have left everything and followed you.” Jesus said, “Truly I tell you, there is no one who has left house or brothers or sisters or mother or father or children or fields, for my sake and for the sake of the good news, who will not receive a hundredfold now in this age—houses, brothers and sisters, mothers and children, and fields, with persecutions—and in the age to come eternal life. But many who are first will be last, and the last will be first.”

In the Name of the Creator, the Redeemer and the Sustainer. Amen

As he was setting out on a journey…

In Mark’s gospel, Jesus is constantly on the move… journeying from one place to the next.

Ultimately it is one journey - the journey to the cross.

But all along the way, his journey is interrupted by encounters with women, with children, with the poor, the hungry, with the sick, with the perplexed and disillusioned.

Jesus ministry happens in the in between places and in the interruptions, with those who stop him in his tracks, asking questions, looking for food or healing or comfort or teaching  - or all of these at once.

And, in every encounter, people are changed.

Some are fed, some are healed, some are lifted up, some are angered and some are confused.

Jesus doesn’t simply give folk what they ask for.

His isn’t a transactional economy.

His encounters are relational.

He meets people along the way, sees them, knows them and minsters to them or receives from them, enjoying hospitality where he finds it.

And models, for us, a way of being in our world today.

A way of seeing those around us, of seeing the interruptions in our daily lives as moments of encounter in which God is revealed - in unlikely places and in unlikely people.

In all those in between spaces - where God is.

I’m a fan of in between spaces.

There is something freeing and creative about them.

I wonder if it has something to do with not having to be “sorted” in those spaces because we’re still on the way, neither here nor there, but somewhere in between. In a space where there is still potential to be realised, discoveries to be explored.

We, as individuals and, together, as church, are living in an in between space.

Working out who we are called to be in a world learning to live with pandemic.

Working out what we have learned and are still learning.

Working out who God calls us to be for this season.

In many ways that’s nothing new.

As Christ’s body, we are constantly tasked with questioning what God requires of us.

I wonder, though, as we begin to emerge tentatively from a season of curtailment, whether the question is more - Who is God calling us to be?

When we lay aside our traditions and our rituals and the things we have always done, who is God calling us to be - individually and together.

For the last few years, that’s been my calling - to ask folk in churches the length and breadth of Scotland - who are we being called to be today?

The man in our gospel who ran up to Jesus, knelt at his feet and asked: What must I do to inherit eternal life, sounds like he was on a  similar journey.

A journey of discernment.

Trying to work out who God was calling him to be.

And his response, when Jesus laid out the one thing he might do, mirrors the response of many churches wrestling with that question today.

There’s real disappointment that our traditions aren’t enough.

That our rituals won’t do.

That our history, be it long or short won’t buy us the free pass we seek today.

The one thing that God requires of us today is to set down the weight we carry, the things that hold us back and root us in the past, to join in the new thing that God does in every age and every time, for all people.

God calls us to be more relational in our encounters with the communities we are called to serve.

God frees us to be more prepared to be guests rather than hosts, partnering with those who are already making a difference, wherever they come from.

Today in a world scarred by the trauma of pandemic

In a country beginning to experience the reality of Brexit

In a community blighted by poverty - fuel poverty, food poverty, economic poverty

Who is God calling is to be?

And what is it we must lay down to take up that call?

As we wrestle with that question, let’s remember that Jesus looks at us and loves us.

As he did with the man in our gospel story.

Jesus looks at us and loves us.

And, if we are willing, Jesus journeys with us as we discern who we are called to be - for this season.

On a journey that neither ignores or scorns the past but, in the light of all that we have learned, sees every interruption as an encounter with Christ to whom we are invited to respond with love.

May we discover who God call us to be today in the light and love of Christ.

Amen.

Speaking into being

 

Mark 10:13-16

Jesus Blesses Little Children

People were bringing little children to him in order that he might touch them; and the disciples spoke sternly to them. But when Jesus saw this, he was indignant and said to them, “Let the little children come to me; do not stop them; for it is to such as these that the kingdom of God belongs. Truly I tell you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God as a little child will never enter it.” And he took them up in his arms, laid his hands on them, and blessed them.

In the Name of the Creator, the Redeemer and the Sustainer. Amen

Over the last few weeks, I’ve really been enjoying the liturgy we’ve been using for the season of Creation. Whilst it’s still very recognisable as the liturgy we use week in week out as we celebrate the Eucharist, there are enough little changes to make us stop and think about our role as “priests of creation” as the liturgy puts it. Enough to stop us in our tracks and make us think more about this great responsibility that God has entrusted to us.

This might sound strange to those of you who are steeped in the Episcopal Church - but it was the Liturgy that first attracted me. I loved that week in, week out, there is the opportunity to proclaim our faith in words that would become familiar but no less powerful. 

I love that the Liturgy is not something passive - but is spoken into life by all the people gathered., along with that great cloud of witnesses who also gather round the altar.

We sing the Gloria.

We say the creed.

We respond to the great prayer of thanksgiving.

It seems to me that participating in the Liturgy of the Scottish Episcopal Church is consenting to bringing body, mind and soul to the experience of worship.

I once described it, in a discernment interview, as the difference between playing violin and playing cello.

Both take commitment and practice.

But there’s just something about the cello that demands more - involving the whole body rather than just a part.

What has this got to do with our gospel - or indeed with Harvest that we celebrate today?

Well - I think it’s that same commitment that is being asked of us as we consider creation and harvest and our stewardship of the earth.

We are being invited into an ever deepening relationship with Creation and with the God of Creation.

We are being invited to commit body, mind and soul to serving God and to caring for creation.

For our sake AND for the sake of our children and all the generations that will come after.

Every day, we are learning more, not just of how we have exploited earth’s resources - but of how we can begin to make a difference

Maya Angelou once said  - “When we know better, we can do better.”

We know so much more today than ever before about how we can sustain and how we destroy creation. 

God reveals how we can work in partnership in caring for creation.

We know better.

We can do better.

And so as we look around the sanctuary today, at the beauty and the bounty, as we thank God for the harvest, we are being invited to do more.

We are being invited to step up our commitment to sustain the earth.

By the choices we make every day.

By our commitment to live sustainable lives.

And by our commitment to be generous in our sharing with others.

That sharing extends to giving AND receiving.

To listening and learning from others, from those living on the edge, those for whom £20 less in Universal Credit really does make a difference to whether they eat or stay warm this winter.  

To listening and learning from our children about how to get along and how to make a difference by the way we live.

To listening and learning from those considered weak or foolish in the world who have much to teach us about how we might live today - simply and generously.

In the gospel, Jesus reminds us that the kingdom belongs to those who are like children.

Those who are willing to keep on listening, to keep on learning, to keep on sharing, to keep on hoping for better things - believing that we can change the world, that we can bring peace, that we can heal nations.

So today, as we thank God for the harvest, as we join in our Eucharistic Liturgy, as we say these words:

Creator of all things visible and invisible, source of life and immortality,

whom the heavens praise, the sun and moon and all the stars, the earth, 

the sea and all that is in them, in every place and at all times.

By your holy Word you brought order out of chaos. you divided light from darkness,

created the heavens and established the earth;

you divided the sea from the dry land,

and caused all life to come into being.

When you had made the plants and the animals,

you formed humanity in your own image,

and entrusted us with the priesthood of your creation.

As we say these words together, let’s listen afresh to the liturgy we share - let’s commit ourselves to speaking that hope into being - to living out the hope of change and commitment - to being the change that we want to see as priests of creation, for the sake of the world and for the glory of the Creator.

Amen.