Getting under folks' skin

A reading for the Tuesday of Holy Week:

Oh my!

What a day!

What on earth is Jesus playing at?

We thought he’d done his worst in the temple,

upsetting all the merchants and money changers

But today he went his duster with the scribes

and the Pharisees

and the Sadducees

and pretty much anyone else who crossed his path.

Maybe he thought he was being subtle.

Maybe he thought they wouldn’t see through his parables

But, hey, it was staring us all in the eye.

His message was clear and hard hitting.

We’ve messed up

And all our good deeds and intentions

will not save us.

Maybe we tried too hard.

It seemed like Jesus was saying

that there is nothing we can do,

that nothing will ever be enough

UNLESS we love first.

He was in his element today, surrounded by folk

all listening to him

asking questions

trying to trip him up.

But every time,

he managed to bat things back

and challenge their long held assumptions.

It was quite amusing to watch the religious hierarchy

being knocked off their perches.

But then it got a bit uncomfortable, a bit near the bone

and it seemed like we’d ALL got it wrong.

That wiped the smirks off our faces.

It wasn’t so funny then.

And, to top it off he started to spout some

real doom and gloom.

About the temple being destroyed and about the last Judgement.

We came away reeling.

Mind you, I think we were lucky to get away at all.

They’re really baying for his blood now.

His days are certainly numbered.

And either he doesn’t know that

or he doesn’t care.

Either way, it’s not looking good.

A death wish

or a last gasp attempt

to get his message across?

Who knows?

I tell you, though

we must be near the end of the road.

Liz Crumlish Lent 2010

Hungry and thirsty

A communion reflection on Isaiah 55:1-13

The passage we read from Isaiah is one of those beautiful, poetic passages from the Old Testament. In fact, it is so beautiful that I was tempted not to preach on it but to simply read it over to you a few times and let its beauty and its message sink in. But I know that that meditative style of reading the Bible does not appeal to everyone. And some of you would just think I hadn’t had time to prepare a sermon. So let me share with you just a few thoughts about this scripture.

In the Old Testament, and in the new, we often find prophets speaking harsh words to the people. Being cruel to be kind, if you like. Saying some pretty awful and hurtful things often to shock the people into changing their ways and finding their way back to God.

But the prophets could also speak words of comfort.

And that’s what we find in this reading from Isaiah. It is a word to comfort and encourage the people. To lift them from the depths of despair and bring them hope for their future.

But, for all that, it is no less challenging. Still it calls the people to seek another way- to remember their calling as children of God and seek to honour God in all of life.

Ho, everyone who thirsts,
 come to the waters;
and you that have no money,
 come, buy and eat!


Come, buy wine and milk
 without money and without price.

The prophet knows that what the people need at this time, more than anything else is good news, a reminder of all the goodness of God in the midst of all their difficulties.

But he has to find a way of getting that message through to them – through the despair and hopelessness that is overshadowing all of life.

So what he preaches is in stark contrast to everything else they are hearing, flies in the face of all they know.

An offering of gifts without price, a call to return to a God who has become little more than a vague memory.

A God who, in these dark times of exile, yet is waiting to enrich them with gifts that will feed their souls – for ever.

We come here tonight to celebrate an ancient tradition, to remember our Lord. It’s a feast with which we are familiar. A feast that perhaps means little to us except a ritual we perform out of duty once in a while.

And just maybe we need to hear that voice of the prophet. The voice that comforts us and doesn’t upbraid us. The voice that calls to our attention things we have always known. Things that we could do with reminding of in a whole new way. Things that will bring this feast to life for us as never before.

Perhaps we need to hear words that will lift us from our preoccupation with living or our downright boredom with life - lift us onto a whole new plane.

It seems we spend all our days slogging to keep mind and body together, to fulfil expectations, to conform to what others expect of us. And we barely even realize that we are hungry or thirsty. That there is more.

Why do you spend your money for that which is not bread,
 and your labour for that which does not satisfy?
 Listen carefully to me, and eat what is good,
 and delight yourselves in rich food. 
Incline your ear, and come to me;
 listen, so that you may live.


These words of the prophet are an invitation to Abundant Life, a life that shows up the lives for which we currently settle.

They are a call, not to settle for what is-but to look forward to what we have been promised.

To remember that we are beloved children of God who are called to live differently. To know that there is another world, a world in which all God’s beloved children have enough to eat and to drink and to never tire of working towards that world, even when it goes against all that we see around us.

On this night when we celebrate this feast of bread and wine, we hold with us our brothers and sisters who have no bread, who have no wine.

And as we celebrate an abundance that we barely notice, may these symbols speak to us in a new and startling way, calling us to turn around, to stop being obsessed with the things of the world that don’t really matter and that don’t really last but to turn our attention and our energies to God’s kingdom where all are welcome, all are valued and all have enough to share.

It’s sometimes said: You won’t miss what you’ve never known?

That’s nonsense.

Sometimes it’s the things that we don’t know we’re missing that we long for the most. That’s why, whether we know it or not, we are hungry and thirsty for the new life that God offers – both now and in God’s kingdom.

Listen again to these beautiful words of the prophet. Words that comfort. Words that remind us of the longing of our hearts, that reveal our hunger and our thirst. And as you listen, come back to God who meets us in this feast.

Isaiah 55:1-13

An Invitation to Abundant Life

Ho, everyone who thirsts,
 come to the waters;
and you that have no money,
 come, buy and eat!
Come, buy wine and milk
 without money and without price. 
Why do you spend your money for that which is not bread,
 and your labour for that which does not satisfy?
Listen carefully to me, and eat what is good,
 and delight yourselves in rich food. 
Incline your ear, and come to me;
 listen, so that you may live.
I will make with you an everlasting covenant,
 my steadfast, sure love for David. 
See, I made him a witness to the peoples,
 a leader and commander for the peoples. 
See, you shall call nations that you do not know,
 and nations that do not know you shall run to you,
because of the Lord your God, the Holy One of Israel,
 for he has glorified you.


Seek the Lord while he may be found,
 call upon him while he is near; 
let the wicked forsake their way,
 and the unrighteous their thoughts;
let them return to the Lord, that he may have mercy on them,
 and to our God, for he will abundantly pardon. 
For my thoughts are not your thoughts,
 nor are your ways my ways, says the Lord. 
For as the heavens are higher than the earth,
 so are my ways higher than your ways
 and my thoughts than your thoughts.


For as the rain and the snow come down from heaven,
 and do not return there until they have watered the earth,
making it bring forth and sprout,
 giving seed to the sower and bread to the eater, 
so shall my word be that goes out from my mouth;
 it shall not return to me empty,
but it shall accomplish that which I purpose,
 and succeed in the thing for which I sent it.


For you shall go out in joy,
 and be led back in peace;
the mountains and the hills before you
 shall burst into song,
 and all the trees of the field shall clap their hands. 
Instead of the thorn shall come up the cypress;
 instead of the brier shall come up the myrtle;
and it shall be to the Lord for a memorial,
 for an everlasting sign that shall not be cut off.

Turning the tables

A reading for Monday of Holy Week:

Can you believe it?

He parades into town

to a band playing.

Anyone else would have settled for that.

But not him.

People eating out of his hand

simply won’t do it for him.

He has to mount a campaign

right in the temple precints

He doesn’t care who he upsets,

or whose side they are on

Sometimes I wonder whether he wants

to alienate us all

Some of the things he does and says

are much too near the bone.

And no one it seems escapes his censure

no matter their pedigree or connection

And so he takes on the traders

and kicks into touch a whole system

of corruption and exploitation

that we’ve all put up with for so long

because we simply couldn’t see any other way.

I mean you can’t blame the merchants

making a fairly good living

on the back of our holy obligations.

That’s just the way it is.

There’ll always be someone ready to make a fast buck

It’s called enterprise.

But he called it something else.

A travesty.

Turning a place of prayer for all nations

into a pigeon seller’s circus.

We’ll never understand him.

Crowd puller one minute

Whip wielding fiend the next.

I dread to think what else he’s got up his sleeve.

Liz Crumlish March 2010

Party animal

A contemporary reading for Palm Sunday:

You can find previous years' offerings here and here.

The weeks have rolled on

those austere, bleak weeks

of our Lenten observance.

We’ve journeyed with Jesus through the wilderness

felt the rub of sand on our feet as we traversed the desert

and again, as we emerged with him on the shore at Galilee.

We’ve marvelled at the things he did

and cringed at the things he said

one moment proud to step out beside him

the next, embarrassed to know him.

He’s been wild, free, tormented and cursed

sometimes all at the same time.

Oh we’ve had laughs,

laughs that burst our guts as he burst the disciples’ nets,

We’ve had our party times with him too,

even through this season of penance

How could we not party when we saw him eating, drinking,

making merry?

So often there was a lightness in his step

a freshness that lifted us up

We’ve listened to his stories, marvelled at his miracles

Questioned our living

in the light of the way he showed us

And that’s all to the good.

But sometimes he got a bit heavy,

nudged us out of our comfort zones

challenged us to respond to his words

and not just passively listen,

goaded us to be different –

For the sake of the kingdom he said.

What kingdom is the question.

He’s said some tough things,

upset a lot of people

He’ll be lucky to survive with his life

never mind build a kingdom.

There’s definitely a change in the atmosphere now.

All the talk recently has been bizarre

Of death and darkness and destruction

But also talk of hope and newness.

The two simply don’t go together.

Still, the mood is changing

It ooks like we’re going to have the party of all parties

And then, who knows?

Liz Crumlish Feb 2010

Love hurts

Reading: Luke 13 v 31-35

Today’s gospel reads a bit like an Aesop’s fable – you know, like the hare and the tortoise or the lion and the mouse. In fact, when I was doing some research for this sermon, I came across a website that retells Aesop’s fables. It was wonderful re- reading many of those. It proved a wonderful distraction from actually writing a sermon.

In today’s gospel we have foxes and hens.

Jesus’ cousin, John the Baptist, has just been executed and Jesus is warned – “that fox (Herod) is out to kill you.”

It was a real threat.

So what does Jesus do?

Does he lie low for a while?

Does he put some distance between himself and Herod?

No.

Jesus gathers his resolve and pushes on with what he knows he must do.

He presses on to Jerusalem, where he knows he will be completely exposed to the authorities.

Jesus put himself right into the path of danger, refused to retreat.

“Today, tomorrow, and the next day, I must be on my way,” says Jesus, aware of what awaits him in Jerusalem. Not even the warnings that “Herod wants to kill you” can dissuade Jesus from his work and mission.

He headed into the path of those he knew would kill him.

Not armed, not gathering forces.

But open and wholly vulnerable.

Jesus knows what is required of him.

Knows what he must do for love.

And sets out to do it.

He laments over a city that kills prophets.

But he takes himself to that city where he too will be killed.

As he weeps over the city, Jesus describes himself as a hen- a mother hen who wants to gather her chicks under her wing.

What kind of image is that for the Saviour of the world?

A mother hen, gathering her chicks under her wing.

As usual, Jesus confounds human wisdom.

He turns things on their head.

He doesn’t describe himself as some powerful, dangerous animal but as a mother hen.

Seems crazy, doesn’t it?

And yet…

And yet…

When we look at that image of the mother hen, with her chicks gathered around.

That IS a powerful picture.

Of love.

And vulnerability.

The sheer power of love IS its vulnerability.

Only powerful love can place us in such a vulnerable position.

Let me ask you: when is the last time that you felt love that tore you up.

When’s the last time that you felt such incredible love that it hurt?

When’s the last time that you offered love that was rejected and you were left standing there, arms outstretched, but the one you wanted to protect walked away from those loving arms.

That’s the kind of image that Jesus is portraying in our gospel today.

A mother hen who wants to protect her brood.

Who wants those she loves to nestle in close, under the warmth and safety of her wings.

But those she loves, don’t want to know.

Jesus does not force his love on us.

Much as he might want.

But he weeps as we walk away.

I’m sure many of you can identify with that feeling of helplessness when we try to protect our loved ones, when we do everything in our power to shield them from harm.

And then along comes something to hurt them.

And there’s nothing we can do.

We simply cannot protect them from everything.

But to stand by and watch our loved ones hurting is the hardest thing of all.

Often, we’d rather it was us who were suffering than those we love.

Very recently I was shocked when someone I love was hurt.

I was shocked at the ferocity of my feelings.

I was overwhelmed by love and by helplessness.

One I love was hurting and there was nothing that I could do to change that.

That’s a sore place to be.

And I know that many of you will have been in that place.

Perhaps you’re there even now.

Desperate to change things but powerless to make a difference.

Let me tell you- love DOES make a difference.

Even though, at times, to us, love seems inadequate and impotent, yet it is a powerful force.

Love, in all its vulnerability, is yet incredibly powerful.

That is why Jesus used such a contentious picture to demonstrate his love and despair.

All he desires is to gather his children up like a mother hen.

To keep them safe under her wings.

Instead, he has to stand by and watch us walk away, watch us be hurt, watch us reject that purely wonderful and powerful love.

That’s what love is.

Holding out.

Exposed.

Vulnerable.

Risking hurt.

Risking rejection.

But still offering love.

That’s the picture of love that Jesus paints for us as he makes his way to the cross.

That’s the picture of love that he paints as he sets off to meet the fox.

Knowing that the fox is going to kill him.

That’s the picture of love.

Ferocious.

Powerful.

Vulnerable.

But in all this – CONSTANT.

I love these words from Kahlil Gibran:

When love beckons to you, follow him,

Though his ways are hard and steep.

And when his wings enfold you yield to him,

Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you.

And when he speaks to you believe in him,

Though his voice may shatter your dreams

as the north wind lays waste the garden.

For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you. Even as he is for your growth so is he for your pruning.

Even as he ascends to your height and caresses your tenderest branches that quiver in the sun,

So shall he descend to your roots and shake them in their clinging to the earth.

Like sheaves of corn he gathers you unto himself.

He threshes you to make you naked.

He sifts you to free you from your husks.

He grinds you to whiteness.

He kneads you until you are pliant;

And then he assigns you to his sacred fire, that you may become sacred bread for God's sacred feast.

When you love you should not say, "God is in my heart," but rather, "I am in the heart of God."

And think not you can direct the course of love, for love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course.

Love has no other desire but to fulfill itself.

But if you love and must needs have desires, let these be your desires:

To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night.

To know the pain of too much tenderness.

To be wounded by your own understanding of love;

And to bleed willingly and joyfully.

To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving;

To rest at the noon hour and meditate love's ecstasy;

To return home at eventide with gratitude;

And then to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart and a song of praise upon your lips.

A mother hen, just longing to gather her chicks under her wings.

The image of love that Christ has for us as he makes his way to the cross.

A mother hen.

Thanks be to God.

Not about me

This Lent, I'm reading Maggi Dawn's Giving it up. She recalls us to community in our Lenten disciplines.

This meditation, written last year at the beginning of Lent had a similar theme. It's not about the small stuff that makes me feel better - but about the things that enhance community and communion with God and with each other:

Chocolate or wine

Chocolate or wine?

Wine or chocolate?

Which should I renounce?

Or should I really push the boat out and renounce both?

I mean it is only for 6 weeks

Even I could manage that

And I’d emerge smug and self righteous

My halo extra shiny

After being so self denying

I mean that’s going to make all the difference, isn’t it?

That will really change the world

If I indulge my lack of self indulgence

Besides, I’d probably lose about 20 pounds too

A new figure and a shiny soul

Not to be sneered at.

Is that what its come to?

Is that what its all about

Giving up and then self- congratulating

That’s what God surely wants

No, its what God demands

That we all make ourselves miserable and short tempered

and renounce all our coping mechanisms for 6 weeks

so that we too can emerge again from our self imposed tombs

all the better for our “suffering”

God help us when we trivialise sacrifice.

When we dare to imagine that a little self denial

Helps us identify with love in its extremity.

God, the last word in party excuses

Who came up with every reason ever invented to party

Must shrivel and die

When confronted with our pathetic attempts at Lent

Repentance occasions rejoicing

So why do we fail so miserably to capture that

Life giving season

Why do we make a drudgery

Of something beautiful-

getting ready to celebrate such love

and being transformed by such life.

Chocolate?

Wine?

How about throwing our all into love?

In time,,,

These snowdrops look a tad feeble right now but, in time, will be even more glorious signs of hope.

This week's lectionary uses the passage from Isaiah 6 v 1-8 about Isaiah's call. Not so often heard are the verses immediately following that call , v 9-13, verses that speak of the people's inability to hear and to understand until their cities are laid to waste and their land is desolate and they are scattered.

The holy seed is its stump. Right at the end of the passage we get the tiniest glimmer of hope.

It is that hope that is calling to me today.

In all the dry bones and the deadness is the tiniest holy seed.

And so, in days when it seems that no one else gets it and that the life is being slowly but relentlessly choked out of the Spirit, there is still the tiniest remnant, a remnant that will bloom again.

When we are tempted to ask "How long, O Lord", there are tiny flickers of hope.

Tiny flickers that we are called to nurture until the time is right when they will burst into flame.