POWER AND TRANSFORMATION

16^th December 2012 : Advent 3 : Year C

8:00am and 9:30am Kalamunda

Zephaniah 3:14-20 : Song of Isaiah : Philippians 4:4-7 : Luke 3:7-18

The third Sunday of Advent. It’s often seen as a bit of a “resting place” after the first couple of soul-searching Sundays, and in some parts of the tradition a rose (read “pink”) candle is lit as part of the Advent wreath liturgy. Some communities of faith even sport rose vestments.

The readings reflect this change of pace. Suddenly we’re all joy and celebration – and that’s not a problem, except for the desire to turn Advent into what some liturgists call a “mini Lent”. This Sunday, in that way of thinking, is the vague equivalent of Lent’s Laudate Sunday, when the faithful have a break from the spiritual self-flagellation of the previous weeks.

But Advent is not a mini Lent; and what we engage today is not so much a “breather” from the demands of the previous Sundays but a recognition that the Awaited and Anticipated are approaching quickly now. It’s a kind of rehearsal for the letting-go of Christmass, the wholehearted celebration of Jesus’ birth.

Even so, it’s wise to ask what we are celebrating here on this third Sunday because the cause of the joy is by no means as clear as a rather shallow and cursory glance might indicate. 

For instance, to say that we’re getting on the joy because we have a whiff of the so-called “reason for the season” is somewhat facile, though perhaps not entirely so. Such a view buys a controlling interest in the hoary conceit of cause-and-affect: celebrate Jesus’ birth, sing upbeat carols and hymns, exchange gifts and greetings.

Surely – and we should add if only because the Living God is involved in this – the presence of prophets is alone enough to indicate that we are living through something far more profound that cause-and-effect – something that actually involves transformation and not just the puppet-on-a-string mentality that cause-and-effect thinking implies.

In other words, what is happening is change. The cause-and-effect mindset requires nothing more than blind, mute subservience to whatever wind of doctrine, as it were, happens to blow us along said doctrine’s predefined pathway.

Transformation, on the other hand, demands the change implicit in turning back to the Living God. That’s what God, through the prophets and through Jesus, calls us to do. Transformation is what God does in loving, gracious response to our return.

The joy that our readings speak of, therefore, is the recognition of God’s “breaking in” to our damaged and damaging human world and making inroads into the terrorising perversion of power that humankind practises. It’s the joy born of knowing that our world of horror and injustice, oppression and marginalisation is being shown not simply a better way but the only good way of being.

Therefore the prophet Zephaniah records God’s forthright promises:

I will deal with all your oppressors at that time. And I will save the lame and gather the outcast, and I will change their shame into praise and renown in all the earth.

This is where and how God acts: in presence with and concern for the weakest and most impoverished among us.

And make no mistake – this is not some namby-pamby, sentimentalist, socialist/communist/do-gooder rubbish. This is the Living God’s concern, articulated again and again in the Hebrew scriptures, and put poignantly and uncompromisingly into practice in the person and work of Jesus of Nazareth.

We ignore this at our peril.

When John the baptiser jeers at the mob on Jordon’s banks coming for baptism thinking, perhaps, that they will just be going through the motions, participating bodily in another ritual, but one that will formalise whatever their conception of salvation might be, he’s ironically describing the world situation that misuses and perverts power. “You brood of vipers!” says he. Such an evocative phrase! And so accurate an image of the repulsive lust for power that finds greater traction in game-playing, and prodding and poking the rival than in using the same energy to do God’s will.

How great would the Church or any parish or worshipping community be if its energies came to bear, in concert, on God’s will, on seeking the oppressed, and being kind, loving, compassionate and forgiving towards the people on the edge!

But the image at the conclusion of the passage is also worth exploring. I’ll reproduce my research at this point because it’s clear and to-the-point, and any paraphrase is likely to do the insight damage and disservice. It comes from Sarah Dylan Bauer’s blog, Sarah Laughed. She is referring to the passage that reads: his winnowing fork is in his hand…

A winnowing fork is used to separate the wheat from the chaff. A winnowing shovel is what you use after someone else has done their work with the fork and the wheat and chaff are already separated to do what John says the coming one will do: "gather the wheat into his granary," while "the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire." Jesus is only fulfilling half of what John says the mighty one coming would do: he's baptising with the Holy Spirit and gathering people for healing, good news, and blessing, but the fire to destroy the wicked is nowhere to be seen.[1]

She goes on to say that later, when John is in prison and questioning whether Jesus is “the one who is to come”,

John is invited to rejoice at what God is doing in the world, and to let go of what God is not doing, to release his preconceptions and take in the reality of God's presence and work.[2]

We are in exactly the same place. We, like John, need to let go of preconceived notions and open our eyes and ears to the reality of what God IS ACTUALLY DOING in our community.

As to the fire that will destroy the wicked, which is “nowhere to be seen” – it is not Jesus who will wield this fire. That’s why the fire is never apparent. The shocking reality is that it is the twisters and perverters of power who use the fire to destroy one another. They practise destruction upon themselves by preferring their power games and needling and jockeying for position, often over trivial and petty issues, investing them with the kind of importance one might accord to worshipping the Living God or sitting down next to a homeless youth and finding out who they are and what they need.

This kind of behaviour fools very few people. It’s naked, secular power strutting and parading under the huffing and puffing guise of self-importance. It’s fire burning up chaff. But it does NOT come from God.

God’s will is for transformation in its broadest sense. It’s where our search for revelation intersects with God’s yearning for connection. Is that smoke I can smell? Or is it a barbecue for the hungry and homeless…?

---

[1] http://www.sarahlaughed.net/lectionary/2006/12/third_sunday_of.html

[2] ibid.

TRANSFORMATION!

17th February 2008 : Lent 2 : Year A
9:30am Westfield
Genesis 12:1-4a : Romans 4:1-17 : Matthew 17:1-9

Today we get a second dig at Matthew’s version of the Transfiguration story. It gives me an opportunity to reflect on something that struck me after our celebration of the Transfiguration on the last Sunday before Lent – the notion of transformation as a third dominical sacrament.

I had better explain that the Anglican Church recognizes seven sacraments, the standard definition of which is “an outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual grace”. In other words, the Church does something that is plain and visible for all to see but the internal changes are God’s action and business. For instance, in Holy Baptism we use water and oil and candle light as the outward and visible signs of what we believe is a divine action that bestows both the Holy Spirit and gifts of the Spirit upon the person who is baptized. We see the water but we don’t see the Spirit …

Of these sacraments, two are specifically labeled Dominical – Holy Eucharist and Holy Baptism – because the Church believes that Jesus himself took part in them. We know, for instance, that Jesus celebrated a so-called Last Supper and commanded us to “do this in remembrance of me”; we know that John the baptiser baptised Jesus at the beginning of Jesus’ ministry.

So, what about this “third dominical sacrament”?

It seems to me that Jesus invites us all into sharing the same experience of transformation that he underwent, though we will change far more slowly and over a far longer period than did Jesus!

I should point out here that transfigure and transform are the same word in the Greek text. The authors of the Christian scriptures obviously didn’t feel the need to distinguish between the two.

As with Baptism the Christian scriptures do not record a direct statement from Jesus commanding us to embark on this journey of transformation. However, other passages, in the Letters, do counsel transformation or becoming Christ-like.

That said, the whole idea of undertaking a spiritual journey at the command of the Living God finds several obvious examples in the Hebrew scriptures. The Abraham Saga, so-called, is perhaps the greatest of these – and we happily get a glimpse of this seminal journey’s beginning this morning.

Abram and his wife Sarai and their extended family set out from Ur in what is modern-day Iraq at God’s command, with the promise of blessing and growth ringing in Abram’s ears. Abram has no real idea where he is going but he places his life and that of his family into God’s hands and sets off on what will become a great adventure that eventually leads to the foundation of the Hebrew people and their settlement in Canaan.

Abram himself never sees the fulfillment of any of God’s promises but he journeys on nevertheless. Centuries later, Abram’s remarkable act of faith cause Paul to uphold him as the great example of faith – a faith that led to the Living God considering him to be in relationship with God.

Abram learns much about the Living God during the course of his journey – but, again, he never sees the end that God apparently promised.

But that’s not the point of a spiritual. It’s not about getting somewhere or achieving something. It’s about traveling and learning about God along the way.

I’m reminded of the words of a song Art Garfunkel sang several decades ago called Wo-ya-ya:

We are going, heaven-knows where we are going;
We’ll know we’re there.
We will get there, heaven-knows how we will get there;
We know we will
…

It will be hard, we know,
And the road will be muddy and rough
But we’ll get there –
Heaven-knows how we will get there:
We know we will …

Our journey following Jesus into transformation is like that, as was Abram’s journey. We don’t know where we are going but we will know when and if we arrive; we don’t really know how we’ll get to where we are going but if we continue in faith, returning again and again and again to the Living God despite the pot holes and detours and avalanches and quicksand and whatever else, then we know we will arrive.

And in the process of journeying, Jesus will transform us. The transformation will happen inwardly but the fruit of that transformation will be apparent in our lives. It – we - will be an outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual grace. A sacrament.
But how will Jesus transform us?

The best clue is in the words of the Living God on the Mount of transfiguration:

"This is my Son, the Beloved; with him I am well pleased; listen to him!"

Immediately we have a reminder of Jesus’ baptism when the voice spoke almost exactly the same words – “this is my beloved Son, with whom I am well-pleased.” Here, however, we have the all-significant additional imperative – Listen to him!

And that’s the clue – Jesus transforms those who take the time to listen to him. Jesus will transform those who listen to him because they will form a relationship with Jesus.

Just as our own human relationships crucially depend upon our willingness and ability to listen to another, whether a friend or husband or wife or anyone else with whom we seek a relationship, so too our relationship with the Living God, with Jesus the Son, requires the same attitude of attentiveness, and desire and willingness to listen.

We do our very best, most effective listening by coming into God’s presence in silence, putting aside our almost natural desire to regale God with our wants and needs – or even the world’s wants and needs. This silence is never easy. But the out-working of our faith is our returning again and again and again to God despite the extraneous material that surfaces while we are doing our darnedest just to listen.

Silence isn’t something we’re used to or comfortable with at the beginning. That’s okay. We do it a bit at a time. You’ll have noticed the silence following the sermon and after Communion. It’s a small but important opportunity to absorb what we have just received, to be conscious of God’s presence.

In that small moment, are we listening to God? Are we willing to create some space and time in the daily round of activity to sit similarly at home and just be silent with God?

Perhaps we even need to ask ourselves a very serious prior question – do we want Jesus to transform us? If the answer is, Yes, then we need to start listening. If it’s, No, or we’re not sure, that’s okay. Maybe it isn’t the right time. But if not, then we need to think about what will make the time right, knowing that we will never enjoy the depth of relationship with God, through Jesus, if we cannot begin to listen to what God has to say to us.

We are going, heaven-knows where we are going;
We’ll know we’re there.
We will get there, heaven-knows how we will get there;
We know we will …

But we won’t find those answers on the back of the proverbial Weeties packet. We’ll only know if we’re listening. Silently, faithfully listening. Silently being transformed in the continuing journey of the third dominical sacrament.

ROAD RAGE AND OTHER SIN(S)

17th June 2007 : Pentecost 3 : year C
1 Kings 21:1-21 : Galatians 2:15-21 : Luke 7:36 – 8:3

I suspect I’ve used this illustration before but since we’re thinking about Sin today it’s worth repeating. Occasion: the “induction Eucharist” of a friend of mine and my wife’s into the Carmelite Order, in the surreal atmosphere of a convent not very many stone-throws away from the hectic pace of Stirling Highway, Dalkeith.

Came the sermon the priest arose, commandeered the pulpit and spake unto us on just this topic: Sin. Not just spake but dissected the sucker in all its grossed-out detail. I know I should have timed it but maybe I was wise not to because it felt like the preacher-man was giving us the benefit of knowing every type of sin it was possible to commit, from the obvious newspaper-headline stuff right down to stealing a paper clip from the office.

It’s a long list, I need hardly tell you. We were all implicated. Some of us were guilty-as. Boy, did we feel … bored out of our tiny minds …

Well, I did. I suspect it terrified a few of those of the True Faith, as it was probably meant to.

But ultimately, with the benefit of a bit of education and (sorry) Richard Rohr, I’d have to say the Carmelite-induction preacher and others of his thinking probably missed a greater point.

What the priest sed was indubitably not untrue but the overwhelming, all-encompassing sadness of Sin isn’t just about cataloguing the types, kinds and grades of it but about recognising how lost all of humanity becomes when we find ourselves, sometimes moment-by-moment, trapped in a cycle of sinful actions that often enter our minds at lightning speed, coming from places we can’t even begin to know the location of.

Among my many occasions for entering full-bloodedly into Sin is when I’m driving. I may seem kind, mild-mannered, even jolly, when I’m in the dress and the scarf and the poncho or whatever but put me on the road behind a steering wheel and who knows what it is or where it comes from but I’m as given to road rage as the next driver. You know the commercial about the Mum who picks her daughter up from school, scolds her for swearing and then proceeds to give a mouthful to some hapless driver who cuts her off as she’s leaving? Compared to me, she’s a pussy, a total wimpette. A mere apprentice road-rager.

Let’s be clear about this. I’m not proud of it but I confess it to illustrate the dynamic that Sin can assume – a suddenness that seems to come from the mythical “nowhere” and then engulfs us in actions we might not normally even think about.

Fortunately, one of the benefits of my listening to Richard Rohr is to understand that this phenomenon is simply a reality. It’s the way I am, at least at the moment. That doesn’t make it okay. It’s part of the large collection of things I “get wrong”.

But what I’ve found myself doing now is almost immediately reminding myself that, Hey, Alistair, you do stupid things too. You’re impatient and discourteous when you’re driving, too. And then I say sorry to God. I literally say, Sorry, Lord. I do stupid stuff too.

The point is that at the same time as putting human propensity for sinning into perspective we need to take it seriously enough sincerely to try to do something about it. In a nutshell, to seek the transforming love, acceptance and comfort of Jesus.

We become obsessed with Sin and its manifestations partly because we’ve secretly or otherwise bought the heresy of dualism and the moral universe created by conservatives. Of course the Living God wants us to live morally. But that’s not the criterion for entry into communion with God. It’s faith. And faith implies nothing about our moral standing.

As Richard Rohr points out several times, Jesus never – that’s NEVER – goes out looking for sinners. He’s not a one-man vigilante squad. He looks for the lost, the people precariously on the edge, the outcasts, the impoverished. The ones, effectively, who have absolutely nothing left to lose and who are therefore totally free to replenish their emptiness with Jesus’ love.

He doesn’t look for the anointing woman but she comes to him. Simon knows she’s a sinner. She knows she’s a sinner. Jesus knows she’s a sinner. Does Jesus judge her? Does Jesus recoil and say, “Whoa, sinner-woman, back off. Back off now. I have a seriously Lawful Pharisee on hand and I’m not afraid to use him!”

We know the answer to these and a legion of other questions.

No, the woman knows her state, she seeks Jesus and expresses her faith in him. He forgives her, it seems just because she needs it.

Ours is exactly the same dynamic. Yes, we need to acknowledge our sinfulness. But let’s not obsess about it. Jesus didn’t. He simply wanted people to come to him so that he could transform them. And the Christian scriptures show this happening time after time after time.

Likewise we need to do it time after time after time because we will probably never get it right all the time. Like the rest of the human creation, sometimes we get it right (Hallelujah!), oftentimes we get it wrong (so let’s sort it with God and get back on track).

We see the roots of all this radical acceptance and lack of judgement in many places in the Hebrew Scriptures, such as this morning’s story of Naboth’s Vineyard. Too often we secretly cheer at the grossed-out image of the dogs licking Ahab and Jezebel’s blood but the real point is that God, though outraged at the abuse of power, at the total disregard of Naboth’s rights, nevertheless refuses to return the royal violence with divine violence.

The Naboth story finely indicates the dynamic of envy and greed that lie at the heart of personal and systemic violence. But what we see in the divine response is the seed of everything that finds fruition on the cross of Jesus – this divine refusal to take on the very worst of human distortions, to become violent, to seek revenge. God – unlike humankind – is NOT into payback. God’s version of payback amounts to saying, Do your worst. I still love you.

This is where Jesus calls us to be. Not seeking the sinner so we can judge them. Not running terrified from the Church’s self-appointed Sinner Squad. But coming to Jesus, acknowledging this weakness of our being and seeking his transformation.

This is what Paul means when he sez I have been crucified with Christ; and it is no longer I who live, but it is Christ who lives in me.

This is the state of having come to Jesus. This is what happens when we allow Jesus to transform us: Christ lives in us and we act more and more out of this new reality, a reality in which Sin no longer enthralls us, or does so less and less, and in which we become less judgmental and more loving, open, accepting, welcoming.

Of course we need to take Sin and sinning seriously. But we do not need to let it be our master. We have the solution – our friend, Jesus. It sounds twee and quaint. Maybe it is. But it also happens to be true.

Why don’t we try it this week? At least, for those of us, like me, who still need to. Seek Jesus. Put away the judgements (note to Alistair: and the road rage) and allow Jesus to be the vision in our eyes.