Sermons, meditations and writing
4th Sunday after Epiphany, 29th January 2012
Lay Minister Sarah Farrow at St Anne's Lutheran Church in London
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Readings
Deuteronomy 18:15-2 29 Psalm 111 I Corinthians 8:1-13 Mark 1:21-28
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Who do we relate to in this Gospel reading? The astounded onlookers? The man with the unclean spirit? The scribes? Or maybe even the crowds spreading the fame of Jesus throughout Galilee?
The onlookers carry us through this story and it is easy to identify with them. Amazed at this man who comes into the synagogue and begins to teach. But not just teach in the way they were used to, but ‘a new teaching – with authority!’ And they are witness to something they have never seen before. Something wondrous and amazing. They witnessed the Holy One of God healing. They not only heard, but also saw ‘a new teaching’.
And maybe some of them become part of the crowds that spread the fame of Jesus. So touched by what they had witnessed that they needed to tell others. So awed by what they had seen that they needed to share it with someone else because it was too much to keep to themselves.
The scribes are very much in the background in this reading. We hardly hear of them at all except in comparison to Jesus, ‘for he taught them as one having authority, and not as the scribes.’ We have been told by Moses in the reading from Deuteronomy that a prophet was coming who would speak in the name of the Lord. That God would put His own words in the mouth of this prophet. And Jesus comes to fulfil this promise. And he speaks with an authority bestowed on him by God, the Father. An authority the scribes could never hope to have. For the scribes have found their place in the synagogue, not by divine right, but through titles, professional study, through having first-rate knowledge of the law. They had an in-depth knowledge of the Torah and laws they worked to uphold, appropriate and necessary for their roles. But what did they really know? In so many events in the Gospel, we hear of the scribes (along with the Pharisees) going head-to-head with Jesus – testing Jesus’ ‘knowledge’. Asking him about ‘breaking the rules’. And where do these challenges to Jesus almost always end up? With Jesus including the outcasts or with Jesus healing. With Jesus showing that people mean more than laws. It always ends with the true knowledge that God is love.
If we look at this particular instance in Mark, would the scribes have even given the man with the unclean spirit a second thought? Or would it be an exercise of how quickly he could be escorted out of the synagogue? (and let us not fool ourselves as to how often we fall into this thinking when someone ‘inconvenient’ or ‘undesirable’ intrudes on our lovely church service). But how does Jesus respond to this situation – with healing. With the authority that God is love.
Paul tries to drive this point home when he writes, ‘Knowledge puffs up, but love builds up.’ It is not about what we know, until we know that God is love. Sometimes we just don’t get it. We get caught up, as it easy to do, in the preparations of a Sunday service, making sure everything is ‘just right’, that everything is ‘correct’ that we miss the point of why we are here – to celebrate the Good News! To worship God together! To acknowledge our need for Christ and to receive his salvation at his Holy Supper. It is not about how many Gospel verses we have memorised, it’s whether or not we’re actually hearing the Gospel! And I mean whether or not we are really hearing it. And then, whether or not we are really living it.
Hundreds of years before the event read about in today’s Gospel took place, the Greek philosopher, Socrates, was already trying to have humanity acknowledge their lack of true knowledge. Socrates, one of the greatest thinkers of history, often claimed that he did not know anything great and good, and that is what made one wise – to admit what we do not know.
This may sound odd, but we often forget about how much knowledge we lack. Living in the information age, with billions of fact-checking devices at our fingertips, we have access to more information than at any other time in history. And at times, this may make us feel anywhere from invincible to overwhelmed to underwhelmed. But in the end, where does it leave us. Because this kind of knowledge, these facts, they do not fill us. They do not grant us forgiveness, they do not heal our brokenness, they do not accept us as we are, with love.
And this may be when we start to not identifying with the scribes, the onlookers, and those spreading the news of Jesus, but also the man with the unclean spirit. When we realise and accept that we really do not have all the answers, that we are broken and sinful, that we really never can pull ourselves up on our own, then we realise that we need the healing power and gift of love that comes from Christ alone. Then we shout with certainty the only thing we do know, ‘I know who you are the Holy One of God!’ And to paraphrase Bradley Hanson, the Lutheran academic, we then fall on the solid ground of certainty in God’s merciful acceptance of us, as we are.
And here we come to answer the question from the beginning of this sermon – who do relate to in this Gospel reading. I think we’ll find that we have a relationship with each character. We have been given ‘a new teaching’ to listen to. We have been given the Good News to spread because it is bursting inside us, needing to be shared with others. We have been given the assurance to let down our guard and admit that we do not know it all and are in need. And we have been given the gift of grace that frees us, whether it be from demons or our own sinfulness. We have been given the gift of love that is beyond books, beyond facts, beyond intellect. ‘Knowledge puffs up, love builds up’ - We have been given the gift to truly know that God is love.
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Walking to St Anne's (a poem by Peter Mathers, from 'Poems of Creation')
Bow Churchyard, London EC4
The sky is grey, It is raining continuously. Several pigeons, holding wings upright, are being washed by the rain. There is hope in surprising light shining from the large puddle covering some of the flagstones. This is the creation of which I am a part.
From Poems of Creation by St Anne's member Peter Mathers, with Illustrations by Robin Farrow. Poems of Creation is available to buy at St Anne's Lutheran Church in London, or the office of the Lutheran Church in Great Britain, £4. |
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Second Sunday after Epiphany, 15th January 2012
Rev’d Wendy Sherer at St Anne’s Lutheran Church in London
| Have you ever thought: “If they really knew me, they wouldn’t like me.” How much of ourselves do we conceal from one another, how often do we hold things back, for fear of judgment, criticism, or rejection? Why do we often feel that if we were truly ourselves, we wouldn’t be accepted? There can be a number of reasons for believing this: a past painful experience of having shared yourself only to have that person disappoint or reject you. It could be that you were once teased for standing out or being different, and you don’t ever want to risk a repeat of that feeling.
Fear of rejection can be a powerful thing. It’s often what keeps us from being genuine with one another. It can prevent us from opening ourselves to relationship, or from sharing authentically when we are in a relationship. And it can distort the way we see ourselves—perhaps we are the ones who really can’t accept who we are, versus who we think we should be. |
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Just because we are people of faith doesn’t make us immune to our own insecurities or self-doubt. But being people of faith,we do possess a very special promise: the guarantee that no matter who we are, what we have or haven’t done—no matter how unlovable we believe ourselves to be—none of that matters to God, who knows us better than anyone, and loves us more than anyone could.
Our psalm for today says, “You have searched and known me, God. You know everything I do at every minute of the day—even before I speak, you know what I’m going to say. You’re the one who put me together before I was born, and I owe you everything because I am fearfully and wonderfully made.” A less eloquent version of this is: “I know I’m special, because God don’t make no junk!” I used to see it on posters when I was growing up. And that’s exactly what this psalmist is talking about. God knows us all the way down to the celluar level—and loves us just as fully. Now that’s amazing love.
It’s sort of like that friend who sticks by you, even though he or she knows your whole history, including your not so stellar moments, and your lapses in judment, and your unattractive habits. The one who will always be there for you, even when you don’t feel you deserve it. But God’s love is even stronger than that best friend—because as we know all too well, there will come a time when even those closest to us just can’t—or don’t—come through.
And even more amazing than all this, is the fact that God knows everything about us, and still calls us to a special role in the kingdom. There’s not too much concern over our lack of experience, skill, or enthusiasm—no, the call comes to each and every one of us in its time.
Think of the young boy Samuel, at the very beginning of his service to the Lord. Here he is, turning to his mentor Eli to try and figure out that it’s God’s voice calling his name in the night, only to learn that God’s message is a conviction of Eli himself. Who would want to be the bearer of that news? Young Samuel was fearful, and likely considered himself an unworthy messenger—yet God is calling him, and will continue to do so.
God knows us, and has plans for us.
Our Gospel story shows the beginning of Jesus gathering disciples to accompany him on his earthly journey. They are wary, naturally—who is this person who seems to know them before he actually meets them? Jesus knows who he wants—this in itself fascinates them. What could this rabbi want with tax collectors, fisherman, small town, unimportant guys? We may ask the same question about ourselves.
But to each of us, in time, the call comes. God knows everything about us—and wants us anyway, for the work of the kingdom. In whatever way, for whatever purpose—you and I are needed. And in God’s production, there truly are no small players. Or maybe there are only small players—just a whole lot of them.
So what place does self-pity and preoccupation with our shortcomings have in this picture? Not much. Indeed, we may be carrying around some pain from the past. Everyone we ever met may have rejected us. Or we might have been cruelly treated by someone we trusted completely. Those are the stories that we tell about ourselves. But God has another story to tell through us. One where no one is left without a part. Where all are fully known, and fully loved. Where each one reflects the light of their creator, and shines that same light into the world, which desperately needs it.
I’ll sum up with some words which you’ve probably heard before, from Marianne Williamson—a good Epiphany promise and reminder for us all:
You are a child of God. Your playing small doesn't serve the world. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We are born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us, it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same.
New Year’s Eve Service at St Anne's Lutheran Church
Meditations on the past, present and future
Meditation on Ecclesiastes 3:1-13 -Lay Minister Moses Shonga
The past
There is the right time for everything
The chapter tells us of the sovereignty of God. It assures us God is in control, and his control remains mysterious. In psalm 31: 15 David says to God ‘My times are in your hand’. God says he is the Alpha and Omega; he is the beginning and the end. God deals with the beginning and the end of our life; and everything between – he takes care of it.
God has appointed time and season, also the events of our lives; happiness, sadness, easy and difficult. It may be confusing; as we know God is in control of everything, why are these things happening? God has the purpose in what he does, even if we don’t understand it. God wants all things to work together for us, also God teaches us what is the true meaning of life. Becoming very rich or very smart or having fun all the time does not lead to meaningful life. Sometimes change can be quite good; it stretches you, it challenges you by causing you to grow through the trials and tribulations of life.
God takes the collective kind of experience and eventually makes something beautiful out of all loose ends. He puts together in his time, not ours, he invades our experience whether that experience is joyful or sorrowful, and he fills it with his presence, infuses it with his grace and gives it meaning. Many of us prefer the joyful experience to the sorrowful ones, but the gospel brings them together and says essentially that to God it doesn’t make a difference, whether it is birth or death, laughing or weeping - it is God’s time. We all need to depend on God’s time and season.
The time of God is beautiful and is the source of delight. He can bring his presence into each and every experience of life, with his presence, his Peace.
The God-given life is our privilege, and also God’s purpose. Provision and contentment are the gift of God. God is present to ensure the continuity of movement of the world, not to edge us out with his love. Our created mind can never be satisfied with mere answers, it can only be satisfied with God himself, who is so much more than answers.
Ultimately, it isn’t God’s answer we want, but his affection. Martin Luther continued to say we should be content with the word and work of God, take pleasure in the gift of God has given, and not strive for that which one cannot. Above all God wants us to honour him; there is nothing better than to be happy and to enjoy our self as long as we live, moreover it is God’s gift that we should find times to enjoy the work and life God has given to us. Amen
Meditation on Psalm 8 - The Rev'd Wendy Sherer
The Present
Cartoonist Bil Keane, who died this past November, is credited with saying, “Yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery; today is a gift of God, which is why we call it the present.”
How well do we receive this gift called the present? Are we, like the Psalmist, overcome with awe and wonder at the sheer magnitude of the universe, creation, and our amazing place within it, hardly able to find words great enough to describe it? Or are we mostly trudging through the sameness of our days, scarcely noticing when something changes, because we’re not really looking and we’ve seen it all before? What is our relationship to this present moment?
If we are honest, we would probably have to admit that much of our time and energy is spent regretting the past or worrying about the future. Or longing for the past or being impatient for the future. In any of these cases, we are setting our attention anywhere but the present. And as a result, we are anything but present.
Recall the last time you were with someone who wasn’t really with you. Perhaps they were anxious, distracted, impatient, or bored. Perhaps they felt they knew you so well that they already knew everything you had to say. How does it feel when we know the person across from us is not truly present with us? In contrast, remember when you’ve had an experience of truly being heard, attended to, or appreciated. In that moment, you knew without a doubt that you were connected to another human being. That they were fully present to you and with you.
When I read through the Gospels, I believe that the most compelling thing about Jesus, regardless of anything he actually said or did, was his way of being fully present with anyone whom he encountered. The sick, the outcast, the despised or unpopular. None of these expected anyone to acknowledge them as worthy of their time, let alone offer the kind of healing presence Jesus brought to them. Even crowds of thousands could palpably feel God’s presence through this sometimes enigmatic preacher. They may not have understood everything he said, but they sure wanted to be around him. He heard what they were too afraid to say. He knew what they needed, even if he had never met them before. The greatest gift he offered was the gift of himself. His presence.
This present moment is not the only gift we have been given. By making us exactly the way we are, God has enabled us—indeed desires us--to be fully present with one another. In this way, we ourselves become the gift. And as I look around this room, not knowing fully what any of you may be dealing with at this moment, but suspecting that you know similar challenges to those I experience myself, I assert that there is no better time to share this gift of ourselves, with one another, and with the world around us. No better time—and no other time, really, than the present.
In my college choir we used to sing a simple benediction, a poem which an alum had written many years before. My father composed an additional verse, and I share them both with you as a blessing and an invitation on this final day of 2011:
In thy hand my days are laid; let them fall through light or shade
Only, falling as they flow, cup thine other hand below
Pure adventure, let them flow, as from God to God we go
Blessed freefall, hands unseen—celebrate the time between!
The future
Often thought of as uncertain, unknown, and unpredictable. Sometimes met with anticipation, many times met with worry and trepidation. But this passage reminds us of the hope given to us for a future where there is a new heaven and a new earth. A future where death is no more; mourning, crying and pain is no more. A future where God himself is present with us.
But let us not get too caught up in our human need to put things in chronological order of a past, present and future. While we read of the hope in God’s future presence, we can still acknowledge God’s presence here and now. We know that in our present pains and hurts, God is present with us now and always. And while we may worry about what lies ahead, the hope given to us helps us to accept that things might not turn out alright. At least not alright as we had wanted them to be, but we must remember that hope always means ‘to trust’. So, to say that in the end it is God and God alone, that He is the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end, that is to stake one’s life on hope and love. God is ultimately the only certain element in hope.
There are many legends that surround the story of the nativity, but this is one that is especially appropriate to this message: When the shepherds came to find Jesus in Bethlehem, they each brought with them some gift. All, that is, except one shepherd who was too poor or perhaps too simple to do so. When Mary saw all the gifts to be received she realised that she would need to free her hands and make room on her lap. She looked about and then gave the Holy Child to the one shepherd who came with empty hands.
So, when we look to the future, with worry or anxiety, we can be rooted in the knowledge that when we come before God with empty hands, we are given that certain hope, through Jesus Christ, of our salvation. We are given that hope of a new heaven and new earth when every tear will be wiped from our eyes and death will be no more.
Extract from a sermon given Sunday 18th December 2011 at St Anne's Lutheran Church
by Jean-Marc Heimerdinger.
Picture : Botticelli - La Madone du Magnificat
Mary's Prayer- The Magnificat Luke 1 : 39 - 56
There is a freshness in this song (46 -55) that tells us so much about the God Mary believes in.
Mary was insignificant, belonging to the social group of the poor, 'the lowly one' the needy ones, the destitute.
Nothing about Mary's circumstances would have led anyone to suspect the role she would play in God's plan. Mary is exalted by God (v48) her low status in life has been transformed into blessedness and this is exactly the way God continues to work in the present. Mary talks about a radically new reality; not grounded in the old view of reality but on the specificity of the God of Abraham. Mary's song of praise is a song of impossibilities because God is holy, completely different and 'other'.
This holy God, totally other, is apart but not unaffected; not indifferent, not absent, he does not remain self-isolated in his otherness, or withdrawn in himself. He is turned towards the human beings that He has created, Mary says: He is full of mercy, moved to do something about the distress of people. He associates easily with those who are crushed, He is utterly reliable and trustworthy. Mary dwells on God's power to transform and his willingness to intervene.
To hear in that great and simple song all the glory of the new world, with its new possibilities: new life in Mary's womb, new life within the increasingly dangerous public world which does its best to squash the novelty. And new life in our hearts and lives and families and work. Through the birth of the son of God our impossibilities can become possibilities. That is what we celebrate at Christmas and with Mary; the new reality which leaves us no longer at ease in the old system, but determined to live and rejoice and be part of His transforming work of new creation, may that be true in us and through us this Christmas time and always.