22 September 2024

But Why???

There’s a small child (Brutus) together with his mother down aisle number 3 in the supermarket. As everyone knows aisle 3 is not the health food section. Aisle 3  is where all the good stuff is. The chips, the chocolate, the confectionery, the Mars bars and the Freddo frogs.

The inevitable conversation begins.

“Mum, I want to 2 snickers bars and a bag of salt and vinegar chips”

“Not now darling” rushing to get to a safer aisle where the herbs and spices are kept.

"But why?”

“Because I said so” The answer is curt and clear.

“But why?” whines Brutus.

“Because too much sugar is bad for you” - now trying to make a dash for the cleaning aisle.

“But why?”

“Because you’ll ruin your lunch”

“But why?”

You know how this conversation goes and if you haven’t participated in such a conversation you will at the very least have witnessed such an exchange.

And I want to come back to Brutus and his beleaguered Mum a little later.

Today’s gospel also stars a child.

The disciples have been toddling along to Jerusalem and in the 2nd of three attempts. The Master Teacher predicts his own suffering and death. It’s almost like the tolling of a funeral bell.

They do not hear what Jesus tells them or at the very least miss the significance of what their rabbi has told them.

Instead, they have a lively debate about which of them is the greatest.

Thank goodness that would never happen in the Church of God today … would it?

It can’t have been easy for the Master. For the second time he has passed on a vital piece of teaching and they have chosen to chatter about who should win the Gold Logie of apostleship. That’s got to hurt.

And what is even more painful is that when he confronts them about their ‘Vote 1 for me chatter’ they are silent. Why?

One of two things is going on here.

Either  - they don’t want to appear as confused and muddled-headed as they really are. They are too embarrassed to offer an explanation. They are so caught up in their straw poll for leadership that they can’t offer any excuse for their egoistical mutterings.

Or,  they do understand … very clearly, exactly what has been said. Their friend, master, teacher and brother, the one who has walked and talked with them, shared their daily bread and their wine, the one they have simply grown quite fond of is going to suffer cruelly and die. What on earth do you say to such a grim prognosis and a heart rending forecast? Sometimes there are no words in the face of such potent grief. They don’t want to ask anything else, they don’t want or need the scenario clarified because it is breathtakingly clear that a messy chapter is just over the next page.

The flip side of this, the good news for us and the disciples, is that even when we are afraid, even when we don’t understand, even when we are arguing about who is the greatest, even when we are embarrassed, even when we don’t ask the questions that we should …. The Master still welcomes us.

When the disciples are mute in today’s gospel the Master doesn’t desert them or berate them. Instead, he brings into their midst his own living, breathing visual aid. A child. His very own version of the Brutus that we heard so resoundingly in the supermarket.

Here gentlemen! Here is what it is all about. Take note. Aspire to be a child. A child is innocent. A child is vulnerable. A child doesn’t pretend to have all the answers. For a child, every day is a fresh new page with no mistakes in it. Every morning when they wake up, they experience a day brimming with blessings, surprises and opportunities and they just sail through it. The past never existed and each experience is fresh and exciting. When and why did we lose that and is it possible to recapture this shine and wholesomeness?

The sad bit about the disciples is that instead of asking the questions, instead of asking ‘why’ they miss a valuable opportunity to learn and become childlike. Instead, they have diverted themselves onto a path of self-aggrandisement, the flip side of which is to belittle everyone else in order that they might seem big.

In our own time, no one wants to look uninformed, confused, or clueless. We withhold our toughest questions, often within our own churches and within Christian fellowship. We pretend we don’t have hard questions. Yet the deepest mysteries of life do indeed elude us.

So just as our mythical Brutus asked lots of questions in the mythical supermarket, so I finish with lots of questions for myself and if you find them helpful then I am sure Brutus would be pleased.

How would our stories be different if we asked Jesus our hard questions? What kind of conversations might we pursue with Jesus and then with each other? How would our daily life as disciples together be different as a result?

Is there any question we can’t ask God?

And what would happen if we looked him in the eye and said

‘I don’t understand that last bit. Could you tell me more?’ What do you think his response would be?

The light of Christ and living water. Part 1

The opening of the Games held in Paris was startling.

What resonated with me was the Countries of the world participating going down the Seine river.

People lined along the lit sides of the river waving their flags and having a wonderful time. The fact that the rain came down relentlessly did not matter at all.

It took me back to when my daughter and I were on a boat  in  2017 also on the river Seine

The heavens opened and the rain fell relentlessly on our trip as well.

Rain cannot dampen the spirit. Mother Nature relies on rain for sustenance and growth. 

In the days of Christ, John the Baptist said in Matthew 3:11 I will baptise you with water, but the one who is coming will baptise you with the Holy Spirit and fire.

Then sometime later the opening ceremony took place near the Eiffel Tower.  Wow, the Eiffel Tower swirling flashes of light showering the full length and breath radiating up and down.  Jumping pulsating outwards, upward, swirling. Olympic circles radiating beaconing.

Colours of gold. Aiming high is the reward of hard work of perfecting achieving the ultimate result of winning.

Do you ever consider the tears that are shed when athletes try so hard that it feels like failure?

A bit like failing the glory of God. When we let ourselves down by not living the commandments that God has, by not loving our fellow man. All the Gold in the world is not worth a penny if we cannot live with a free spirit of love with our fellow man.

Our reward as Christians is going towards the light of Christ. To be with him when our time on earth has come.

If we ask for forgiveness for our failings he will bless us and rest in him for eternity.

Let's aim for Gold. Let's love your fellow men. Put aside wars and all things that leads us away from the light that Jesus offered and died for . He loves and wants only the best for us.

Let's pass on the light.

The light of Christ and living water 2

Not Gold. Fools gold.

With the Para Olympics still on  our minds and with the courage our Olympians show to pursue their aim to be  the best in their chosen fields of competition, is to be no 1 and to have that

precious gold medal hung around their necks.

What is gold? A combination of copper tin and iron. When gold is refined it is everlasting,so much prized.

Then there is fool's gold.

Weathered Mica can mimic gold, as can Chalcopyrite Crystals used in jewellery and sculptures can also appear gold-like. 

Digging for gold. Fools gold looks sparkling but is often mistaken for gold, so it can fool the best of us as it is not valuable. Fools gold is made up of iron Pyrite and Crystal-like structures. Often has a sulphur smell.

So what is a fool? In proverbs14:16 a wise man sees evil coming and avoids it, the fool is rash and presumptuous.

So what to avoid.

Something that you think to be very successful but is not. Or a flashy but worthless investment.

Quick rich schemes that sound to good to be real are usually too good to be true.

American John Huston’s 1948 film adaptation of the Treasure of the Sierra Madre tells about “Three geezers” who are skint and they put money together to get equipment to go looking for Gold. Then they betray each other. Gold becomes so powerful.  Then they find Gold to be a curse as well as a blessing.

In Proverbs 14:31-15.17  says. Trust in our fellow men comes from the lips of the wise. Spread knowledge and the love of God.

Do not turn to Gold as idols do. According to Hosea 8:4 Silver and Gold idols are doomed to destruction.

Gold Idol's Eyes have they but do not see. Ears they have, but cannot hear……………

Levi 19:4 Do not turn to Idols and cast no Gods of metal.

So what are we to do? Faith in the God of heaven is the one to turn to.

As in Peter 1:17, That faith is more precious than Gold

Fools do not understand the deep thoughts of God. Psalm 92:6 Stupid men are not aware of this and can never appreciate this.

For those Athletes who think they have failed can be reassured of God’s love and healing.

OK, so where would you like to start?

It was a simple line that I happened to overhear. We were in the room with a coach who was speaking to one of their people on the phone. “OK, so where would you like to start?”

It’s a great opening line and invites the other person to be comfortable and divulge heaps so that the exchange may be as fruitful as possible.

It also highlights a certain selflessness. It’s not about the coach or the boss or whoever is the overseer. The focus is on ‘the other’ and how they may be best helped.

The place or the issue they start with is the most pertinent and burning issue to them and there is nothing worse than trying to quash this while there are trivialities that are being discussed. Do the big stuff, the hard stuff, the painful stuff first. Then everything else seems trivial.

It may be that the place you want to start and the issue you need to deal with first does not have easy or quick answers, but at the very least you feel as though you are being listened to and understood. This is important to me!

I wonder if this opening line would help all kinds of relationships and not just in the workforce or the sporting fields. What if the not-so-happy married couple began with “OK so where would you like to start?” Or what if our communities, our nation and inter nations might adopt this line, or at least, the good sense behind it?

The other line at the end of the meeting/chat is “OK, so what am I missing?” It might be painful, it might be contentious, but long-term fruit, fruit that will last, will have the best possible chance of flourishing.

Mums Move Us On.

Go into any ward at the Royal Children’s Hospital Melbourne and the ache of a mother's love for her child is almost tangible. It wraps itself tightly around you from the moment you walk through the door. The sense of fear, desperation, hope, grief and protection never leaves you. So ferocious is that sense of love that it becomes a deep part of you. It becomes part of your DNA. As you leave the hospital you have been revamped and restyled. You just don’t know it yet. But you will and you are all the better for it. You are transformed, made more compassionate, made more understanding. You say less, you listen more, you weep louder. You are nudged forward into being someone else.

Every colour, every moment, every experience is heightened, pierces you and enriches you. The world is a more vivid, vibrant place. Life becomes passionate and urgent. And this is because of those Mums who are at the bedside.

Today’s first story of healing is all about such a Mum.

Much is made about this woman being an outsider. Much might be made of her nimble mind and her retorts but perhaps the most potent, important and lovely thing about this woman is the simple fact that she is Mum. A desperate, relentless, loving Mum and just as Our Lord’s divinity is on full display in the feeding of the 5000, his baptism and the transfiguration, so too in this story, Jesus’ full humanity is on display.

In both healing stories in the gospel, The Master restores humanity to the fullness of life and communion with the creator who loves them and wants them to be restored. But in the first story, the Mother nudges The Master along. This Mum caused Jesus to reconsider what his ministry is all about and who it is all about.

Notice that though she is insistent, she is nonetheless humble.  She does not dispute Jesus’ “preferential option for the Jews.”  She does not arrogantly demand to be served first.  She’ll settle for leftovers. So in her debate, she teaches us much about humility.

She also has something to teach us about who is included and what might be achieved if we were jolted out of our complacency and had the tenacity to go on asking, to go on searching.

That’s the great thing about Mums. Being responsible for another human being takes you out of yourself. Motherhood makes you think about someone other than yourself. Mums get it. They know the pain when their child is hurting and they know the joy of every triumph. They know the intimacy for 9 months longer than any man ever will. What great gifts they bring to our faith community, to one another and to the world.

On a deeper level, this woman has helped Jesus break new boundaries in his proclamation and ministry. Perhaps she will help us to open new boundaries in our proclamation and ministry.

And just as the Syrophoenician woman moved Jesus on, so did another woman at a wedding at Cana when the guests had run out of wine.

Our Lord’s first response to His Mother appeared to be a no, but Our Lady’s determined perseverance turned it into the ‘Yes’ that launched his public ministry. When you read that charming story in John 2, it’s almost as if Mother Mary is saying. “Well son, today is not about you, it’s about the happy couple. Think of someone else for a change.”

With both of these women, their faith ignored the obstacles and just kept on going.

The Syrophoenician woman entrusts the destiny of her daughter to the man who stands before her.  To believe in someone is to trust them, to entrust something of value to them, and even to entrust one’s very self to them is sublime. Her desire for her daughter’s salvation and her trust propels her to pursue The Master, to seek him tirelessly until she obtains what she believes he can provide.

Every mother who at this moment is in a ward at the Royal Children's Hospital is entrusting the most precious thing they have to the staff. They hand over the future of their child. In doing so they are moved on, transformed and even though it does feel like it, they are transfigured and become even more beautiful.

You and I need such people to help move us on, to help us pause and consider. And sometime this week you might like to reflect on those who have moved you on. Nudged you forward, and challenged you to look, think, reflect and act differently.

Sure, like the woman in the gospel, they can be downright annoying, not just because they challenge us, nag us and confront us, but because at the deepest level, we know they’re right and they leave us no option but to stir us out of our complacency and sloth, to break new territory in the places and actions where we know we must be and the people we must love.

When we can do this, when we can step out of ourselves in courage and faith, when we are open to going even further, demons are banished and good-quality wine flows. And that’s when the party begins.

From the V Sign to the Clenched Fist

There is a photo from the 1970s that shows two high school students sitting around doing what high school students tried to do in those days. To act cool and fail dismally in the process.

If you could see the photo and use your imagination, you may actually be able to work out who the gentleman on the right is. His hair is quite a different colour these days and there is much less of it.

The ‘V’ sign he is showing was all the rage in the late 1970’s. I think that it was supposed to stand for Victory but the significance has been lost to me over the years and no one seems to do ‘V’s anymore. Nor do we enjoy the peace that it signified or we hoped for. Over the decades we have learnt the hard, brutal, exhausting way that the victory of peace and stability are elusive commodities. Some would say they are unachievable.

Today, instead of showing a V sign or saying ‘Peace’, multiple groups punch the air with a clenched fist and chant ‘Fight’. It can’t be good for you, for the community or the world.

The old version of the guy in the photograph looks back on the fresh-faced version and whines that life seemed less contentious then. How swiftly do we seem to have gone from flower power to nuclear warheads, from a V sign to a fist?

We were probably naive, but that doesn’t mean we were wrong to aspire to a different world where dorky teenagers and even older grey-haired folk could just hang out, make peace signs, fail to be cool, but nevertheless be comfy in their school uniform. We must continue to choose the V sign over the clenched fist.

Why I Do the Dishes.

“And they observe many other traditions, such as the washing of cups, pitchers and kettles.”

In today’s gospel, Jesus addresses three different audiences: a group of Pharisees and scribes.  The crowd that is perpetually present who I have come to think of as his groupies. They don’t actually seem to say a lot but they are always there. And finally, the disciples who, true to form in Mark’s Gospel, just don’t get it. Ah, now here is a group of people that I can strongly identify with. How many times has the lightbulb dimly flickered months, if not years later?

The message is delivered differently to each of these groups, but the gist of the message is the same for all of them. The same message is said slightly differently three times, so that by the end of the third telling we might just realise that this message is personally for each and every one of us.

And the message is this. Our very selves are defiled, made unholy, not by what we take in, the outside things, but by the corrosion of the human heart. Jesus’ three different versions of this message build on one another, thus enabling a fuller understanding of what is at stake: we must prepare our hearts, and thereby our selves, for the kingdom of God. This requires not worrying over what we “eat,” but how.

For most of the gospel, Jesus is arguing the toss with the Pharisees and scribes “who had come from Jerusalem”. St. Mark often slips us small details almost nonchalantly, seemingly on the way to a larger point. But these small details are there for a reason. The fact that these Pharisees and scribes are from Jerusalem actually matters a great deal. For Mark, Jerusalem’s greatest significance is that this is the city where Jesus will die. Mark’s story is breathlessly hurtling toward Jerusalem, and to the death and resurrection of Jesus that will set in motion the fulfilment of the kingdom of God. By surreptitiously letting us know that these Pharisees and scribes have hiked it all the way from Jerusalem, Mark is linking not only them, but today’s argy bargy, to Jesus’ death and resurrection.

To further make the point that it is Jesus himself that is under attack have a look at the question the Pharisees ask Jesus.

“Why don’t your disciples live according to the tradition of the elders instead of eating their food with defiled hands?”

The question is not about the disciples. The question is really a flimsily veiled swipe at The Master. Almost as if to say “If you were a good rabbi you would keep your motley crew under control and they would always keep the tradition of washing before meal times.”

The Master’s response, a hefty quote from Isaiah shifts the argument to a deeper level. It’s what is within that really matters.

“‘These people honour me with their lips, but their hearts are far from me.

So you can wash your hands all you like before meals but unless you understand the symbolism of the action you might as well not bother.

And it works the same way with washing up. Look for and understand the why… the inward.

The same thing applies at the other end of the meal with the washing up.

Understand the why… and the inward.

Many of you will know that at parish functions it is my special joy to don my rubber gloves, toss a Mothers' Union apron over my head, fill up the sink with hot soapy water and get stuck in. Why?

Lots of reasons

Because it needs doing. How often did my mother say, ‘Well the dishes aren’t just going to jump into the sink by themselves now are they?’

Secondly, each dish reminds me of what is supposed to be going on inside me. “For it is from within, from the heart, that evil intentions come” (Mark 7:21a). Our heart is the centre of our will, thinking and desire. It is the place from which all our intentions arise.  Its part of the human condition that we gradually grubby up over a period of time and we need to be scrubbed and rinsed on a regular basis. One of the first things we do when we gather as a community for the eucharist, is we fess up to the times we have mucked up. While I am the sink it’s not just the cleaning of the dishes that I am thinking about.

Some of you have picked up on the third reason already. When you're at the sink it is almost inevitable that chatter happens, and relationships are enhanced and strengthened. Tell me the story of how you came to be here; tell me the story of where you are going; tell me where you stand, here and now. Make a bad joke, sing a song, hum, whistle; debate politics, novels, Harry Potter movies. Tell me your most embarrassing story. Complain about the weather; if it is winter, it’s too cold, if it’s summer, it’s too hot. Change out that dirty water. Smile.. sigh. The common goal of getting everything washed, wiped and tidied away, together with the physical proximity are the perfect combination for that  special something that is unseen and invisible, to be made stronger and more enjoyable. That’s why I do the dishes and long may it be so.

God’s Wardrobe.

There is a collection of Paul's letters commonly referred to as his ‘Prison Epistles’.

These prison epistles are ‘Ephesians, Philippians, Colossians and Philemon.’ They are called the prison epistles because, in all of them, Paul mentions that he is in prison. The exact date is tricky but we think that is somewhere between 60 and 62 AD.

Paul has a Roman soldier to guard him but other than that he is free to receive visitors and to spread the gospel to anyone who will listen.

Today’s second lesson is from one of those ‘prison epistles’. His letter to the Ephesians. It is quite a well-known piece where St. Paul is trying to teach his Ephesian friends about putting on the whole armour of God.

I speculate that Paul found himself looking at his Roman guard, in the soldier’s attire and his equipment.  And maybe his thought processes went something like this.

Why is all this battle gear? Why is there a necessity for the breastplate and shield? And where did this angst, and argy bargy come from?

Paul realises that the problem of enmity one with another, does not come from the Roman soldier per se. The germ of antagonism is unseen and not discernible to the naked eye. The problem lies much deeper than under the soldier's breastplate. The necessity for this clobber comes from something deep within. So St. Paul put it this way.

 “For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms.”

To use a slightly more modern parable the uniformed soldiers of the Second World War were not the reason for the war. The reasons for war were formed deeper in people’s hearts and minds, not in the clothes and medals that the combatants wore.

If we are honest all of us have sensed something of that struggle-some warfare deep within us. We know what the right thing is and it's going to be difficult and have consequences. Wouldn’t it be easier if I just surreptitiously…. surely no one would ever know and what harm would it do?

And even things that in and of themselves are good can gradually take up more space, time, and energy than they should. They infringe on and take over more important things. There are the days and nights when we are keenly aware of this struggle and there are times when we win and there are times when we confess that we are fallible and have given way.

St. Paul is honest about his own struggles. In his letter to those pesky Ephesians he uses the parable of his guards outward, visible clobber and equipment to talk about the things we need for our ongoing, invisible, indiscernible and continuous battles. To explain further I’ll use some words which someone else wrote. I draw your attention to the way they begin each section with the words ‘I choose…’ We must continuously choose to put on this inner wardrobe of God.

“I choose to put on the belt of truth. I choose to live today by what is true; not by what I feel. My emotions are fickle but the truth never changes. And the truth is that I am chosen, loved, and forgiven, even if it doesn’t always feel like it. The truth is that I have a purpose and a calling. The truth is there’s someone for me to love and encourage today.

I choose to put on the breastplate of righteousness. My righteousness does not come from me; it comes from you. I choose to live how you see me as a child who is infinitely precious.

I choose to put on the sandals of the gospel of peace. You desire for me to live in peace as I walk in my calling. My schedule is now in your hands, and I will not be hurried or rushed today, regardless of what happens. I will try to be a calming, stable, and steady presence everywhere I go.

I choose to put on the helmet of salvation. I know that my thoughts can be distracting and unhelpful. They are wayward and not organised. Help me to harness and focus them. Help me to bring them back and align them with your will for me and your world.

I choose to pick up the shield of faith, ready to take ground for the Kingdom. Temptations, criticism and storms are on the horizon, but with this shield I claim victory out loud and ahead of time, knowing you are going before me. I know that faith pleases you, and heaven and earth are full of your glory. And so today, I believe there’s nothing you can’t do in my life and through my life. I choose to take up the sword of the Spirit.  Your Word is a double-edged sword that will teach me, guide me, discipline me and comfort me. As I go now about my day, help to realise that you are walking alongside me.  I choose your wardrobe God… not mine. Today, I’ll be ready.”

The first time I did any hefty study I was at Theological College. I had never written more than 500 words before and all of sudden I was confronted with the task of writing 3000 words together with a thing called a ‘bibliography.’ I was daunted and I struggled.

About 10 days out from the due date I would present a piece of work to the lecturer. He would calmly sit me down and go through a little ritual.

“Well, Oulton. This bit here is rubbish and so is this bit. This bit is OK but it belongs toward the beginning of the essay and by the way … you have mentioned anything about A, B, C and Q.1. Now you hand me another piece of work before the due date and I will take the best of the two.” So I would go away and do just that. You would have thought that I would get great marks with a second chance, but it was not so. Each assignment was barely a pass, but we got there.

Literally, 20 years later I did some online study and this time I got much better marks. Not dazzling mind you, just noticeably better.

Why? The second time around I was more mature and much less distracted. I also understood the ‘essay process’ better and spent more time thinking about what the question was really asking.

But most importantly, I actually wanted to do this study. It wasn’t just a requirement of a theological college, a process to be completed.

My deepest admiration to those patient priests who quietly persevered with my ‘academia’ or lack of it. My friend Leonardo Da Vinci was right.

Study without desire spoils the memory and it retains nothing that it takes in

When I was about eight years old, my paternal grandfather teased me playfully with a question: Did Adam have a belly button? He—Val, my grandfather—was neither a philosopher nor theologian, but his question travelled with me for years. I long ago gave up the quest for the Adamic Umbilicus, but I took up the invitation to go on the occasional flight of fancy, to speculate a little when it came to matters of life and faith and belief.

We all do this, I imagine: wonder about what was, or what will be. Not that it proves anything, but top-of-the-line in the speculation stakes (based only on my unscientific research) is the question of what it’s like to die. It’s unanswerable, of course, because near enough is not good enough: being under anaesthetic for hours or being successfully resuscitated don’t count because the situation was reversible. For some people, this is where speculation and wondering end. If God is eliminated from the equation, and all that is, is now, then that’s the end of the enquiry. Anything further is a waste of time. Adam’s navel is neither here nor there. It simply doesn’t matter.

However: I maintain that our wondering, and our speculation are authorised, even encouraged by the scriptures that we hold dear, without which there is nothing to say. Even stronger, that our pondering and imagining are required, because we have been invited into the open mystery that is the Gospel, not to solve it or tame it, but to experience its power.

St John’s Easter narrative is spare, a bit light on detail, yet profound nonetheless. The cast of characters is limited: Mary Magdalene, the enigmatic and often misrepresented figure who steps in and out of various stories in all four Gospels; Peter and the ‘Beloved Disciple’, the latter the faster runner of the two, the former, more impetuous; two-bit players, ‘angels in white’ (not seen by Peter and the BD); and The Gardener. The very setting—‘a garden in the place where he was crucified…[where] there was a new tomb’—is deeply symbolic when the detail is examined. This wondering, this exploration, is after all, an invitation found at the start of this Gospel: ‘Come and see’ (two key verbs in John’s Gospel) is Jesus’ invitation in chapter 1 to Andrew and Simon Peter, an invitation soon repeated by Philip to Nathanael. It seems to me that we’re meant to speculate, informed and guided by the scriptures and traditions held dear by the Church. If we don’t test the waters using the measures we have been given, then other voices will prevail.

Sometimes the speculation can be very basic, almost banal: did Mary think Jesus was ‘the gardener’ (the perfectly ordinary ancient and modern Greek word for the same, κηπουρός) because of the way he was dressed (straw hat and all)? Because of the garden setting? Or because her vision was blurred? All of the above? Or was there more to it, a genuine confusion, a collapse of confidence and a lack of recognition? What turned the situation around?

Whatever ‘heaven’ may—once we have jettisoned all of the clutter and rubbish that have distorted our understanding and even made the idea repellent to some—at its most fundamental it must be where/with the living person of Jesus Christ. (The ‘where’ question remains a difficulty for many, no doubt.) While the destination may be uncertain and lacking in detail (‘place’ is so important to us as embodied creatures), the company we shall keep is not in doubt: ‘In my Father’s house’, said Jesus, ‘there are many dwelling places. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you?’ The proposition goes on: ‘And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, so that where I am, there you may be also.’

But if there is room for all, how will I fare in the company of so many, the vast, unnumbered redeemed? Will I, in this myriad of people, all of whom have been welcomed by the risen Christ, recognise him, or will I mistake him for some other worthy? After all, I have only a lifetime’s worth of collected mental images of the Jesus of history (as some scholars like to style him), ranging from the Nordic Jesus (blond, blue-eyed) through to squat, unprepossessing figures generated by computer algorithms. Will I be lost in the crowd? And how will I recognise those whom I love and for whom I hope to seek; what will they—and I—look like? These are all real questions that I have heard (and there will be others), but ultimately, they are misconceived because they rely on what I think I know and the ways in which I have shaped both reality and expectation.

But let’s return to Mary: what enabled the moment of recognition and in an instant upended her world, and the world itself? It was not sight—she thought him the gardener, quite reasonably, after all. It was the calling of her name that shifted the ground. The moment is recorded by John with great economy: ‘Jesus said to her, “Mariam”.’ We’re free to try to speak her name in a variety of ways—there is no need to be bound by the editors’ decision to end the sentence with an exclamation mark, which could suggest that it was spoken with a degree of abruptness, like a slap to a hysterical person. (There is no such punctuation mark in the ancient texts.) My speculation, however, is that it was an almost-whispered, tender shaping of her name, nobody else’s.  Mary—Mariam—responded to the risen Jesus’s speaking her name, to his knowing who she was; not the other way around. Only then did the mistaken identity fall away and the cry of recognition followed: Rabbouni! (which does, perhaps, warrant an exclamation mark).

The risen Jesus, whom John carefully describes as raised from the dead, embodied, the same yet different, but still bearing the marks of his passion (proudly, I conclude), is no mere metaphor, no ‘spiritual’ or ‘psychic’ or ‘symbolic’ experience, but the one returned from amongst the dead, having shared completely our condition in order to take us to his Father’s house. How, then, will it go when the time comes? My poor speculation is that I and you, and all for whom we long to be reunited in Christ—will, like Mariam, be ‘called by name’ and we will ‘know his voice’, just as he promised when describing himself as the Good Shepherd. We, the sheep of his pasture, will follow him ‘because they—we—know his voice’. The Magdalene was misled by her ability to see, but by means of the calling of her name attained to recognition. In the end, I speculate that Christ’s knowing of us is far more important than our as-yet imperfect knowledge of him.

Martin Luther, when contemplating his death, made a confident and compelling (if speculative) statement: ‘On the Last Day’, he said, ‘Christ shall knock upon my headstone and say, “Awake, brother Martin—be up and doing!”’.

Adam’s navel aside, I speculate that, when the moment comes, Christ will speak to each of us by name, with joyous, loving and unquestionable recognition to follow.

When disaster strikes…

It’s another line I shamelessly stole from a podcast I was listening to. The person who was being interviewed was a disaster planner. Ie. When a major disaster happens they are one of the people who strategically think through what needs to happen, medicine, fresh water, evacuation, the delicate task of passing on gut-wrenching news and controlling a yapping media that bray for blood and gore.

It’s not an easy task but this person thrives on it because each disaster, whilst terrible, gives her an opportunity to learn how to do things better and help people begin the journey through the ‘valley of the shadow of death’.

On her first day she was with her new colleague/boss and the phone went. It was a shocker of a disaster and the first thing her colleague said after they hung up the phone was ‘I’ll put the kettle on’. Which, when you think about it, is pretty sage advice.

The calamity has happened and you can’t ‘undo it’. A calm head is called for so that the next steps can be thought through calmly and thus effectively. Mistakes will be made if we rush into a situation letting our emotions dictate the order of the day.

A wise old bishop once said that ‘The Church of God floats on an ocean of tea’. Against the backdrop of some smaller episodes of sadness, some of my sager conversations have been over a simple cuppa at the kitchen table. Large dollops of silence reflection and sometimes a bit of scribbling on some paper have made the time productive and fruitful … in the long term. Short term its hard to see through the tears and make sense of the blithering confusion racing around in our head.

So “When disaster strikes … put the kettle on.”