An ordinary loving

Have you ever wondered about the happy couple in today's gospel reading? Here is one very dodgy, totally unsupported, unsubstantiated, apocryphal but charming story about them.

They first met at Passover. He was shy and awkward and so was all the more attractive for his lack of pretension. She had a winning smile and big dark eyes. At some point while the prayers and readings droned on, their eyes flitted across the room to each other and in that age old magic that has been around for centuries and yet is always fresh and exciting, a new chemistry began and lives were changed forever. Ruben and Milka courted furtively, secretly and passionately until they were the appropriate age. They inevitably became engaged with much dancing, wine, laughter and at last in public.

The whole extended family would be invited to the wedding which would last for several days and there would be much rejoicing and dancing and wine.

Milka was a distant cousin to Elizabeth, who was a cousin to Mary and so Mary, Jesus and his friends were invited. Our gospel  tells the story of Jesus beginning his ministry at Cana at the insistence of his Mum. Everyone is pretty much oblivious to the shortage of good grog. Certainly Reuben and Milka had other things on their mind, as well they should at their wedding reception.

But what happened to Reuben and Milka afterwards when all the guests had finally dispersed back to their homes?

Theirs was an ordinary loving, an ordinary life. There was pleasure and delight and most of the time not much seemed to happen. There was the daily routine of eat, sleep, work. Reuben would help with his dad's olive grove and tend the motley herd of sheep. Milka would weave and bake and one day seemed pretty much like another. But always there was a daily walk along the olive trees in the cool of the evening. Not much was said in these strolls; the time together spoke for itself and all that needed to be said was said by Milka and Reuben just being together. There were happy days and some less so, but always this walk to seal the day with a kiss of silence.

That was until Milka began to suffer with morning sickness. Reuben was ecstatic of course. A proud father to be. An heir to carry on the family name, inherit the olive plantation and build up the herd.

Milka in her unrelenting vomiting and nausea was not as cheerful.

“But darling, it will pass” cooed Reuben as Milka ran from their tiny home for the third time in the hour. And when Reuben tried again to tell his beloved how wonderful it was all going to be when their son arrived (of course Reuben knew it was gong to be a son) Milka let her angst be known. In harsh, understandable words that could not be retrieved, she rattled off a long litany of angst that bewildered, frightened and pierced Reuben. “I hate you sometimes” were some of her words. There was no walk down to the olive grove that night, nor the following night. Silence wrapped herself tightly around the couple and stifled any prospect of conversation.

Two days later when Milka was again expelling her hard won breakfast, there was a gentle caressing hand on her shoulder and a whispered ‘I’m sorry’.

It was an ordinary loving.

The walks down to olive grove continued although a little slower as the Milkah burgeoned with new life. Oopsee arrived 7 months later. The labour was fraught but fruitful. This time Reuben knew to just let his hand be clasped and simply be there. They enjoyed their daughter Oopsee as Oopsee enjoyed them. There were the ordinary sleepless nights, the worries when Oopsee got sick and when she nearly fell into the well.

It was an ordinary loving and an ordinary life.

And always the walk around the olive grove in the cool of the evening. All three of them now at different gaits and with different conversations.

At one level Reuben, Milkah and Oopsee’s life was unremarkable. Their loving was ordinary, their life was humdrum. I tell you this fictitious story to make the point that in their ordinariness Milkah, Reuben and Oopsee were anything but ordinary. They were spectacular  in their endurance, their patience, their contrition, their honesty and their grit in simply holding on together when everything else was unravelling around them. Even when they didn’t like each other very much, they still loved each other and that my friends is an exquisite and precious commodity. It is extraordinary.

Today is the last Sunday of The christmass season. The manifestation season or showing forth would be better words. God comes to and loves us in our ordinary and mundane, in a mucky stable, in tears and laughter, in feasting, in morning sickness, in walks in the cool of the evening and the lingering looks over a candle lit table.

And if you want to see something remarkable and extraordinary then all you have to do is look at an ordinary wedding photo. The water of our ordinary life which we think is pale, insipid and colourless, is in fact colour full, potent and makes our heart glad and it God’s heart very glad indeed.

Whilst cleaning out the widow found a letter that she had written years before.

“Dearest Bryon, I feel as though I have walked a long way to find you and the going has not always been easy. There have been some sunshine moments where the path has been luscious and I have slept soundly, joyously and easily beside you. But there have been some dark nights as well where I have stumbled along some rocky roads. These nights have been very chilly and my loneliness has been relentless and punishing. I have ached for you and believed that I had lost you forever.

Now, on our tenth wedding anniversary, I finally understand that while you seemed a long way from me, I can rest secure in the knowledge that you had already found me a long time ago”

I think about this letter, or at least the truth it generously offers, when the going seems harsh and unpredictable.

The Master sometimes seems especially close and its all bottles of pop, mangoes, sunshine and roses. But it is also true that there are black nights and stony roads. And far from enjoying the real presence all there seems to be is real, complete and total absence.  There are times when the ache is palpable.

I console myself with the sure and certain knowledge that He has already found me a long time ago. This simple but incomprehensible truth is all that is needed to bring Him into focus. I understand that we have always been, and will always be, inseparable.

The widow read the letter again while unstoppable  tears gushed down her cheeks. But they were not tears of sadness, but tears of joy and the very deepest gratitude.

So we close the door on 2021. For most of us it was a complex year as we grappled with the swift changes and different faces of people behind the masks. It was a year that stretched us in ways that are not clear to us yet. My guess is that it will take five years of living with COVID before we can look back with any clarity and hindsight to see what 2021 really was like.

Now it would be easy to slam the door shut on 2021 and say ‘Toodle oo’, ‘Good bye’, ‘Good Riddance,’ or another choice of words which is best left omitted here. But there were some good things. People fell in love, got married, had children, nurtured pets and chose to forgive. And there were other things as well. The things we learnt that aren’t so palpable. So before we close up on 2021 perhaps we might look back and reflect on these things.

We learnt that we could be resilient people. Well, we had to be didn’t we? We learnt that we could be flexible and when the challenges came and socked us in the right eye and then the left, we learnt that we could be quite magnificent. We learnt that it was OK to ask someone much younger to help us with our phone and that there was no shame if we didn’t get it right the first time. Many of our contemporaries were going through exactly the same torment. Asking for help can actually be quite liberating and that to be able to help or listen, is always an enriching experience.

So by all means close the door on 2021 as you should, but be sure to take these hard earned lessons with you into the room we will call 2022.

From expectation to realisation to manifestation.

The people had obviously heard about John the Baptist. You don’t get excited and filled with expectation over something you have never heard of. They are all up to speed about this kooky guy in the wilderness and what’s more they had spread the message. They had spoken about him. It would have been fun to catch part of this gossip circle and this made me think.

Do we gossip the gospel? Do we hear the Master being talked about, do we talk about him to others?

Do we point others to Jesus? And like St. John the Baptist…do we know that it has never been about us, that it has always about Him?

Are we good at waiting for him to manifest himself?

They talked about what John the baptist wore; camel hair coat and two tone leather belt. What every fashionable prophet will be wearing this summer. They chattered about what he ate; wild locusts and honey. Maybe not a health pyramid,  a rainbow on a plate, but all the basic five food groups represented there. And they muttered the things John the baptist said.

In Matthew and Mark much of what John the baptist said was ticking people off and telling them to get their stuff together, for there was hope even when people get it wrong.

But in Luke’s gospel things are slightly different. Much of John the baptist’s tirade is omitted. Instead Luke has John the Baptist do three things.

First, John the Baptist tells the people that he is not the messiah. He quashes that rumour. “I baptise you with water; but one who is more powerful than I am is coming;”

So John knows his place. He understands the pecking order and that Jesus is at the top.

Or put it another way. John knows that it is not about Him. It is always about the one who comes after him.

Secondly, John the Baptist points the people to the Messiah.

Third he baptises Jesus.

From expectation to realisation to manifestation.

Did you notice that the people are “filled with expectation”.

They are very hopeful. Brimful of expectation.  And its all the people. It’s not just a minority or handful of people. All the people are questioning, hoping, expecting, that at last John the Baptist might be … you know… Him.. the Messiah.

Some things to take away from all of this.

Expectations are all sweet and dandy but there is a dark side to them.

Think for a moment of the expectations that we put on others and you wouldn’t have to think too far back to some of the people in our sporting circles. Folk who we look up to and who had spectacular falls from grace.  And while their actions might be less than desirable I am open to be convinced that the media is helpful in healing what are obviously painful dilemmas.

There are expectations that others put on us. Some subtle, some not so subtle, some appropriate, some perhaps misguided.

There are the expectations that God places on us and these are gentle. All He asks is that we be the people He has called us to be. Just to use the gifts He has generously given to His glory and not forget the source. To rejoice in ourselves which changes our perception of ourselves and others and therefore must  change our actions and words.

There are the expectations that we place on God. We expect him to sort out the Middle east, find a cure for COVID and heal great aunt Flo’s lumbago all by breakfast time.

But by far the most crushing expectations are the ones we place upon ourselves and this is not what God wants at all. It is detrimental to ourselves, to others and in the end, the inevitable disappointment must send us spiralling downwards to hell. The place where hope and love are absent.

Another type of expectation to have a think about

Are we filled with expectation when we are tootling along to church?

Time was when I couldn’t wait and my shoes would be shiny and my heart a flutter and I understood and was thrilled that in an hour’s time simple bread would become the body of Our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. That a change would occur. An objective real and tangible change.

Things are different now.

Like a marriage, an old friend who you know is always reliable and trustworthy. Someone who is  delighted to see you, who will receive you warmly and welcome because you know that he is just as pleased to see you as you are to see him.

Perhaps this year we should unburden ourselves and others of expectations. Perhaps 2022 will be the year we  realise that we don’t have to live up to our own expectations or the expectations that others put on us. We should understand that all we have to do is be the people God has called us to be, the people that we always have been, then His kingdom will have come. Then our wildest expectations will have been realised.

Then the Messiah will manifest himself in the desert of our souls.

From expectation to realisation to manifestation.

There are in fact two windows in Christchurch Hamilton which depict the visit of the Magi. Fortunately they are at opposite ends of the Church. One is in the Lady Chapel and one is near the font.

That’s not the only difference. The one in the Lady chapel is quite bright in its colouring. In fact you could almost be mistaken for thinking that the magi visited the Christ-child and his mother in broad daylight.

The one near the font however uses darker colours to show that it would have been night time when the Magi visited. They were using a star to navigate so it was probably night.

A couple of misconceptions that you probably already know about but which are good to be reminded of.

We easily and understandably jump to the conclusion that there were three kings because there were three gifts. But nowhere are we told how many of these chaps turned up. There might have been two or more kings plus a little entourage of people to do the cooking and water the camels and mend the sandals.

The image that we bring to mind is of a cute little scene in the stable, but in fact the Christ-child would have grown a bit because the magi got off track and had to ask for directions. Further we are told that the Holy Family were now well and truly ensconced in a house and had left the stable a while back.

Matthew tells it this way

“2:11 On coming to the house, they saw the child with his mother Mary, and they bowed down and worshiped him.”

During the visit of the magi Joseph is blitheringly conspicuous by his absence. It’s not until after the magi have departed that he has one of his famous dreams and plucks his vulnerable family out of danger and goes second class express to Egypt. So where was Joey when his wife was getting all the presents?

One scholar of a very dubious repute posited the theory that when Mary saw these guys approaching with their camels and entourage, she panicked and realised that she didn’t have enough Tim tams, Stilton Cheese and red wine to properly entertain such distinguished looking guests. There was only one thing for it and that was to send Joey off to the supermarket with the credit card to get some party food and refreshing beverages. Alas, the 12 items or less aisle was clogged with other shoppers who had thought that the guys on the camels were coming to visit them; so by the time Joey got back from his shopping spree the magi had left.

There is nothing at all to substantiate this sketchy piece of academia which leaves us pondering where was Joseph and how come he missed out on getting all the nifty presents of gold, frankincense and myrrh.

The story over all is one of reassurance. That despite the trickery and deviousness of Herod, God’s purpose is still worked out and there is a very real sense in which God uses Herod to bring about his plan and if that be the case, then all is not lost and God can use whoever he will, in whatever way he chooses, to bring about the manifestation and epiphany of his Son.

Something that is a little odd and something I think about.

The thing that is odd. The window in the Lady Chapel. This window only has images of the three Magi. There is no cute vista of Mary and the Christ-child. It’s all about the magi.

I think about those funny gentlemen as they trudged through the desert in the middle of the inky black night. I reckon they might have got a little irritated with each other but give them their due… they got there.

So their journey, is my journey, is your journey, is our journey.

Someday I’ll find you and you will not be where I expected you to be. You will not be in Jerusalem the powerful epicentre of the land.

And it will not be when I expect; in brilliant spring sunshine but in the middle of my darkest night.

And you will not be what I thought. And you will not be with those I would expect.

Just like Herod and the people I will be perturbed and disarmed.

And I will bring my gold, my frankincense and my myrrh and go home by a different route, a fresh resolve, a new impetus.

And this pilgrimage to you goes on each day and every week. Off I go …setting out, asking, hoping, discouraged and disappointed sometimes, lost frequently, but always being steered by that distant star that I sometimes glimpse out the corner of my eye.

Someday, one day I will come home to you and not only will it be more than worth while… but every disappointment, every blistered footsore, every irritant will dissolve the moment I open my eyes in death.

There was just the two of us warming our hands over a serious mug of tea. Big black tea with just a smidge of sugar and scalding hot. We had put the world to rights; We had sorted out the church of God and found a cure for COVID. We had erased world poverty, ensured peace in the Middle East  and found a recipe for non fattening triple choc biscuits.

Then the conversation really started. We talked candidly and honestly about our faith or the lack of it. Our struggles, our doubts, our arid times and those rare fleeting moments when it all seemed so close and real. They disappeared so  quickly that we were left wondering if we had imagined the whole thing.‘If only we had more faith’ we muttered in unison.

Fortunately a phrase came to mind at just the right moment. Don’t worry, this will never happen again so there is no need to panic or get excited.

‘To want to have Faith, is faith itself’ Read it again slowly to yourself. ‘To want to have faith … is faith itself.’ It does make sense when you say it slowly and mull it over with a friend, a beverage and a non fattening triple choc biscuit.

That yearning, that wanting to have faith, that knowing that you fall short, that realisation that there is something more and craving it… that is faith in and of itself. It’s OK not to have reached and experienced your spiritual nirvana. Just to want to get there, just to walk stoically on with depleted courage and waning desire and yet still walk. That’s just as big a dollop of faith as actually having arrived.

To want to have faith… that’s all you’ve got to do. Just to want faith is enough.

You’ve gotta love Youtube and the Crowdies right?! I was watching the song ‘Don’t dream it’s over’ ‘live’ at the Sydney opera house on that Youtube thing. The music was sweet, the crowd were really getting into it and just for a few moments, even now, years later in my study, the world was as it should be. It was perfect.

And as I watched, caught up in the delicious magic of the moment, there was a big part of me that was praying ‘Please God don’t let it end. Not now. Not ever. This is just so good, so perfect, so right. It should last forever. Don’t dream it’s over.’

But the song did of course. The moment never lasts, the perfection that we enjoy dissipates, evaporates and we are left craving more, but oh so blessed that we have touched the face of God and He has exalted and danced deep within us.

I wondered too about the shepherds that night and the heavenly music that came upon them without having the geeky stuff that we enjoy. Was it not possible, that having seen the heavens opened, that their prayer was simply that this also would never end? And then down to the manger to gaze upon the Master himself. Don’t dream it’s over.

But it did of course. Back to the freezing fields and a inky black night where nothing had changed, yet everything had changed and things could never be the same again.

Maybe with a few slurps of a warming beverage they too might have sung. …

‘Hey now, hey now, don’t dream it’s over’ at the top of their voices and somewhere, somehow in the middle of the night their prayer was answered. Because it was not over at all. In fact it was just beginning. Now while we didn’t sing any Crowded House at our Carol service nor will be singing any of the ‘Crowdies’ at Midnight mass on Friday 24th at 10:30pm we will be celebrating the fact that the story of our salvation has really begun for us.

A wooden yoke coming to life
after hours of woodwork
In the heat of the day

My yoke is light…
A wooden plough
constructed
by the masters hands
The seed that fell on the good ground

Aging saw dust cascading
to the floor
fine in the late sunlight

The master begins again.
Hesitantly
conscious of working against the grain,
against a lifelong of pure discipline
in taking a used girl by his side.

Dreams spin a new wisdom.
Impossible before
overriding the mallet’s fall
journeying them down the travellers path
to Bethlehem.  Anon

A colleague and I were  talking about all things ‘clergy’ the other day.  We also spoke of that thing that we all can’t help talking about and would much rather jeer at it.

My colleague was stretched and struggling. There were a few extra bits on his plate which he found unpalatable and undesirable.

His energy was expended and he was hanging on, not by the tips of his fingers, but his fingernails. (His words not mine) I continue to worry and pray for him.

As I drove home I made a conscious choice to turn off my embarrassing choice of music in the 70's and do the inevitable post mortem on the conversation. Did I miss something? Was there something I should have said? And what on earth will I say to him next time I check in?

I found myself reflecting back on a few inky patches in my own life. I well recall the colossal amount of energy it took just to hang on by the flimsiest of grips. It was exhausting just getting through the day and there was never enough sleep. It took a long time for the situation to right itself and I sadly suspect that it will take some time for my colleague to arrive in a sunnier place.

It all changed for me when one day I said to myself “blow it”, or at least something like that and let go. And instead of landing with a sickening “THWACK” on the concrete with blood gushing out of my ears, there was an eerie sense of calm. I  realised that I had been supported and encouraged all along. Like the safety net for a trapeze artist.

Frantically holding by our finger nails is not necessarily the best use of our limited energy.

John the Baptist must have been a mean looking hombre and fierce orator. This morning he’s woken up grumpy and he’s just in the mood to tick everyone off.

‘You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come?  Bear fruits worthy of repentance. Do not begin to say to yourselves, “We have Abraham as our ancestor”; for I tell you, God is able from these stones to raise up children to Abraham.  Even now the axe is lying at the root of the trees; every tree therefore that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire.”

The people quiver and shake with fear.

“OK, so what do we have to do”? they reply. And John the Baptist gives them a step by step, easy to understand, any idiot can do it guide, on how to go forward.

‘Whoever has two coats must share with anyone who has none; and whoever has food must do likewise.’

You tax collectors in your lovely swish suits from the top end of town ‘Collect no more than the amount that is due.’

And you soldiers huddled over there in the corner

‘‘Do not extort money from anyone by threats or false accusation, and be satisfied with your wages.” No such thing as CPI in those days.

And from what we can gather the folk take all this on board. They adjust their lives accordingly. They are baptised and begin a new life. One of Luke’s pet subjects. Repentance, forgiveness and new hope.

It seems that judgement is withheld and thus there is hope. And its this nuance that I want to speak about today.

To be fair the idea came from a podcast I was listening to. But if you remember only one thing from this homily remember this

“To withhold judgment is the beginning of hope..”

The podcast was about Megan Phelps - Roper who grew up in an insular worshipping community. They had a very blinkered view of their own self righteousness. They were right and everyone else was wrong and they could quote chapter and verse from the bible to prove it. Further they genuinely believed that the reason people died in 9/11 and the ensuing Afghanistan war was because some gentlemen lived a particular lifestyle. What’s more our Jewish brothers and sisters were going straight to the fiery depths of hell. No questions asked, even the little children. This was God’s punishment on the planet and his retribution was fierce and warranted. As an infant of five years old Megan was  waving placards and protesting in the streets. God hates Jews etc.

But then social media happened and Megan used this thing called twitter to put out this unfortunate point of view. Of course other people engaged with Megan, disagreed and eventually she got to meet some of these people.

One day a peculiar yet lovely thing happened. A rabbi sidled up to her in the street and just began gently chatting about everything except what was printed on her placard. Judgment on both sides was suspended  and hope had an opportunity to take a breath and live.

And I reflect … would I have been as gracious and as wise and sensitive as the rabbi? Probably not. I think I would have been hurt and very crotchety.

In the conversation not only had the Rabbi withheld his judgement but also Megan was able to withhold her judgment.

In the end, because of this dialogue and other people engaging with her point of view in a non judgmental way, Megan actually left the worshipping community.

And then something even more powerful happened. She went to the Holy land where she was embraced, welcomed, sheltered and fed by the very people she had denigrated. The experience was humbling, full of hope and life giving for everyone.

I don’t know about you, but getting my own stuff together and trying to become the sort of person God wants me to be is a full on, full time, rich and challenging experience. I simply don’t have the time and the energy to worry about whether God is smiting this person, or that group, or that community. It is enough to listen to John the Baptist and heed his call to act appropriately.

But Megan’s story is a salutary lesson for us.

That God is bigger and wiser and more comprehensive and universal than we can ever know and that is a very good thing.

To harbour revenge, to execute retaliation, to give way to and be consumed by the fire of anger in our thoughts, words, and deeds can only extinguish light, hope and love. This leaves the world and especially our own soul in a very dark and foreboding place.

But to withhold judgment gives the best possible opportunity of hope and light and love to flourish. It’s a tough gig and something we need to be reminded of continuously. Perhaps when we are struggling to withhold judgment we might remember John the Baptist and his little tantrum of repentance and new life. Or if we can’t bring him to mind, maybe Megan or perhaps  just  “Forgive us our sins as we forgive those who sin against us” might do the trick.

The wise woman from Park-run.

I was bemoaning my slower times at Park-run to a wise woman the other day. She listened patiently as I prattled on about the burgeoning time it took me to get around the lake. “Is it my age?” I wailed. “Is it my technique?” I moaned. I pleaded desperately. “Will new shoes make me go faster or a different breakfast?”

The wise woman listened compassionately to my pathetic tale of woe. She smiled graciously and incisively replied

“What if Park-run is not about the blood pressure or a personal best time? What if it is just about ‘doing and being’? What if it is just about putting  yourself in  the best possible place and just living the moment? Allowing everything else to just dissolve away. Would that be such a terrible thing?”

I thought about these astute and perceptive questions as I went to Evening Prayer later that day. Often it’s just mutter mutter, grumble grumble. There are no choruses of angels, bursting into glorious song. No beatific visions of St. Michael or Our Lady. The Archangel Gabrielle has so far declined to accept my generous invitations to show up and sit down beside me.

So what if I applied a similar philosophy to my prayers? What if prayer wasn’t having weird religious experiences in psychedelic colour with 5d surround sound, transmitted on the 7G network?

What if prayer was just placing myself in the best possible space and place and allowing the possibility of God to do His thing? Perhaps prayer is not about me trying to get a personal best while babbling through the psalms and scratching my head at the incomprehensible readings?

I shall always be grateful to the wise woman from Park-run. Maybe my personal best is actually when I am going slowly.

A reflection for Sunday 5th of December

Last week I gave a very skimpy overview of some of the themes that occur in Luke's gospel. One of those themes is repentance and forgiveness and I pointed out that only Luke has the story of the prodigal son. In his gospel Luke points to his pet theme. “John the Baptist went into all the region around the Jordan, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins.” Notice please where John the Baptist is preaching. He's not preaching in the city of Jerusalem, the top end of town, the plumb parish. No, he is preaching in the desert in the region of the Jordan. This is not salubrious and lush countryside. It’s hot, dusty, rocky stuff. No wonder he uses the imagery of Isaiah.

The voice of one crying out in the wilderness:
“Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight.
Every valley shall be filled, and every mountain and hill shall be made low,
and the crooked shall be made straight,  and the rough ways made smooth;"

It would have made a lot of sense to those who were listening to him because all around them would have seen wonky, rough roads that needed some workmen in high vis vests and lollipop signs. They would have walked over these wonky rough hot dusty roads in order to get to hear John the Baptist.

Now the imagery of the wilderness and bumpy roads operates on at least two levels. There is the outward physical dimension that we would see and experience if we were fortunate enough to go to the Holy land. But there is another dimension as well. The voice crying in the wilderness is often that still small voice within us which is easily ignored, overpowered and silenced by other distractions and procrastinations. You could call it our conscience, or the voice of the Holy Spirit but every so often we know that something needs fixing. The rough ways need to be smoothed. The valleys of our inadequacies and shortcomings need to be filled. The potholes need to be sorted and the tarmac sealed, shiny and ready. This is hard work that goes on at the deepest level within us. It is not always comfortable and pleasant. It is often confronting and disquieting for us. It can’t be just fixed in a day and then left and ignored. Just as our roads needed to be continuously worked on, upgraded and painted and a whole lot of other things I don’t understand, but expect to happen, so too the highway of our souls will always need to be worked on. Sometimes its good to have a chat with someone who is just a little ahead of you or walking with you. Someone who perhaps has fallen headlong into the ditches and can give you a bit of a hint as to what might lie ahead. And when you fall in the ditches as we all do, get up, dust yourself and begin the important work of making all things smooth and level and straight. And perhaps you might be able to reach out your hand and help someone else out of the same ditch. Perhaps you might look them in the eye and say “Courage. I know all about this ditch because I fell into myself last week and this was the 4th time I have fallen into this trap.

Two things that occurred to me while writing this homily. First, why did the crowds leave their home to venture out in the blithering heat to hear this crazy guy dressed in the latest camel hair caftan. Why bother? Surely it would have been much more fun to sit quietly under the cool of a palm tree sipping a refreshing beverage. I reckon it because John’s homilies were corkers. He preached a baptism of repentance and the forgiveness of sins. And this is just the best news ever. It is what we all crave for and long for deep down. We need to know time and time again that we are forgiven because time and time again we bungle it. We need the refreshing water of forgiveness poured over us to cleanse us so that we can set out again. To start again with hearts that are lighter and ready to love and in turn pass on that forgiveness to everyone we encounter. That's why they went out in the midday sun. They shared that same deep longing and if it took a  couple of days of rough sleeping and a bit of sunburn and tired sweaty feet, then the trek would have been well worth it.

The second thing I wonder about. Why is this theme of repentance and forgiveness so important to Luke?

One day I will ask him but here’s what I reckon. I reckon Luke was a fallible, failing, sinful regular guy. I reckon that he might have fallen from grace in spectacular fashion. We know that he would not have actually met the Risen Christ, but he must have seen the good news in the message that was being handed down. Luke knew how much he needed it and of course he responded and wrote his message to us. Repent and believe the good news of forgiveness. So deep in your souls

Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight.
Fill up all those valleys.
Flatten the hills and mountains
Smooth out the rough edges and then
You too shall see the salvation of God.