Holy disruption

 Third of Lent: Exodus 20:1-17 and John 2:13-22

 

Image: YouTube still

The Prince of Egypt is a beautiful animation of an ancient story. 

A story of the struggle for freedom in the face of power and oppression.

It’s an epic narrative which blends the emotional intensity of human relationships with the presence of God. There is awe and mystery and intimacy. A God speaking in fire and cloud and in a still small voice.

The film ends with the moment that God speaks in today’s reading from Exodus.

It  ends with the giving of the Ten Commandments.

What makes for a cinematic finale is actually the beginning of a new phase of understanding God’s character and relationship with humanity, with us.

Here is a God who is loving and merciful. A God whose words demand a degree of courage and humility. 

For God speaks words which redirect our hearts towards love; words which name the damage done when our hearts are ruled by selfish desires.

Moses Delivering His Ten Commandments by David Courlander. 

The words that God speaks reminds the people of their story. 

The Lord God brought them out of slavey and into freedom. 

This God is the great I am: who was and is and is to come. There is no other. 

The words that God speaks forms a people with identity and belonging and purpose.

The Lord God has given them a way to live. To turn away from that - to give other gods, idols, desires and prizes central place - would have repercussions on future generations.

To remain faithful to God’s ways would be a blessing of love to not just the third or forth generation, but the thousandth. 

The Greyhound might be one of the few, if not the only, pub in north London with the ten commandments on the walls. 

And yet perhaps those words which God spoke ought to be just at home  convivial meeting place as in a place of worship.

These words: 

Honouring God’s name and embracing the command to rest. The holiness of God blessing and setting aside and hallowing the rhythms of time.

Honouring one another: in family relationships, in preserving life and in faithfulness.

Honouring community: not stealing, speaking falsely or coveting that which belongs to another.

All these words, held within a covenant of love.

A covenant of love, which as it was lived out and interpreted, included provision for widow and orphan; which released those in debt; which acknowledged that the earth was the Lord’s. 

Before the presence of God, and in the company of one another, God’s people are called to live in faithfulness to the commandments.

Jesus Cleanses The Temple by Jhoti Sati

What then are we to make of today’s episode from John’s Gospel? So soon after turning water into wine at the wedding feast, Jesus is overturning tables in the temple.

If God’s response to our failures to love it to keep on loving, perhaps we need to be alert to that fact that that’s not always comfortable; for the Lord comes to the Temple as a refiner’s fire.

Is this perhaps a form of holy disruption? 

Does it reveal something new? Does this action draw us more deeply into the mystery of God’s ways of loving?

This story feels familiar to us - the other Gospels place the episode in the final week of Jesus’ life; but John sets it at the beginning.

Here, Jesus doesn’t talk about the Temple as a den of robbers; nor does he remind his hearers that it should be house of prayer for all nations.

Whilst not naming exploitation or exclusion, Jesus seems to be saying something about himself, as well as the Temple.

Amidst the noise and hubbub and habits of trade, the Temple’s purpose, as a place of intimate and awesome encounter with God, has been obscured.

Alexander Smirnov - The Cleansing of the Temple

In the midst of this whirlwind of disruption, the bystanders ask for a sign to explain this action; they want to debate it.

Jesus doesn’t given them a ‘sign’ or miracle; instead he gives them something more like a riddle.

“Destroy this temple”, he says,  “and in three days I will raise it up.”

To take this literally sounds preposterous or outlandish.

The people don’t understand. John breaks the narrative wall to turn his gaze on us; to say to us, that Jesus is talking about his own body.

Here, at the beginning of his ministry, Jesus is making a bold statement about where God’s presence dwells.

Here, in flesh and blood, God is with us. 

But what Jesus reveals about himself - and the natures of God is the depth of loving.

Stations of the Cross - Alice Sielle

He points us to this arrest, death and resurrection.

In this holy disruption in a holy place, Jesus overturns what we thought we could say about God’s presence with us.

The God who’d led a people from slavery to freedom is leading us from death to life. 

The God whose commandments call us to faithfulness, rest, honour and obedience doesn’t stop loving when we make mistakes.

Instead, this God remains steadfast; dwells with us in Jesus; and through him loves and heals and forgives. 

This God puts out all our misdeeds; and makes us a clean heart.

In Jesus, we are not cast away from God’d presence; in him the covenant of love is extended.

This God calls us back from sin, selfishness, misdirected desire: and says:

If ye love me - keep my commandments. This God promises to renew us with his Spirit.

© Julie Gittoes 2021

Walking in Crosslight

Second Sunday in Lent: Genesis 17:1-7,15-16 and Mark 8:31-end

In yesterday’s Guardian, Monica Heisey explores what she calls the ‘joyless trudge’ or the British obsession with ‘going for a walk’.  She captures the refrain that perhaps we recognise from our childhood or being amongst friends: Where are we going? On a walk!

In lockdown, walking - without a particular destination in mind - has been a way to exercise, spend time with a friend, get away from the computer screen and relax. Whether it’s on the Heath, at the Welsh Harp or a circuit of Sunny Hill Park, we’re spoilt for choice when it comes to walking 

Yet, Heisey, such activities are aimless - ‘no destination, only journey.’

At this early point in Lent we are invited to walk: to walk before God; to walk the way of the cross.

And perhaps, like the journalist, we worry that that can be a joyless trudge; and yet our readings are inviting us to stay with the journey, even when the destination is uncertain or even unpalatable. 

We’re invited to in the way of the cross; and to allow its light to be good news.

Abraham and Sarah - Marc Chagall

Today we are invited to walk with Abram and Sarai as they face a new beginning. 

The journey begins at an unexpected and unlikely moment. 

Their journey thus far has included the companionship of the life together; but also the reality of childlessness. Whether through choice or circumstance, the social pressures and expectations of parenthood are still recognisable to us today - for men and for women. 

The ‘I am’ of God speaks into this place of ageing at a time when life seems short; when the light of hope grows dim. 

I am God.  I am God inviting you to walk before me. 

To walk with me; to be with me; to be blameless. To let go of shame and fear; of stigma and isolation. And to walk.

To begin a new journey.

Image: artist unknown, found here

This invitation to walk doesn’t have a clear destination; but it full of promise. 

This covenant is exceeds all that Abram and Sarai could count or imagine.

Where life seemed limited, now there is an everlasting covenant.

Where hope grew dim, now there blazes a multitude of possibilities.

One couple, becoming exceedingly numerous.

An old man, an ancestor to a multitude of nations.

An old woman, blessed mother of many peoples.

I am God. Walk before me.

Be blameless: love, trust, hope. Walk.

This is the covenant of God: a commitment to mercy and blessing and life. 

Image here

That commitment to walk in God’s way of love are not always comfortable or straightforward.

Peter discovers that in a painful way today. A few moments before the conversation we hear today, Peter had placed his faith and trust in Jesus - he had declared who he was. 

He named Jesus as Messiah; the I am of almighty God in our midst.

But then Jesus begins to teach the disciples that this way of being with us, of walking with us, would involve suffering. 

He speaks of rejection, suffering and death. 

Peter protests. 

He speaks from the heart.

He speaks out of the human instinct to protect the one he’s chosen to follow, listened to, and place his hope in.

He speaks of the human instinct to hold on to his understanding of what it meant to be Messiah; to the image of saviour as an all-conquering hero.

This is a painful moment. Peter rebukes Jesus because he cannot bear to hear let alone understand what is being said; to register the shock of this suffering love is hard.

It is a painful moment. Jesus rebukes Peter - but also keeping the disciples and each one of us in his gaze. For it is too easy and tempting to set our hearts and minds on human things. 

Jesus takes up the cross: image here

Jesus is inviting us to think afresh about the ways of God; about the way God’s very self is revealed in vulnerability.

It is only by focusing on the person of Jesus that a relationship begins; that we can come with our misunderstandings and questions, hopes and desires.

And here, in the company of the one who is God with us, glimpse mercy and truth. Catch the drift of the radical change he brings. 

For  hear we see God at the heart of the world; at the heart of what we experience. God is at the heart of the suffering, pain, confusion and uncertainty. 

God is there and, in the words of Rowan Williams, is transforming it  ‘by the sheer indestructible energy of his mercy’.

The cross bearers of Holy Week: image source here

Like Peter, we are invited to keep going. However hard it is at times to make sense; however many questions we have, we are called to follow.

To follow the energy of this mercy, and there to find life.

To let go of the dazzling prizes of the world, and to find life.

To recognise the force of God’s love, and to find in it new life.

The God who invited Abram and Sarai to walk before him, is the God who is the ground of our being.

Today, we are invited to see the ways in which Jesus changes what can be said about God. 

If this is where God is - walking the way of the cross -  then God’s love and mercy cannot be overcome or squeezed out by injustice, suffering and loneliness. 

Image from video-hive

Is walking this way a ‘joyless trudge’? No.

Is there no destination, but only journey? No.

This walk, this journey is infused with the light of God’s light.

A steady light that sheds light on the world around us.

A light that calls us to recognise the dignity of every human being; and to trust in the energy of God’s mercy.

Walking in cross light reminds as that in Jesus, God goes to the very heart of human experience; and there, at our weak point, brings life.

Walking in cross light delivers us from the circumstances or choices which bring sorrow; and instead invites us to be part of a story that speaks of good news and a new world.

God comes to the weak point and says this is not the end; comes to the place of sorrow and embraces us; to the place of regret and forgives us. 

We are to walk - remembering God’s tender mercies and loving kindness.

We are to walk - remembering that God’s mercy and love bring life, hope and forgiveness. 

Let us pray to the trice holy God to have mercy on us as we walk in cross light.

Holy God. 

Holy and strong.

Holy and immortal.

Have mercy on us.

 © Julie Gittoes 2021

Where can we find light?

 Sunday, 14 February: 2 Kings 2:1-12 and Mark 9:2-9

When day comes, we ask ourselves,

where can we find light in this 

never-ending shade?

It was a little over a month ago that the poet Amanda Gorman spoke at the inauguration of the 46th President of the United States. 

Her poem was entitled “The Hill We Climb”. 

Her words embraced themes which resonate beyond the steps of the Capital. She allowed space for grief and growth, hurt and hope; purpose and promise; truth and trust. She picture of what stands before us rather than between us; acknowledged that norms and notions of what is ‘just’ isn’t always justice. 

Her words were infused with passion and joy; woven together with the vision of our Scriptures - that everyone shall sit under their own vine - their own fig tree - and be unafraid. 

Armando Alemdar Ara - The Transfiguration of Jesus 

The hill we are invited to climb today is one of transfiguration; of transformation; of unsettling, overwhelming and dazzling radiance.

A hill where perhaps we can say with Gorman:

For there is always light, 

If only we’re brave enough to see it.

If only we’re brave enough to be it. 

We come to this light: sharing with the disciples in this private moment. 

A moment of bewilderment and glory.

A moment Peter at least wants to hold on to.

Yet as they rise up from their fear, perhaps they ask what kind of love is this?

What kind of love?

Charles Pabst - the luminous mysteries

This is love incarnate - God’s beloved Son. 

This love is the fountain of mercy and justice.

This radiant moment connects us to promises and renews our purpose. 

Here we too are refashioned. 

At the feet of Moses who led a people to freedom, alerting them to the presence of God in cloud and fire; who called out the dangers of false idols and golden calfs; whose face glowed with God’s glory; who brought the commandments down from mountain top to the valley.

At the feet of Elijah who defended the worship of the Lord God; who called out the evil deeds of rulers and brought hope to the fearful; whose words of prophecy called people back to mercy and justice; who departed in glory, leaving Elisha a double portion of his spirit.

At the feet of Jesus we see the fulfilment of the law and the prophets; who came from glory as love incarnate; who stood alongside fragile and fractured humanity on muddy river banks; whose presence brought God’s Kingdom near in words, whispers, sighs and signs of compassion, welcome, healing, challenge and hope.

Now he sets his face towards Jerusalem: walking a path of suffering, rejection and death.

No wonder Peter wants to hold on to this sacred and wondrous moment; to hold onto this vision of glory.

A cloud overshadows them. 

A voice speaks.

This is my Son, the beloved.

Listen to him.

Found of mercy and justice.

And now, only Jesus. 

What kind of love. 

A love that raises the disciples up from a place of fear.

A love that takes them back to the valley.

A love that gives them a glimpse of glory; a glimpse of risen life. 

A light in shade: if we’re brave enough to see; brave enough to be.

Transfiguration - James B. Janknegt, USA

To rest in the Lord is to commit our way to him, and to trust him. 

To abide in radiance calls forth a response. 

And in commitment and trust, Jesus points the disciples - and each of us - back to this messy world. 

A world where the fault lines of social and economic circumstances collide with the stories we tell of past and present and future; where structures and legacies can be deployed to bind or to set free. 

A world where there are tensions, inequalities and injustices; where polarisation and privilege threaten to disfigure or diminish the dignity we have as human beings. 

Jesus takes us from radiance and reality. 

He brings us back to those who need us: the sick and sorrowful, the restless and vulnerable. 

This is the kind of love we see incarnate with us and acting for us. 

Love that liberates and brings life.

 

Dare we pray for a portion of God’s Spirit?

Truth to guide us and love to free us. 

Dare we become the light we seek?

With compassion, courage and resolve to see dignity restored. 

When it comes to racial justice, this is not a zero sum game - where someone else’s gain is our loss. We are invited out of apathy into equality. We are invited to a kind of love that reflects God’s glory as we honour one another.

In the words of my dear friend Anderson Jeremiah - a member of the Archbishop’s Antiracism Taskforce: the ‘way of the cross cannot be privatised as an individual spiritual journey. The cross becomes a dynamic public pursuit of fraternity, liberty and justice rooted in love. The cross and subsequent resurrection has overcome the world’s power game of domination, exploitation, greed and deception.’

Will we rise from fear - being the light we see and the love we receive?

Today we are gifted a glorious vision - in a world such as this.

Love incarnate: fount of mercy and justice 

In a world of inequity and pain, may our actions be our prayer. 

May we seek to honour one another and rise from fear. 

May we labour unto to the the glory of this kind of love.

© Julie Gittoes 2021