Sunday, 7 November 2021

Casting and mending

 A sermon on the 3rd Sunday before Advent: Jonah 3:1-5, Hebrews 9:24-end & Mark 1:14-20


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‘Do you have ‘Fly Fishing’ by J. R. Hartley?’

Do you remember the 1990s advert which became a cultural reference point: an elderly gentleman asking that question in several second hand bookshops; when he returns home disappointed, his sympathetic daughter hands the Yellow Pages and he rings round. He’s delighted when someone answers and he’s found a copy. He says: ’My name? Oh, yes, it’s J. R. Hartley’.

Google Search may have replaced the big yellow book,  but one would hope, if such a book were really in print, that it include chapters on mending as well as casting your line, or your net.  Those are the skills needed for fishing; skills learnt and passed on by Simon, Andrew, James, John, Zebedee and the hired hands.

Amidst the immediacy and energy of today’s Gospel, ordinary work is being done. Before we think about following, let’s begin there.

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The verb ‘to cast’ carries with it connotations of movement, artistry and decisiveness: we might cast on a row of stitches or find ourselves cast in a particular role; we cast our vote, placing our mark in a box; we can cast light or cast doubt; it’s a direction of attention and energy.

And so with a net or a line - it is cast out into the water with all its depth and current. Yet, the rod is held secure, the net held fast, so that it might return fruitful. 

Today, the disciples are being cast into new territory by Jesus: he takes them out of their comfort zone and invites them to walk with him. There are echoes of transferable skills in the invitation; there are promises of good news and God’s nearness. They are cast into encounters of healing and debate, storytelling and feeding. As they are cast into the unknown, the one who calls them is with them.

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The verb ‘to mend’ is to repair something that is broken; it is to fix something rather than replacing it perhaps. Our bodies also mend - wounds, bones, minds. Rifts in our relationships can also be mended and put right.  To mend is about reconciliation and healing. There is something restorative and hopeful. 

And so with the net - they have to be fixed after the haul has been brought ashore. After the wear and tear, the lines are repaired, the breaks fixed.

Today, the disciples are being called into the patient work of restoration - of mending - by Jesus himself. He is the one who has come once and for all, as Hebrews puts it, to bear the weight of fractured humanity and restore us to God and one another. For now, this sacrifice of love is glimpsed in moments of invitation and encounter; for now they will hear it in words of peace, healing, forgiveness and hope.

This dynamic of casting and mending is illustrated in Jonah’s story, which we only hear in part today.  After his attempt at a maritime escape and his undignified exit from the belly of a whale, Jonah is called to the great city of Nineveh - he proclaims God’s message and the people responded. They believed, turned their lives around and the calamity was averted. 

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He was cast out to a place he had no desire to visit and to a people he cared little about. Even when he does go, it seems as if he shares God’s message with little enthusiasm. He speaks only of warning and condemnation - and yet, the people glimpse something of grace and a new beginning. 

There is mending in this story too: first in the intended consequence of Jonah’s mission - that people heard and responded to God. They show in their words and deeds that they wish to reject their destructive ways embrace a life marked by justice and love. Jonah also experiences the healing power of God’s love: his bruised ego, self-pity and his cynicism are transformed.

His story is woven together with God’s purposes: casting and reaching out; meeting and restoring. 

God’s love for the world is ‘cast’ through human agency - we see it in  Jonah and in the people of Nineveh. Their wills and desires are realigned to God’s ways; and perhaps their own experiences will go on to shape how they are to share in God’s work of healing and restoring. 

What then of these four men called from the familiarity of their trade to immediately follow Jesus? There they are - casting and mending nets. They they go - without hesitation or debate. 

The American preacher Barbara Brown Taylor calls this passage a miracle story. They are just as ordinary and fragile as we are. Taylor reminds us that the follow immediately because Jesus makes it possible. She writes: “This is not a story about us… It is a story about God, and about God’s ability not only to call us but also to create us as people who are able to follow — able to follow because we cannot take our eyes off the one who calls us, because he interests us more than anything else in our lives, because he seems to know what we hunger for and because he seems to be food.” 


Image credit - Cynthia Mclean

The one who seems to be food is with us day by day; as we are mended and restored by the assurance of forgiveness, peace and blessing. The one who seems to be food is with us in broken bread, inviting us to trust the good news of a love that makes us whole.

The disciples go, like Jonah (like us) having moments of fear, reluctance, doubt. There they go, sharing good news of love and hope in the places they find themselves.  

Jesus proclaims three things: the nearness of God’s kingdom; the invitation to repent, to turn to him and to trust; the assurance that this is good news.

In what ways can we cast that love wide - in ways that are generous, hospitable and just? In what ways can we mend - in ways that contribute to the restoration of relationships, well-being and creation?

When inviting fishermen to embark on this journey, Jesus use the language of their trade, the tasks they were undertaking. He works with their knowledge and skill, their determination and patience. Perhaps he also saw in them an understanding of sustainable rhythms of fishing and humility in the face of the natural world.

He calls them as they are - inviting them to put their ability to cast and to mend in the service of God’s kingdom; to seek a more peaceable world; a world where all are fed.

Where are we being invited to cast God’s love or take time to mend? The God who prized the skill of fishermen wants to bless our skills, experience and character too. How might the tasks of our daily life contribute to the flourishing of others? 

The writer Ched Myers helps us to understand what Jesus was asking when he says ‘fish for people’ by going back to the Hebrew scriptures, especially the prophets. There, the hooking of fish was a way of expressing God’s judgement on the rich and powerful. It was a vision of casting aside exploitative orders of domination and privilege and instead mending relationships within God’s kingdom - so that there might be justice and mercy for the oppressed, and abundant life for all. 

Jesus is proclaiming such  kingdom in word and deed - and the fishermen respond with urgency. They dared to embrace the invitation to follow as Jesus promised to make them more fully who they were - so that they too good share the good news. 

Their calling is specific and rooted in who they are and what they do; their skill, temperament and ideas are amplified as God’s purposes are worked out day by day.  That might look different for us.


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To the parent or teacher, follow me and nurture my children; to musicians, artists and writers, follow me inspire others with the beauty and wonder of the kingdom; to medics or carer, follow me and help minds and bodies to heal; to those gifts in admin and finance, follow me and help steward resources; to those who work in business or retail, follow me and help build up my people; to those who cook, follow me and create space for hospitality; to all of us, gardeners and consumers, tend the earth. To each of us here, whatever our age or status, how do we follow and cast love wide and seek to mend here in Hendon?

To each of us, take what you have and use it to cast God’s love wide; take the forgiveness we receive that it might be a blessing in restored relationships.  We cast and we mend in the power of the Spirit, for the one who is with us in form of bread, our food, is the one who calls us into his Father’s work: the work of love that heals, forgives, restores and is good news. 


© Julie Gittoes 2021

Saturday, 6 November 2021

Jesus wept

 Isaiah 25:6-9, Revelation 21:1-6a and John 11:32-44: A sermon on the Sunday when we celebrated All Saints in the morning and commemorated All Souls in the evening.  



Image credit: Maria Lang - Jesus wept


Over the last 18 months we’ve seen rainbows painted in windows and on recycling bins, featuring in street art and in school displays. Key workers became our heroes - contemporary saints, if you like. Over the last 18 months, a mural of hand drawn hearts has been painted on the Southbank - next to St Thomas’s Hospital and opposite Parliament - a visual representation of lives lost and of personal memories. It’s a tribute to very many souls.


In the midst of life, we are in death.  But All Saints and All Souls remind us of a deeper truth: in the midst of death, we are promised life.  We affirm value of every life; those who’ve taught us the faith; the connections across time, culture, history, and eternity.  Rainbows - God’s faithful love. Hearts our personal memories.


Surprisingly, perhaps, the Gospel for All Saints Sunday is the story of the raising of Lazarus. It's relatable and mysterious: one family’s loss, one life restored; but pointing to the one who leads us through life, beyond death to everlasting life.  Today,  we're invited to a grave in grief, remembrance, gratitude, and hope; but also invited to a bountiful kingdom - no lack, no tears. 


Two words at the heart of the story which may resonate:  “Jesus wept.” 


The one who is God with us - weeps with us. The God who will destroy death, is consumed by grief; the one who will wipe away tears, allows tears to flow. 


We might wonder why why the tears: when he’d stayed away, when onlookers suggest he could have prevented death; why the tears when joy is on the horizon.  When he calls Lazarus from the stench of death and decay he’s also calling us to enter a new kingdom - a kingdom opened by his own death and resurrection. That is the hope, so why the tears?


Jesus wept: and gives space to our grief.  He stands with Mary - and with Martha too. He comes alongside all those who loved Lazarus. His tears acknowledge that the loss of the life is to be mourned; that our grief can’t be rushed through. I wonder if part of the vocation of those called to be saints is to weep with those who weep?    


Jesus wept: and names the reality of the death and grief, mourning and tears that we endure. Even though his presence at the graveside foreshadows the hope of new life, those new joys will be shot through with the feelings of sadness; shot through with a new awareness of how precious life is. What is about to happen changes things; it points to the reality that love wins; but tears acknowledge that life won’t be the same either. So I wonder if part of our calling as members of Christ's body, the call to be be saints, is to hold space for life and joy and love?


Jesus wept: and expresses our embodied humanity.  Our faith is embodied too and it get reflected in our emotions and gestures.  Martha articulates her disappointment, frustration and anger deep at Jesus’s delay; but she also listens, trusts in who he is and is open to his words. Her sister Mary kneels before Jesus - a posture of petition, prayer and entreaty; her body expressing trust even when her words are questioning.   When Jesus comes to the grave, when he speaks to his heavenly Father of glory and belief, his face is still damp with tears.  When he calls Lazarus’ name, it’s through tear stained eyes. Perhaps part of our vocation, as those called to be saints, is a concern for all of human nature - our mental, physical and emotional wellbeing - and to pray with love.


Jesus wept: and he takes another step on the journey to Jerusalem where he will take up his cross. Even now, as he speaks words of life, the hostility of some in authority is turning into calls for his death. He will lay down his life not only for Lazarus but for all he calls friends - there is no greater love than this. That love flows out in the abundance of wine at a wedding and in the bread broken and shared amongst many on a hillside; that love flows in the living water offered to a woman at a well and in the water poured over aching feet. That love flows when Jesus is lifted up on the cross to draw all people to Godself. For God so loved the world - with every fibre and breath and tear and ache. So I wonder if part of our callings as saints, as members of Christ's body is  to love in this way - with vitality and intimacy, with generosity and sacrifice.


Jesus wept: and the fulfilment of Isaiah draws a little closer - as Lazarus is unbound, we glimpse the truth that in Jesus death will be swallowed up and shrouds will be destroyed. 


Jesus wept: and the hope of Revelation draws a little closer - in him, the home of God is with mortals and all will be made new. We catch a foretaste of the ultimate reality - the one who weeps will wipe away every tear. 


Perhaps part of the vocation of those called to be saints is to hold on to this hope - to turn it into a catalyst for change; to seek life and to plead for justice. 



Image credit: Jesus Mafa project 


Today, as we remember, All Saints and All Souls we do so with gratitude and hope, we mourn them and celebrate them. The tears we have shed over a lifetime are part of the process of grief and healing; but we also look to a time when tears will be no more. 


Rainbows renew our trust in the hope of a new heaven and a new earth; a time when feasting replaces mourning; when God’s promise of love will be all in all. Hearts remind us of our loves and our sorrows, our tears and our pain; they remind us that we are human and that we long healing. 


Through the lens of our scriptures, our own tears might move us with compassion to follow the saints in seeking God’s kingdom for our world needs the love that God commands. Yes, we are mortal, but we trust in a God who calls us to life. The one who weeps with us is the one who restores life.


© Julie Gittoes 2021