Epiphany 3: Nehemiah 8, 1 Corinthians 12 and Luke 4
In many ways After Life, the Netflix series scripted and staring Ricky Gervais, is not for the fainthearted: it explores the nature of love, grief, depression, addiction, friendship and community; it goes to places which are bleak and raw; the humour is by turns dark, blue and even tender.
Threaded through it all, is the message that we’re here for others, not just ourselves.
Gervais is an atheist. Tony, the character he plays, shares that world view. He makes statements about what he knows rationally, as fact. At the same time, he recognises the things we cannot account for; the emotions, loves and connections that lie beyond what we can prove or explain.
In the world of After Life, faith and belief aren’t ridiculed but hover at the margins. Love and goodness aren’t abstract. They’re things located within our capability to make someone else’s life a bit easier. Acts of kindness, offering help, listening and giving others a chance to contribute.
Perhaps the core conviction of the series is that hope is everything. Tony hopes that he’ll get his life back on track as he lives through the chaos and darkness of grief. That he’ll be able to laugh and find happiness again.
In fact, most of the ‘action’ takes place when people sit together; when they pay attention to another’s story: on a bench, in a care home, at an office desk, in a cafe, on a sofa - his or someone else’s.
As we sit here, together, on chairs or pews, we too are invited to pay attention. To attend to God’s story - a story that holds us from first to final breath, with all the loves and griefs in between. To we hear two stories of worship - worship in the context of political and social challenges - and a letter on the cusp of perhaps one of the most famous hymns to love.
First: at a gathering in a public square, the book of the law of Moses is fetched.
The people are told that this day is holy.
Even as they face the challenge of rebuilding their lives after exile, the people are told that they will find strength and joy beyond the pain of grief.
Second: in a synagogue, the scroll of the prophet Isaiah is unrolled.
Familiar words are heard: that is the year of the Lord’s favour.
Even as they live under the an occupying power, they are told that these words aren’t consigned to a familiar memory or a distant dream. The are fulfilled. Now. Today.
Today, as we gather and God’s word is shared: dare we believe that this day is holy?
Within our congregations and wider community, there will be feelings of loss and dislocation and anxiety as we rebuild routines, businesses and relationships.
Like the people listening to Ezra read, we are invited to persist in our ‘rebuilding’ and to dare to hope as we grieve. Like them, we are to embrace the time that we have left to us here on earth to encourage hospitality - to share the resources we have with those who have nothing. The life we have is to be holy - precious, marked by kindness and loving kindness.
As words of promise are reaffirmed, dare we expect this to be a year of blessing?
Within our congregations and wider community, there will be feelings of uncertainty and fear about the future: about the costs of living, youth violence and mental health.
And perhaps, like the people listening to Jesus read, the words of Scripture are comforting; but when we’ve heard them hundreds of times do they lose their power?
What Jesus does is not only read them, but embody them; he makes them his own and breathes new life, possibility and hope into them. Now. Even in this year. God will work through the time we have - even if we don’t have all the answers - so that even this year might be one of hope.
Like those who have heard words and unfolded texts before us, we are invited to be attentive.
We are be attentive to the present moment - to recognise that it is precious, sacred, even holy.
As we pay attention to the words we listen to each other as a community of God’s beloved: many, yet one; diverse, each member indispensable.
Wherever we sit - on pews or bar stools, at desks or on park benches, on sofas in cafes, staff rooms, care homes or living rooms - we are to pay attention to each other’s story through the lens of God’s story. A story that offers us the good news of a new beginning, a love that has the last word, a freedom that dares to see a hope-filled future amidst the rebuilding and the struggles.
To embrace the holiness and potential of today is to lean into God’s love with our sorrows and our longing.
To embrace the year of the Lord’s favour is to trust that God’s love embraces all of our human experience in the joys and feasting and the anger and doubt.
We don’t say yes and amen to this love on our own. We do so together.
We are not here just for ourselves. In Christ we are made one - each of us has a place and a purpose; each one of us is needed.
However complicated our circumstances - however much we fear change or worry that we don’t have the resources or the answers - we are to say yes to the one who helps us sit together.
Paul’s words again are so familiar, perhaps today we can let them sink in: if one of us suffers, we suffer together; if one of us is honoured and shown kindness, we all rejoice. We are to exchange dissension for care for each other.
This is the stuff that sets us free.
Paul speaks about the diversity of gifts - of teachers and leaders, those who bring healing and those who carry the prophetic call to justice and mercy. We can add our own - what each of you do, and are and hope for. Yet above all that we are to strive for a greater gift - the gift of love about which Paul writes in the next chapter.
For now, dare we be here for others not ourselves? Can we be present, now, to each other and our community? With our brothers and sisters in other Christian traditions and alongside others of faith and goodwill, can let’s listen; let’s notice God light and love breaking and inviting us to rebuild.Together, let’s find ways of making life a little bit easier - for our hope is everything.
May the Spirit anoint us with loving kindness, with fierce determination, with the gifts we don’t know we need, with the ability to be present when we feel helpless, with the patience to listen and with the generosity to bring a shred of joy where there is none.
Today is holy. Today hope and love is, can be, will be fulfilled.
© Julie Gittoes 2022
