Sunday, 1st October, Trinity 17: Ezekiel 18:1-4, 25-end, Philippians 2:1-3 &
Matthew 21:23-32
Generational stereotypes abound in memes and advertising, sketches and articles:
Boomers: well-off
Gen X: cynical
Millennials: entitled
Gen Zs: civic-minded
But, as one headline puts it: ‘Boomers to the left of you; Gen Z to the right. Are we really so bafflingly different?’
At one level, the answer is “no”: we’re human with the same fears, affections, hopes, biases and limitations. Our experience might mean that we find solidarity or difference across generations because of our personality, interests, politics and community.
Yet at another level, the answer is “yes” because as individuals we do exist within cohorts or time frames; the impact of global events or national policy impact us differently.
Some of it is about cultural norms and reference points; or having analogue childhoods versus being digital natives; some of it is about wealth, taxes and the cost of living; coming of age in the era of student grants or student loans.
In a way, bridging the generation gap has always been with us. It’s 30 or more years since Mike and the Mechanics debuted their rock ballad “The Living Years”. It’s a track which names the way ‘every generation blames the one before/all of their frustrations come beating on your door.’ We come hostage to hopes or imprisoned by fears.
We can go back even further - 1000s of years rather than a few decades - and find those frustrations exposed by Ezekiel: in repeating the proverb about parents eating sour grapes and children’s teeth been set on edge, he is naming the inter-generational blame game.
Or, to return to the ballad, ‘we open up a quarrel between the present and the past/ we only sacrifice the future it’s the bitterness that lasts.’
Ezekiel speaks into this conundrum by reminding his hearers that each life belongs to the Lord - of parent and child alike - and together they share responsibility for the present and the future. He asks what leads to life - and explores the impact of moments of change.
He names the pivot moment: when we walk away from what is righteous and pursue what is harmful, we bound to the fortunes and fate of death; when we walk away from what is wicked and pursue the law of love, we open up a new perspective that leads to life.
The lyrics of “the living years” are personal and particular - a son regretting all the things he’d not told his father before he passed away, and yet hearing his echo in a baby’s new born tears.
As the refrain puts it: ‘I just wish I could have told him in the living years.’
Ezekiel is concerned about these living years and breaking cycles of blame.
We are judged not on the basis of being a boomer or millennial, Gen X or Gen Z - it’s true, we might not always see eye to eye - but on the basis of living in God’s ways. Repentance of hurt or harm opens up space for transformation.
Bitter quarrels between present and past sacrifices the future; but Ezekiel promises God’s people life based on a new heart and a renewed spirit.
Turn and live, says the prophet.
Don’t miss the living years, says the ballad.
We’re drawn into the substance of this life through the lens of a story Jesus tells when his authority is questioned - and in the words of hymn which predates Mike and the Mechanics by almost 2000 years.
Together they invite us into a way of life and faith which is fully integrated - it’s not about the ability to "talk the talk” of Christianity but allowing words and actions to stretch, enrich, sustain and deepen each other.
Jesus’ story about the two sons highlights the gap between talk and action, intent and deed: one makes a promise but does not fulfil it; the other shrugs off the request, but goes on to do the work anyway.
It’s a very human dynamic.
We, like the the first son, are capable of both promising things and putting them off, deciding against it, getting caught up in other stuff or simply forgetting.
However we can also be like the second son - in our hearts being reluctant to do something but in the end being moved to step into the gap, spontaneously moved to act, responding to the need.
Jesus tells this story in the context of questions about his authority - having arrived in Jerusalem a few days earlier riding on a donkey, to hosannas of hope and adulation; having within the previous 24 hours cast traders out of the temple, challenging the things that got in the way of it being a house of prayer for all nations.
We can imagine the outcry - who did he think he was? Responses to him vary across generations perhaps but also across social standing or position. Those without influence or control embraced him; those with power and status didn’t. How much or how little hope or agency effected their capacity to accept the promise of good news.
This good news is about what leads to life - and demands a moment of change. It’s not just about the promises we make and fail to keep - it’s about acknowledging mistakes knowing that we can turn and choose life.
When we name our need and vulnerability, when we let go of self-reliance and selfishness, when we acknowledge the injustices or unfairness we see there is a choice: to blame others or to accept the invitation to shared responsibility - across the generations - and see where God is opening up new possibilities, where change might be possible and where hope might begin.
In the water of baptism, we are brought to new birth - cleansed, renewed, enlivened. There our thirst is quenched - promises are made, we turn to God and choose life.
However many years ago that moment was for us, we know that we need to be sustained in our journey of faith: not only in prayer, learning and fellowship but by this hour on a Sunday when we are invited to turn and choose life - again and again. Here promises are renewed and forgiveness is received.
Here we receive the gift of bread and wine which is life itself: receiving what we become and becoming what we received, that is the body of Christ. And we draw near not just with reverence but with an awareness of our need and a deep longing to be fed. Here we rejoice in the hope of an intergenerational community - of hope and life.
But we don’t stop there: this is just a gathered interval in our scattered lives - for we are bodies within the body of Christ moving into the world. We go out equipped to do what we say - acting with love and mercy, seeking equality and justice, embodying compassion and resisting blame.
Perhaps we can offer a counter narrative to Mike and the Mechanics by healing the quarrels between the present and the past; refusing to sacrifice the future with bitterness. We are drawn into these living years by an early Christian hymn.
Paul introduces it sayings: if there is any encouragement in Christ, any consolation from love, any sharing in the Spirit, any compassion and sympathy, make my joy complete: be of the same mind, having the same love, being of full accord and of one mind.
It doesn’t matter if we’re boomers or millennials, Gen Xs or Gen Zs - or even the Gen Alpha amongst us: none of us are to act with self ambition or conceit - but instead to look with humility to the needs and interests of others.
That radical intergenerational vision is rooted in the love of God revealed in Jesus - who emptied and humbled himself, becoming obedient to death on the cross. In turning to him we find life. In his name, we find our unity.
In the power of the spirit we live our lives working out what this salvation - this hope of healing, forgiveness and life means. For God is at work in us in every breath or step we take - in our words, actions, choices, tasks. In these living years may we choose the life that truly is life.
© Julie Gittoes 2023
