Sunday 21 July: Jeremiah 23:1-6, Ephesians 2:11-end and Mark 6:30-34, 53-end
What happened when Queen and David Bowie had individually booked recording sessions in Montreux, Switzerland back in 1981?
"We were fooling around and then just sort of jamming with tracks, recalled the late Freddie Mercury, and suddenly we said ‘why don’t we just see what we can do in the spur of the moment?’"
The rock anthem “Under Pressure” was the result. Though they never went on to perform it together, we’ve probably all heard it.
As a piece of spontaneous collaborative music making, it certainly had impact - not just because of its unmistakable baseline and introduction, but because of the human sentiment of the lyrics: poignant as well as powerful.
It talks about the pressure pushing down on me and you: pressure which risks splitting families and puts people on the streets.
People take the streets for all sorts of reasons: campaign groups marching in protest or councillors trying to calm community tension; to gather in vigil, to walk with pride or dance in carnival. Some take to the streets because they have no home or place to rest.
The world is about all that: people and pressure. Sitting on the fence, according to the lyrics, doesn’t work; and love might be torn; but ‘why can’t we give love one more chance? Give love, give love, give love.’
Queen and Bowie wrote that love was ‘an old-fashioned word’; ‘and love dares you to care for the people on the streets… dares you to change our way of caring about ourselves’.
People under pressure need love and care. We see that running through today’s readings.
Scattered sheep neglected by their shepherds, left fearful, dismayed and lost. People who needed to be saved, finding care and safety.
Peoples without hope - divided, othered and facing hostility. People longing for peace and reconciliation, being drawn into one new humanity in Christ.
Friends, family, neighbours bring the sick from villages, cities and farms so that they might touch the hem of Jesus’ cloak, finding compassion and healing.
And love dares us to care for the people.
Jeremiah was railing against the way in which bad leaders had destroyed lives and communities - through being self-serving and lazy as much as being corrupt or violent. The prophet not only speaks words of judgement but also promises that God will gather and bind up.
Raising up new leaders who will execute justice and righteousness resonates with hopes for temporal leadership: where power is exercised with accountability, in pursuit of justice rather than oppression. Jeremiah looks to a future where God will raise up those who will enable life to flourish; fulfilling the promise of creation
Such life flows from obedience to the commandments, that old fashioned word ‘love’. A love which changes how we care for those under pressure, who risk life on the streets: the widow, the orphan, the migrant, the vulnerable.
Such a righteous branch points us to Jesus: the one who not only deals wisely in love, but who is God’s love made flesh.
It is this love dwelling with us who draws all peoples into a new humanity. Reading Ephesians reminds us of that uncomfortable experience of otherness - of life lived as strangers, without hope or belonging; life beyond the kinship of covenant.
And yet, by God’s grace, we Gentiles are also drawn into the promise of peace. The pressures that separate us from God and each other are overcome in a love that goes to the very depths of pain and alienation.
This is a love that dares to create one new humanity. This was the love that walked the streets of Jerusalem, the via dolorosa; the way of sorrows. This love bears the pressure in one body on the cross in order to break down hostility and division. He takes those things to the grave - and brings forth peace and new life.
This peace reconciles God and humanity; our identities aren’t given up, but renewed in our shared identity in Christ. His body draws us into a household of faith, giving us a new foundation. As we hear bread breaking, that life gets inside of us. Though many we are one.
We are dared to love and dared to care. We are invited to deal with pressures and differences by being present to each other. Hearing each other's stories with curiosity; caring enough to begin to imagine a new future, together.
We become a dwelling place of God’s Spirit - multiplying life and care and love in the face of pressures; being rooted in love across our cultures and bonds of kinship, to be drawn into a covenant of hope and peace; our torn loves are woven anew into a richer fabric; a reconciling passion and compassion.
How do we dare to care and are to love? Today’s gospel presents us with glimpses of how Jesus notices the pressures on human bonds and responds with practical care.
The disciples return from their time on the way - exhilarated and exhausted by all they’ve said and done, speaking words of peace and inviting others to turn back to God’s ways of love. Perhaps they had shared hard stories too - of rejection and failure; the pressures of expectation.
He sees this need and invites them to rest; to have some time in solitude. Given all we heard last week of the heartbreak and horror of his cousin, John the Baptist's death, perhaps he too knew he needed to find a quiet place; to retreat for a while, to recuperate in the face of weariness and pressure. The leaders and the led need a love that changes how they care for themselves too.
Mark’s gospel is famous for its pace - episodes of activity and moving on to the next thing - immediately and then immediately. It’s significant then that he also leaves us clues of how to respond to pressure - prayer, solitude, sleep, food, rest.
It points us to the depth of the love at work in Jesus - fully human and fully divine. Reminding us that God also rests.
Yet the pressure on the people - their desire for safety and healing, for hope and new life - means that they find a way of getting ahead of Jesus. Like crowds on the street seeking out a celebrity, they crash into the quietness of Jesus’ sanctuary.
In response to the pressure of others on him, Jesus doesn’t run or hide. He sees the sheep without a shepherd and has compassion on them. He begins to teach them - to dare to care in that old fashioned word of love.
What we don’t hear of, as our lectionary skips over the verses, is that Jesus also feeds the crowds. Broken bread falling over them that they might be satisfied. Then again, he insists on going away, seeking a quiet moment.
The people press on. The pressure continues - from towns and villages and farms and onto the streets and into the market places. Those in need are carried by the love and care and hope of friends and neighbours, families and those who have noticed their need.
They press in. They press on. The pressure leads them to touch just the edge of his robe.
And love dares him - us, you and me - to care for those on the streets.
There was no passing the buck on compassion for Jesus; nor is he apologetic when it comes to the need for rest. We too live with that tension. How do we turn that pressure into love?
For Jesus, there was no shame in taking a break, seeking a deeper peace; but he also saw the urgent needs of the crowd and knew what the world was about. He was able to hold his own hunger and yearning for peace together with the pressures of those who were scattered and afraid. We too need to recognise both - resting to restore our capacity to care.
We live in a world of constant need. The demands are high. We can’t sit on the fence. We can give love one more chance, erring on the side of compassion.
As broken bread gets inside of us this morning, as words of blessing enfold us, dare we remain hopeful that rested or under pressure our last dance is love: daring to care both for ourselves and those on the streets?
In this place of peace and sanctuary, may the eyes which have seen the tokens of God’s love in Christ, shine with the light of hope; may our bodies which have been fed and refreshed, share the fullness of life in the spirit. On the streets. In our households. Love. Under pressure.
© Julie Gittoes 2024