Month: October 2012

Believing is seeing.

Approaching life through the eyes of faith gives a very different, privileged perspective.

Believing is seeing.

The believer is one whose eyes are opened to the world in a whole new way.

Believing is seeing.

You don’t even need the use of your eyes to know this.

For the blind beggar Bartimaeus, believing was seeing. 

By faith, Bartimaeus ‘saw’ that Jesus would have mercy on him, he believed that Jesus would restore his vision, he believed he would be healed….

 

– from my talk today, Bartimaeus – Believing is seeing.

 

Job 42.16, 10-17, Mark 10.46-52

Bridestowe, Lydford, Last Sunday after Trinity (Proper 25), 28/10/2012

 

‘My teacher, let me see again.’

‘Go; your faith has made you well.’

 

Believing is seeing.

Approaching life through the eyes of faith gives a very different, privileged perspective.

Believing is seeing.

The believer is one whose eyes are opened to the world in a whole new way.

Believing is seeing.

You don’t even need the use of your eyes to know this.

For the blind beggar Bartimaeus, believing was seeing. 

By faith, Bartimaeus ‘saw’ that Jesus would have mercy on him, he believed that Jesus would restore his vision, he believed he would be healed. 

Believing, Bartimaeus saw himself differently. As one who God valued and loved. Others, quick to condemn him in his suffering, dubbed him ‘son of the unclean’. But Bartimaeus believed Jesus when he said, ‘Whoever does the will of God is my brother,’ and saw himself that way.

Believing, Bartimaeus saw others differently. As ones who could be persuaded and transformed. The crowds tried silencing him when he first began to shout for Jesus, but he would not let them stop him. When Jesus responded to his persistent cries the crowds turned to Bartimaeus and said, ‘Take heart, get up, he is calling you.’

Believing, Bartimaeus saw Jesus differently. His belief in Jesus was radical – for Bartimaeus was the only person in the gospel of Mark to call Jesus the ‘Son of David’, uniquely seeing Jesus as a king in Israel’s messianic line. And when in the same breath Bartimaeus pleaded, ‘have mercy on me!’, it demonstrated that he uniquely envisioned the messiah as a gracious, generous, giving leader.  

And believing, Bartimaeus saw life differently. Society would keep him in his place – with the other beggars at Jericho, a tourist spot, the last pilgrimage stop before Jerusalem. With just a cloak to warm his back at night and to spread out on the ground to collect the pennies the pilgrims might toss him in the day. But when Jesus called him, Bartimaeus threw off his cloak, sprang up and went to him. Even before he was given his sight he threw away all he had because he envisaged that Jesus would transform him.

Believing is seeing. It is opening one’s eyes to a different world, a view of one’s self, of others, of God, of life, removed from all restrictions and bathed in the light of Christ. 

Imagine if Bartimaeus had held to the contrary view that ‘seeing is believing’ – that the way things appear are the way they must remain. Accept your status as a poor outcast, believing that God has put you there. But no, Bartimaeus believed Jesus when he said, ‘The last will be first’. It gave him a vision of a different future. And he followed towards that light.

Mark’s gospel is full of blind men. Often they are people whose eyes can see but whose inner vision is constrained by a lack of belief.

And so the two encounters of Jesus prior to his meeting Bartimaeus: the encounter with James and John who wanted to sit at either side of Jesus in his glory, who failed to see that Jesus was bringing in a whole new way of relating, where ‘whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all’; and the encounter with the rich man seeking assurance of his salvation, who failed to see that Jesus was bringing in a whole new way of wealth creation, where one’s riches are gained through giving away. These men’s unbelief blinded them to the new ways of Jesus’ kingdom. 

Maybe even Bartimaeus could not foresee what Jesus would do with him, once healed with his sight restored. ‘Immediately he regained his sight,’ writes Mark,‘and followed him on the way.’ As Jesus left the last pilgrimage stop before Jerusalem and headed into the city for the final campaign of his world-changing mission, the one he called to his side to walk with him was not a man of wealth and influence; he was not one of the disciples aspiring to share the glory of their Lord. It was this ‘son of the unclean’. 

He could make no greater or clearer a statement to his opponents than what they saw that day – that the dawning of the kingdom of God was coming not in fire and armour and great works of power, but in a ragged pilgrimage procession of a teacher and an outcast, making their way to the city to challenge all the social, economic, and political powers of the day, in love and healing. The last had become first, for all to see. [1]

And so to us. Imagine if we held to the view that ‘seeing is believing’ – that the way things appear in our lives are the way they must remain. Imagine having to accept your poverty, or your suffering, or your grief, believing that God has given you these things, so they must be endured. 

But no, understand that God is not one to keep people in poverty, grief, or suffering. Be encouraged by the belief of Bartimaeus. Embrace his vision of a different future. Follow toward the light which drew him.

Open your eyes to a different world, a view of your self, of others, of God, of life, removed from all restrictions and bathed in the light of Christ. Believing is seeing.

Believing, you can see yourself differently. As one who God values and loves. Others might harm and condemn you, but through the eyes of faith when you look in the mirror each morning you see a person who is deeply held in God’s embrace.

Believing, you can see others differently. As ones who can be persuaded and transformed. Your enemies have potential to be friends with you, through the eyes of faith. Those who harm you can be challenged and changed, in the love of Christ. And your brothers and sisters in Christ – they can be so enriched by having you beside them in their lives.

Believing, you can see God differently. Not as one who inflicts trouble to test or punish you, but as one who suffers with you and wants to bring you through. This recalls Job, who had voiced many doubts during his time of suffering, but at the end of his encounter he saw God in all his wonder and grace, and repented of his former blindness.

And believing, you can see life differently. The world through which you travel, the companions on your journey, the  adventures you have on the way, take on a whole new look when you walk with Jesus. 

The key to seeing this way is in reminding yourself of what God has done for you. This is what we do at the eucharist, where together we recall that God redeemed us from the slavery of sin through Jesus, ‘giving him to be born of a woman, to die upon the cross, and to rise again for us.’

And at the eucharist our eyes are reopened to the people we now are in Christ:

‘Through him thou hast made us a people for thine own possession, exalting him to thy right hand on high, and sending forth through him thy holy and life-giving Spirit.’ [2]

We approach the communion rail as men and women visually impaired by the violence which life has done to us. We leave the rail having once again remembered all that Jesus has done for us, with our belief renewed, our sight restored, our spirits attuned again to his Spirit; ready again to walk out from here with him, towards our own Jerusalem.

 

Notes

[1] A grateful nod towards Ched Myers, Binding the Strong Man, p.281ff

[2] Book of Common Prayer Holy Communion service

… Steve Kloves, one of the films’ screenwriters, discussed why the Harry Potter films appeal so much to their vast worldwide audiences, and surprisingly he did not mention the wondrous sets and fantastic visuals, he spoke about their deeper appeal: ‘The thing about Potter is that it’s very earnest about expressions of things like loyalty, courage and redemption. Audiences were hungry for that’

Which suggests that beneath the thrill of fantasy films and games, those who take part in them and consume them are hoping to find something deeper in the scenarios they engage in, the characters they embrace. Values which they can take from the stories and develop in their ordinary lives, away from the screen.

Maybe some will find their search for deeper values met by Jesus the High Priest of the Order of Melchizedek, if we tell them about him. They will certainly find something unique. For of all the heroes of scripture, Jesus plays to a different set of rules. Though the writer of Hebrews pronounced him the future King of kings or Messiah, in the line of David, Jesus didn’t come as a king or rule as a messiah. 

The High Priest of the Order of Melchizedek  is not a cleric militant, not a crusader advancing the cause of righteousness with arms, armor, and magic. Mark’s gospel makes clear to us that though Jesus has these powers he uses them in a unique way. He is the king who came ‘not to be served but to serve’; he is the messiah who ‘gave his life a ransom for many’. 

Jesus breaks the mold. He breaks the rules. If he was a character in an online game he would melt the computer down because he just would not co-operate with the rules of engagement. This is the great appeal of Jesus the High Priest of the Order of Melchizedek, not so much his absolute holy power, but the way he refuses to use it in violence on others. His self-giving love breaks the cycle of death. Only he can do this. This is very good news in a world of violence, whose online games, TV dramas and big-screen fantasies catch us all in a web from which it seems there is no escape – where we are consigned to play out endless battles, over and over again, to gain and regain power of different sorts. 

– a sermon about interpreting Jesus to people engaged in the world of fantasy: The High Priest of Melchizedek – hero for our times?

Hebrews 5.1-10, Mark 10.35-45

Bratton Clovelly, Sourton, Trinity 20 (Proper 24), 21/10/2012

 

‘Mankind is no more,

A casualty of the eternal war between angels and demons.

But in the realms where those beings dwell

Man still has one last hope:

The most feared of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse,

Only Death can account for the sins of the past

And undo mankind’s extinction.

But – at what price?’ [1]

This week I have been educating myself in the world of fantasy video gaming, an activity which engages a very large proportion of our population, especially the young, every day. And the words with which I opened come from a trailer advertising one of the currently most popular games, Darksiders II – ‘Death Comes For All’.

The fantasy game world is a place of heroes and anti-heroes, who play out their combat as they move between layers of worlds upon worlds in a fast-flowing series of scenes. As you will have gathered from my opening, their characters and settings often draw on well-known myths and legends, on scripture, on folklore. But the scenarios are usually endless battles, played out over and over again, to gain and regain power of different sorts.

Each character tends to come from a particular class: a class that excels in combat, or magic, a professional or criminal class. The influential fantasy game Dungeons & Dragons features four classes of players: Fighting Men, Thieves, Wizards, and the Clerics, who specialize in healing and supportive magical abilities.

The Priest is a member of the clerical class, usually a member of a religious order, with  powers to heal wounds, protect their allies and sometimes resurrect the dead, as well as summon, manipulate and banish the undead. The Nethack guidebook says that ‘Priests and Priestesses are clerics militant, crusaders advancing the cause of righteousness with arms, armor, and arts thaumaturgic. Their ability to commune with deities via prayer occasionally extricates them from peril, but can also put them in it.’ 

Famous priests in the world of fantasy gaming include Nightcrawler, a superhero in the X-Men, from the Marvel Comics Universe, and Father Markus Kane, in Fahrenheit, a paranormal thriller set in New York City. [2] The fantasy genre goes wider than games, of course. Look at the weekend’s mainline TV schedules – Doctor Who, with its fantastic creatures from all manner of orders and worlds; and Merlin, whose chief foe is Morgana: a High Priestess of the Old Religion.

Why this interest in fantasy characters and their powers? It’s because, in revisiting the book of Hebrews, for today’s service, I was struck by the writer’s description of Jesus as The High Priest of the Order of Melchizedek – and my immediate thought was that that sounds like the name of a fantasy hero. What sort of character is The High Priest of the Order of Melchizedek; and what are his powers?

The Order of Melchizedek was the oldest and greatest of all Israel’s priestly lines. The Book of Genesis affirms that Melchizedek was “priest of God Most High” (Genesis 14:18). Abraham paid tithes to Melchizedek, while in the Psalms David pronounced that the future King of kings or Messiah was a “priest for ever after the order of Melchizedek.” (Psalm 110:1-4). The powers of this priestly order were the greatest of all priestly powers. You would want them on your side in any holy battle. The writer of Hebrews places Jesus at the pinnacle of this order, giving him the title High Priest. 

Now you may wonder, why take an interest in this obscure piece of scripture? And why talk about it in terms derived from present-day fantasy films and games? The reason is clear, I hope. It is to help us make connections with the interests and concerns of many people today, especially the young, for whom much of the Christian story, the story of God, is obscure at best, and needs explanation in terms they relate to and understand.

We are all missionaries, sharing our faith with the people we are called to share our lives with. And each generation of believers needs to find new ways of describing Jesus and the faith to those around us. Scripture is so rich that it contains all the stories, all the imagery we need to be able to do this well.

Some of these things are less potent than before – the notion of Jesus as the lamb who was slain is less relevant to us in a society where animal sacrifice is a thing of the past. But other previously obscure parts of scripture can be be reborn, recovered, to suit the interests and values of the times. The notion of Jesus as High Priest of the Order of Melchizedek might just be a way to connect with people obsessed by the world of fantasy. The character of his order, his personal powers, describe him well, in terms which gamers and film-watchers can relate to and understand.

I think that the most fantastic place I’ve visited this year – fantastic in every sense of that word – was the Harry Potter film studios in Leavesden, Hertfordshire. In a vast arena of full-size sets created for the series of fantasy films, I was overwhelmed by the scale, the craftsmanship, the creativity and above all the tremendous imagination which went into creating each set, each character, down to the tiniest details. I hadn’t even watched a Harry Potter film before visiting the studios but I was drawn into this wonderland, this world of creation.

One of the more modest displays on the tour featured a quote from Steve Kloves, one of the films’ screenwriters. He discussed why the Harry Potter films appeal so much to their vast worldwide audiences, and surprisingly he did not mention the wondrous sets and fantastic visuals, he spoke about their deeper appeal: ‘The thing about Potter is that it’s very earnest about expressions of things like loyalty, courage and redemption. Audiences were hungry for that’ [3]

Which suggests that beneath the thrill of fantasy films and games, those who take part in them and consume them are hoping to find something deeper in the scenarios they engage in, the characters they embrace. Values which they can take from the stories and develop in their ordinary lives, away from the screen.

Maybe some will find their search for deeper values met by Jesus the High Priest of the Order of Melchizedek, if we tell them about him. They will certainly find something unique. For of all the heroes of scripture, Jesus plays to a different set of rules. Though the writer of Hebrews pronounced him the future King of kings or Messiah, in the line of David, Jesus didn’t come as a king or rule as a messiah. 

The High Priest of the Order of Melchizedek  is not a cleric militant, not a crusader advancing the cause of righteousness with arms, armor, and magic. Mark’s gospel makes clear to us that though Jesus has these powers he uses them in a unique way. He is the king who came ‘not to be served but to serve’; he is the messiah who ‘gave his life a ransom for many’. 

Jesus breaks the mold. He breaks the rules. If he was a character in an online game he would melt the computer down because he just would not co-operate with the rules of engagement. This is the great appeal of Jesus the High Priest of the Order of Melchizedek, not so much his absolute holy power, but the way he refuses to use it in violence on others. His self-giving love breaks the cycle of death. Only he can do this. This is very good news in a world of violence, whose online games, TV dramas and big-screen fantasies catch us all in a web from which it seems there is no escape – where we are consigned to play out endless battles, over and over again, to gain and regain power of different sorts. 

Point people towards Jesus and you point them to a whole new liberating way of life, in which the loving creator God enables you to live outside conflict, in generosity towards  others. In Darksiders II, “Death Comes For All”. But this is fantasy. In reality, Jesus comes for all. He comes as a servant, he comes as a gift.

 

Notes

[1] Soundtrack narrative from the Gameplay Trailer, Darksiders II – ‘Death Comes For All‘.

[2] Wikipedia, Character class, Cleric, List of fictional clergy and religious figures: Priests.

[3] Steve Kloves quote from a display photographed at the Warner Brothers Studio Tour, London.

… I suggest that the age we are living in is an age of Job. For in this age we struggle between the idea of a God who imposes suffering as a punishment or a test, and the intuition is that there is another sort of God altogether. Or if not a God, then at least another way of being human. 

Our enquiring minds and intuitive faith are healing the sores of Job. If humans had persevered in the belief of Job's friends, if they had continued to persecute victims each time someone suffered misfortune among them or each time they themselves suffered misfortune, then our enlightened sciences, technologies, judicial, political and social systems would not have flourished. René Girard says, ‘They would never have invented medicine if, faced with the sores of Job, they had persevered in the idea that he was justly punished and that it would thwart God to try to heal him.’ 

The age of Job we live in, is an age in tension, between primitive and enlightened ideas about suffering. Endless tabloid debates about the pros and cons of the welfare benefit system illustrate this tension clearly. And the forthcoming inquiry into the policing of the Hillsborough tragedy means an end to the victimisation of those who suffered – the families and friends of those who died, who for 23 years have been scapegoated for those events. Now those who were responsible for that suffering are being called on to make amends.

Which brings us back to Jesus, calling on the rich man to make amends for the suffering he has brought on others, as justified by his persecuting God. …

With help from René Girard, at last, a sermon towards making some sense of the suffering of the Hillsborough families, and the mechanics and theology which underlay it: The rich man's God or the God of the victims?

Job 23.1-9, 16-17; Hebrews 4.12-16; Mark 10.17-31

Bridestowe, Lydford, Trinity 19 (Proper 23), 14/10/2012

 

Two men in search of God – tormented by suffering, seeking redemption.

The rich man, anxious to preserve his status as a righteous man, in search of God as taught by Jesus, finding his worldview challenged to the core.

And Job, a rich man once, now fallen into terrible suffering, searching desperately for a God who eludes him, who he knows would help him if only he could be found.

And we, here, in search of God, wrapped up in a world of suffering, seeking redemption. What can we learn from the rich man and Job?

The rich man’s encounter with Jesus is sobering for Christians in the wealthy West; for we understand that Jesus’ words to that man are his words to us. The ‘camel through the eye of a needle’ joke was no joke to the rich man, who knew that in repeating it Jesus was echoing the dark humour of every poor man and woman in their society – a humour based on the reality that the rich were rich because they exploited and brought suffering on the poor. And Jesus said that if they continued to exploit and bring suffering on the poor then they would not enter the kingdom of heaven. 

‘You shall not defraud’, said Jesus, inserting a new commandment into the list he recited to the rich man. It meant, ‘You shall not keep back the wages of a hireling, you shall not refuse to return goods or money which someone has deposited with you for safekeeping’. [1] Jesus said that the way in which the man can make restitution is by returning his wealth to the poor, whom he has defrauded.

The rich man was looking for a God who would sanctify his lifestyle without requiring him to change it. He found Jesus showing him a different sort of God altogether.

The problem with the rich man’s God is that that God allows other people to suffer. Conveniently ignoring the realities of the way he gains his wealth, the rich man’s God says that the suffering of the poor is caused by their own sinfulness. The rich man’s God compounds the suffering of the poor by accusing them of bringing it on themselves. 

The accusation hurts as much as the poverty – as anyone will tell you who has become unemployable not because they don’t want work, but because the whims of government or the attitudes of employers have dictated it. The accusers turn their victim into a scapegoat.

The God of Jesus has a very different view of suffering, its causes, its cure, than the rich man’s God.

And what about the friends of the former rich man Job, his friends who are still rich men themselves – who is the God of whom they speak?

They speak of a God who is letting Job suffer, as punishment for something he must have done wrong, and as a test of his faith.

And their condemnation of Job, saying he is being justly punished, is the worst of all his sufferings. The universal disapproval he endured from others, the mockery, the insults, the ostracism, was more intolerable than all the losses he had sustained. Job, who once was greatly respected in society, is now treated like a scapegoat in that society. He has become the pariah even of those who are treated as pariahs. [2] 

Job’s friends and those who mimic what they say, have a God who allows other people to suffer. Their God compounds the suffering of Job by accusing him of bringing it on himself. 

But Job will not have this. Job’s intuition is that they have got it wrong, they and their God; he senses that there is another sort of God altogether. A God who doesn’t victimise the sufferers to condemn them, but who suffers with the victims, to redeem them. The problem for Job is that though he searches high and low for this God, he cannot locate him.

‘If only I knew where to find him, I could make my case before him,’ says Job. ‘And he would listen to to me; an upright person could reason with him, and he, my judge, would acquit me for ever.’ This poor man will not accept victim status.

That is where we leave Job for a while, searching for a God who will not impose suffering on a person; a God who will listen to the sufferer, not accuse; a God of reasonable judgment who will acquit the one who others scapegoat.

What of our own age and time? I suggest that we are living in an age of Job. For in this age we struggle between the idea of a God who imposes suffering as a punishment or a test, and our intuition is that there is another sort of God altogether. Or if not a God, then at least another way of being human. 

Our enquiring minds and intuitive faith are healing the sores of Job. Our enlightened sciences and technologies, our judicial, political and social systems would not have flourished if humans had persevered in the belief of Job’s friends, if they had continued to persecute victims each time someone suffered misfortune among them or each time they themselves suffered misfortune. René Girard says, ‘They would never have invented medicine if, faced with the sores of Job, they had persevered in the idea that he was justly punished and that it would thwart God to try to heal him.’ [2] 

The age of Job we live in, is an age in tension, between primitive and enlightened ideas about suffering. Endless tabloid debates about the pros and cons of the welfare benefit system illustrate this tension clearly. And the forthcoming inquiry into the policing of the Hillsborough tragedy means an end to the victimisation of those who suffered – the families and friends of those who died, who for 23 years have been scapegoated for those events but who have never accepted their victim status. Now those who were responsible for that suffering are being called to make amends. [3]

Which brings us back to Jesus, calling on the rich man to make amends for the suffering he has brought on others, as justified by his persecuting God.

We might feel rather awkward about the rich man’s story, for we know that in absolute terms we are the rich today, in this wealthy part of the world – and we benefit from the mechanics of wealth creation just as the rich man did, from its economics and its theology.

In relative terms we know that we are not as rich as others, but let’s not use that to reject this potent piece of scripture and its meaning for us today, for it contains good news both for the poor and the rich.

This story might make us feel awkward about our wealth, but we shouldn’t feel condemned. Remember the reason Jesus told the rich man to sell up and give his money to the poor. He did it because, looking at the rich man, he loved him.

Now, this is a remarkable statement. This is the only place in Mark’s gospel where Jesus is said to have ‘loved’ someone. Jesus felt keenly, deeply, for the rich man in his situation. The challenge Jesus set the rich man was the loving thing to do. 

But how could that be? It makes no sense to us in our driven, acquisitive, privatised society where the compulsion to own and consume more and more for ourselves is just like the compulsion which drove Jesus’ rich man and his peers to grab more and more land, taxes and property from the poor.

But you may be familiar with the concept of affluenza, a condition of our age defined as the ‘painful, contagious, socially transmitted condition of overload, debt, anxiety, and waste resulting from the dogged pursuit of more’. [4] Allied to this is the growing body of evidence that the countries with the greatest inequalities between rich and poor – countries like ours – are inefficient, unstable and suffering a serious breakdown in social cohesion and trust. [5] Releasing us from this, is surely the loving thing to do.

As now, so then; Jesus sees the side-affects of wealth creation and his heart fills with love for a rich man lost, in search of release from all that harms his well-being, the deepest things which money cannot buy. Jesus wants to help the man turn away from a worldview, a theology, in which the rich man’s God props up an alienating lifestyle, Jesus longs to turn him towards another way of being altogether, turn him towards the God of love, who will release him from his own contagion, to enjoy redemption together with those the man is able to release from their suffering.

There are no neat endings to the stories we have briefly considered today. The rich man couldn’t bear to consider giving his possessions away, he was too caught up in them to imagine a better life without them, and he went away from Jesus, grieving. Job’s search for a God who would not condemn him but hear his case, desperately continued. And we, in this age of Job, this place of great wealth and inequality, we continue to struggle with the problem of suffering, and our attitudes towards others who are suffering. 

These stories tell us that we do not struggle alone. They affirm to us that despite the way he is so often portrayed, God is not one to impose suffering on people and justify their affliction. They reveal to us a Jesus who keenly understood the rich man’s struggle and whose love for that man was the strongest love he showed to anyone, in the whole of his ministry, despite the rich man’s ultimate, tragic, failure to change.

And in the middle of these stories, the epistle, the words of the writer to the Hebrews, who will have known how Job and the rich man appealed to God in their search for answers to a world of suffering, and encourages us to do the same:

‘Let us therefore approach the throne of grace with boldness, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.’ Hebrews 4.16

 

Notes

[1] My exegesis of Mark owes a great deal to Ched Myers, Binding the Strong Man, p.271-276

[2] René Girard, Job as Failed Scapegoat from Leo G. Perdue and W. Clark Gilpin, eds, The Voice from the Whirlwind: Interpreting the Book of Job, pp.185-207. Referenced at girardianlectionary.net. My paraphrase.

[3] IPCC announces biggest ever Hillsborough investigation, Telegraph, 12 October 2102.

[4] John de Graaf, David Wann & Thomas H. Naylor, Affluenza: The All-Consuming Epidemic, quoted in Wikipedia, Affluenza. With acknowledgement to Paul Neuchterlein’s sermon, Maybe this is Good News after all, delivered at Zion Lutheran, Racine, WI, October 15, 2000.

[5] Clare Bryden, Peril of eating all the pie, Church Times 12 October 2012, reviewing Joseph E. Stiglitz, The Price of Inequality.

We tend to avoid the thorny questions which surface when we encounter people are suffering. Perhaps because on an intellectual level we really can’t find the answers. And on an emotional level the questions that surface disturb us. 

In our hearts, when we encounter suffering, we find ourselves questioning God – feeling the weight of the sort of questions which the story of Job raises. Why should a good man suffer? Where is God when it hurts? Would God let a person struggle just to test them? Has God really got any power to heal or to save? How can he let Satan manipulate him? Why does he seem to hide?

We’re uncomfortable with these sort of questions because they shake our faith to the core. We struggle to find answers to them. But be encouraged by the way that Jesus turned his back on the intellectual, theological debate of the moment to embrace those who brought their children to him – the struggling ones, the suffering ones. Jesus was touched by these people, and he touched them. Not with answers to satisfy the troubled mind, but with an embrace and a blessing to soothe the troubled heart.

And that is what society’s suffering ones most want – someone to embrace them, to take them in their arms, to offer them a blessing. When we make ourselves available to someone who is suffering we realise that their terrifying questions remain – and so they should – but we also find that they find blessing through our acceptance of them and though our listening to the cries of their hearts. 

So please be encouraged in your care for those who are suffering – don’t fear their questions, don’t worry about finding the right answers to satisfy them. Just embrace them, knowing that Jesus will always be with you in that moment of embrace, saying, "the Kingdom of God belongs to such as these." 

From today's talk, Touching the suffering.

Job 1.1;2.1-10, Hebrews 1.1-4,2.5-12, Mark 10.2-16

Bratton Clovelly, Trinity 18 (Proper 22) 7/10/2012

 Jesus caused a scandal wherever he went. And if the events described by Mark happened today, he’d be causing a scandal again. Mark tells us that “He put his arms around the children, laid his hands upon them…” 

But he hadn’t been CRB checked. He was breaking all the Child Protection taboos. In our society, adults are actively discouraged from touching children. We are told that we can’t be trusted to be caring, to be intimate, with children; we are scared off showing our care for lost or distressed youngsters for fear that our holding their hand or our kindly hugs might be misunderstood: and so our young ones grow up untouched by us, distanced from us physically and emotionally. 

“He put his arms around the children, laid his hands upon them, and blessed them.” What right does he have to impose his religious beliefs on these innocents? That would be the cry today. How dare he presume to bless them: they should be left alone to find their own blessing in their own way and their own time. 

So Jesus’ behaviour is scandalous behaviour, now, just as it was at the time it actually happened. Though the cause of the scandal was different then. As Mark describes it, people were bringing their children to Jesus to be blessed by him – and what sort of people would bring their children to Jesus for a blessing? It’s likely that they were society’s vulnerable ones, society’s struggling ones, society’s suffering ones. The sort of people who may have given up hope of a good life for themselves but who would do all they could to try to provide a better life for their children.

These suffering ones had seen in Jesus something special, something wholesome, something holy, something which they wanted their children to have a share of. Just a simple blessing – it could make all the difference to their vulnerable youngsters’ lives.

It was the disciples who were scandalised by this: they regarded this as a distraction from Jesus’s main purpose, which was to engage the concerns of the adults around, the law-makers and law-keepers who were, on this occasion, intellectualising around the thorny matter of divorce, and, as so often, trying to trip Jesus up over his stance on the subject. 

The disciples were comfortable with this sort of exchange, for to their ears the good news of the Kingdom of God was a grown-up message; the gospel was a serious business to be mulled over by thoughtful people in reasoned debate, not something to be interrupted by the messy, troubled poor and their screaming, wriggling kids. 

But Jesus saw things very differently. The disciples’ attitude towards the suffering ones made him angry. Jesus wanted his scandalised disciples to understand that the grown-up gospel was something which could be understood by the children of the poor; could be embraced by families who were suffering, and more than that, he said, “the Kingdom of God belongs to such as these.” 

This is what Jesus wanted his disciples to hear on that day in Judea; and this is what Jesus wants us to hear today:

That the Kingdom of God belongs to the little ones, the suffering ones, those outside of polite conversation, who we tend to neglect, sideline, demonise, the ones we’d rather ignore. 

That the Kingdom of God belongs to the ones our society decides we shouldn’t touch; the ones we are frightened to engage with, the ones whose suffering makes us feel uncomfortable, the ones who disturb our self-indulgent adult ways.

This is what Jesus wants us to hear today: That the Kingdom of God belongs to those who want to be blessed by him, those who aren’t afraid to be touched by him, those who want to be embraced by him.

We tend to avoid the thorny questions which surface when we encounter people are suffering. Perhaps because on an intellectual level we really can’t find the answers. And on an emotional level the questions that surface disturb us. 

In our hearts, when we encounter suffering, we find ourselves questioning God – feeling the weight of the sort of questions which the story of Job raises. Why should a good man suffer? Where is God when it hurts? Would God let a person struggle just to test them? Has God really got any power to heal or to save? How can he let Satan manipulate him? Why does he seem to hide?

We’re uncomfortable with these sort of questions because they shake our faith to the core. We struggle to find answers to them. But be encouraged by the way that Jesus turned his back on the intellectual, theological debate of the moment to embrace those who brought their children to him – the struggling ones, the suffering ones. Jesus was touched by these people, and he touched them. Not with answers to satisfy the troubled mind, but with an embrace and a blessing to soothe the troubled heart.

And that is what society’s suffering ones most want – someone to embrace them, to take them in their arms, to offer them a blessing. When we make ourselves available to someone who is suffering we realise that their terrifying questions remain – and so they should – but we also find that they find blessing through our acceptance of them and though our listening to the cries of their hearts. 

So please be encouraged in your care for those who are suffering – don’t fear their questions, don’t worry about finding the right answers to satisfy them. Just embrace them, knowing that Jesus will always be with you in that moment of embrace, saying, “the Kingdom of God belongs to such as these.”