Month: July 2013

Weeds have their day – as Joseph did when his starving brothers turned up in Egypt, bargaining for food. Where once he had fallen victim to their rough hands, on that day he had the upper hand, and the card he played reminded them of how they had once treated him, their weedy younger brother. He asked them to bring him their youngest, Benjamin, the weakest, weediest, most vulnerable of the eleven brothers. And – remembering how they had once mistreated the weak, weedy, vulnerable Joseph – they feared that this powerful man might do the same to Benjamin. In other words, Joseph taught them a lesson. But not out of malice – out of the love which welled up inside him for the brothers he thought had lost forever. The one-time weed – emotional at the potential for  a reunion with his kinfolk – changed their behaviour and won the day for them all. 

– Sissy Fotherington-Thomas, dreamy Joseph, and the teenaged John 'bites-yer-legs' Davies feature in this mixing of weedy metaphors – Let the weeds and the wheat grow together until the harvest - tonight's talk.

Genesis 42.1-25, Matthew 13.24-30

Whitegate, Trinity 9, Proper 12, 28/7/2013

 

‘Let the weeds and the wheat grow together until the harvest.’

Now it may not surprise you to learn that when I was a young schoolboy I was a bit of a weed. Inevitable really – short, skinny, unathletic, I was considered fair game for the big lads who liked to push other people around. The classic weed in the children’s literature of the time was Basil Fotherington-Thomas, a character in the series of books by Geoffrey Willans and Ronald Searle about life at at St. Custard’s School. In the eyes of his fellow-students Fotherington-Thomas was an effete and loathed sissy, reported to bear a certain resemblance to Little Lord Fauntleroy; and regularly dismissed as a being a ‘gurl’ due to his curly blond locks and his questionable tendency to skip around the school saying such things as ‘hullo clouds, hullo sky’. [1]

Perhaps the classic biblical weed is the young Joseph, out of character in a family of twelve otherwise rough-and-tumble country boys, given – as weeds are – to dressing in fancy outfits and dreaming fancy dreams. His older brothers loathed him, especially because he was the apple of his father’s eye. No wonder their dislike grew into a firm desire to be rid of him, which they did on the day they first threw him down a well and then sold him as a slave to some passing Ishmaelites (who, unbeknown to the brothers, promptly sold him on again, to the Egyptians). [2]

Now because of their physical limitations weeds tend to find ways to protect themselves, they create self-defence mechanisms against the bullies. One of my schoolboy strategies was to befriend the bullies – by becoming one of the gang which played football every break time, making up for my lightness on foot by adopting wily tactics involving making sly digs to the ribs or kicks to the shins of passing opponents – earning me the nickname ‘John bites-your-legs Davies’ and ensuring that, away from the playing field, the bullies thought twice before picking on me.

Weedy Fotherington-Thomases immerse themselves so fully in their world of poetry and fashion that they become immune to the oafish insults of the toughs around them. And Joseph the weed became wily – so wily in fact that in captivity in Egypt he grew in stature to eventually rise through the ranks of Pharaoh’s court, so able to turn his dreams to his advantage, so wise in the exercise of his duties that at a time of famine Pharaoh entrusted him as governor over the land, in charge of the distribution of limited and precious natural resources. [3]

Weeds have their day – as Joseph did when his starving brothers turned up in Egypt, bargaining for food. Where once he had fallen victim to their rough hands, on that day he had the upper hand, and the card he played reminded them of how they had once treated him, their weedy younger brother. He asked them to bring him their youngest, Benjamin, the weakest, weediest, most vulnerable of the eleven brothers. And – remembering how they had once mistreated the weak, weedy, vulnerable Joseph – they feared that this powerful man might do the same to Benjamin. In other words, Joseph taught them a lesson. But not out of malice – out of the love which welled up inside him for the brothers he thought had lost forever. The one-time weed – emotional at the potential for  a reunion with his kinfolk – changed their behaviour and won the day for them all. 

Through their unexpected reunion with Joseph, the sons of Jacob learned what they had been doing to each other all these years – trying to stay strong by ganging up on their weakest member, trying to stay pure by expelling the one who was different, and by so doing, weakening rather than strengthening their family. 

‘We are paying the penalty for what we did to our brother; we saw his anguish when he pleaded with us, but we would not listen. That is why this anguish has come upon us…. now there comes a reckoning for his blood,’ they said. [4]

Thank God that the weedy Joseph had grown to be a wise man, and that he was still so attached to the brothers who had rejected him that he did not seek a blood-reckoning, but instead helped them to weave a way towards a reconciliation which taught them a lesson, but enabled each one to grow in self-understanding.

Now I’ve been using the word ‘weed’ in a very different way to how Jesus used it when he spoke of the weeds growing among the good grain, illustrating a truth about the kingdom of heaven – that both weeds and good grain grow together, until a time comes where they will be gathered in and separated.

In Jesus’ story weeds are bad and wheat is good, whereas in my various stories about weedy boys the good and the bad are not so clear. Bullies are bad when they make weeds their victims, but weedy boys can be mean and cruel too, in self-protection or self-assertion. 

When Jesus said, ‘Let the weeds and the wheat grow together until the harvest,’ just who are the weeds and who are the wheat is not at all obvious, for we demonstrate aspects of each in our complicated lives. No-one is all bad and no-one is all good either. Which is why Jesus said, ‘Let the weeds and the wheat grow together until the harvest’. Grow together – the delicate ones and the brawny ones, the brainy ones and the boneheaded. Grow together – as Joseph and his brothers did, through negotiation towards reconciliation.

Growing together until the harvest – is our call as citizens of the kingdom of heaven. Not one of us is all bad and not one of us is all good either, but, accepting our common humanity we can make ourselves able to be challenged and open to being changed. And able to challenge each other’s bullying behaviour, able to weave our way towards a life of reconciliation and amity.  That’s how Jesus sees us growing together in the kingdom of heaven. Nothing weedy in that at all. 

 

Notes

[1] Fotherington-Thomas at Wikipedia

[2] Genesis 37

[3] Genesis 40, 41

[4] Genesis 42.21-22

… Martha … is in rivalry with her sister. The … cause of Martha’s worry and distractedness [is] that she is entirely focused on what Mary is or isn't doing. Have you ever been there yourself – working up a sweat in the garden or the kitchen or at your desk whilst all the time not thinking at all about the work you’re doing, but obsessing about the other person in the situation, who you’re increasingly resenting because you feel they’re not helping you, they’re not there for you? Like Martha, you are in rivalry with an other, which can only end in tears of anger, frustration, and loss.

Martha’s rivalrous relationship with her sister causes her to employ the age-old tactic of trying to ‘triangle’ someone else into her relationship with her sister. In her distracted state of mind Martha asks Jesus to take her side and intervene: ‘Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me to do all the work by myself? Tell her then to help me.’ Martha’s intention (though she probably isn’t conscious of it) is for she and Jesus to unify themselves against Mary. 

And so what has taken shape before us here is a classic example of what psychologists call a ‘drama triangle’. Not a love triangle – though love triangles might become drama triangles from time to time – a drama triangle is a model of human behaviour which involves three psychological roles which sound very familiar, roles which people often take in a situation:

• The person who plays the role of a victim;
• The person who pressures, coerces or persecutes the victim; and
• The rescuer, who intervenes, seemingly out of a desire to help the situation or the underdog.

The victim, the persecutor, and the rescuer – roles we each play out all the time, every day – think about it, you’ll recognise it. But unlike the pantomime formula of the hero, the villain, and the damsel in distress, we’re not type-cast in one role particularly, but we change roles all the time, for the drama in a ‘drama triangle’ comes when people’s roles switch. …

– from Illuminating what makes Martha mad, my talk today

Colossians 1.15-28, Luke 10.38-42

Corton Denham w Sutton Montis, Weston Bampfylde w Sparkford, Trinity 8, Proper 11, 21 July 2013

Austwick, Clapham, The Fifth Sunday after Trinity, 17 July 2022

 

At our best, we practice empathy, imagining ourselves in the lives and circumstances of others. This is the bridge across our […] deepest divisions. And it is not merely a matter of tolerance, but of learning from the struggles and stories of [others], and finding our better selves in the process. At our best, we honour the image of God we see in one another. We recognize that we are brothers and sisters, sharing the same brief moment on earth, and owing each other the loyalty of our shared humanity. [2]

Who spoke these words? Surprisingly, perhaps, President George W Bush, speaking at an interfaith memorial service for the victims of the Dallas police shooting last week. They go to the heart of what I want to share today about Martha.

Oh, Martha, distracted, worried, angry Martha. Martha, taking out her frustrations on her sister, trying to get Jesus to gang up with her against her sibling. Oh, Martha, sadly, we know her well. We have each played the role of Martha many times. Maybe today we will find the gospel being kind to her and helpfully illuminating what makes Martha mad.

The key verse of this story, to which I will return towards the end of our brief investigation, is verse 41, in which Jesus says, ‘Martha, Martha, you are worried and distracted by many things.’ Martha seems to be ‘worried and distracted’ by at least three things. [3]

First, and most obviously, Martha is worried and distracted by the too-many ‘tasks’ that she has taken on.There is a whole sermon in that subject alone – we all know the positive trappings which hard work can bring us, but equally the traps into which we fall through overwork: the ill health, the mental breakdown, the collapse of relationships. And, as with Martha, our hard work, our overwork, sometimes seems to be a displacement activity, a way of ignoring things more important, more difficult, far deeper.

And in Martha’s case one thing more difficult, far deeper, is that she is in rivalry with her sister. This is the second cause of Martha’s worry and distractedness, that she is entirely focused on what Mary is or isn’t doing. Have you ever been there yourself – working up a sweat in the garden or the kitchen or at your desk whilst all the time not thinking at all about the work you’re doing, but obsessing about the other person in the situation, who you’re increasingly resenting because you feel they’re not helping you, they’re not there for you? Like Martha, you are in rivalry with an other, which can only end in tears of anger, frustration, and loss.

Martha’s rivalrous relationship with her sister causes her to employ the age-old tactic of trying to ‘triangle’ someone else into her relationship with her sister. In her distracted state of mind Martha asks Jesus to take her side and intervene: ‘Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me to do all the work by myself? Tell her then to help me.’ Martha’s intention (though she probably isn’t conscious of it) is for she and Jesus to unify themselves against Mary. 

And so what has taken shape before us here is a classic example of what psychologists call a ‘drama triangle’. [4] Not a love triangle – though love triangles might become drama triangles from time to time – a drama triangle is a model of human behaviour which involves three psychological roles which sound very familiar, roles which people often take in a situation:

• The person who plays the role of a victim;
• The person who pressures, coerces or persecutes the victim; and
• The rescuer, who intervenes, seemingly out of a desire to help the situation or the underdog.

The victim, the persecutor, and the rescuer – roles we each play out all the time, every day – think about it, you’ll recognise it. But unlike the pantomime formula of the hero, the villain, and the damsel in distress, we’re not type-cast in one role particularly, but we change roles all the time, for the drama in a ‘drama triangle’ comes when people’s roles switch. 

And so in Luke’s gospel story we can identify the persecutor as Martha, the victim as Mary, and the rescuer as Jesus – but the drama in this particular ‘drama triangle’ only occurs  when Jesus switches role at the end. As Jesus chides Martha for her distractedness  suddenly it seems Jesus becomes the persecutor and Martha the victim. What might happen next – maybe Mary would step in to defend her sister, praising her hard work in the kitchen and offering to help? If so, another triangle would be formed – Mary, formerly the victim, would now become the rescuer. 

What Martha wants to happen next is for Jesus to take sides with her against Mary – because the more people she gets on-side, the more the persecutor’s cause is strengthened and the victim is thus more likely to remain the victim. I’ve preached on this many times before – the ‘scapegoat mechanism’ which is at the heart of all human society. It’s what makes us send innocents to the cross, or to the tabloids, or to the edge of the playground on their own, it’s how people get publicly shamed on Facebook and Twitter, as we play our part in asserting the survival psyche of our social group.

Note that in the drama triangle each ‘player’’s psychological needs are met in a manner that makes them feel justified, whilst sidestepping the broader dysfunction in the situation [4]. Hence the ‘victim mentality’ [5], hence the certitude of the persecutor, and hence the self-esteem of the rescuer – consider how many times Martha’s story has been told to boost the status of Jesus as a champion of silence and contemplation in religion, how many sermons on this subject have pitted the quietists among us against the activists and made the activists feel inferior,  for surely this story shows that Jesus is on the side of those who prefer to study and contemplate… [6]

Well, if we left our investigation there, that might be the case. If we settled on the story as a drama triangle in which Jesus, the rescuer, and Mary, the victim, gain at the expense of Martha, the persecutor, then it would be a neat analysis. But it would not be the gospel, it would not be good news to any of them – stuck in a cycle of behaviour from which they can’t escape. 

But if we believe anything about Jesus then surely it must be that he is the One who can step outside the triangle. He is the One who is able to break the cycles of destructive self-interest which otherwise imprison us. Changing our hearts, thus altering the way we act towards others. And so our investigation returns to the key verse of this story, verse 41, in which Jesus says, ‘Martha, Martha, you are worried and distracted by many things.’

What is Jesus doing here? He’s breaking the triangle. He’s stepping out of the role of rescuer to Mary – but without damaging Mary in any way. He’s expressing empathy for Martha. He’s getting alongside her, telling her what he can see when he looks into her heart, he’s taking steps to rescue her from the distractions which harm her.

‘Martha, Martha, you are worried and distracted by many things; there is need of only one thing.’ The one thing which will rescue her from her rivalry with her sister, and all the distractedness that rivalry causes, is to focus instead on learning from Jesus. For:

… He is the one person above all in whom our focus and fascination can begin to untangle us from our webs of rivalry. He is the one who came to do the desire of his Father without rivalry. When we learn to imitate him, we become more focused on what is most needful to do, the most needful tasks […]. We are more apt to notice [others in need] and to respond with compassion, [to be] ‘Good Samaritans’ … 

[As we prayerfully practice] being rooted in Jesus [then we find ourselves beginning] to disentangle from our many rivalries – without triangling Jesus into them. [As we] attend to a healthy relationship with Jesus, we can find healthier ways to attend to, and mend our relationships with others. [7]

This was the lesson Jesus was trying to teach Martha. The story would have been the same if the characters were the other way around: if it had been Mary who was distracted by her intense desire to be devout and studious sitting at Jesus’ feet, while all the while she was focussed on Martha happily working away in the kitchen, so much so that Mary was not really listening to Jesus at all, but to the nagging inner voices of her rivalry with her activist sister.

In his letter to the Colossians Paul gave a powerful description of the role Jesus plays in human society. ‘In him all things hold together’ (1.17), he wrote. 

‘In him all things hold together’ – for Jesus steps outside our pernicious drama triangles to promote a different way of being. In Jesus, relationships cease to be forged in rivalry, and situations can always become win-win. Note how Jesus empathises with Martha and supportively offers her a better way; whilst affirming Mary for the good way she has already chosen. 

‘In him all things hold together’ – and thus, outside him, things fall apart. In our prayers let us ask Jesus to help us to identify the source of our distractions, our worries, our anger; let us permit him to open our eyes to the damage this is doing to others and to ourselves; and let us allow him to show us a way to step outside of our drama triangles, to find a different way of being in which we and those with whom we live, are each affirmed and held together in empathy and care.

 

Notes

[1] Previously preached at Whitegate and Little Budworth, July 2013.

[2] READ: Full transcript of Former President Bush’s speech at memorial service. WFAA, July 12, 2016

[3] I’m grateful as always to Paul Neuchterlein’s notes on the lectionary readings for today, which inspired my approach to this subject, and from which much of this sermon’s  analysis draws heavily: Girardian Lectionary, Proper 11C.

[4] ‘Karpman Drama Triangle’ at Wikipedia.

[5] ‘Victim mentality’ at Wikipedia.

[6] For a deep discussion of this opposition playing out through history, see Diarmaid MacCulloch: Silence: A Christian History

[7] Neuchterlein, Girardian Lectionary, Proper 11C.

… On the building site, when a rogue piece of scaffolding fell to the ground and impaled itself in Danny Collins’s left leg, his closest mates, his drinking pals, Dean and Billy disappeared from the scene – and it was one of the Polish lads, Alexy, who came to the rescue, made Danny comfortable, called for emergency medical help. Dean later apologised for his weak stomach – it was his fear of blood and gore which caused him to flee, he said, sheepishly. Billy said it was because the accident happened at the end of the working day and he had to go and pick up the kids from their after-school club. After the ambulance took Danny away Alexy just went back quietly to his group of Polish friends, who usually kept themselves to themselves on the building site because Danny, Dean, Billy and the other English lads treated them with suspicion. …

So sadly easy to update the Good Samaritan story, ie to dream up an example of sectarian division from today's 'world of interracial suspicion'. From today's talk: The Polish builder and the rescue team: the Good Samaritan today.

 

Luke 10.25-37 

Whitegate, Little Budworth, Trinity 7, Proper 10, 14/7/2013

 

‘Who is my neighbour?’ – it’s a question we think we know the answer to, until we let the gospel open our minds to a new view of the world. 

‘Who is my neighbour?’ – comes in a conversation between Jesus and a lawyer, an odd conversation in which each question the lawyer asks appears suspiciously to have something else behind it, and each answer Jesus gives seems equally obtuse, but is ultimately mind-blowingly revealing.

The first question the lawyer asks is a very odd one indeed: ‘What must I do to inherit eternal life?’

It’s an odd question when you think about how inheritance works. Inheritance is given, it’s a gift you receive, it’s not something you can usually do anything about at all. An inheritance is usually determined by the giver, not the receiver. [1] ‘What must I do to inherit eternal life?’ is a question perhaps only a lawyer would ask – someone who feels uniquely equipped and inclined to manipulate things to ensure that he gets the inheritance he wants.

‘What must I do to inherit eternal life?’ Is also a question which has been preached misleadingly, over the years, based on the popular assumption that this is another way of asking, ‘What must I do to get to heaven?’ In those sermons the answer, of course, is, ‘do  good things in the here and now and you’ll secure your place in the afterlife’. But this goes against the view of the world held by Jesus, the lawyer, Luke and everyone else involved in the telling of this tale. Those people believed that time was divided up in two ways, between the ‘present age’ and the ‘age to come.’ 

Many ancient Jews believed that the ‘age to come’ would arrive one day to bring God’s justice, peace, and healing to the world as it groaned and toiled within the ‘present age.’ St Paul speaks of Jesus giving himself for our sins ‘to rescue us from the present evil age.’ In other words, Jesus has inaugurated, ushered in, the ‘age to come.’ But there is no sense that this ‘age to come’ is ‘eternal’ in the sense of being outside space, time, and matter. Far from it. … For [the ancient Jews], God’s great future purpose was not to rescue people out of the world, but to rescue the world itself, people included, from its present state of corruption and decay. [2] 

So at the heart of the exchange between the lawyer and Jesus isn’t an academic theory, a  theoretical discussion about a hard-to-grasp future existence, about achieving a perfect afterlife. It’s about how God wants to rescue us from ourselves in the here and now.

And in the here and now, are people like the Good Samaritan. Preachers like this story because it so readily suggests to us examples from this day and age. Who are the Good Samaritans today?

On the building site, when a rogue piece of scaffolding fell to the ground and impaled itself in Danny Collins’s left leg, his closest mates, his drinking pals, Dean and Billy disappeared from the scene – and it was one of the Polish lads, Alexy, who came to the rescue, made Danny comfortable, called for emergency medical help. Dean later apologised for his weak stomach – it was his fear of blood and gore which caused him to flee, he said, sheepishly. Billy said it was because the accident happened at the end of the working day and he had to go and pick up the kids from their after-school club. After the ambulance took Danny away Alexy just went back quietly to his group of Polish friends, who usually kept themselves to themselves on the building site because Danny, Dean, Billy and the other English lads treated them with suspicion.

In our world of interracial suspicion perhaps the most surprising thing about this story is that a Polish builder on an English job could be portrayed as ‘good’. Certainly the most surprising thing at the time Jesus told the story of The Good Samaritan is that a Samaritan could be portrayed as ‘good’. 

For as you will have heard in numerous sermons on this subject before, Samaritans and Jews did not get on. So much so that a Jew making their way from Galilee to Jerusalem would prefer to take the long route, risking the ascent up the rocky mountain road from Jericho, a road notorious for robbers and brigands, rather than take the easier route through the heart of Samaria. [3] And if you’ve been following the gospel readings over the past few Sundays you’ll recall other situations which Luke highlights to point up the mutual antagonism between Samaria and Israel – if you can’t recall them I encourage you to thumb back through chapters 9 and 10.

The Good Samaritan – it’s as ironic as someone in the crowd at Old Trafford talking about The Good Scouser. It’s as incendiary as a present-day politician talking about The Good Muslim Cleric.

So what is Jesus saying in this parable? To the question, ‘Who is my neighbour?’ Jesus is saying that my neighbour is not necessarily the one who lives next door to me, the one who comes from the same social group as me. My neighbour is not necessarily my friend. My neighbour is just as likely to be someone I’d least expect it to be, someone I’d normally have nothing to do with; someone I might usually go out of my way to avoid. Quite simply my neighbour is anyone who has compassion on me, anyone who shows me mercy. 

And to the question, ‘What am I to do to inherit eternal life?’, in other words, ‘What am I to do to help God rescue me from myself in the here-and-now?’, the answer is quite simply  that I’m to love like that Samaritan loved.

I’m to love the person who I may be inclined to criticise, condemn, revile, and as my heart goes out to them I find God rescuing me from myself.

I’m to love like a Samaritan loves a Jew – sacrificially. [4]

I’m to love the person who I don’t know or shy away from, the person who makes life hard for me, and as my heart goes out to them I find my peace, I find my salvation.

I’m to love like a put-upon Pole loves a jack-the-lad Brit – generously.

God’s great purpose is not to rescue people out of the world, but to rescue the world itself, people included, from its present state of corruption and decay. [5]

And so, rejoice! – for you and me, together, are members of that rescue team.

And now, rejoice again! – for every time your heart goes out to another, you find yourself being  rescued.

 

Notes

[1] I’m grateful as always to Paul Neuchterlein’s Girardian Reflections on the Lectionary website, in this case his notes on Proper 10C, section 9, quoting Brian Stoffregen …

[2] … and here, Neuchterlein’s notes on Proper 10C, section 1, quoting James Alison and N.T. Wright…

[3] … and here, Neuchterlein’s notes on Proper 10C, section 10, geographical notes … 

[4] See further, Neuchterlein’s notes on Proper 10C, sections 5, 6, 7, on Luke’s astonishing use of splagchnizomai, for compassion, in regard to the Samaritan’s sacrificial act.

[5] N. T. Wright, How God Became King: The Forgotten Story of the Gospels, pp. 44-45, quoted in Neuchterlein, Proper 10C, section 1

 

… Luke chapter 10 offers us a unique expression of the meaning of the cross. There, in verse 18, as nowhere else in scripture, Jesus describes his crucifixion experience. In just one brief, astonishing, line he projects himself forwards in time to tell us what he sees at the moment of his death:

‘I see Satan fall from heaven like lightning,’ he said.

If you want a definitive description of the most powerful moment in history, then this is it. ‘I see Satan fall from heaven like lightning.’ In this one vivid phrase, Jesus describes what his eyes see from the cross, at that pivotal moment of his death. It is so intense an image, like a scene from a motion picture, that it is likely to become fixed forever in our own mind’s eye once we’ve visualised it for the first time. 

Jesus, crucified by brutal enemies, whilst hanging there utterly engaged in a cosmic battle between the powers, at the very moment of his death ‘sees Satan fall from heaven like lightning’, and in a flash the world is changed substantially, for ever.

But how is the world changed, substantially, for ever, by this fall? …

– from my talk today, Christ's disciples in a world of acceptance or rejection. Readers of Rene Girard's I See Satan Fall Like Lightning will guess which way this is heading. 

Luke 10.1-20

Whitegate, Trinity 6, Proper 9, 7/7/2013

 

Christ’s disciples walk in a world of acceptance or rejection. Every day they experience  being either embraced or expelled. Jesus sent out seventy-two of them to the Gentile towns of Judea as he had previously sent out twelve to the towns of Galilee in Israel, to heal the sick and proclaim the coming of the Kingdom of God. He led them to expect welcome in some places, and opposition in others, but promised them peace whatever they found; he told them to accept whatever came their way and to leave him to deal with the consequences; he pronounced woe on the Galilean towns who sent his disciples packing, even greater woe than on the Gentile towns who had previously done the same.

Christ’s disciples walk in a world of acceptance or rejection. Every day they experience  being either embraced or expelled. They offer peace to every home they visit; they speak in Jesus’ name, and they understand that if they’re not listened to, then it is Jesus, not them, who is rejected. They come back home to him rejoicing, and he embraces them.

And what of Christ’s disciples today, you and me, baptised into a lifetime’s journey with our Lord? Christ calls us as he called the twelve and the seventy-two, to walk with him in the world, to be the human beat of his heavenly heart every place we go. We may not share the urgency that marked their mission – Luke’s account describes his disciples taking what what seems a breathless dash around the lands through which they moved. We who are more rooted people may travel more slowly through our neighbourhood, our contact with others will be more regular and our relationships with them will deepen over time. But our Lord still calls us as he called those first disciples – to bring peace, healing and the message of the Kingdom of Heaven to others. In a world where all people experience acceptance or rejection, where everyone knows what it is to be embraced or expelled.

Now if the prospect of bearing the message of the Kingdom of Heaven daunts you, it is probably because we live in an age of uncertainty, where previously fixed-points are wobbling, where nothing can be taken for granted in our land any more, and where consequently many Christians are nervous about explaining, proclaiming and expressing our faith. 

Many of us long to regain our confidence in the Christian story, we yearn to be able to grasp fully the meaning of the cross so as to be able to helpfully explain it to others, we desire to comprehend the significance of being citizens and heralds of the Kingdom of Heaven in the here and now. If that is you, then you might find today’s gospel passage a helpful starting point. 

For Luke chapter 10 offers us a unique expression of the meaning of the cross. There, in verse 18, as nowhere else in scripture, Jesus describes his crucifixion experience. In just one brief, astonishing, line he projects himself forwards in time to tell us what he sees at the moment of his death:

‘I see Satan fall from heaven like lightning,’ he said. [1]

If you want a definitive description of the most powerful moment in history, then this is it. ‘I see Satan fall from heaven like lightning.’ In this one vivid phrase, Jesus describes what his eyes see from the cross, at that pivotal moment of his death. It is so intense an image, like a scene from a motion picture, that it is likely to become fixed forever in our own mind’s eye once we’ve visualised it for the first time. 

Jesus, crucified by brutal enemies, whilst hanging there utterly engaged in a cosmic battle between the powers, at the very moment of his death ‘sees Satan fall from heaven like lightning’, and in a flash the world is changed substantially, for ever.

But how is the world changed, substantially, for ever, by this fall? 

Before this moment our world was a world based entirely on acceptance or rejection, on embrace or expulsion. It was a world in which people longed to belong and strove to be chosen, a world where belonging to a group was everything, and every group’s identity depended on their not being like the group next door, not being tainted by the presence of others unlike them. In this world group identity was upheld by a process in which those who upset the balance of things were accused of wrongdoing, and expelled. 

Religion was key to this process, the practice of sacrifice was central to humanity’s sense of well-being. And so the high priest Caiaphas said, ‘It is better that one man should die for the people than for the whole nation to be destroyed.’ (John 11.50) and so the innocent victim Jesus was accused, condemned and crucified.

And in this world, in ancient folklore, Satan is the Accuser. He is the one who brings accusations against people. He is the High Court Judge, if you like, charged to bring a conviction against the bad people of the world. Satan divides the world between the chosen people and the accused people – those who are accused of evil-doing and therefore rejected. Satan makes those who think they are the chosen to gang up against those who they accuse. [2] This a world of unjust victims, of scapegoating, and as I’m sure you’ll have realised by now, is not just the ancient world, it is today’s world too. 

But the good news of the meaning of the cross speaks to people who walk in a world of acceptance or rejection, whose everyday experiences are of being embraced or expelled. It is this – that Satan, the Accuser who is at the heart of each rejection and every expulsion, has been overcome by Christ, who embraces us in unconditional love, and enables us to step away from the cycle of violence which is the way of the world.

The moment of Jesus’ death was also the moment of Jesus’ triumph. It was a moment of  illumination in which the watching world plainly saw an innocent victim, the unjustly accused, punished, and for the first time the world had its eyes opened to every innocent victim, every unjustly accused person, punished throughout history. In that moment of revelation Satan the Accuser lost his power, his grip on human society slipped, and he fell. 

‘I saw Satan fall from heaven like lightning,’ Jesus said. I put it to you that the energy charge which clashed with Satan to create that particular flash of lightning was the Holy Spirit of God. The gospel of John refers to the Holy Spirit as the paraclete – a legal term, meaning the defender of the accused, and it was his vital energy which forced Satan the accuser to go spiralling to the ground, which drained the former ruler and judge of the world of his power to convict.

The gospels uniquely address the problem of human violence. They reject the idea of violence as divine (contrary to what myths do). They refuse to say that it is human nature (like biology does). They will not agree that violence is restricted to certain people or types of persons only (who then make excellent scapegoats), because these are ideologies. They won’t say that violence is too accidental and exceptional for human knowledge to consider – this is what the philosophy of Enlightenment says. [3]

Instead the gospel insists that true enlightenment comes from the moment when the world was illuminated by that once-and-for-all-time lightning strike. 

Now Christ sees Satan fall to earth, which means that the end of Satan has not yet come, and that our world of acceptance or rejection, embrace or expulsion, continues. But it has been drained of its power. Because the whole world has been illuminated by that flash of lightning,  

In the light of the cross we stand before Joseph, before Job, before Jesus, before John the Baptist and still other victims, and [are able to begin to see] why so many mobs expel and massacre so many innocent persons, why so many communities are caught up in madness. [3] 

This understanding means the beginning of ‘the end of Satan’s false transcendence, his power to restore order through his false accusations, [the beginning of] the end of scapegoating.’ [4]

These verses in Luke help ease us towards a fuller meaning of the cross, of what it is to be  citizens and heralds of the Kingdom of Heaven in the here and now. They help us towards seeing that while Christ’s disciples walk in a world of acceptance or rejection, of embrace or expulsion, we no longer need to be driven by the power of that world, for we have seen the way that world works and know that its ruler, Satan the Accuser, has been overcome. 

The Christ of the cross promises us peace whatever others offer us; he helps us to accept whatever comes our way and rather than seeking our own justice, to leave him to deal with the consequences. Freed by him to live this way, we can come home to him rejoicing that our names are written in heaven.

 

Notes

[1] This sermon owes a great deal to the concluding chapter of Rene Girard, I See Satan Fall Like Lightning, p.182-193, and to Paul Neuchterlein’s notes on Luke 10.1-11, 16-20 in his Girardian Lectionary, Proper 9C. 

[2] See my sermon Mark 8 – Satan the Accuser and God the Chooser from 2006, and the source sermon of the same title by Paul Nuechterlein. 

[3] Girard, I See Satan Fall Like Lightning, p.184 (my alterations)

[4] Girard, I See Satan Fall Like Lightning, p.185

A prophet is without honour … at home. 

Prophets tend to emerge at times of political and social crisis. And those of us who are home birds, home bodies, whose homes are our castles, tend to close our ears to them, switch our screens away from them and keep focussed instead on the entertainment channels. Why do we do this?

Well, we do this because prophets speak Home Truths. They unveil those troubling things which we try to keep beneath the surface of everyday life so that we can get on with it without having to change our ways – like today’s prophets detailing our addiction to economic debt, and predicting the awful outcomes of continuing in this way.

We sidestep our prophets because they threaten Home Security. They open doors we’d rather keep closed – to other people with other ways and other points of view, who make us feel uncomfortable, vulnerable – like today’s prophets asking us to start to build a world where Christianity and Islam can co-exist as good neighbours.

We give our prophets short shrift because to do otherwise means we have to get started on some Home Maintenance. We’d rather put off fixing that leaky tap to another day. We’ll deal with global warming, tomorrow, next year, some other time…

We do not welcome prophets here because they undermine our Home Insurance. If we can keep things as they are here then we’ll keep the world at bay. But prophets will not keep quiet about the world and its ways, and insist on bringing it into our living rooms. 

Facing with open eyes a world set on a path of environmental destruction, today’s prophets cannot understand why most of us are just not bothered about the demise of the rainforests, about the world shortage of pure water; they’re amazed at our unbelief. …

– from my talk last evening, The prophets – home wreckers or home builders?

 

Mark 6.1-6

Whitegate (Evening), Trinity 5, Proper 8, 30/6/2013

[Jesus] came to his home town, and his disciples followed him. ²On the sabbath he began to teach in the synagogue, and many who heard him were astounded. They said, ‘Where did this man get all this? What is this wisdom that has been given to him? What deeds of power are being done by his hands! ³Is not this the carpenter, the son of Mary and brother of James and Joses and Judas and Simon, and are not his sisters here with us?’ And they took offence at him. ⁴Then Jesus said to them, ‘Prophets are not without honour, except in their home town, and among their own kin, and in their own house.’ ⁵And he could do no deed of power there, except that he laid his hands on a few sick people and cured them. ⁶And he was amazed at their unbelief. Then he went about among the villages teaching. Mark 6.1-6

A prophet is without honour … at home. 

Nelson Mandela seems destined for sainthood in South Africa now, but we all know his story and how it illustrates the point that Jesus made all that time ago in Nazareth. The young Mandela’s prophecies of a united nation, an end to apartheid, have come to pass. But when he first appeared among his people proclaiming this message, they rejected him. When he put his body behind his convictions, and became an activist, they imprisoned him.

A prophet is without honour … at home. 

Prophets tend to emerge at times of political and social crisis. And those of us who are home birds, home bodies, whose homes are our castles, tend to close our ears to them, switch our screens away from them and keep focussed instead on the entertainment channels. Why do we do this?

Well, we do this because prophets speak Home Truths. They unveil those troubling things which we try to keep beneath the surface of everyday life so that we can get on with it without having to change our ways – like today’s prophets detailing our addiction to economic debt, and predicting the awful outcomes of continuing in this way.

We sidestep our prophets because they threaten Home Security. They open doors we’d rather keep closed – to other people with other ways and other points of view, who make us feel uncomfortable, vulnerable – like today’s prophets asking us to start to build a world where Christianity and Islam can co-exist as good neighbours.

We give our prophets short shrift because to do otherwise means we have to get started on some Home Maintenance. We’d rather put off fixing that leaky tap to another day. We’ll deal with global warming, tomorrow, next year, some other time…

We do not welcome prophets here because they undermine our Home Insurance. If we can keep things as they are here then we’ll keep the world at bay. But prophets will not keep quiet about the world and its ways, and insist on bringing it into our living rooms. 

Facing with open eyes a world set on a path of environmental destruction, today’s prophets cannot understand why most of us are just not bothered about the demise of the rainforests, about the world shortage of pure water; they’re amazed at our unbelief.

Jesus [told his followers], ‘Prophets are not without honour, except in their home town, and among their own kin, and in their own house.’

That’s why he had to take his message elsewhere – a message so at odds with those in authority, a message which spoke home truths about their abuse of power, a message which threatened the security of their position in the community, a message which called on the people to get started on home maintenance to fix a broken kingdom by means of bringing in the Kingdom of God. We all know his story and where it led. To an execution site outside Jerusalem. Elsewhere he once said, 

“Jerusalem, Jerusalem, you who kill the prophets and stone those sent to you, how often I have longed to gather your children together, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, and you were not willing.’ (Luke 13.34)

Jesus’ prophetic message – facing head-on the red-hot political issues of his place and time – required the tearing down of old structures which had served their purpose and now only served the agendas of the elite, oppressing the rest of the people. But ultimately it announced the building of a new society, the Kingdom of God, a kingdom of peace, equality, co-existence, a place of joy. Christians believe that Jesus inaugurated this Kingdom whilst he was on earth, and the resurrection set it in motion for all time. It’s a Kingdom which is active and growing and making a difference in the world today.

We are citizens of this Kingdom through our baptism. And if we want to be active citizens then we will pay attention to the prophetic voices of our day and time. Not avoiding them, you and I have to weigh carefully the validity of these prophetic voices we hear. Are each of them the voice of a Home Wrecker or a Home Builder? Shall we let them do their deeds of power among us? We can call on the prophet of Nazareth, who will help us decide.