Month: September 2019

Amos 6.1-7, Luke 16.19-31

The Fifteenth Sunday after Trinity, 29 September 2019

Eldroth – United Harvest Festival Service

 

I wish I had given thanks

to the ones who prepared my food this morning – 

the wheat growers and millers and bakers;

the wheat and the soil and the bugs which enrich it;

the dairy farmers and their cattle; 

the milk processors, the butter makers and the production line workers;

the fruit-pickers and potters of jam, the creators of jam jars;

the delivery drivers, shelf stackers and checkout staffers;

and behind them all,

the One who causes fruit trees to flourish, who gives grass to the cows in season:

but I was so distracted listening to the radio that it never crossed my mind.

 

I wish I had given thanks

to the ones who brought me radio this morning – 

the presenter gifted with a warm homely voice;

the sound engineer subtle in hearing, skilled in balance and adjustment;

the reporters on the scene outside political palaces, in flooded fields, alongside grieving families;

the musicians whose songs lift the spirits;

the songwriters whose lyrics reach into the soul;

the station managers and programme directors;

and behind them all,

the One who fills the air with invisible waves acting in pressure through time: 

but I was just so comfortable in my kitchen that it never crossed my mind.

 

I wish I had given thanks 

to the ones who made me comfortable in life –

the parents who worked hard to support my school learning;

the employers who chanced their business on me as a young starter;

the partner who found in me something to love;

the children who drew out of me characteristics I never knew I had;

the village which always nurtured me;

the country which – by fair means or foul – found ways to enrich me;

and behind them all,

the One who placed me in a land which held me, filled me, inspired me: 

but I felt so entitled it never crossed my mind.

 

So now I remember that in my lifetime I received good things, 

picked from the trees of the earth;

mined from the rock of the earth;

burned from the soil of the earth;

ripped from the seas;

product of others’ hard graft.

 

And now I acknowledge that for me to have these riches 

others experienced evil things:

a pitiful wage for brutal graft;

displacement when the developers tore down their homes;

sickness when the factories let waste into their soil and water;

hunger when their overfished sea went barren;

disease when medical help was never there.

 

And now I remember the story I was told back in my childhood

of the rich man and Lazarus and the gulf between them;

And now I recall the old prophet Amos saying: ‘the revelry of the loungers shall pass away’

And I know that I am that rich man

And I know that I’m that reveller, that lounger

In my comfort and my ease.

 

And I hope that we we were given these old stories to save us;

I hope that we were told these old tales to help us

Lose our disinterest in others and the earth;

Share what we have with the poor of the earth,

Start to show care for the creatures and trees, the rivers and seas,

Restrain ourselves – contain ourselves,

Close that gulf which is between us.

 

I trust that we were given these old stories to save us;

I trust in these harvest hymns to open our eyes to the world as it is: 

God’s world of wonder, justice and love;

I trust in our harvest prayers to open our hearts to the people we can be: 

God’s partners in building communities of care with the earth and all that is in it.

Exodus 32.7-14, Luke 15.1-10

Twelfth Sunday after Trinity, 15 September 2019

Austwick, Clapham (Keasden Harvest)

 

Hear this parable about things we’ve lost, as we meditate on the reasons why. 

A retired couple bought a new house on an estate called Skylarks. The estate agents told them it’s ‘surrounded by fresh, open countryside and natural beauty’. They thought there’d be skylarks there; but they found there’s very little birdlife, very little wildlife at all. It’s a sterile place. They since learned that before they started building, the developers covered 600 metres of hedgerow with netting to stop birds nesting – and then removed all the hedges altogether. [1]

Let’s hear some other parables. Which one of us, having a hundred sheep and losing one of them, would say, ‘I haven’t time to go looking for that; I’ve still got ninety-nine; I’ll write that one off.’? And which one of us, having ten silver coins, and losing one of them, will sit back and say, ‘Oh, well, it’ll probably turn up sometime, I’ll get some more out of the cashpoint later.’?

We live in what we might call a ‘sacrificial economy’ – where we’re prepared to let some things go so that we can get on with our day; where we calculate that a one percent loss is worth conceding for the sake of progress. The ‘sacrificial economy’ connects the cheap imported beef which we scrape into our wheelie bins with the Amazonian rainforest we burn to create space for more beef crops, with beef farmers in our part of the world unable to get a fair price. [2]

In the ‘sacrificial economy’ the sacrifices are usually made by others: unnoticed, powerless others. Like the skylarks; like the salmon unable to negotiate the manmade dams and weirs peppering our rivers, preventing them from swimming upstream to reach their spawning grounds. The sacrificial economy depends on our keenness to buy polyester dresses for just £4 made by women in UK cities paid well below the minimum wage, whilst farmers subsidise the sale of fleece. The sacrificial economy is fired by our desire to have Amazon deliver quickly to our homes, at low-cost, whilst our local booksellers go out of business. [3]

Their loss is our gain.

And these losses build up – until we realise that the sacrifices which others have had to make, which the earth and the creatures and the trees have had to make, on our behalf, leave us bereft as well: 

Don’t it always seem to go

That you don’t know what you’ve got

‘Till it’s gone [4]

From our favourite local butcher or baker, no longer there, to the biosystems of our whole wide earth – ‘as in the old science fiction films and tales of half a century ago, we have already landed on a harsh and unpredictable planet, all six billion of us. Climate change is already here’, today’s Earth is a different place than the one we were born into, which we’ve altogether lost. [5]

Although this ‘sacrificial economy’ has caused this loss, we have to accept it, for it is the only way that human beings can live on this earth – or so we are told. You have heard it said, There Is No Alternative but to keep on pursuing endless growth, and constant economic and technological progress. But today there are other voices telling you, it doesn’t have to be this way.

The influential philosopher Michel Serres, who died this year, once wrote that the parables of Jesus as retold by Saint Luke and Saint Matthew ‘express the principle of the non-sacrificial economy, the economy that refuses even the smallest expense, one percent, the scapegoat itself’.

In the non-sacrificial economy taught by Jesus, every last one is precious enough to seek out and to save. In the non-sacrificial economy lived out by Jesus, everybody is included, all things rejoice together, there are no executions or expulsions, the victims are returned to the fold.

By refusing the logic of the sacrificial economy Jesus positively demonstrates that what has to be done is precisely to save that which customarily, we allow to be lost.

Lost soul, lost woman, lost farm, lost forest, lost birds… Michel Serres said, ‘Economist, turn your science upside down in order to go searching purposefully for the miserable, the sacrificed. Scientist, change your logic to save the victims of progress. No! Not progress at any cost! Give back in full price the price offered up in sacrifice for progress.’ [6]

Earlier this year the most comprehensive and detailed review of the state of nature was published. It found that humans are more dependent on nature now than at any time in our history. 

Over the past 50 years, as the world’s population has doubled, we have pulled more people out of poverty than ever before. But we have done it by burning, poisoning and laying to waste large sections of the most biodiversity-rich lands and oceans, killing off thousands of species and now threatening a million more. “Nature is changing in part because there’s more of us and we are consuming more,” said one of the report’s lead authors, Dr Kate Brauman. “As people become more affluent they have bigger footprints, they eat more, they drive more and they fly more.”

One key message from the assessment is that we need to re-evaluate what we mean by the idea of a “good life”. For centuries, in western culture, this has all been about accumulating wealth, working hard, making sacrifices for the benefits of our children. Progress, as defined in many families, has meant children earning more than their parents. More money, more things.

“We need to change the way we think about what a good life is, we need to change the social narrative that puts an emphasis on a good life depending on a high consumption and quick disposal,” the report’s co-chair said, “We need to shift it to an idea of a fulfilling life that is more aligned with a good relationship with nature, and a good relationship with other people, with the public good. We need to change the stories in our heads, because they are the ones that are now enacted in decisions all the way from the individual up to government.”

She added: “Changing that is not easy but this is what it would take to reach the better future for the children that are born this year.” [7]

Here the scientists are agreeing with the philosophers and with the evangelists who wrote the gospels. We may not be able to regain what we have lost – but we should turn our hearts to seek out those ways in which we can turn our losses into celebrations, our laments into Harvest songs.

 

Notes

[1]  Based on a reading of Sandra Laville, Property developers row back on netting used to stop birds nesting, Guardian, 5 April 2019: ‘The Derbyshire Wildlife Trust … persuaded developers William Davis to remove netting from 600 metres of hedgerow which is due to be torn out for an estate called Skylarks, to the north of Chesterfield.’ with reference to the developer’s website.

[2] For the ‘sacrificial economy’ see Michel Serres, “One God or a Trinity?” Contagion, Vol. 1 (Spring, 1994), pp. 1-17. (Translated by Cesareo Bandera and Judith Arias). Referenced in Paul Nuechterlein, Girardian Reflections on the Lectionary, Proper 19C. Urgent action needed to support British beef sector, NFU Online, 27 June 2019.

[3] Robin McKie, ‘To save our fish, we must first find ways to unblock UK’s rivers,’ say scientists. Observer, 1 September 2019. Sandra Laville, The story of a £4 Boohoo dress: cheap clothes at a high cost. Guardian, 22 June 2019. Ciaran Moran, Worthless wool: ‘Prices are so low they no longer cover the cost of shearing the sheep’. Irish Independent,  2 June 2018. Alison Flood, Amazon blamed as ‘iconic’ bookshops announce closure. Guardian, 30 May 2019.

[4] Joni Mitchell, Big Yellow Taxi. 

[5] Quotation from Rebecca Solnit’s review of Bill McKibben, Eaarth: Making a Life on a Tough New Planet. 

[6] Michel Serres, “One God or a Trinity?” Contagion, Vol. 1 (Spring, 1994), pp. 1-17. (Translated by Cesareo Bandera and Judith Arias). Referenced in Paul Nuechterlein, Girardian Reflections on the Lectionary, Proper 19C.

[7] Matt McGrath, Five things we’ve learned from nature crisis study. BBC Science & Environment, 6 May 2019.

 

Hebrews 13.1-8, 15-16, Luke 14:1, 7-14

The Eleventh Sunday after Trinity 1 September 2019, Eldroth

 

So here is Jesus, once again challenging our ideas about our conventional values, showing us a way to transform them into something so much more – this thing which he calls the kingdom of God.

In the home of a leader of the Pharisees Jesus’ fellow dinner guests were watching him, these good folk who staunchly stood for the traditional values of their day. Who believed in eating sabbath dinners with a good measure of the proper decorum, grace, and respect. They were watching tis Jesus, because he’d built a reputation for breaking the rules, especially the rules of purity and cleanliness. He worked on the sabbath, even when it meant reaching out to heal unclean, sick people. He and his disciples had been seen eating with dirty hands. And the biggest affront of all was eating with unclean people, with known sinners like tax collectors! So these keepers of traditional values were keeping a close eye on Jesus.

But Jesus turns the table by watching them. He carefully watches the way in which they lobby to take seats of highest position and honour, to sit at the head of the table, so to speak. And, then, with what must have come as something of a surprise, Jesus offers some sage advice to them:

“Do not sit down at the place of honour, … But when you are invited, go and sit down at the lowest place, so that when your host comes, he may say to you, ‘Friend, move up higher’; then you will be honoured in the presence of all who sit at the table with you.” (Luke 14.8-10)

Now this shows Jesus playing within the rules, for a change. It was smart, wordly-wise advice. But then comes the characteristic Jesus turn, the one offering the real depth to his insight: “For all who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted,” he said. 

Jesus has seen right through the unspoken rules of the dinner party game; the game we all play at times: the game of justifying ourselves, the game of trying to look good before others. The game of building our reputations, often at someone else’s expense. Jesus came to fundamentally change the rules of that game. For when we come before God, our Creator, we know that’s no way to win; we all fall far short of the glory of God. (Romans 3:23).

There’s more. If his first words to the guests that day were at least sage advice, Jesus’ final words to his host were anything but:

“When you give a luncheon or a dinner, do not invite your friends or your brothers or your relatives or rich neighbours, in case they may invite you in return, and you would be repaid. But when you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind. And you will be blessed, because they cannot repay you, for you will be repaid at the resurrection of the righteous.” (Luke 14.12-14)

These words virtually turned their whole enterprise upside down. The party’s host would have found them blasphemous. If a Pharisee was serious about keeping the traditional values of purity, they would never even think of inviting such people.

But Jesus is exposing their game. In essence, the games of self-justification, of building reputations, these are all human power games. And the results of such games are that some people rise to power and some don’t. Some people become part of the in-group and some are left out. And this is precisely why so many of our so-called traditional values need to be transformed and taken to another level. If we talk about family values for instance: we can never truly claim to be family when some people are left out; when we’re playing power games in which some families win and those who are left out lose. The same goes for Christian values; or our community’s values.

Jesus came to expose and challenge all that. He came and took the very lowest place. He came and let himself be perceived as a sinner, a lowest of the low, a common criminal hanged on the cross. But his challenge to us, if we have eyes to see it, is a gracious one. For it relieves us of all that burdensome work of justifying ourselves before other people. His own resurrection was both the challenge to the world that only God can justify our lives and the promise that God does do precisely that: God mercifully forgives all who repent and claims them as God’s own. Whether worshipping adults or baptised infants, God graciously forgives us and embraces us as children into his family, a family which seeks to embrace all of God’s creatures.

‘Friend, move up higher’, Jesus says. Does this make you think of a time in your life when someone who has noted your humble position did or said something to lift you up, to graciously elevate you.  A friend or family member, a teacher, colleague, or pastor?

‘Friend, move up higher’ – maybe there’ve been people you have lifted higher than they had been before, by your gracious help and encouragement? These gestures are wondrous signs of the kingdom of heaven breaking through into our lives. How much we need to apply these values to our lives in this world today.

‘Friend, move up higher’ – who might I apply that to in my life this week? A child, a young person, a lonely or struggling one? That person in the village who usually I avoid?

The Son of God who willingly took his place with the lowest of the low on the cross entreats us to truly embrace his spirit by reaching outside our conventional circles to include all God’s children in our lives; to go beyond expectations and take our place with the least of our brothers and sisters, celebrating with them our share in God’s grace and love in Jesus Christ.

 

Note

[1] This sermon is a my own version of Paul J. Nuechterlein, Beyond Traditional Family Values.  I first preached it as Friend, move up higher at Whitegate, September 2013.

The Twelfth Sunday after Trinity, 8 September 2019

Deuteronomy 30.15-end, Luke 14.25-33

Keasden, Clapham, Austwick

As a child of Liverpool I’ve a soft spot for the Swiss psychologist Carl Jung who last century had a dream about being in the city – ‘a dirty, sooty city,’ he called it, on a dark, wet, winter’s night. He said, ‘I can still see the grayish-yellow raincoats, glistening with the wetness of the rain. Everything was extremely unpleasant, black and opaque – just as I felt then. But I had a vision of unearthly beauty, and that is why I was able to live at all. Liverpool is the “pool of life.”’ [1]

Now, when I was growing up in that city I found Jung’s quote an inspiration. I drew on its power as I trod those streets and willingly allowed myself to be formed into a Liverpudlian through and through, a Liverpudlian son, brother, uncle; a home-grown Christian, swimming in the Pool of Life.

Since then many inevitable changes and chances of life have intervened; like everyone else I’ve faced some at times painful challenges causing me to reassess my life, my identity and direction. The Liverpool Lad is gone, if not forgotten. So now it is another quote of Carl Jung’s which engages me. He said,

One cannot live the afternoon of life according to the program of life’s morning; for what was great in the morning will be of little importance in the evening, and what in the morning was true will at evening become a lie. [2]

Jung’s idea of the “the two halves of life” – the two major tangents and tasks of any human life – does it make sense to you? He says, 

The first half of life is spent building our sense of identity, importance, and security – an  important and valuable activity. But inevitably you discover, often through failure or a significant loss, that your conscious self is not all of you, but only the acceptable you. You will find your real purpose and identity at a much deeper level than the positive image you present to the world. [3]

Jung grasped this truth after a period of illness. In the second half of life we discover that it is no longer sufficient to find meaning in being successful or healthy – or in belonging to a particular place or group of people. We need a deeper source of purpose. We need authentic religious experience. Jung influenced Bill Wilson, co-founder of Alcoholics Anonymous, who also emphasised that a “vital spiritual experience” is the best therapy of all; it is the foundational healing of addiction, moving beyond “recovery” – or purgation – towards true illumination or divine union. [4] 

The scriptures describe this as our moving between life and death. Hear Moses inviting the ancient Israelites to make a covenant with God by following his ways. ‘Choose life,’ he said, ‘so that you and your descendants may live, loving the Lord your God…’ And, flipping this upside down, hear Jesus inviting his followers to choose death – to take up a cross, to put an end to all thoughts of family security, wealth and possessions, being willing to start over, to make a new beginning with him. 

We learn the value of this when life is hard. When we face difficulties, challenges, even death itself, we can discover ‘the huge surprise of the Christian revelation … that the place of the wound is the place of the greatest gift’. [5] Through the cross and resurrection, we can discover that our very wounds can become sacred wounds, if we let them. Letting go of the surface things of life, taking responsibility for the recovery of our spirits and our souls, holding our pain whilst embracing the grace of God gifted to us: in this we can find transformation, resurrection. 

The writer Richard Rohr says,

If I were to name the Christian religion, I would probably call it “The Way of the Wound.” Surprise of surprises, Christianity is saying that we come to God not by doing it right (which teaches you very little), but invariably by doing it wrong and responding to our failures and suffering with openness and awareness.

Jesus’ wounded body is an icon for what we are all doing to one another and to the world.

Jesus’ resurrected body is an icon of God’s promise, response, and victory over these crucifixions.

The two images contain the whole transformative message of the Gospel. [6]

Now, we live in a time where we as a human race are beginning to grasp that we’re in the evening of our civilisation. We are now living through what some scientists are calling the Sixth Mass Extinction. Of the five previous mass extinctions, only the most recent was caused by an asteroid. The other four were caused by ‘Climate change produced by greenhouse gas.’ We are currently adding carbon to the atmosphere at a rate ‘at least ten times faster’ than at the end of the Permian period, 250 million years ago, when 96 per cent of life on earth was wiped out. [7]

We are beginning to accept that we have been ‘living the afternoon of life on Earth according to the program of life’s morning’;  we have been consuming ever vaster quantities of the Earth’s precious resources, and filling the air and land and seas with poisonous waste, at a greater and greater rate since we began to be aware of the climate crisis forty or fifty years ago. [8]

We are now challenged to embrace the truth that ‘what was great in the morning of our modern human world is of little importance this evening, and what in the morning was true has now, in this evening, become a lie’ – that the ways we have dominated the Earth have insufficiently prepared us for our future; that our exploitation of the Earth has reached its limits after all.

Rather than dismissing this situation in denial, rather than sitting back and making others responsible for it, rather than hopelessly giving up on it altogether, can we instead take hold of the ancient wisdom offered by our faith, and learn how, in the face of death, we can still choose life?

May God help us see how a wounded body can be transformed into a resurrected body; may God guide us into knowing how, even if these are our last days, we can let the whole transformative message of the Gospel turn our hearts towards our broken but still-beautiful, still-wonderful world, and embrace it in love, no longer regarding the Earth as ours to exploit but instead seeing ourselves as members of ‘the Community of Creation’. [9]

If we can come to God accepting that we’re doing it wrong and responding to our failures and suffering with openness and awareness – therein is the key to the future of life on this, God’s wonderful created Earth.

 

Notes

Acknowledging the help of Paul Nuechterlein, Girardian Lectionary, Proper 18C in directing me towards Richard Rohr’s Jungian-influenced reflections.

[1] C. G. Jung, Memories, Dreams and Reflections, p.223. Quoted in Jungcurrents, Jung’s Liverpool Dream: “I found myself in a dirty, sooty city…”.

[2] C. G. Jung, The Structure and Dynamics of the Psyche, p.399. Quoted in Richard Rohr, The Two Halves of Life, Center for Action and Contemplation, 12 October, 2015.

[3] Rohr, The Two Halves of Life. Quoting Jung, Memories, Dreams and Reflections, p.340.

[4] Rohr, The Two Halves of Life. Quoting Jung, Memories, Dreams and Reflections, p.340.

[5] Richard Rohr, The Sacred Wound. 16 October 2015. 

[6] Richard Rohr, The Sacred Wound. 16 October 2015. Drawing from Richard Rohr, Dancing Standing Still: Healing the World from a Place of Prayer, p.76-78 

[7] Francis Gooding,  All the News Is Bad: Our Alien Planet (Review of David Wallace-Wells, The Uninhabitable Earth: A Story of the Future). London Review of Books, 1 August 2019.

[8] See many reports, eg. Jillian Ambrose, Carbon emissions from energy industry rise at fastest rate since 2011. Guardian, 12 June 2019.

[9] Richard Bauckham, Bible & Ecology: Rediscovering the Community of Creation. Referenced by Bruce Stanley in Christine Miles, If you kneel down in the woods today, Church Times, 4 October 2013.