This morning I did something that, for me anyway, is unusual, I listened to three sermons back-to-back.  Three preachers, three personalities, three approaches, three texts/topics.  Each of three held my attention, each had something to say to me, each was the result of a lot of hard work, thought and prayer.  I'm not going to write loads about any of them, just a few thoughts that struck me as I listened.

Learning from King David

The first sermon was centred on Psalm 27 and was an exploration of what might be learned from reflecting on David, shepherd, psalmist and king.

Of the three sermons, this was the one that spoke to me the most strongly, the one "I needed to hear", with its focus on what, and how, we choose to think about and how that affects us.  As someone who worries and over-reflects, and as someone who is all too aware of her ability to say the wrong thing, it was good to be invited to ask myself what it is I reflect on and where my focus is directed in such remembering.  Is my 'inner narrative' life-affirming or death-dealing (my phrases)?  Do I turn things over and over, or do I consciously,  deliberately seek God, to help make sense of things, to confess, to celebrate, to realign myself?

The preacher spoke of remembering well, noting that it is "good to trace the touch of God in our lives" - which felt like a timely reminder to think of good things, not to lament failures.

The closing thought, which is one I will chew on further was "what could you say to yourself better?"  I sort of know the answer, I just need to get on and do it!

Prodigals All

The second sermon focussed on the parable often called "The Prodigal Son" and was inspired by the reflection on it by Henri Nouwen, which in turn centres on the Rembrandt painting, reproduced above.

The book and the painting are very well known, and I have heard sermons arising from each.  The preacher said, as every preacher who has used it has said before them "you really must read this book" - and so, finally, I will.

The sense of 'home', of being who it is we are created to be, knowing and experiencing our true identity as children of God, was one that I found helpful, since it is not related to a physical location but to a sense of being.

The sermon explored many interesting ideas: 'sin' as leaving 'home'; leaving 'home' as a denial of our true identity; the potential for disappointment in God's grace for others; whether we perceive ourselves more as 'younger' or 'older' sons.

What struck me was the idea that the elder son had adopted a 'servant mentality' rather than a 'son mentality' and that this had led to him becoming embittered.  I suppose I felt a sense of resonance, not in terms of my relationship with God per se, but in how I can become very dutiful to the exclusion of delighting in who I am.  I don't think I'm bitter or envious of others, but I probably could do with lightening up a bit!!

The preacher asked whether we are guilty of looking at others and thinking "they aren't as good as me", which was a good question. I was struck, though, that I am as likely, maybe more, to look at others and think "they are so much better than me" - the "imposter syndrome" that fears being exposed for who we really are behind our carefully constructed facades of competence or respectability.  Perhaps what we see in the older son might be what happens when those facades come tumbling down, when our fear seems to be realised, at least in terms of our inner desire to know that we are valued.  I've always been far more an 'elder son' dutiful, obedient and sometimes perhaps a bit passive aggressive.  Perhaps the 'sin', the 'leaving home', of which I need to return is to value myself just as I am.

Turn or Burn!

This was NOT the message of sermon number three, though it was mentioned as one of the parodies of Christianity that abound.

Sometimes the lectionary throws up some difficult passages, and the preacher who bravely gets on and preaches on them deserves to be applauded.  This was one such Sunday, with a gospel passage I recall wrestling with when I was involved in the "children's liturgy group" (Sunday School by any other name) of the RC church I worked with as a student.  If Luke 13: 1 - 9 isn't bad enough, add on 1 Corinthians 10: 1 - 13 and you have taken on one huge challenge.

The sermon rightly reminded the hearer that praying the 'magic' prayer and being baptised are not the end of the story; maybe not even the story at all I'd suggest.  Repentance, which was the key theme here, is ongoing and challenging.  Our faith is not about getting "a ticket out of here" but about living authentically in the 'now and not yet'.  The preacher rightly noted that the two passages here are directed at disicples, believers, people who have made some sort of commitment to follow Jesus and, even if we have a "once saved, always saved" theology they are scary words.

An important sub-theme of this sermon was about 'choice' - possibly (I don't know, this is pure surmise) a response to some expressions of neo-hyper-Calvinism that can be found in this part of the world.  As believers in Jesus, we still have freedom of choice, to do good or ill, to build up or to tear down - it is what we choose that matters.  The sermon culminated in identifying a choice we are invited to make: "today I desire to be like Christ".  I think that's a good motto, mantra, aspiration, resolution.

Drawing the threads together

Three stand alone sermons, each with its own distinct focus and message, yet each able to "dialogue" with the others as I listen trying to detect a hint of God's voice speaking to me.

Today, I desire to be like Christ...

In Christ, I find my true identity, my sense of 'home'...

And being at 'home' enables me to remember more kindly, and speak to myself better, as I reflect on the highs and the lows of my ongoing journey of faith.

As a rule I wouldn't recommend listening to three sermons back to back, but today I'm glad I did, because it does feel that somewhere in it all I heard the "still small voice" of God's reassuring presence.

I don't think I've ever been aware of this day, or if I have, it has pretty much passed me by.  So the fact that it has been marked for a century and is still judged relevant is a bit of a sad indictment on the western societies that are doing so.

Social media is awash with mentions of inspirational women, of pioneers, of women who were great and good, and also of mothers, wives, sisters and friends, teachers (in schools and Sunday schools) missionaries and so forth.  Activist groups are asking for signatures on this or that petition, charities for money to suport women's aid programmes.

Last week I had the privilege of conducting a funeral service for a very elderly woman who had spent ten years serving as a misisonary in what it is now Bangladesh.  As I read the material provided from the archives of the Missionary Society she served, I found myself wondering what became of the women and girls whose lives she touched.  Some she taught to read and write, with others she shared her faith with in rallies and other acts of worship.  I am sure there were, and maybe still are, people who look back and recall with affection this woman who affirmed their worth and encouraged their flourishing.

I could list the names of the women (and men) who have inspired and encouraged me in my own life-journey thus far.  Some, for sure, are the great and the good, the women whose stories I heard or read and was inspired to emulate.  But more, most, the ordinary everyday women whose names will never be in the history books but who, as well as holding up half the sky, are central, and essential, to the ongoing story of humankind.

It would be lovely to think that, in a century from now, someone might stumble across a mention of International Women's Day and think 'how quaint' before discovering the reality that in 2016 there is still one heck of a way to go, especially in the two-thirds world (if that's not too archaic a term) where most women won't even know that today has any significance and will be grateful just to get to the end of it...

Today's chunk of text follows on from the mumbling and grumbling about who was 'holy' and involves a strange ritual whereby the head of each tribe marks a staff with his name, and the twelve are left overnight in the tent of meeting.  Unsurprisingly, it is Aaron's staff that buds, blossoms and bears almonds - an undeniable sign of favour, being utterly improbable and evidently supernatural.  If you are curious to read more about the staff, then good old wikipedia is as good a place as any, here.  There is also mention of this being a "covenant of salt" - a phrase I don't think I'd ever spotted before, and one that I had no idea what it meant.  A quick interweb search suggests no-one else really knows either, though there are many attempts both Jewish and Christian to find a useful meaing (type it into a search engine and see where it takes you!)...

Two things struck me that I wanted to ponder a little today.

A Gift

God is recorded as saying "I give you priesthood as a gift" - words spoken to Aaron regarding himself and his sons.  But what does that mean?

Is this gift given to Aaron and the Levites?  Or is it a gift given to the whole people of Israel?

Is it a gift, as in a present, or is it a charism, a supernatural anointing or a natural gifting?

Or is it all of these?

Priesthood has many meanings and the word carries a lot of baggage, but what might it mean that this is a love-gift from God, something intended to bless and encourage, to enrich rather than to control?

Can the "Priesthood of all Believers", of which we speak so freely, be described as such a 'gift' - something special that God gives for our benefit?

Can it be, too, that the "gift of priesthood" is seen in the skills, talents, personalities and so on that we each possess and express, at least in some small measure? 

If you are my priest, and I am yours, and we are each others, what does that look like?  How does it find expression?

Perhaps it's enough for now to recongise that this is something very special, to be valued and exercised accordingly.

La creme de la creme

The Levites are excluded from undertaking any form of employment that would make them self-sufficient - no crop growing, no animal husbandry, no crafts-work... (whether their women were allowed to spin or weave is not clear, but possibly not).  Instead, they are granted the material benefit of the tithes and offerings brought by the people - a tenth of all the produce and animals (and money?) is theirs.  And this is to be the very best that the people can offer - offer to God the very best you have, knowing that the practical benefit is enjoyed by those entrusted with the spiritual life of the nation.

The Levites are not exempted from the process though.  They are to select the 'best of the best' and offer that to God, and only then may they enjoy what remains.

When I was a student training for ministry, I had a friend who chose to give me the tithe from her overtime pay, knowing that I was 'living by faith' and had no regular income.  Every now and then cheques would arrive, sometimes for £10, occasionally as much as £40, she took her promise very seriously indeed.  And I would then tithe the tithe - a pound in a charity box, a few pounds in a special collection, a gift to someone else or whatever seemed appropriate.  I don't think I ever saw it as "the best of the best" but it felt like the right thing to do.

I don't always give away a precise tithe either of my formal income or any financial gifts, but I do make sure I recognise the blessing and give away a realistic proportion.

But what if we are now all priests?  What if everyone should benefit from the "best of the best"?  Does that mean we, as did some of the earliest churches, have a common purse, "holding everything in common"?  Does it mean, as some intentional communities do today, that we hold each other accountable for our spending, not buying a car or a holiday or consumer goods without first discussing it in community?  Would I want to have to record how much I spend on skinny lattes or cat treats, and have that weighed against what I give to church, to charities and good causes?  And would I have the audacity to ask anyone else to do the same?

Some seriously challenging stuff here for me to go away and ponder!

This chunk of text covers a variety of material, and some of it is decidedly troubling to read.  Trying to find general principles and/or things that are maybe hopeful is quite challenging.

Resident Aliens

A few years back, it became quite trendy for Christians to describe themselves as 'resident aliens', combining a sense that we are to be "in the world but not of it" and at the same time "salt and light".  The world - for which read everything we find distasteful about contemporary secular society - is not our true home but whilst we live here we are to transform it.  Or something like that anyway.

In the rules for religious offerings, provision is to be made by Moses for any 'resident alien' who so wishes to perfrom ritual sacrifices "you and the alien shall be alike before the LORD".  It is this that strikes me most, I think, especially in the light of the politcal machinations in Europe over benefits for economic migrants, and of course the ongoing refugee crisis.  What happens if we take as given the idea that, before the LORD everyone is alike?  That everyone has equal worth, equal rights...

It also made me wonder who might be the 'resident aliens' in our churches, and how their experience compares with the ideal expressed here.

Unintentioned Sin

The atonement for unintentional sin comes in two catetgories - corproate and personal - each with means of atonement.  If collectively and  unintenionally the people foul up, responsibility is shared and everyone is involved in the process of atonement.  If it is an individual, then they alone must seek atonement.

A few years back, there was a rash of Christian groups making public apologies for their part in the transatlantic slave trade, outwardly at least a form of corporate confession.  Some efforts at reparation, or at least reconciliation have taken place but, to be honest, most people in most churches are largely oblivious.  And there those who question whether such apologies have any real worth or even legitimacy.

Perhaps what is significant here is the corproate nature of responsibility, irrespective who did wrong or failed to do right... everyone has their part to play and whilst ignorance fits with lack of intention, it does not remove responsibility.  Is it, and maybe it is, a step to far to see a hint of a 'no blame' culture, where rather than criticising those who foul up, everyone is de facto implicated and - hopefully - everyone will work together to prevent recurrence?

Tie a knot in your neck...

When I was growing up, the saying 'tie a knot in your handkerchief' as a reminder that something had to be remembered morphed into the less lovely 'tie a knot in your neck'.  I think this emerged from a story in which an elephant tied a knot in his trunk for the same purpose - but my memory is fuzzy.

The tassles with their blue cord, the fringes of remembrance stitched to the corners of the garments were intended to serve this purpose.  Later philacteries would perform a similar function.  And inevitably, over time, the symbolism risked being lost as custom and practice ceased to be underpinned by real understanding.

For most of my adult life I've worn a cross, a couple of different ones down the years, as a kind of symbol to myself, a reminder, at least in theory, of my faith.  For several years I wore a ring that I bought to mark my ordination, a visible reminder of the promises I made on that day.  I had to stop wearing the ring when lymphoedema caused my finger to swell too much, and recently when the chain on my cross broke I opted not to replace it.  I don't "need" these symbols as reminders, and wearing them can become mere 'habit'.  And yet... And yet, I think there is worth in such symbols, and perhaps in personal rituals, that serve as reminders of important values or moments.

Yikes, and Double Yikes!

Stoning to death for stick gathering on the sabbath seems incredibly harsh - and this little insertion serves only to instill fear.

The account of dissent in the ranks, the challenge to Moses from those who consider everyone to be holy, the sink hole that swallows up whole families and the plague that rages through the camp, is troubling in extremis.  Maybe there are legitimate questions to explore about the ordering of the faith community, and about the attitudes (perceived or actual) of, or towards, those in leadership.  Maybe dissension is a topic that sometimes needs to be recognised and addressed.  But the consequences attributed to divine mandate are incomprehensible.  Where is love or forgiveness or atonement here?

The one glimmer of grace in this story comes in the action of Aaron who, at Moses' command goes into the midst of the carnage and acts as a mediator, making atonment for the people and so stopping the relentless progress of the plague.  It takes courage, as well as conviction, to enter a situation of despair and attempt to bring hope.  I have huge admiration for those who, only last week, went to Calais and planted a fig and a vine by the fence that marks the edge of the container camp in Calais, defiantly symbolising hope where, humanly speaking, there is little or none.  I admire those who act as mediators in all manner of conflict situations, from polite middle class stand-offs to violent and war-torn regions.

It is way too easy, as I have sometimes heard done, to dismiss as iredeemable those in this story who perished; way too easy to make the story fit our own version of what God is like.  Harder, but ultimately more honest, to find it troubling.

Not an easy couple of chapters - so bonus points to anyone who is still reading!

The first third of the scroll has served by way of a reminder of parts of the Exodus narrative, with at least some repetition or overlap.  For a community who had not had the opporunity to read the former scroll, it serves as important scene-setting for what is to come next.

Now begins the new material!  Now Moses appoints a dozen spies who are sent out on a forty day expedition to discover what lies ahead of them.

What's in a Name?

At various points in scripture (Old and New Testaments) people's names are changed, so for example Abram to Abraham, Sarai to Sarah; Simon to Peter, Saul to Paul... Such name changes are, we deduce, important, especially in a culture where the meaning of names was hugely signficant.  So it is that Hoshea, son of Nun is renamed Joshua (Yeshua), the Hebrew name of which Jesus is the Greek form.  Hoshea, it seems, means 'salvation', so a strong name in its own right; Joshua means 'God saves' recognising the source of such salvation.  Jesus being given the name he was would have created associations with the Joshua of whomwe now read.

Whilst we rarely change the names of individuals, we do sometimes change the titles we use for roles within churches, and for the assorted things we get up to.  For exmaple, whether it was the 1970s shift from 'Sunday School' to 'Junior Church' or the 2000s shift to 'Sunday Club' or 'Light Factory' or some other name altogether, there has been a sense that what we call our children and young people's work matters.  I'm not always sure the alternative names reflect a clearly thought through purpose beyond trying to be more 'trendy' and less overtly 'didactic'.  But they serve as examples of the kind of name changes that arise, with good intent.

I wonder, were we starting with a clean sheet of paper, what language we might use for 'churches' and 'ministers' and other aspects of our faith communities?

Half Full or Half Empty?

Twelve men went to spy in Canaan,

Ten were bad, two were good.

What did they see when they spied in Canaan?

Ten were bad, two were good.

Some saw giants tough and tall,

Some saw grapes in clusters fall,

Some saw God was in it all,

Ten were bad, two were good.

Anon (c) Hugh Mitchell

Twelve spies were sent out for a forty day (long) mission.  They saw a rich and fertile land.  They cut clusters of grapes, pomegranates and figs to carry home as evidence of the potential of the land.  They also saw that the people who occupied the land were strong and powerful, some of them being described as nephilim (see Genesis 6 if you wish, or just interpet this as 'here be giants').

I don't think the ten were bad.  I think the ten were scared.  I think the ten were possibly pessimists, or at least 'glass half empty' people who spotted all the possible problems and had no hesitation in making sure everyone knew about them.  I think the Sunday School song is harsh or unfair, but either way the consequences of what the ten reported were certainly not good.

Neither do I think the two were inherently good.  I think they were excited and inspired by what they saw.  I think they were optimists, or at least 'glass half full' people who focussed on the potential rather than the pitfalls.  These were the kind of people you'd think would be wanted, the sort people would be inspired by and listen to, so perhpas it's a bit of a shock when we discover that the people want to stone Joshua and Caleb.  Again the Sunday School song oversimplifies the situation to make its point, but it is true that for those with eyes to see, God's presence can be discerned in even the most challenging situations.

I wonder when I am more like one of the ten and when I am more like one of the two... and I wonder what the balance is in any cirucmstance we may find ourselves in?

As Others See Us...

Once again we are told that God is so angry that destroying everyone bar Moses (and presumably a few others) is postulated.  Moses' response is clever and intriguing... OK God, if you do that, how will it look to the Egyptians?  They won't see it as punishment for infidelity but as impotence on the part of the so-called God the people left Egypt to follow.  What kind of a God is this who can't follow through?

I wonder how the whole enterprise of Christianity looks from outside.  Not the easy criticisms or accusations of hypocrisy.  But what our story might lead people to deduce about the God we claim to serve?  How does our story reflect our truth claims?  How does God appear to those who watch us blundering in wildernesses of our own making?

A Generation Must Pass

The compromise that God agrees is that a whole generation, anyone aged 20 or over at the time of the census, will not enter the Land of Promise, with the exception of Joshua and Caleb.  The 'little ones' that the Hebrew/Israelite people had expressed such concern over would be kept safe and brought into the new land; those who had grumbled and rebelled, who had given way to pessimism and fear would reap as they had sown... Tough consequences indeed, but the promise remainded intact, the goal towards which the people journeyed was still there, and for the sake the 'little ones' they needed to keep going.

Impatience and Impetuousness

The people are saddened - hardly surprisingly - by the prospect of dying in the wilderness.  So some of them decide they'll just get on with it, and try to take on the people already there.  Moses and others stay put, this is not a well planned expedition and there is certainly no hint of divine mandate.  And unsurprsingly, this impetuous foray ends in failure, and those involved return defeated.

I have some sympathy with them, though.  Sometimes when it seems that things are moving incredibly slowly, or are even stopped or maybe going backwards, it is sorely tempting to get on and try to move things along.  Sometimes this may be a good thing, but sometimes it isn't, and can inadvertently cause more harm than good.

Perhaps, too, there is something about motivation here?  The people are acting from a starting point of dismay, disappointment and regret.  Sometimes I make choices when I'm 'not in a good place' that I later realise weren't wise, or that come back to bite me.  I expect that most people do.  Perhaps sometimes there is a need just to rest awhile, to lick our wounds, to allow our strong emotions to subside and only then to act?  Perhaps, for myself, sometimes I need to be a little more circumspect, reflecting how things may appear to others, rather than launching in to some well-intended, but not always helpful, response.

Lots to ponder - for me at least.