Yesterday IBRA set John 9:1-17 as its daily reading as part of its theme of 'suffering.'  John 9, for those whose memory it has slipped, is the story of the man born blind whom Jesus healed by sending him to Siloam and who was subsequently ejected from the synagogue; the story of a man who moved from seeing Jesus as a 'man' to a 'prophet' to 'messiah.'  I well recall working with this passage in an NT class and exploring theories that it reflected the experiences of a postulated Johannine community or early church.  I have preached on the man's 'faith journey' and how we shouldn't expect people instantly to name Jesus as Lord.  But I have always struggled with the first few verses...

As he walked along, he saw a man blind from birth.
His disciples asked him, "Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?"
Jesus answered, "Neither this man nor his parents sinned; he was born blind so that God's works might be revealed in him.  John 9:1 - 3 NRSV

The ancient worldview seemingly equated sickness and disability (and 'bad things' in general) to sin, either personal or parental. The question asked by the disciples is therefore a fair one... why was this man born blind?  There may be some philosophy going on... can a birth defect pre-empt personal sin?  There may be a justice question... why should this man suffer as a punishment for his parents' sin?  The first part of Jesus' answer, the part we latch onto, is radical - this birth defect has nothing to do with sin by the man or his parents.  Separating suffering in a disordered world from personal sin was, and is, dramatic.  Even today people ask themselves "what have I done to cause this?"  The answer "nothing" is vital in helping people cope.

It is the second part of the answer that has always bothered me, and which I have never found anyone handle helpfully (including both sets of notes yesterday): it occurred "... so that God's works might be revealed in him."  This reads as if the man is a mere pawn in some divine show of strength.  Put crudely, "this man has suffered all his life just so that God can show how powerful He is."  Nah, not buying that, sorry.  What kind of a God is that?  And what does it say to people whose children are born with awful defects or to people who become ill?  It's OK you are a tool for God to use...? Not a helpful image of God I'm afraid.

I found one hint of redemption for these opening verses in one of the IBRA sets of notes which observed the frequent use of the word 'send' and 'sent' in the story.  Apostle - one who is sent - has the same linguistic root.  The man to whom these things happened became in a way an apostle, or certainly a witness, to what he had experienced in Jesus.  That doesn't make it alright that he was born blind, doesn't make it right that he become a pawn in a divine show of strength, but it does allow the story to make a bit more sense.

Suppose I re-write the verses...

As he walked along, he saw a man blind from birth.
His disciples asked him, "Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?"
Jesus answered, "Neither this man nor his parents did anything to cause this, it is just 'one of those things'; but even though he was born blind God's works might be revealed in him, showing that he is not forsaken, and he will be a witness for me.

It's still not entirely satisfactory, the man is still left a bit pawn-like but it's better.

And so I come to my own story and try to place myself in the shoes of the blind man...

As he walked along, he saw a woman with breast cancer.
His disciples asked him, "Rabbi, who sinned, this woman or her parents, that this occurred?"
Jesus answered, "Neither this woman nor her parents sinned, it is just 'one of those things' in a damaged and disordered world.  Yet within it all, God is present giving skill to medical professionals, hearing the prayers of those who love her, giving her courage and strength to carry on.  And, God willing, she will be one of my sent-ones, telling her faith story to others.

Let's not dimish suffering with trite and ill-considered theology that says it is somehow God's purpose or punishment, heaping guilt on those who cannot experience it as such.  Rather let's be willing to accept we may never know 'why' and focus instead on walking together, with God, through the dark valleys.

And a 'hmm' moment... PAYG this morning was Mark 3 calling of the twelve... I intuitively knew it would be even before I listened!

This song was used by PAYG today.  Similar in some ways to the more widely known (in circles I move in) Michael Frye's Jesus, be the centre, which I also like, but this is easier for congregational singing and a tad more reflective...

You are the centre, you are my life,
you are the centre, O Lord, of my life.
Come, Lord, and heal me, Lord of my life,
come, Lord, and teach me, Lord of my life.
You are the centre, Lord, of my life.
Give me your Spirit and teach me your ways,
give me your peace, Lord, and set me free.
You are the centre, Lord, of my life.
You are the centre, you are my life,
you are the centre, O Lord, of my life.
Come, Lord, and heal me, Lord of my life,
come, Lord, and teach me, Lord of my life.
You are the centre, Lord, of my life.
Give me your Spirit and teach me your ways,
give me your peace, Lord, and set me free.
You are the centre, you are my life,
you are the centre, O Lord, of my life.

Margaret Rizza (born 1929) © 1998 Kevin Mayhew Ltd.

Instrumental version can be heard here, words and music in The Source volume 4 and RC and Anglican Hymns Old and New

For those who may be interested the Rizza song was published a year before the Frye one.

Today's PAYG focussed on part of Hebrews 7, Jesus as a priest in the order of Melchizedek, and asked, among other things, how the listener saw priesthood.  An interesting question for a Jesuit to ask a Baptist, I felt!  My immediate response was our, often ill-understood, priesthood of all believers self-understanding which we often have the audacity to assume no-one else has.  It was explained to me, a long time ago, as "I'll be your priest and you'll be mine."  Which is all fine and dandy if you know what you think a priest is or does.

For me, a human priest is not an icon of Christ, though even as I type that I am aware that we glibly speaking of seeing Christ in others, so maybe we are in some way 'signposts' towards Christ.  The metaphor I find more helpful is the pontifical one - the priest as a bridge between people and God, earth and heaven.  No, I don't mean that we need a human intermediary to God, that would be contra all that Christianity teaches, just that there is some value in the metaphor.  If "I'll be your bridge and you'll be mine" means something like "I'll help you on your journey Godwards and you'll help me on mine" then it works for a Baptisty kind of perspective.

Hebrews 7 describes the High Priest that is Jesus as

"... holy, blameless, undefiled, separated from sinners, and exalted above the heavens.
Unlike the other high priests, he has no need to offer sacrifices day after day, first for his own sins, and then for those of the people; this he did once for all when he offered himself. " (Heb 7:26b-27, NRSV)

I find I baulk at this a bit when I think then of human 'priests' who are, let's face it ordinary believers, frail and failing.  I'm not so keen on the 'separated from sinners' bit either - how does that fit with being salt and light?  What kind of priests, what kind of bridges, are we?  As I tried to think of real life bridges I thought maybe we are like the 'Squinty Bridge' at a bit of an angle to 'true' or the 'Millennium Bridge' that wobbled?  Then came to mind the fairy tale of the three billy goats gruff and the 'rickety-rackety bridge' over which the goats went, trit-trot, trit-trot (at least in the version I knew and loved).  Quite what a rickety-rackety bridge might look like is in the eye of the reader/hearer yet we all instinctively know that it is a bit wobbly, a bit wonky... and the way to the lush pastures beyond.  I'll not push the metaphor too far, but I think it is how I imagine a priest within the context of a congregational ecclesiology... I'll be a rickety-rackety bridge for you and you'll be a rickety-rackety bridge for me.

What d'you reckon?

To "Brian" is a verb known only to former NBC students of a certain era, when one of our tutors, whose first name was Brian, took immense delight in finding links between people - interconnectedness to give it it's posh title.  For Brian and I the connections were (a) that he had been 'senior friend' to my then minister and (b) that his former church secretary had worked for me in industry.  The 'Brian' links go way beyond the ubiquitous 'six degrees of separation.'  For example, my then minister trained alongside the person who now co-pastors a church with my then nextdoor neighbour whose uncle worked with someone who worked for me... and so it goes on.

Today's bit of Brianing arises from the latest BMJ (Baptist not medical version) and an article on church health.  A couple of years back I was invited to join a group looking at Baptist congregational health in the East Midlands and, as resident expert (she says modestly!) based on my research reading passed a bibliography to the group.  Today the article I read clearly emerged from that reading, so told me nothing new (even if it is published ahead of my research!) but it led me to a spot Brianing.  The author is the sucessor at his church to the person who was my predecessor at the Gathering Place.  However, he is soon to move to a church Leicester (it's public knowledge so I can say it; think Bricklike Portal) where (a) I once preached with  a squint (in 2003) and (b) one of the Gatherers worshipped as a student in the 1980s.  This minister is also my successor as BMF rep for East Midlands, so there's some near circular Brianing in there somewhere.

All good fun, for me anyway.

In that way that only God can do, a few things have linked together.  The sermon from Sunday, the BUGB e-news sweep and yesterday's Bible reading which was Psalm 73, a pretty classic 'disorientation' psalm in Brueggeman's scheme.

One of the sets of notes said that the writer was filled with a sense of injustice until he went to the 'sanctuary' (Temple, holy place, presence of God) where he became aware of the ultimate fate of the bad people who seemed to prosper.  Then, it seems, he felt better and was able to re-centre himself Godwards.

I struggle a bit with this.  Bad things happen to good people; good things happen to bad people, so far I agree, it fits my observations.  But  this assertion that it's OK, bad people will get their comeuppance, all too often interpreted as 'they will burn in hell', hmm.  I think I'd rather bad people were enabled to recognise their faults, to repent and to find their hope in the truth of Christ's redemption.

What I admire about the psalm is its brutal honesty, naming injustice, speaking anger, even acknowledging the writer's own 'brute beast' attitude.  But, do I want bad things to happen to bad people?  No.  I'm not sure comeuppance equals justice.

Psalm 73: 16 - 20 (NRSV)

But when I thought how to understand this, it seemed to me a wearisome task,
until I went into the sanctuary of God; then I perceived their end.
Truly you set them in slippery places; you make them fall to ruin.
How they are destroyed in a moment, swept away utterly by terrors!
They are like a dream when one awakes; on awaking you despise their phantoms.

Psalm 73: 16 - 20 CJMG-reorientated

But when I thought how to understand this, it seemed to me a wearisome task,
until I went into the sanctuary of God; then I perceived their end:
God proves his love for us in that while we still were sinners Christ died for us. (Rom 8:5)
One man's act of righteousness leads to justification and life for all. (Rom 8:18b)

If we say that we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us.
If we confess our sins, he who is faithful and just will forgive us our sins and cleanse us from all unrighteousness. (1 Jn 1:8-9)

May they know these truths and "Hear then the words of grace 'go and sin no more'." (words of absolution, Common Worship)

I kind of feel that's more hope-filled without denying the reality of injustice and suffering