Penance or guilt?

I made some moderately serious errors in judgement last week. I won't go into what they were, but I had a few complaints from parents about the content of my chapel services. With hindsight (oh, that perfect view) I can see that the kids I am dealing with now are much more protected than the kids I am used to, and that their parents are very big on keeping their (presumed) innocence for as long as possible.

So when talking about violence in intimate relationships and progressive consent, I have to be very very careful about what examples I should use. Apparently despite a majority of the students having read or seen Twilight or 50 shades, it is not acceptable for me to use them as examples of a relationship gone wrong.

Am I bitter? I didn't think so! I still think we are selling our kids short by pretending that these things aren't happening, HOWEVER there is a time and a place to go through these issues and a 20 minute chapel is probably not the time.

Probably.

Definitely.

Ok, definitely not the time or place.

When this was kindly but seriously pointed out to me by my principal, my immediate instinct was to just MAKE HIM STOP TALKING. With all the benefit of the aforementioned hindsight, I could see that I had pushed too far too fast and risked alienating the very people I should be trying to get on side. I am  called to push, yes, but not to the point where the message is lost in the shock, and this is what was happening. Pride goes before a fall indeed - I must confess I was a little prideful at introducing such important topics to my students - the higher you are the harder you fall! So I DIDN'T NEED to HEAR it! I KNEW I had done wrong. I was devastated that I had potentially caused harm to the very people I was called to serve and mortified that I had done so so very publicly.

There are two possibilities for me when I become aware I have failed. If the accusing party is at all aggressive I will go into fight mode and defend myself vigorously. If, however, they are kind or matter of fact, I cry.

I prefer to fight.

I felt thoroughly ashamed. Not only for my mistakes, but for my uncontrolled tears. I just couldn't get myself calm! The poor principal had to leave the room before I could even begin to settle. It took me a good hour to feel presentable again (luckily Grade 7's are easily distractable!) and for the rest of the day and evening I couldn't think about it without tears.

Now, here is my quandary. I have been working very hard on self talk and resilience. I have known from after that first flood of tears that I have repented and been forgiven, by the principal and (more importantly) by God. I had decided on the path I needed to take to help heal the gaps I had made, and I know I will not make the same mistake (in the same way) again. The time had come to forgive myself.

So I did. And it was easy.

This is the problem.

Is forgiving myself really the right thing to do?

Of course it is, I know it is! God is clear, in scripture and in my heart. I have been forgiven, the sin has been wiped away. But somehow by forgiving myself without beating myself up, without declaring that I am a terrible person and a terrible priest, it feels like I am making light of my sin. Somehow I have absorbed that penance requires pain, that there is no forgiveness without punishment. That is not my theology, but it is lingering at the back of my head, sticking it's ugly head up and making me question my own Spirit.

I am putting a name to that voice. That voice is evil.

The voice which says I must punish myself, my penance is not valid without pain, that voice is evil. It is trying to separate me from my conviction of the love and mercy of God, and I will refute it.

I am worthy.
I have been forgiven.
I am loved.

There, now I feel better!

Advent 2B - my first public post!

Today I am taking a HUGE risk and opening my blog to others! If you are visiting from RGBP - welcome. I am a 2 year ordained priest in the Anglican Communion of Australia - so all this is still very new to me! Be gentle... :)

Mark 1:1-8

1The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.

²As it is written in the prophet Isaiah,

“See, I am sending my messenger ahead of you,
who will prepare your way;
³the voice of one crying out in the wilderness:
‘Prepare the way of the Lord,
make his paths straight,’”

⁴John the baptizer appeared in the wilderness, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. ⁵And people from the whole Judean countryside and all the people of Jerusalem were going out to him, and were baptized by him in the river Jordan, confessing their sins. ⁶Now John was clothed with camel’s hair, with a leather belt around his waist, and he ate locusts and wild honey. ⁷He proclaimed, “The one who is more powerful than I is coming after me; I am not worthy to stoop down and untie the thong of his sandals. ⁸I have baptized you with water; but he will baptize you with the Holy Spirit.”

Isaiah 40:1-11

Comfort, O comfort my people, says your God. ²Speak tenderly to Jerusalem, and cry to her that she has served her term, that her penalty is paid, that she has received from the Lord’s hand double for all her sins.

³A voice cries out: “In the wilderness prepare the way of the Lord, make straight in the desert a highway for our God. ⁴Every valley shall be lifted up, and every mountain and hill be made low; the uneven ground shall become level, and the rough places a plain. ⁵Then the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all people shall see it together, for the mouth of the Lord has spoken.” ⁶A voice says, “Cry out!” And I said, “What shall I cry?” All people are grass, their constancy is like the flower of the field. ⁷The grass withers, the flower fades, when the breath of the Lord blows upon it; surely the people are grass. ⁸The grass withers, the flower fades; but the word of our God will stand forever.

⁹Get you up to a high mountain, O Zion, herald of good tidings; lift up your voice with strength, O Jerusalem, herald of good tidings, lift it up, do not fear; say to the cities of Judah, “Here is your God!” ¹⁰See, the Lord God comes with might, and his arm rules for him; his reward is with him, and his recompense before him. ¹¹He will feed his flock like a shepherd; he will gather the lambs in his arms, and carry them in his bosom, and gently lead the mother sheep. 

This Church year, known as year B, our Gospel readings will focus on the Gospel of Mark, so it is fitting that today we start with this Gospel’s first words – “The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God”.

Is there any better way to start than that?

Right from the very beginning the Gospeller we call Mark (we don’t actually know who wrote any of the Gospels) is establishing the most essential facts – although God’s people have been lost, God is fulfilling the promise made to God’s people in the person of Jesus the Christ, son of God. The link between Christ and the promises of God as shown through the prophets is immediately made apparent in the words and actions of John the Baptist.

To understand the mission of John we have to go back to Isaiah. Our text today announces God's intention to visit God's people. God gives directions for the way to be prepared. But by who? By the people God wants to visit? No, by God's own servants. God does not say, "Tell the people to get ready and when they have done so, I will come to them.” God says, "Prepare the way! I am coming to my people." This is not an optional visit – God is not going to wait for that distant time when we have managed to get ourselves, our lives and our world into a state fit for the coming of a King.

Isaiah’s words speak of comfort and restoration. God is withdrawing punishment, forgiving their sin, and providing pathways toward tomorrow. God will care for the people with the affection of the Good shepherd, giving special attention to the most vulnerable among the flock.

In the midst of restoration, the people are reminded that life is brief. We cry out, “All people are grass.” We wither and perish, our national empires are eclipsed, and even the planet will dissolve in fire at some distant time. But, God’s words – God’s energy – will endure forever. We can make changes that involve sacrifice because we know we are in God’s enduring. We can depend on God rather than trusting our own power and achievement, especially when we walk through the valleys of death, disappointment, and destabilization. The fidelity of God, whose presence is revealed in possibilities, encounters, and energies, brings comfort in challenging times.

It is within this context that the ministry of John the Baptist takes place. 

The Baptist is to be identified the prophets – right down to the description of his clothing and diet. Here is the link between the old covenant and the new, the tension between the now and the not yet. The coming of Jesus to Israel is to be identified with the return of God to the Promised Land, Jesus identified beyond the Messiah as the very real presence of the Lord. John’s task is to prepare God’s people for this gospel event, literally coming out of the wilderness to call all to repentance and rebirth.

Ritual washing was quite a common theme in worship in Israel, but several aspects of John’s baptism make it stand out as unique. First, as opposed to the regular, repeated washings that many Jews undertook, John’s baptism was a one-off action—this represented not simply the maintenance of an already pious life, but rather a moment of radically new commitment to being and living as God’s people. Secondly, it took place not in the ritual baths set aside for such purpose, but within the river Jordan River – a place integrally connected with Israel’s journey with God.

The baptism God’s people were being called to is one of repentance, preceded by confession. When used correctly these are words of power and of hope. In confessing our sins, both personal and corporate, we experience the joy of companionship with God. We acknowledge that without God in our lives we are lost, beyond return. Confession is not about punishment or shame, but the recognition of our place in relationship with God and others. Do our words and actions, our thoughts and emotions, bring us closer to God or do they distance us from God’s visions for our lives? Are we growing or contracting in our care for others? Are we open to change or closed to new possibility? Confession is not about penance, but abundant life. Repentance is when we use this new knowledge of ourselves and our God and put it into action in our lives, actively turning away from all that draws us into darkness and living as if God’s kingdom has already come.

Our repentance will involve uncomfortable changes in our own lives, as individuals, families and communities. Repentance is not a state that we can achieve and then rest in, happy that no more change needs to take place. John the Baptist calls us to repentance as a country as well as a family of the Church, and trying to separate the pastoral from the political is an artificial construct destined to failure. Our actions as individuals effect so many more than ourselves, from what we choose to purchase to how we choose to vote, and living as we are in a free and healthy society we owe it to our God to make our repentance a daily part of our lives.

Advent is a little like the children’s game hide and seek. There is no fun in hiding unless you know for sure that someone is going to look, and the game can’t come to an end until everyone has been found. Today we start to explore Mark’s understanding of this game – the part where through our own action or inaction we are hidden from God. But this is only the beginning – through our baptism, our repentance and our faith we are allowing God to find us and draw us out, “¹⁰See, the Lord God comes with might, and his arm rules for him; his reward is with him, and his recompense before him. ¹¹He will feed his flock like a shepherd; he will gather the lambs in his arms, and carry them in his bosom, and gently lead the mother sheep.”

We have been found.

Amen

Hungry for...?

Matthew 15: 29-37

²⁹ After Jesus had left that place, he passed along the Sea of Galilee, and he went up the mountain, where he sat down. ³⁰ Great crowds came to him, bringing with them the lame, the maimed, the blind, the mute, and many others. They put them at his feet, and he cured them, ³¹ so that the crowd was amazed when they saw the mute speaking, the maimed whole, the lame walking, and the blind seeing. And they praised the God of Israel. ³² Then Jesus called his disciples to him and said, ‘I have compassion for the crowd, because they have been with me now for three days and have nothing to eat; and I do not want to send them away hungry, for they might faint on the way.’ ³³ The disciples said to him, ‘Where are we to get enough bread in the desert to feed so great a crowd?’ ³⁴ Jesus asked them, ‘How many loaves have you?’ They said, ‘Seven, and a few small fish.’ ³⁵ Then ordering the crowd to sit down on the ground, ³⁶ he took the seven loaves and the fish; and after giving thanks he broke them and gave them to the disciples, and the disciples gave them to the crowds. ³⁷ And all of them ate and were filled; and they took up the broken pieces left over, seven baskets full.

I love Advent. What’s not to love? Apart from the rampant commercialisation of a holy season of preparation and the rapid commodification of happiness, of course. And you may or may not be pleased to know that you are going on this advent journey with me, as I will be taking all the Wednesday services between now and Christmas.

I love Advent. I love that it is a season of preparation, a time to prepare ourselves for the coming of God made flesh, that for these short weeks we are intentional about walking the talk, spreading hope and justice, acknowledging our own limitations but allowing God to rise over them.

I love Advent. So for the coming weeks, I am going to very intentionally view our texts through one question – how does this help us prepare for God?

We have been talking a lot about social justice lately, in particular our commission from God to feed God’s sheep. The gospel today is the second time in Matthew Jesus is shown feeding people’s physical hunger through a miracle of plenty, a narrative which occurs 6 times in the gospels. Why is this image so desperately important it has to be emphasised so strongly, to the point where Matthew and Mark used it twice? One significant change between the earlier story and this is that the first crowd were mainly Jews, whereas this motley crew are mainly gentiles. But I am also reminded of the old story of the new pastor. On his first Sunday, the congregation gathered excitedly and expectantly. Everyone was suitably impressed afterward with his sermon. "My, how well he spoke," remarked one. "A superb sermon to be sure," said another. A third chimed in, "If he keeps this up we're in for a treat." On the following week he preached exactly the same sermon. The people were puzzled, but generously surmised that it had probably been too busy a week to prepare a new sermon. After all, he was moving into a new house and meeting all the people. Yet he preached the original sermon the following week as well, and the week after that. The people were very concerned, and the church leadership decided it was time to confront their new pastor. They met him after the service and asked whether he had any other sermons or whether he planned to preach the same one for his entire ministry. "I certainly hope not," said the pastor, "I plan to begin a new one as soon as you start putting the first sermon into practice."

Hospitality lies at the core of our faith. This theme is repeated over and over again in both the Old and New Testaments. It is embedded in our worship with the Eucharist – the bread and wine, the body and blood of Christ that we share. Without in any way taking away from our duty and pleasure in service, however, is the sure and certain knowledge that behind all of our own giving lies Christ.

When Jesus started to talk about feeding those who were with him, the disciples were a little worried. They knew full well the resources they had available, and they knew that there was nowhere near enough to feed all of these people. They are quite reasonable, I feel, in asking Jesus “Where are we to get enough bread in the desert to feed so great a crowd?”. To us, now, the answer is clear. There was nowhere in the desert that could sustain these people – all sustenance had to come from God.

Jesus, even at the height of his earthly ministry, followed by many, surrounded by demands, was still concerned for the most basic wellbeing of his people.  We can imagine the immense crowds surrounding the son of God as news of his power spread. No one could come to Jesus and not be healed. Yet even as he was working miracles of healing, he was aware of the simplest needs of his followers. His mission extended not only to his disciples or those in the greatest of pain, but to every single one of God’s children. God does not and can not differentiate between the worthiness or comparative pain of his followers, giving finite comfort depending on the value or otherwise of the life involved. God doesn’t save God’s compassion for those who really ‘need it’, leaving those with so called ‘lesser’ problems to struggle on alone. 

How do we see this Gospel as an invitation to prepare for Christ? Well, we know there are some problems which cannot be solved without the divine. Some hungers can not be satisfied here on earth. It is easy to fall into the trap of comparing our pain to others, to decide that we are better off than many and have no right to grieve, or alternatively to look upon the grief of others with a heart made hard by our own suffering. But Jesus never made this distinction. This love and grace and hospitality that we are commanded to share without discrimination is but a reflection of that shown to us. 

We can learn from both the example of Jesus and from the crowds. We can learn to give generously, trusting that whatever we have will through God’s grace be enough. And we can learn that the only requirement God has for us is that we show up. We will be fed.

Amen.