Yeshua meets John The Baptist

At this point in the season of Advent, the figure of John The Baptist features. The Gospel readings for Advent 2 & 3 both feature him, and although the focus and theme last Sunday should really be on the Prophets, I decided to do something a little different. I again used some material from the work that Debbie had put in towards writing a life of Jesus in the form of a novel "Yeshua"- some written during her illness. As she put it, she wanted to get away from "men in tea-towels" saying "yea, verily" to genuine characters - inspired by how Hilary Mantel had depicted Thomas Cromwell in Wolf Hall. 

Sadly she only got about half-way before she died. I previously read a section out in church back in 2022 and many people valued it. It was strange reading her words out loud again - especially to a room where no-one present ever met her. However, the feedback afterwards suggested that her writing could still bring new insights and inspiration to a familiar gospel story. 

We pick up the action as Yeshua [Jesus] is on his way to meet his cousin, John The Baptist.

Chapter 4 - Baptism

He had never seen the roads so quiet. He knew the road to Jerusalem like the back of his hand, but he had only ever travelled it at festival time, caught up in a crowd of noisy pilgrims. This silent, solitary journey was a new experience.

He was used to time alone, of course, in the workshop; but there was something different about the act of walking; something that focussed the mind and the heart. One step, then another, then another. One landmark reached, then the next. Each day, a day’s journey nearer to whatever it was that was waiting for him.

Once he was in the hill country, he asked anyone he passed if they had news of John, and it wasn’t long before he began to build up a picture. Exactly how long he had been living as a solitary no one was sure, but it was clear he’d been in the wilderness for some time before his first explosive appearance at the palace in Herodium.  Apparently, he’d thrown himself into the path of the royal carriage, and quoted the scriptures at Herod for a full ten minutes, denouncing his adulterous marriage and warning him of the wrath to come. This, while wearing nothing but an animal skin, and shaking his Nazarite locks like a lion tossing his mane. Why Herod had not locked him up on the spot no one knew. The story was that he was terrified.

That was the start of it, and now, it seemed, he was everywhere; intercepting travellers on the desert roads, going from village to village, warning people of the dire state both of the nation and of their own lives. And people were listening. Well, he’d known that anyway, from what Levi had said. But now it was clear that Levi wasn’t exaggerating.  

He seemed to think something momentous was about to happen; something – someone – was coming.

“John? He’s the hope of Israel. Our leaders have sold us down the river to Rome – but John is calling us back. No more collusion! Blessed be the name of the Lord!”

“He’s preparing the way – a new Exodus from the oppressors!”

 “The Lord is on the move!” An old man gripped his wrist, his eyes staring as if he’d seen an angel, or a ghost. “That’s what he said. He has seen him! The time of our occupation will end – and it will end in fire. He has seen it all.” 

“Where will I find him?”

But the old man was muttering to himself, no longer listening.

He was just south of Jericho when, finally, a group knew where he was. Young men – no more than fifteen or sixteen, most of them – running, shouting, reciting psalms. Punching the air.

“Do you know where I’ll find John?” he called out to them.

“The Baptiser? Just keep going. Head towards the river, follow the crowds. Everyone’s out there.”

“He took us through the river – just like Moses.  We’re the new Israel!” Whoops and cheers from the rest of the group.

“No more lies from Herod. The snake!”

“We’re going to bring down the city with fire!” 

“God in heaven,” he thought to himself. “What is he saying to them?”

He was off the main road now, following the well - worn tracks towards the river, through the groves of date palm, out onto the lush green of the flood plain. In less than an hour, the sandy path had turned to mud, churned by the feet of others searching for the preacher everyone was talking about. 

He could hear them before he saw them. A general hubbub at first, echoing around the valley; then one voice, clear and sharp, splitting the air like an axe. 

“Children of Abraham! Do you think your ancestry is going to save you? Clinging to the past saves no one. Look at these stones – do they not have more of a history than any of you? Do you not think God could take them and make a thousand new children for Abraham if he pleased?”

He stopped in his tracks to listen.

“Do you know what we have become, Children of Abraham? We have become stones on the road; debris, litter, blocking the path of the One we say we worship. And do you know what time it is? It’s time to clear the road. It’s time to change. Time to stop talking about who we are, and start living it. Because believe me, there’s a judgement coming. And what I’m doing here is only the start.

You think I’m the one who can save you? Oh no. Think again. There’s one coming after me, and when he comes, you won’t know what’s hit you. All I’m doing is getting you ready for him. I’m washing you with water. When he comes, he’s going to bathe you in fire.

So come on, come into the water now. If you’re ready to confess, to turn yourself around, then come and do it now. Get washed in this water to show that you’re ready. Because the time is now, do you hear me? The time is now.”

Something inside him was moving, breaking open. They were children again, he and John, sitting in the Temple courts; he all questions, John all certainties. Everywhere there were walls, barriers. Keeping Israel pure, John said.  He had kicked the walls and hit the barriers till his hands were sore, but they had not moved, and he had been shamed into silence. 

But now, moving inside him was a spring. Bubbling up under the Temple floor, a trickle first, and then a stream, and it was welling up between the walls, pressing through the cracks, dislodging the stones, forcing a way from court to court until it was flooding every colonnade, washing over every altar. And now it was a river, hurling the rocks that had once been walls down the Temple Mount and out into the desert. 

He began to walk, and then to run, and the great, heaving sob welled up from the depths of him and shuddered through his chest. He struggled for breath. The sob ached in his throat.

The time was now. It had always been now. 

They were gathered just past the place where the river divided. The main branch flowed on down towards the sea; John was standing up to his waist in the stream that filled the wadi. Half the men of Israel seemed to be in the water with him. Yeshua watched them wading towards him, one by one. 

As each one approached him, he reached out and grasped them by the shoulders. Sometimes, there was conversation; sometimes, just his eyes searching their faces. Sometimes, he called out a scripture. Then he looked up, and prayed, and plunged them down into the muddy water, and up they came, gasping like new-borns, spluttering for breath. 

Yeshua left his outer garment and his bundle on the bank, and waded into the stream. His tunic dragged, his sandals filled with water like leaky boats. He made for a boulder, sat, pulled off his sandals and threw them back to the bank. Then he waded on, into the midst of the crowd. So many men. Boys scarcely more than children; old men who needed help to stand. Rich, poor; hard to tell with their garments shed on the river bank. Some praying; some talking; some larking around. Some desperate to be there; some just following the crowd. The river levelled them all. He was jostled and trodden on, his wet skin rubbing theirs, squelching the same mud, splashed by the same gritty water. He watched, and he waited.

And then at last John’s hands were on his shoulders. His arms seemed nothing but bone and skin and sinew, as if everything else had been melted away. Yeshua looked up, and let him stare into his face. The piercing eyes widened, then blinked. It took him a moment to register what he was seeing. Then let go of his shoulders, and nodded. “I knew you would come,” he said. 

He turned away, and began to wade upstream to where the rocks divided the river. Yeshua waded after him. They leant against the rocks, as the flow of the water tried to tug them back towards the crowd.

“This is about you. You know that, don’t you?”

“I know”. And he did know, although he scarcely knew what he was saying.

He wanted to say more, but the words bubbled, broke, spilled unformed into the stream. He lost all sense of how long they had been standing there. John’s face seemed to be unmaking itself, like the face of a dying man.

“Tell me what to do.”

“Baptise me” he said.

A frown. John’s eyes, confused, searching his.

“Am I wrong then?” 

“No.”

“Then I can’t baptise you. I need you to baptise me.”

He watched the clear fresh water foaming over the rocks, sparkling in the sunlight, then immersing itself in the flow, down into the mud and grit, the sweat and the spit and the dirt of his people. 

“It has to be this way. Come with me now.”

He turned towards the wadi and waded down, past the place where John had been standing, right into the midst of the crowd.  People were watching, wondering what was going on, what the Baptiser was going to do next.

“Here”, he said.

And now John’s hands again, on his shoulder, his back, and the relief of letting go was all there was, all he could feel, all he could know, and the voices around him were lost in the overwhelming of the water, and his ears were full of it, a mighty rush like the wind, and then, for a heartbeat, the sound of silence.

He let God look at him.

He was every mother’s delight as she holds her baby, every coral red sunrise over every tranquil bay. He was every flower, every tree; he was the song of every bird. He was the first day of creation, pure and flawless and good. He was what it meant to want nothing and need nothing else. And now, he was a shoot uncoiling, pushing  back up through the water to break the surface, new and yet who he had always been. He took a great gulping breath, and shook the water from his hair. Then he threw back his head, and laughed.

John was a boy again, poised on the threshold of himself, gazing into another world. “What do I do now?” he asked.

Yeshua looked at him, and his heart was filled with such tenderness he could hardly bear it. 

“Get some rest. Eat. Know that you are loved beyond all imagining.” He laid his hand on the skinny arm as gently as if John were a child, an injured bird.

“And then?”

“Keep watching. Wait. I don’t know yet.” 

“Will you stay here?”

He gazed across the wadi; so many people, so much need. He shook his head. “I have to go. The next part, I need to do alone. But I will come. I promise, I will come.” 

What did John see, as he watched him wading back to the bank? A shadow? A trick of the light? A projection of his own exhausted dreams? All of these, perhaps. He only knew that it shone, and hovered, and its presence lingered like the scent of lilies even when it was gone. 

(c) 2016 Debbie Peatman

Sermon for St James, 25 July 2024

Sermon for St James the Apostle, 25 July 2024               

Matthew 20.20–28

20 Then the mother of the sons of Zebedee came to him with her sons, and kneeling before him, she asked a favour of him. ²¹And he said to her, ‘What do you want?’ She said to him, ‘Declare that these two sons of mine will sit, one at your right hand and one at your left, in your kingdom.’ ²²But Jesus answered, ‘You do not know what you are asking. Are you able to drink the cup that I am about to drink?’ They said to him, ‘We are able.’ ²³He said to them, ‘You will indeed drink my cup, but to sit at my right hand and at my left, this is not mine to grant, but it is for those for whom it has been prepared by my Father.’

24 When the ten heard it, they were angry with the two brothers. ²⁵But Jesus called them to him and said, ‘You know that the rulers of the Gentiles lord it over them, and their great ones are tyrants over them. ²⁶It will not be so among you; but whoever wishes to be great among you must be your servant, ²⁷and whoever wishes to be first among you must be your slave; ²⁸just as the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life a ransom for many.’     [NRSV]

 

My first parish as a vicar was at a St James’ Church at Whitley in Coventry, so I always know when his day is coming round, and it is often when people have just gone on holiday! However, we are getting ahead of ourselves. The first question to ask is which James are we talking about? 

In the New Testament, there are several people called James:

• James the son of Alphaeus, mentioned in the lists of the 12 disciples (Mark 2:14)
• James, the father of the disciple Judas (not Iscariot). Many people think this Judas was also known as Thaddaeus who appears in other lists of the Twelve. (Luke 6:16, John 14:22)
• James ‘the Lord’s brother’ (Gal. 1:19)
• And the James who wrote the letter might be another one altogether!

But today we remember James the son of Zebedee, brother of John, who was called to follow Jesus at the start of his ministry (Mark 1:19).

He was martyred around 44ad in Jerusalem (Acts 12:2). Some stories about him say he got to Spain and that his remains are there. Many people walk a pilgrimage route to Santiago de Compostela – Santiago being derived from the Latin for St James. There is also a church marking the place where he is supposed to have been beheaded in Jerusalem. A lot of that is contested, so today we will stick with what we know of him in the gospels and Acts.

James was one of the 3 disciples who seemed to be a kind of inner circle, along with Peter and James’ brother John. They are with Jesus when he heals Simon Peter’s mother-in-law (Mk 1:29-31); only they go in when Jairus’ daughter is healed (Mk 5:37); only they are with him at what we call the Transfiguration (Mk 9:2) when they get a glimpse of Jesus true nature and glory; they have a private word with Jesus about signs of the end (Mk 13:3-4), and they are the ones who accompany Jesus into the Garden of Gethsemane (Mk 14:33) as he wrestles in prayer, while they fall asleep.

And Jesus gives James and John a nickname – Boanerges – which is Aramaic, the language Jesus and his disciples spoke most of the time. We are told it means “sons of thunder” (Mk 3:17), which might be a reference to their temperament. For example, we know they wanted to call down fire from heaven on an inhospitable Samaritan village, which prompts Jesus to rebuke them for saying it (Luke 9:51-56).

Here in today’s gospel, we see them getting it wrong again. They have mum with them to back them up according to Matthew (although Mark doesn’t mention her). Notice that she isn't named here - in the patriarchal culture of the day, she is identified as the "mother of the sons of Zebedee". Some suggest that she was Salome, who is there at the crucifixion and the discovery of the empty tomb in Mark, but we can’t be certain.

The request their mother puts forward is that James and John have a seat at either side of Jesus in his kingdom. It’s interesting that in response Jesus addresses James and John directly, rather than their mother, presumably seeing that getting her to do the asking was either cowardice or an attempt to sway Jesus. What Jesus says is revealing for understanding this exchange.

"Can you drink the cup I am going to drink?" Jesus asks. The idea of a "cup" is significant in the Bible. In the Old Testament, drinking a cup is associated with judgment. For example:

Awake, awake!
    Rise up, Jerusalem,
you who have drunk from the hand of the Lord
    the cup of his wrath,
you who have drained to its dregs
    the goblet that makes people stagger.  (Isaiah 51:17)

Jesus seems to be alluding to the fact that he will drink the cup of judgment and condemnation through his death on the cross. It is one of the great reversals and inversions that we find in our faith, that this means that we may drink the cup of salvation of the new covenant, which we recall at the eucharist. Whether James and John understand the full implications of what he is saying or not, they say that they can also do this. Jesus then foretells that they will, as James will be martyred and John is believed to have been exiled.

Behind this conversation is a different understanding of power. Jesus is conveying to them that his kingdom, and the use of power within it, is fundamentally different to how it usually is with human beings. James and John are wanting preferential seats – close to Jesus, because they are still interpreting life as a competition. To get on, you need to get ahead, and that means making sure others are behind you and are lower in the pecking order. But, of course, that is a state of permanent anxiety, worrying that someone else might get Jesus’ ear first, or get ahead, and it means always looking over their shoulder at the competition.

Effectively Jesus says those are not the rules by which his kingdom works. Instead of a struggle for power, his kingdom is a way of service. It doesn’t see the value of someone else as a threat to one’s own value. It doesn’t see the success of another as somehow demeaning everyone else. It doesn’t see the need to put down others in order to achieve some security. Because if you place your trust in the trustworthy one, in whom there is genuine and ultimate security, then you cannot be threatened by anyone else.

Jesus models this himself. Here he talks about coming to serve. In John’s gospel (Jn 13:1-17) he famously washes his disciples’ feet, doing the work usually left to a servant or even a slave, despite being their rabbi, their leader, and their Lord. That is not the action of someone who believes in fighting their way to the top, elbowing others out of the way. But it is also not the action of someone who feels insecure or anxious about what others may think of them. Those who understand properly the true way of service of the kingdom don’t have the need to worry about those things.

More than that, Jesus is to give his life to set us free (Mt 20:28). A ransom was a payment to pay for a slave’s freedom. Apparently a few slaves would manage to get together the funds from tips, gifts, etc to meet the ransom price and buy themselves back. I have read that here are examples where a master would give a slave the money they needed, so they had the full amount to buy their freedom as a reward for years of loyal service. Their ransom was paid for them. However, for the vast majority of slaves this was unachievable.  

Jesus uses this image to convey what his death will mean for his followers. His life will "buy" freedom for all of us, enslaved to sin, guilt, shame and despair  – and to do so will be the ultimate act of service.

James must have learned his lesson well, as when the time came, he was not afraid to be identified with Jesus, the suffering servant. It seems that he didn’t seek self-preservation by fleeing. Herod was able to find him and execute him as he started persecuting the early Christians.

The death of James was a tragic loss - the first of the apostles to die - and many must have feared for what might follow. However, somehow Peter eluded capture by Herod, who later died. These events seem to have been the prompt for the mission of Paul and Barnabas to go out from Antioch across the Mediterranean, and the message spreading across the known world. James' faithfulness and willingness to follow his Lord in the way of service and self-sacrifice may well have given that early Christian community the spur and inspiration it needed to go out and change the world.

Parables Are Fiction

OK - I deliberately put it that way in a recent sermon to get people's attention. We have been looking at parables recently, which are often misunderstood - especially when the parable itself is expressed in a way that was designed to be provocative. So it is worthwhile reviewing what a parable actually is:

1. They are fiction, or perhaps less provocatively, they are a construct. When Jesus tells a parable, he isn’t reporting an event; he is telling a story. The characters and situations he describes may well have rung very true with his listeners – as they do today. People may recognise the type of person he’s depicting, but the form of parable we have is a construct. 
2. Jesus uses items and situations that are familiar to his audience – agriculture, keeping flocks, family disputes, a mugging. He features characters such as tax collectors, shepherds and farmers – to convey his point. He may well be drawing on actual events and encounters (what good author doesn't?), but the parable as delivered is not intended to be received as a report.
3. We have little or no back story, and we don't find out what happened next. We are not told whether the jealous brother joined the party at the end of the Prodigal Son account, because the parable is designed to leave the hearer with questions to reflect on.
4. Parables are not intended to be taken literally –  financial debt is used as a way of picturing forgiveness of sins, for example.
5. They often have a sting in the tail designed to leave the audience with something to think about: The parable of the good Samaritan ends with a question as to which person showed the true qualities of a neighbour. Jesus asks this fully aware of the hostility and suspicion between Jews and Samaritans, which is reported elsewhere. It forces a reply “…the one who showed him kindness” which suggests that even saying "the Samaritan" was a bit too much for the respondent. Likewise in the Parable of the Talents, we want to be with the underdog, but it's the man with 1 talent who gets the hard time! It forces us to ask questions as to what is going on and what does it mean.
6. Parables are reported as being delivered in a specific context (although Jesus probably reused material numerous times as he travelled around). There is sometimes a question that leads in, such as who is my neighbour? Sometimes Jesus has an audience in mind, such as the elite turning up their noses at him spending time with people seen as sinners and outcasts.

With all parables, Jesus is not directly reporting an actual event; he is inviting us to imagine a situation, be challenged by it, and let it evoke a response. It is a much more creative method of teaching than we sometimes appreciate, and parables are designed to leave us with more thinking and imagining to do. The real question is how does the telling and hearing of them change us - that is what they were designed for.

An All-age script for Epiphany

This was written to be used in an all-age service as figures of the wise men are placed into the crib scene, and then the gifts are placed before the crib. A version of Matthew 2:1-12 has already been read. This imagines how it might have gone.

Three wise men - sometimes called Magi or even Kings - came to visit Jesus

Casper brought gold. [place a figure in the crib scene]

He wanted to show the new king how rich he was. He had done so well making money, and it made him feel important and a success. Now he wanted to make sure the new young king knew all about it. If the new king needed advice on how to get and make money, or if he needed a rich and powerful friend, Casper was his man. Of course he’d expect a few favours in return...

Balthasar brought frankincense. [place a figure in the crib scene]

This is a resin that burns to make smoke that smelled very special. Balthasar used this in his prayers and ceremonies. He believed he had worked out the secret of how to talk with God, and he used lots of words, chants and frankincense. Balthasar wanted to make sure the new king really understood this – that he, Balthasar, was the most religious of the wise men. If the new king wanted to understand things about God, well he’d better talk to him.

Melchior brought myrrh. [place a figure in the crib scene]

Myrrh is a perfume, but it’s got a very special use. Myrrh was used to put on people who had died, to stop their bodies being smelly until they were buried. Melchior brought this, because he wanted the new king to know that he – Melchior – was powerful. Sometimes he even decided who lived and who died. Some people were scared of him – really scared of him. Melchior didn’t want to frighten the new king, but he wanted him to know how big and strong he was.

Now those three wise men thought that they were very clever, rich and powerful. People were really impressed as they travelled through the towns, with their servants and animals following on. They had worked out the direction by looking at the stars, drawing maps and doing very complicated sums. 

And now they were here at the house where Mary, Joseph and the young boy Jesus were staying, and they got ready to present their gifts.

Casper went in first with his gold.  [a young person might carry a ‘gift’ and place it before the crib]

The new king they had come to find was just a toddler, and still lived in a humble home, so Casper was sure his parents would be impressed. Their eyes were wide at such a generous gift, and there next to them was the little boy. Casper put the gold on the floor in front of him. 

But he had a funny feeling when he let go of the gold. As he looked up into the child’s eyes, everything seemed different. Casper realised that though the young boy was grateful, the gold just didn’t seem so precious any more. Casper suddenly thought of the people he loved and cared for, and the people who cared for him and knew deep in his heart that they were much more precious than anything gold could buy. 

Balthasar was next with his frankincense [a young person might carry a ‘gift’ and place it before the crib]

The family welcomed Balthasar too. He gave them a precious container with frankincense inside. It was the same as the kind he used in his temple back home in his ceremonies and prayers. 

But he had a funny feeling when he let go of the frankincense and looked at the little boy. In all his years, in all his trying, in all his searching God had always seemed very far away, hidden behind all the frankincense smoke that he sent up before his altars and statues. However, when he caught the little boy Jesus’ eyes, he felt closer to God than he ever had. In all the busyness of his religion, and all the pride he had in how devout he was, he knew he had missed something, and now he had found what it was. In this little house, at last God was very close.

Melchior was last [a young person might carry a ‘gift’ and place it before the crib]

He liked being a bit scary – it actually made him feel less nervous when he was in a group of people. But when he walked in with his gift, things didn’t quite go to plan. Joseph and Mary looked at him nervously, but the little boy just stared at him, and then he smiled. To Melchior’s astonishment, the toddler then walked fearlessly over to him and touched his hand. Melchior was so surprised, he just quietly handed the flask of perfume to Mary. 

As he handed it over, he had a funny feeling. Melchior had practised something to say in the family’s own language, as he was from another country, but all his words failed him. He realised that there was something here much more powerful than anything he had – the power of love. More powerful than him, and more powerful even than death itself. This little boy's lack of fear, and unconditional welcome had shown him just how powerful that could be.

So picture yourself entering that house. What would you be bringing and why? What would you be hoping would happen? Do you think you might be surprised, just as the wise men were?

The Parable of the Rich fool (Luke 12:13-21)

The following is an edited down version of the section in my MA dissertation on this week's reading from Luke's gospel. I had forgotten what I had written, and it was quite helpful as I began to think towards Sunday. I thought I would post a shorter and more readable version here, in case anyone found it useful.

The Rich fool (Luke 12:13-21).

¹³Someone in the crowd said to him, “Teacher, tell my brother to divide the family inheritance with me.” ¹⁴ But he said to him, “Friend, who set me to be a judge or arbitrator over you?” ¹⁵ And he said to them, “Take care! Be on your guard against all kinds of greed, for one’s life does not consist in the abundance of possessions.” ¹⁶ Then he told them a parable: “The land of a rich man produced abundantly. ¹⁷ And he thought to himself, ‘What should I do, for I have no place to store my crops?’ ¹⁸ Then he said, ‘I will do this: I will pull down my barns and build larger ones, and there I will store all my grain and my goods. ¹⁹ And I will say to my soul, Soul, you have ample goods laid up for many years; relax, eat, drink, be merry.’ ²⁰ But God said to him, ‘You fool! This very night your life is being demanded of you. And the things you have prepared, whose will they be?’ ²¹ So it is with those who store up treasures for themselves but are not rich toward God.” (NRSV)

The parable is introduced with an exchange between Jesus and a man in the crowd who is in dispute with his brother, concerning their inheritance. Jesus declines to intervene, phrasing his answer to echo the story of Moses’ intervention in the fight between two Hebrews. In the Exodus story, one of the men asks Moses, “who made you a prince and a judge over us?” (Ex. 2:14); in this text, Jesus asks the man “who made me a judge or divider over you?” (12:14b)  Rather than issue a direct judgment, Jesus answers in the form of a parable, framed by two sayings, which furnish some further interpretation. A parallel to the core of the parable is also to be found in the apocryphal Gospel of Thomas (log. 63), which may suggest it was in circulation in the early church, separate from the interpretive sayings in verses 15 & 21.

The term ‘rich’ in Luke has a negative connotation, which conflicts with the society within which the Gospel is set, where wealth was a sign of blessing, and a consequence of belonging to the inner elite of the community. Here a rich man is depicted as being fortunate enough to enjoy a bumper harvest (12:16). He asks, “What shall I do” (v.17), which in Luke’s gospel is a question of salvation. His choice is to multiply his wealth by building bigger barns to store his wealth, and to rest in his complacency, which has echoes in wisdom literature (e.g. Psalm 49 & Sirach 11:14-28).

God’s response is to describe him as a “fool” (12:20). Foolishness is comprehensively defined in Proverbs (e.g. Pr. 10:18, 10:23, 11:29, 12:15, 12:16, 13:16, 14:3), and in the Psalms it is the fool that denies the existence of God. (Psalm 14:1). The rich man sees his wealth as his security and not his God, and in doing so effectively denies his existence. Furthermore, he only makes provision for himself; no-one else is mentioned.

But in Luke, it is not simply that the man has a lot of money or assets; it is that in his context being rich would have carried with it power, responsibility and even a basis for assuming piety in the one who has been 'blessed' by wealth. The parable targets these assumptions and contradicts them. This man abdicates his responsibilities and fails to use his power to improve the lot of others. He even lacks the one remaining virtue of possessing a piety, albeit one which finds no expression in action.

Introducing the parable, Jesus states that abundance of possessions are not the means to measure the value of a human life (12:15) A valuation of life, based on possessions, inevitably results in the pursuit of material gain as the goal of life. 

In the same way, the core story of the parable is rounded off with the saying about being rich towards God (v. 21). In the wider context of chapter 12, we can understand this to refer to generosity. A little further on, Jesus' command is simple, “sell your possessions and give alms” (v.33) and they must pursue “treasure in heaven”. This is concluded by the summary challenge “For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also” (v.34)

The overarching message of this section is clearly the folly of lives that have material and financial gain as their goal. This pursuit is, of course, vulnerable to disaster, since these treasures are easily lost, stolen or destroyed. Furthermore, they eat away at the commitment of the disciple. Seeking the kingdom (v.31) becomes less of a priority as concern for material well-being grows. It may be that this was becoming a concern within the Christian community that Luke was seeking to address, and so it was a priority for him to include material from the communal recollections about Jesus that directly tackled the issue.

Jesus and the man with demons.

Today's Gospel reading was the strange and disconcerting story of the man described as troubled with a legion of demons in Luke 8:26-39. It prompted me to look again at the work that Debbie had put in towards writing a life of Jesus in the form of a novel - done during her illness. As she put it, she wanted to get away from "men in tea-towels" saying "yea, verily" to genuine characters - inspired by how Hilary Mantel had depicted Thomas Cromwell in Wolf Hall.

As something different, in place of a sermon, I read out this section from what she had written. It was slightly strange reading her words to a congregation that had never known her, but I got some appreciative feedback, and it made a change from a conventional sermon.

You will spot that she weaves in another story from a different part of Luke's gospel.

Yeshua gathered himself and strode on ahead, unflinching.

In a matter of minutes, dusk had turned to darkness. Only the stars and half a moon lit the path in front of them now, a path which was taking them up the incline ahead of them towards the sound of the gulls’ shrieks and the murmuring of grazing animals. This was not the sound of sheep or goats, however. A vast herd of pigs was roaming free at the top of the incline. Some of them had wandered down among the caves and tombs which, Yeshua’s companions now realised, were round about them on every side. The swine were short, stocky, dark; they ran quickly and grunted as if about to charge their unexpected visitors. But in fact, they kept their distance.

Yeshua was again reciting Scriptures as he walked ahead; they clung to his voice as though to a lamp for their path, a light to their feet.

 

“I was revealed to those who did not ask for me;

I was found by those who did not seek me.

A people who sit among the graves

And spend their nights keeping secret vigil.

Who eat the flesh of pigs

Whose pots hold broth of impure meat.

I will not destroy them all;

I will bring forth descendants from Jacob,

And from Judah chosen people who will possess my mountains.”   (Isaiah 65)

 

As the sound of the Scriptures drew the others together, it also beamed like a torchlight through the graveyard, and it was not long before it flushed out the one Yeshua knew he had come to meet. From somewhere to the left – almost as if from deep underground – a wailing began. Then a high pitched crying, like a little girl; a man’s deep laughter; a noise of animals far more disturbing than the noise of the pigs. They braced themselves to be set upon by some sort of savage army. But in the end, it was just one man who threw himself into Yeshua’s path.

He was, indeed, a man, though at first sight he looked more like some terrible wounded beast. He was completely naked, his body a patchwork of cuts and scars where he had harmed himself with broken pots and stones. Remnants of chains hung on his wrists and ankles. His hair, like a Nazarite, had not been cut for who knows how long; thick, matted, it fell down his back in knots and tangles. He barely looked capable of emitting even one small voice, yet the whole cacophony of sound was coming from his mouth.

“What do you want with me, Yeshua, Son of the Most High God? Don’t torture me, I beg you!”

“Tell me who you are.”

 

Mary and the others, having shrunk back in fear, huddled closer together.

 

“Tell me who you are,” Yeshua repeated.

The man reached forward, clung to Yeshua’s robe, and opened his mouth. What came out of him was clearly like torture.

“Our name is Legion!”

“Legion!”

“Legion!”

“Legion!”

“Because we are many!”

“Don’t throw us out of him, Yeshua! Don’t let us die!” it was the little girl now, pleading. “You wouldn’t let us die!”

“Just keep us from the Abyss, that is all we ask,” sobbed the weeping man. “Give us somewhere new to go, Son of the Mighty One!”

 

The man’s whole body shook as the voices ripped through him.

 

Then the laughing man’s voice started, a chuckle at first, rising to a hysterical pitch of howling and snorting. Across the graveyard, the pigs began to echo him.

“Let us go into the pigs! Please Yeshua! They love us, listen to them!”

And now his chest was heaving as voice after voice joined in.

“To the pigs! Let us go to the pigs, oh please let us!”

 

Yeshua stood absolutely still, listening intently, fixed on hearing from his Father’s Spirit what he should do next. When he opened his mouth, it was again the words of Scripture, this time of the Prophet Jeremiah, which issued forth. He spoke directly to the possessed man with such compassion, it was as if no one else in the world existed.

 

“‘In that day,’ declares the Lord Almighty,
    ‘I will break the yoke off their necks
and will tear off their bonds;
    no longer will foreigners enslave them.
⁹ Instead, they will serve the Lord their God
    and David their king,
    whom I will raise up for them.

¹⁰ “‘So do not be afraid, Jacob my servant;
    do not be dismayed, Israel,’
declares the Lord.
‘I will surely save you out of a distant place,
    your descendants from the land of their exile.

Jacob will again have peace and security,

    and no one will make him afraid.
¹¹ I am with you and will save you,’
    declares the Lord.   (Jeremiah 30)

Immediately, the voices were silenced, and the man’s breathing slowed to a deep calm. Yeshua, now fully in control, straightened his back and addressed himself to the presences whom it was now time to release.

“Legion! Listen to me. You may enter the pigs, on condition that you leave this man and never return to him again. If you do, then you will not be spared the torments of the abyss. Do you understand me?”

Excited muttering. The little girl spoke for them all.  “We understand!”

“Then Be Released! Leave Him Now!”

None of those whom Yeshua had taken as companions that night would ever forget what they saw.

For Mary, of course, the presence of demons had a personal significance she would have done anything to forget. She was fighting back the memories of the night Yeshua saved her life, the night she almost died at the hands of her neighbours. Where had her demons gone, she wondered? No herd of pigs to take them away, and yet they had never troubled her again. Please God, please God, that this new Legion would not sense in her an open door. She wrapped her arms around herself and prayed.

Simon Peter, James and John had all witnessed the casting out of demons – not least in their own Synagogue, on the Sabbath when Yeshua had so enraged Jairus by releasing a young boy from whatever it was that had possessed him. But none of them had seen anything like this.

The man, unconscious but breathing, rolled on to his back and began to twitch. Every few seconds, his chest heaved and fell abruptly; and immediately after each seizure, the noise of a pig squealing carved through the night air. From out of the caves they came, one by one, shrieking and running and bucking their way back up the hill to the herd who were grazing above them. And it went on and on. How many presences came out of him?  Fifty? Sixty? At the very least. How had he survived it?

As the stampede through the graveyard went on, they became aware of voices above them, startled at first, and increasingly mounting in panic. The swineherds, settling down to doze as usual through the night shift, had been rudely awakened. Terrified pigs were running wild through the rest of the herd, kicking and biting as their bodies were taken over by who knows what. The herdsman were running for cover now, back down the hill towards Yeshua and the man from whose frail body the whole cacophony had been released. And, as they deserted their charges, with no one left to protect them, the pigs ran towards the edge of the cliff and over its sharp side into the lake. It was hard to say which was worse, the screaming, or the silence. Not a pig was left. Together, they had rushed headlong to their fate.

“What have you done?” shouted one of them at Yeshua. “Why have you let them go out of him? He held them all safe. But now . . .”

They kept on running down the path, five of them, heading towards the village.

Gradually, the silence became less terrifying. Mary unfroze herself, checking that nothing seemed to have entered or harmed her. All seemed well. The men too, who had crouched tightly together during the erupting storm, began to relax. It was James who moved first. Kneeling beside the naked man, he took off his own outer garment, lifted him gently under the shoulders and wrapped him in it. Thaddeus was next, kerchief and water bottle in hand, shakily cleaning his face with infinite gentleness and care. Yeshua sat and watched them. Eventually, the man began to stir, and his eyes opened. He looked at them as one who had been asleep for years.

“Greetings, friend” said Yeshua at last. “Do you know where you are?”

“Does he even know who he is?” Simon muttered to John. “What’s your name, son?”

It had clearly been a long time since anyone had answered.

 “Adin. My name is Adin.”

“You’re a Jew, Adin, am I right? Do you remember how you came to be here?”

Adin nodded. He looked close to tears.

“Can you tell us your story?”

He took a drink from Thaddeus’ bottle, and collected himself.

“I have been such a fool. Such a fool.

I grew up with my father and brother. I never knew my mother, she died in bringing me to birth, and my father was so grief stricken he never took another wife. It might have made him hate me, but far from it, it made me a favourite in his eyes. Not easy for Dan. My older brother.  We farmed the land just outside Tiberius. Good place; fertile, ready market in the city. It was a good life. But not enough for me.

All Dan wanted was to take on the farm from my father. Married a local girl, settled down on the estate, never expected that I would want anything different. But did I! I was desperate to get out, to see something of the world, to create my own chances, my own story. So when I came of age, I asked to see my father. I knew the farm had done well, would continue to do well. And I asked him to divide his wealth between Dan and me, to let me leave and see if I could make my own way, my own life in the city.

I could see it was a blow to him. But he didn’t try to persuade me out of it. He listened, and he nodded, and later that day, he gave me an enormous sack of gold. Far more than I expected. Then he blessed me, and told me I was free to go. He simply asked that I would come back when my fortune was made, and make him proud of me, as he had always been proud of me.

But I’m afraid I did little to make him proud.

Tiberias, Herod’s new city, was the first place I headed for. But I fell in with a crowd who persuaded me that Gerasa was the place where fortunes were to be made. Fabulous city of Roman culture, Greek philosophy. And eclectic! Even a Jew could make a fresh start there. At least, a Jew with a sackful of gold. But while ever those coins filled my pockets, I saw no need to work. How could my father have trusted such a fool! By the time I saw disaster on the horizon, it was too late to avert it.

When at last I began to look for employment, no one wanted to know. Turns out I’d made a reputation for myself as something of an idiot, though while the cash was still flowing, no one bothered to tell me that.

In the end, this was the only place I found any shelter.  Working with the swine herds. A Jewish boy feeding pigs! They loved that alright. Every day, it felt as though a little more of my soul was being hollowed out. And then, well . . .”

He stopped. Drank some water. Stared into space, as though he’d forgotten that there was anyone with him.

Mary prompted him gently.

“And that’s when the voices began?”

He nodded, his eyes still fixed straight ahead. She nodded too.

 

They were silent for a long time. At last, Adin shook his head, as one who was finally waking up from a long and tortuous nightmare. He looked long and hard at Yeshua.

“Who are you?” he said.

 

When the swineherds found them later, they were even more shaken to see Adin not only clothed and calm, but talking in his own voice, lost for so long, with the strange visitors who had upended their world so completely. Their leader lost no time in making his feelings clear.

“You’ve taken away our livelihood tonight. By morning the stench of pigs will fill the bay, and you’ll be fair game for anyone who goes in pursuit of you. And you talk to demons and command them! If you are still anywhere to be found on these beaches, the whole lot of you will be stoned. So do you hear me? Take Adin with you, and get out of here now. While you still can.”

Adin’s face lit up as he looked into Yeshua’s.

“May I come with you, Rabbi? May I be your disciple? I would follow you till the end of my days. For I was dead, but you have made me alive. I was lost, but you have found me.”

Yeshua smiled. “No, Adin. You have something much, much more important you need to do. You need to go home to the father who has never stopped longing for you and never stopped waiting for you since the day you left him. You need to go and present yourself as his servant, your head covered in ashes, your heart filled with remorse at the hurt you have done to him. You need to go and face Dan’s anger and judgment. And then, you need to start again.”

Adin looked up, tears streaming down his face.

“Come with us to the boat now. We’ll drop you off at the cove where the bay meets the road to Tiberias.”

Mary cut his wild hair with a fisherman’s knife as James and John took the oars between them. The others made sure he was decently clothed and clean, and Mary made him a pouch with enough money to buy him breakfast for his journey. “Not enough gold to tempt you in there!” she smiled. “Just enough to stop you fainting before you reach your father’s house.”

The fishermen were used to navigating by starlight. As the cove at the end of the road to Tiberias began to shimmer into view, Yeshua noticed that Adin had begun to shiver.

“Nervous?”

“What if he doesn’t want to see me, Yeshua? What if he sends me away?”

“Sends you away? A good father send his exiled child away? I don’t think so. My Father in heaven is rejoicing over your return now. And so will your earthly one.”

They pulled the boat up the sand, embraced him, and watched him walk up the beach until he disappeared on to the road.

Text (c) Debbie Peatman 2015

  

Monday of Holy Week

 12¹ Six days before the Passover Jesus came to Bethany, the home of Lazarus, whom he had raised from the dead. ²There they gave a dinner for him. Martha served, and Lazarus was one of those at the table with him. ³Mary took a pound of costly perfume made of pure nard, anointed Jesus’ feet, and wiped them with her hair. The house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume. ⁴But Judas Iscariot, one of his disciples (the one who was about to betray him), said, ⁵‘Why was this perfume not sold for three hundred denarii and the money given to the poor?’ ⁶(He said this not because he cared about the poor, but because he was a thief; he kept the common purse and used to steal what was put into it.) ⁷Jesus said, ‘Leave her alone. She bought it so that she might keep it for the day of my burial. ⁸You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me.’

9 When the great crowd of the Jews learned that he was there, they came not only because of Jesus but also to see Lazarus, whom he had raised from the dead. ¹⁰So the chief priests planned to put Lazarus to death as well, ¹¹since it was on account of him that many of the Jews were deserting and were believing in Jesus.   [NRSV]

 

One of the slightly odd things about the schedule of Bible readings that we use at this time of year is that most of this passage came up as the Sunday reading on the 3^rd of April. However, that gives us an opportunity to take another look at the reading and explore some different aspects to its message. We also get verses 9-11 as a bonus.

As we saw last time, the centre piece of the reading is when Mary breaks her jar of perfume and anoints Jesus’ feet, and we considered how investing anything in worship – whether time, energy, skills or money and precious possessions makes no sense outside the context of faith. If there were no God, then the accountants (represented here by Judas – sorry if you are an accountant!) would be right. However, if all things come from God, then of His own do we give Him.

So let’s go back and get another perspective. The Gospels suggest that Mary, Martha and their brother Lazarus have been friends of Jesus since before his public ministry began. Unlike disciples (who are friends through becoming followers) they may have known each other since they were young, although that is not recorded. In the previous chapter (Jn. 11), John has reported that Lazarus has been brought back from the dead by Jesus in an extraordinary miracle.

We should remember that women were very vulnerable in that society – often essentially being the possessions of men and depending on them – so it is no surprise that the two sisters were especially distraught when Lazarus died. Not only were they suffering an acute bereavement, but their homes and livelihoods were seriously in question. They were also angry that Jesus wasn’t there. Now, following the raising of Lazarus, all has been restored.

In another incident in Luke’s gospel, Martha is described as the activist and Mary is the one who listens to Jesus (causing tension between them), so it is no surprise that Mary is the one who demonstrates her devotion to Jesus here. She has a very expensive jar of perfume, which may have effectively been an insurance policy. It was something she could sell in an emergency to get 300 denarii (a year’s wages) which could see the family through a difficult time.

Breaking the jar open and using it in this scene means that she is letting go of that potential material security. It is a picture of her saying to Jesus that she places her trust in him over the security she could derive from ‘stuff’. How often do we worry about out material security over and above our spiritual well-being? And note that it is Mary’s to give; she feels empowered to make this extravagant gift and symbol of devotion and love.

Meanwhile Judas is a complete contrast. The Gospels are never going to give him a good press, but John seems especially keen to point out all of his shortcomings – that he would betray and that he had already stolen. But here Judas objects to the valuable perfume being used in this extravagant way. But notice that use of the perfume is not his to decide, and the anointing costs him nothing. I get a sense from this scene that we have a man with little regard for women, who thinks he should decide how they should act. And I think that’s why Jesus’ first response is “leave her alone” to defend her freedom. It’s easy to decide what other people should do when we don’t have live with the consequences or pay the cost. This was Mary’s perfume, Mary’s gift, and Mary’s worship. It was none of Judas’ business.

His defence is to point out that the poor could have been fed, so Jesus responds with the much misunderstood “⁸You always have the poor with you” (John 12:8)

In fact, Jesus’ words come from the Old Testament: Deuteronomy 15:11

“There will always be poor people in the land. Therefore, I command you to be openhanded toward your fellow Israelites who are poor and needy in your land.”

The context makes it very clear that the permanent presence of the poor is not commended or in any way defined; it is a reality. This legislates for generosity and support sitting alongside rules about cancelling debts every 7 years. We should note that this is in the legal code of the Israelites, so it isn’t just a moral lesson for a minority of charitably minded people; it’s legislation demanding a response from everyone with the capacity to do so.

To me, Jesus is saying that there is an ongoing responsibility for all to be generous to the poor that will never go away, and which we have a lifetime to fulfil. Quibbling over Mary’s act of devotion misses the point: the poor are always with you, so always be generous to them.

This was Mary’s moment to show what Jesus meant to here, and furthermore the symbolism of what she did points forward to his burial in the tomb. Luke (23:56) reports that women prepared spices and perfume for the burial of Jesus’ body after he had been crucified, but the Sabbath meant there was a delay in using them, and the resurrection meant they were no longer needed. It is almost as if this moment is an anticipation and almost a substitute for that moment.

Mary is empowered – deciding to use her most precious possession and her insurance to show her trust and love for Jesus, and yet paradoxically also anticipating something that was to come. Judas tries to control her – as men frequently have – and for a range of dubious motives. That reveals his lack of understanding, his lack of grace, and perhaps some clues as to why in the end he gives up on Jesus, whereas the women will be the ones standing at the foot of the cross, staring the pain of it in the face, and tending to Jesus' body in the aftermath.

 

 

 

Mark 3:20-35 The Sin Against the Holy Spirit

Written for our weekly Diocesan reflection video. You can watch it on Vimeo here

Mark 3:20-35  (click here to read passage)

Most of us have had an experience where we wondered if a slip of the tongue has spoiled things. A job interview, a tricky meeting, maybe even a first date can all contain that fear of blowing it by saying something wrong.

The gospel reading for this coming Sunday (Mark 3:20-35) has prompted that thought for many Christians over the years. They have been troubled by Jesus’ words that blasphemy against the Holy Spirit is an eternal sin and have then lived in fear that they might have blown their salvation by a slip of the tongue. And even if that isn’t your worry, it seems inconsistent with the rest of the teaching of Jesus that something might be unforgiveable. So, what is going on, and what did he mean?

First, this is addressed to scribes from Jerusalem, who are persisting in saying that Jesus’ words and actions come from an unclean spirit within him (3:22,30. In the Greek, the verb "say" is in the imperfect "were saying", suggesting persistence.). As scholars, they knew the scriptures better than anyone, and yet they had been persistently saying he was inspired by evil. We therefore need to understand this apparent harshness in that context. After all, we know that Jesus’ family were worried, and the crowd said he had gone mad, but only the scribes get this reproach. And even then, Jesus doesn’t directly state that they have already committed this terrible sin.

We also forget that Jesus sometimes speaks like one of the prophets of the Old Testament. Those prophets of old often seem to be foretelling doom and destruction, and yet the fulfilment of their prophecies aren’t always seen through those apparent predictions coming to pass. This is best illustrated in the story of Jonah, who reluctantly ends up in Nineveh to predict the demise of the city (Jonah 3:3-5), but they change their ways and the destruction doesn’t happen – much to Jonah’s disappointment (4:1-3). His prophecy was fulfilled, not by a prediction coming true, but by producing change in the hearts of the citizens of Nineveh.

I think we need to see Jesus’ words in that way here. I believe he is seeking change in the scribes – here his harshest critics - by confronting them in the role of a prophet.

Therefore, we need to turn this passage round. Rather than see it as a limitation, or a catch-clause in a kind of divine contract, we need to look at it differently and more positively. This is really about how difficult it is to escape the reach of God’s grace.

God’s grace, his love, his forgiveness, and his offer of reconciliation are available to everyone, always. In Jesus, that offer is made in person. The text indicates that the only way to place yourself beyond the reach of that infinite and inclusive offer would be to consciously, wilfully and persistently identify that offer with something evil to the very end. Only that can be described - in Jesus’ words – as eternal sin. This is not about a slip of the tongue, or a bad day at the office, or even a difficult spell that we all have in our lives; it is about being completely and permanently closed to receiving anything of the light, love, grace, forgiveness and reconciliation of God represented in Jesus.

A good panel at a job interview do not judge on one comment in isolation from everything else they know about you; they look at the whole picture. A relationship with real potential doesn’t crash with one wrong comment on a date – it works at it to understand. Likewise, our relationship with God doesn’t hinge on a slip of the tongue, a moment of doubt, a mistake in life.

I’ll conclude with some wisdom from Charles Cranfield, who wrote a classic commentary on Mark’s gospel:

“It is a matter of great importance pastorally that we can say with absolute confidence to anyone who is overwhelmed by the fear that they have committed this sin, that the fact they are so troubled by it is itself a sure proof that they have not committed it.” 

One Of You Will Betray Me

Wednesday in Holy Week: One of You Will Betray Me

John 13:21-32 [English Standard Version]

²¹ After saying these things, Jesus was troubled in his spirit, and testified, “Truly, truly, I say to you, one of you will betray me.” ²² The disciples looked at one another, uncertain of whom he spoke. ²³ One of his disciples, whom Jesus loved, was reclining at table close to Jesus, ²⁴ so Simon Peter motioned to him to ask Jesus of whom he was speaking. ²⁵ So that disciple, leaning back against Jesus, said to him, “Lord, who is it?” ²⁶ Jesus answered, “It is he to whom I will give this morsel of bread when I have dipped it.” So when he had dipped the morsel, he gave it to Judas, the son of Simon Iscariot. ²⁷ Then after he had taken the morsel, Satan entered into him. Jesus said to him, “What you are going to do, do quickly.” ²⁸ Now no one at the table knew why he said this to him. ²⁹ Some thought that, because Judas had the money bag, Jesus was telling him, “Buy what we need for the feast”, or that he should give something to the poor. ³⁰ So, after receiving the morsel of bread, he immediately went out. And it was night. ³¹ When he had gone out, Jesus said, “Now is the Son of Man glorified, and God is glorified in him. ³² If God is glorified in him, God will also glorify him in himself, and glorify him at once.

We have all been let down by someone, sometime. Perhaps we have been let down by family, or by our friends, or by people we looked up to, or by politicians we voted for, or by our employers, the education system... However, when it’s an individual, and especially when it’s someone close it really hurts. When it’s someone you placed your trust in, and shared something of yourself with them, then it’s hard. It leaves you with a sour taste in the mouth that won’t quite go away. You start asking questions like: “Was our friendship ever genuine? Were they just playing me along to get something? Was I fool to place any trust in them?”

There’s no escaping the fact that it is painful. Experiences like that leave us questioning our own judgment and our own decision-making. Could I have done something differently? Could I have seen this coming?

In today’s gospel reading from John, we hear about Jesus being let down by Judas. To make matters worse, Jesus isn’t just failed by Judas, his friend actually colludes with the authorities in order to facilitate his arrest. It may be that Jesus had seen it coming, although we can’t be sure. It may be that he sensed Judas’ loyalty waning, that he perceived the discomfort, following the moment Judas had agreed to betray him to his captors. But Judas had also spent 3 years with him, sharing his life, teaching, healing, supporting and challenging. Did those years not count for anything? Had they not made any difference?

It's significant that Jesus gives bread to Judas. To share bread is a sign of hospitality, openness and welcome. It says to the person that they are part of the group, they are connected, and that they should make themselves at home. It’s remarkable that Jesus, probably suspecting the worst, shares his bread with Judas. What the Bible describes as Satan entering Judas is perhaps better understood as a reaction against this invitation. Satan means accuser, and at this moment, faced with the guileless, authentic and costly love of Jesus, it may be that Judas felt accused by his conscience, by what surrounded him, and all he could do was go and carry through what he had started. He could no longer bear to be in the presence of this goodness and hospitality.

We can’t know what Judas’ motives were. John’s gospel seems convinced that it was simply financial and driven by greed. Others have pointed to some circumstantial evidence that Judas was close to the Zealots – the freedom fighters who occasionally carried out guerrilla attacks on their Roman occupiers. They suggest that Judas might have become disillusioned with Jesus, disappointed that he chose not to lead an uprising that would oust their earthly rulers and restore a new kingdom of Israel. Some have suggested that Judas was trying to force Jesus’ hand into taking such action. We can’t know – all we do know is that he enabled the authorities to find Jesus and it ended in crucifixion for Jesus and suicide for Judas.

But before we demonise Judas, we should remember the others who stayed at the meal. Sooner or later, they would all disappear and hide, leaving the one they claimed to love and follow to his fate. Peter tries to see what is happening, but with a flurry of denials also disappears into the night, and only John is present with the women who attend the crucifixion. They all let him down in the end.

And yet, and yet, it is to this group of misfits and failures that Jesus entrusts these precious moments. It is to these people that he gives a new commandment; it is their feet he washes; it is to their memory that he commits the words “do this in remembrance of me”. He chooses to depend on them to tell the story of his life, teachings, miracles, death and resurrection for future ages.

We all let people down. We all let ourselves down. We all let Jesus down. But what he calls his glorification, which is actually his tragic death, is strangely and paradoxically his clearest statement that these failings can be overcome. This is not achieved by self-justification, or by argument, but by love and forgiveness. In the midst of witnessing Judas leaving the room, and knowing the other disciples will eventually leave also, Jesus looks out of the page at us. It is as if he is saying that nothing, not even betrayal and denial, is stronger than his love for us, and nothing can separate us from that love.

Monday of Holy Week 2020: Jesus at the home of Lazarus, Martha and Mary

John 12:1-11 

Six days before the Passover Jesus came to Bethany, the home of Lazarus, whom he had raised from the dead. ²There they gave a dinner for him. Martha served, and Lazarus was one of those at the table with him. ³Mary took a pound of costly perfume made of pure nard, anointed Jesus’ feet, and wiped them with her hair. The house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume. ⁴But Judas Iscariot, one of his disciples (the one who was about to betray him), said, ⁵‘Why was this perfume not sold for three hundred denarii and the money given to the poor?’ ⁶(He said this not because he cared about the poor, but because he was a thief; he kept the common purse and used to steal what was put into it.) ⁷Jesus said, ‘Leave her alone. She bought it so that she might keep it for the day of my burial. ⁸You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me.’9 When the great crowd of the Jews learned that he was there, they came not only because of Jesus but also to see Lazarus, whom he had raised from the dead. ¹⁰So the chief priests planned to put Lazarus to death as well, ¹¹since it was on account of him that many of the Jews were deserting and were believing in Jesus.  
[NRSV] 

Affection and loyalty come in many different forms. Worship manifests itself in diverse styles and manners – some effusive and outgoing, some practical and down to earth. Our Gospel scene lays out before us a spectrum of responses we might find in any gathering of people – what we might find in us. 

First we see Lazarus –a man who has just been through an extraordinary experience. He is Jesus’ friend, and we know he much he meant to him. In the previous chapter, John tells us that Lazarus died, and when Jesus eventually came, he wept at the entrance to the tomb where he had been buried. Despite the hopelessness, the emotions and the terrible smell of decay, Jesus restores his friend to life. And now, having had a little time to recover, in return Lazarus offers hospitality a few days before the Passover feast – the greatest party in the Jewish year. We might think that it was the least he could do, and in his culture it would have been expected, but this is not just a token gesture. All of Jesus’ followers were welcomed and accommodated and fed, which was no small thing, and yet for Lazarus it expressed his friendship and loyalty. 

Of course the hospitality isn’t just Lazarus’s to give, although he pays the bills. His sister Martha, ever the practical one, has made a meal. She was the one, when Lazarus died, who had told Jesus that he was late and that he could still do something about it. She liked action. She is always busy in the kitchen - sometimes too busy, as Jesus once observed. It’s true that on some occasions the busyness was an escape, an excuse to keep out of the way and avoid getting too involved. It was a useful distraction from things she didn’t want to think about. But today, for her, it was important that other people had the chance to share time, conversation and food without worrying about where it’s coming from. She prepares, she cooks, she clears away without complaining, and without really being noticed by most who are there. For her, these simple acts of practical service are her expressions of love. Today she’s serving Jesus, and her brother and the others there, but she’s listening, eavesdropping, taking it in. 

And we are also told that the disciples the disciples are all there. They are a funny lot. Some of them seem pretty rough - especially the fishermen. Some have clearly had a little more education, especially the one who used to be a tax-collector. And then there were one or two who were difficult to get near. Judas was an enigma. He was always around, but was restless, edgy, frustrated, impatient for something. It was just hard to know exactly what. On occasions it was even hard to know why he was there at all, but something continued to draw him to Jesus.

And then in the midst of it all there is Mary. She’s the one sitting at Jesus’ feet. It was a familiar place for her. She had been sitting at his feet learning, when her sister had reproached her for not helping. She had knelt at Jesus’ feet to plead with him to save her brother. She was always more emotional and demonstrative than sensible, practical Martha, so people expect her to be a bit more showy. But this time she still manages to shock everyone with what she does. In her hand is the most precious thing she owns – a jar of nard – the perfume of the lovers in the Song of Songs.  She has kept this safe for all of her life, ready for the most special of occasions. As she cracks it open, the room is overwhelmed with the extravagance of the perfume. As she puts it on Jesus’ feet, it seems to permeate every place it can find, however tiny and compact. Nothing can escape its blessing. For Mary her gift is pure worship – her most precious possession given to the person most precious to her. And she shocks the room with the intimacy of letting down her hair to wipe Jesus’ feet. 

But not everyone wants the blessing. Not everyone shares her devotion. Not everyone understands that love expresses itself in illogical, disproportionate, and even outrageous ways.  Judas looks on, disapproving, making excuses, failing to comprehend that love’s gifts don’t work by a set of accounts or the weighing out of gold or silver. Instead he complains about the extravagance, to divert from his own holding back. He points to the needs of the poor, when he’s been more concerned about his own needs, and although he’s intrigued and connected to Jesus, he doesn’t really understand what he’s up to. He just doesn’t get it. And because he doesn’t get it, he’s annoyed by those who do, and he’s annoyed by how they express it. 

I wonder whose eyes we have as we imagine this scene: 

• Is it practical Martha? 
• Is it hospitable Lazarus? 
• Is it disapproving Judas? 
• Or is it Mary, the one open with her emotions?

We’ve probably felt something in common with each of them as we pictured the scene. Perhaps today we can find a little time and space to reflect on how we bring our worship to Jesus, and also to reflect on the fears, the misgivings, and the inhibitions that hold us back.