Sermon, 7 June - Communion Sunday

1^st READING: Ps 138

2^nd READING: Mark 3:20-35

I've said it before, and no doubt, I'll say it again:I love the gospel of Mark with its fast-paced telling of the story of Jesus.

Here we are, only in chapter three and already:

Jesus has been born,

been baptised, 

been tempted in the wilderness, 

called the first disciples,

performed miracles - exorcisms and healings -

and begun to build up a bit of a reputation.

People, upon discovering he’s in their area, flock to him,

wanting to see, to hear, this new teacher and healer.

But his reputation is something that causes division:

division between seemingly ordinary, everyday people,

and those in positions of authority -

particularly religious authority.

While praised by the first, he’s being openly criticised by the second.

So, to some, he’s a looked-for hero,

while to those in charge, he’s a potential trouble-maker and rabble-rouser.

A rabble-rouser, quite literally, for Jesus seems to have the uncanny knack

of rousing those deemed as ‘rabble’ from despair, to hope;

from feeling bound up in the chains of oppression

to sensing that liberation might just be around the corner.

Hope is a dangerous thing to people in power.

Hope unites people in a common cause -

and, when people, spurred on by hope,

are united in a common cause, 

amazing, transformational events have the capacity to take place:

the status quo - and I don't mean the band -
the status quo, the way in which ‘it’s aye bin’, is in serious jeopardy.

But the problem with hope and unity,

and the power to unite and to change and transform the way

people and power, and the structures of power are organised,

is that it’s wildly threatening to those who are in power,

who are used to particular ways of being -

who are used to the privileges that come with power,

who are used to being in charge.

Hope is wildly threatening because the possibility of change,

and of transforming long-established systems of power and privilege

has the potential, of course, for those in power

to lose their power and position and prestige.

How then, to retain power?

Well, divide and conquer is an age-old strategy.

In our passage today, we see the seeds of disunity being sown

in the words of disquiet being uttered by the scribes from Jerusalem.

Wait.

The scribes from Jerusalem?

The scene we have before us is set in the Galilee -

the region in which Jesus grew up and calls ‘home’. 

He’s been on a preaching and teaching tour

around the villages in the area, and, in the course of his travels,

word of him has got back to the officials in Jerusalem. 

These are the ‘strong’ men, the powerful men,

and they are now watching this rural rabbi with keen interest - 

and not in a positive way.

Jesus is becoming a marked man.

From their places of power, the religious elite are wondering 

if he will become a strong man -

powerful enough to topple them.

Is he planning to enter their own religious house, bind them,

and set to plundering long-held traditions and ways of doing things?

Do they need to get to him, and bind him first?

And so, he is being scrutinised,

and already, there are those hatching plans to dispatch him....

Earlier in this same chapter, Jesus has healed a man in a local synagogue, 

on the Sabbath. Having challenged those who would criticise

the breaking of the Sabbath to perform an act of compassion and care,

he’s made enemies of the Pharisees who were present:

they go and plot with another group - the Herodians - how they might kill Jesus.

These are not the only divisions apparent in our text this morning.

Jesus also seems to be at odds with his family. 

Fearful that he does seem to be stirring things up,

that trouble is brewing,

and that some of the neighbours are openly speculating about his sanity,

his family actively try to stop him.

On learning that his mother and brothers are outside

and are trying to get him to come home,

trying to restrain his ministry,

he looks at the crowd who have passed on the message and says:

‘Who are my mother and brothers?’

And pointedly looks to those sitting around him,

those willing to listen and learn from him, and says:

‘Here are my mother and my brothers.’

...Family here,    is much wider, much broader.

While there are biological ties,

Jesus is highlighting spiritual ties - spiritual kinship:

those who do God’s will,

those who follow,

those who enable the work of the kingdom to progress -

they are family.

So, in amidst a passage that features layers of division,

we come to that which unites: Jesus.

Gathered together here, as followers of our brother Jesus,

like those who have gone before us, we are connected, 

joined together as brothers and sisters in him:

we are one in Christ.

Now unity does not mean uniformity:
we were not made to be clones.

God calls each of us to follow authentically.

We bring ourselves, 

our understanding of God,

the way in which we read scripture,

our quirks, our habits,

our individuality,

our unique gifts and skills

and we offer them to God,

to be used as we follow Christ.

And thinking of various differences of opinion that seem 

to be currently in play within the wider church,

it’s important to remember that 

it’s God who truly knows each and every one of our hearts,

and it’s only God who gets to decide who is, or isn’t a ‘real’ Christian.

We don’t get to make that judgement call.

We don’t get to point fingers at others -

only God sees the full story of someone’s life.

Better then, for each of us to look to God,

and to concentrate on the way - the unique way -

each one of us walks our particular faith journey;

giving thanks for God’s grace - full and rich and deep -

and at work in the world and in our lives.

So, while there may be a diversity of ways in which we love and serve God,

whoever we are,

however we’ve arrived here,

whatever our gifts:

in faith, and as we follow,

it is Christ who makes us one.

We are united in the One

who calls us to minister to one another:

to build each other up,

not tear each other down;

who calls us, 

who dares us to hope,

and to spread that hope through telling others of his story,

and through practical acts of justice,

of mercy, 

of kindness, 

and of compassion.

Who calls us to question tired old power systems

just as he did in his earthly ministry.

To champion the most vulnerable in society;

to challenge the 1% who cling grimly to power 

and who try to rule through fear and division.

We are God’s people - a people of hope:

a people who dare to believe that, in Christ,

and through the power of the Holy Spirit,

transformation is possible;

and that change can be a force for good -

and for God.

Shortly, as God’s people united in Christ

and as his family gathered here this morning,

we will be nourished as we share in bread and wine;

as we do what other family members of Christ

have done down through the centuries in response to his command

‘to remember him’.

We come to the table as, and who, we are.

We come with our hopes and our fears,

with our strength and our frailty,

with our faith and with our questions.

The great theologian, Karl Barth said of communion that:

“Holy Communion is offered to all,

as surely as the living Jesus Christ is for all,

as surely as all of us are not divided in him,

but belong together as brothers and sisters,

all of us poor sinners,

all of us rich through his mercy.”
       [Karl Barth, Deliverance to the Captives]

We come to the table and remember that it is Christ’s table,

and that we are one in him,

and that all are welcome to come,

to share,

to be open to transformation.

For in the act of receiving bread and wine,

we declare our hope,

in the One who lived, and died, and rose again for all

and who calls us his family.

Amen.