Sermon, Sun 16 Sept: 'In Paradise'

This morning we began a journey into Genesis
[with an occasional dip into Exodus].
We'll be exploring some of the foundational stories of the faith, and meeting some key figures from now up until mid-Advent.
What can we learn from these stories?
What can we learn about our own faith by looking through the eyes of those who have walked the faith journey before us?

READINGS: Genesis 3:1-7; Genesis 3:8-24; Ezekiel 28:13-18

SERMON
Let’s pray: may the words of my mouth and the thoughts of all our hearts, be acceptable in your sight, O Lord, our strength and our redeemer. Amen.

The writer, Frank McCourt – he of ‘Angela’s Ashes’ fame –
wrote another book telling stories from his time as an English teacher
in a state school on Staten Island, in New York.
Like many teachers, he would set homework.
And, like many teachers, McCourt would be met with a note the following day,
apparently written by a parent, giving a reason why the homework hadn’t been done:
The good, old-fashioned excuse note, in shuggly writing,
suggesting that the parent probably hadn’t written the thing at all.
Over time, McCourt began to save the notes.
Why?
Simply: he was impressed with just how well written they were,
and with the level of imagination and creativity involved in composing them –
in fact, they were better pieces of work than anything that the students would
tend to write in the classroom itself.
Here are a few examples – and they go well beyond the usual
‘the dog ate my homework’ of my childhood:

"The stove caught fire and the wallpaper went up and the fire department 
kept us out of the house all night."

"Arnold doesn't have his work today because he was getting off the train yesterday and the 
door closed on his school bag and the train took it away. 
He yelled to the conductor who said very vulgar things as the train drove away.  
Something should be done."

"A man died in the bathtub upstairs and it overflowed and messed up 
all Roberta's homework on the table."

"Her big brother got mad at her and threw her essay out the window and it flew away all over 
Staten Island which is not a good thing because people will read it and get the wrong 
impression unless they read the ending which explains everything."

McCourt wondered at the effort and the ingenuity of the many different
excuse notes he’d receive –
often thinking that the actual homework itself probably could have been completed
in less time than it took to write the actual excuse note.
However, given the quality of work he’d seen in these notes, one day in class,
he decided to take a different tack in teaching method:
he challenged his students to write an actual excuse note, and they had a choice.
This note was not be for themselves, but for a rather well known pair.
On the board, McCourt wrote up the options:
‘An excuse note for Adam’
or
‘An excuse note for Eve’
The usually boisterous class grew quiet, as the students settled down to their unusual task.
McCourt describes the scene:
"The heads went down.  
Pens raced across paper.  
They could do this with one hand tied behind their backs.... 
The bell rang, and for the first time in my three and a half years of teaching, 
I saw high school students so immersed they 
had to be urged out of the room by friends hungry for lunch."
That assignment prompted the most imaginative and expressive writing
he had ever seen from his students. 
Apparently, they came up with some brilliant excuses for Adam and Eve.

Adam and Eve – or, as I think of them in the context of our story from
Genesis this morning: ‘A’ and ‘E’ –
‘Another Excuse’ or:
‘Accident and Emergency’, if you like,
because, by getting distracted from listening to God’s voice, they certainly end up
as casualties of their own bad choices.

This story was originally told, and shared around campfires,
as a way of explaining things such as:
why snakes – seen in other cultures such as Egypt as creatures of wisdom to be revered –
slither on their bellies
and why they should be crushed underfoot:
snakes aren’t wise, they’re dangerous.
There are other matters too, that are covered within the story:
what’s the reason for the all the grind and hard work of farming -
why is it so much easier to harvest stones and thistles at times, than it is to harvest crops?
Or, why do sheep seem to have a built-in death wish?
Or/ Why is childbirth such a painful process?
The story helps its listeners understand just why life, at times, can be all struggle and toil:
choices have consequences.

In the story, God has caused the universe, the world,
all manner of living things,
to come into being.
And, at the end of the second of the Creation stories, we see humans:
a man, a woman – Adam and Eve.
They dwell within a beautiful garden,
at one, in harmony, with all the creatures who also live there.
It is quite simply, a wonderful paradise.
They have a close connection with God –
they are companions, and God speaks with them.
They are companions for each other:
God recognising that it is not good for humans to be alone.
They explore this paradise –
God showing and sharing with them so many wonders –
‘Let me show you the waterfall...'
'Come and see this purple-headed mountain range...'
Check out these – what did you name them again, Adam? Flamingos, yes, yes, that’s right - 
check out this enormous flock of flamingos on the sand bank over there!'
'Isn’t this all good?’
They have been given so, so much.
A glorious, living, jewel of a place to enjoy –
a demonstration of God’s overflowing generosity

In among all the treasures for them to delight in, places to see, things to do,
there’s just one thing they’re asked not to do:
God shows them two trees –
the tree of life,
and the tree of the knowledge of good and evil.
‘Don’t eat the fruit from that second one – that tree brings death, not life,’ says God.

But, there’s another voice in the garden –
a voice that begins to insinuate itself into the thinking of the humans.
And there, at the foot of that one forbidden tree,
Eve and the snake have a conversation,
with Adam standing there watching and listening.
And as they listen to the voice of the snake,
God’s voice... is tuned out.
‘Eat it.’
‘We can’t.’
‘Go on, ...you’ll be fine.’
And there, with all the wonders of Paradise available to them –
the only thing they can now see is the one thing that’s forbidden.
‘Why can’t we?’
‘Why is God keeping this thing from us?’
...‘If we ate it... we could be like God.’
A choice is made to the sound of a crunchy bite.
Another choice is made – another bite.
And life as they’ve known it is changed forever.
Guilt.
Shame.
From being completely open and unafraid –
imagine that: never having been afraid –
they move to fear and the need to conceal.
They begin the great cover up –
first with fig leaves,
then with excuses.

God comes searching for them:
they hide,
no longer comfortable in his presence.
God finds them:
tries to get them to be truly themselves once more – to tell him the story of what happened.
But, instead, there are deflections.
They struggle to be real with God.

Over many centuries, the story of what happened in the Garden
has been grist to the mill for many a theologian and biblical scholar.
In the 2nd century, Tertullian used it to explain why women were bad news –
why women couldn’t be trusted to make decisions, or have power of any kind.
After all, it was Eve who ate the fruit and caused separation from God.
Tertullian claimed that ‘women were the Devil’s gateway’ –
a bad lot, needing controlled.
His philosophy set in train century upon century of policies and attitudes,
built around the restriction and control of women:
we still deal with the consequences of some of his teaching even today.
In the 5th century, the theologian, Augustine,
knit together the story of what happened in the Garden with sexual desire...
And set in train Western society’s hang up’s around the body and desire,
again for centuries to come.
It’s from Augustine that we get the term ‘Original Sin’ –
the first sin, from which  sin came into the world.
But just what was the sin?
Was it about Adam not controlling his woman?
Was it all about sexual awakening?
Because, I wonder...
is this story actually about something else?

In the gospels, we often hear Jesus talking about ‘life in all its fullness.’
That life comes about through following in faith – listening to the voice of God;
being open, being real.
That is how we were designed to be, so much so,
that God could walk alongside those first humans and talk with them in a Garden –
and they were unafraid:
they felt no compulsion to hide anything from God.
So, here’s another way of interpreting the story:
Is the story of the fall actually a story about inauthenticity –
of not being real?
Of covering up,
not being open,
not being transparent,
of hiding yourself from God.
And when you start to do that,
guilt kicks in;
things begin to play on your mind:
you stop trusting God;
you begin to fear what God might do...
and when that happens, you make excuses.

God, already knowing what they’d done – for God knows all things –
gives them the opportunity to tell him what happened, to confess.
And
they
just
can’t.
Instead of ‘the dog ate my homework’,
we have ‘the snake made me do it,’
and then ‘the woman made me do it.’
Perhaps the sin in the Garden was not being able to be real, and
not owning up to their choices.
Because Adam and Eve refuse to take any responsibility
for the choice that each of them made –
neither was forced into eating the fruit:
the snake didn’t have Eve in a vice-like grip,
nor did Eve compel Adam forcibly.
They simply chose to listen to an alternative viewpoint, and made their decision.
And there’s this great ‘what if’ that I wonder about...
What if, instead of trying to cover up,
instead of hiding behind fig leaves and excuses,
the two of them had come clean?
Had simply, sorrowfully, said:
‘Okay, we did this. 
We know you didn’t want us to.
And yet, we still did it.
We shouldn’t have.
We took our focus off you – stopped listening to your voice.
We made a choice, and it was wrong.
And now, nothing will ever really be the same.
We are so very sorry.’
And, what if, God, hearing them bare their souls and sorrow, in infinite mercy
said ‘forgiven.’ 
Had said, ‘you are loved.’
Had said, ‘let us always be real: let there be nothing but the naked truth between us.’
Had said, ‘hey, let’s go look at this fabulous waterfall – when the light shines through 
the water’s mist, you can see all sorts of beautiful colours dancing together.’
And so, with all things out in the open,
with lesson learned, the relationship iss restored – fixed –
for nothing iss coming between them anymore.
What if... hmm?
But the choice they made had so clouded their mind,
that they had lost the sense of the mind of God –
and so, experience a new sensation: they were afraid.
And with the fear, had come the forgetting:
they forgot about God’s infinite capacity for forgiveness and mercy.

To conceal, or to be real?
I think that is a lesson we can take from this story of eating fruit in the Garden of Eden.
All God has ever wanted from us,
as his creatures,
as those created in his image,
is to be real.
God loves us,
wants to be in a relationship with us;
wants to be involved in our lives,
and us with him;
to walk companionably through the world
sharing its delights,
to heal hurts and reconcile relationships;
and, to share God’s message about fullness of life –
of being real with others and real with God.
In any relationship, it is healthy, and good to clear the air, and to own up to our choices.
And, it’s why, as God’s community, in relationship with him, that each week in worship,
we have a time of confession in our prayers:
a time to uncover and hand over the junk, and so stand before God unashamed once more.

In the Garden, there were two trees:
the tree of of life,
and the tree of the knowledge of good and evil – this second, a tree that would bring death.
A choice was made by those first humans.
And, in response, God made the choice that death would not be the end –
and sent us Jesus,
who reminded us what an authentic life looked like;
who, in his death upon a different tree, reversed that first human choice for all eternity –
bringing us new life, resurrection, and restoration to fullness of life.
It is the greatest gift:
to break out of the cycle of death and separation from God
and to choose to be real,
to choose life –
to open ourselves fully to God:
unafraid, unashamed....
For, in trusting in God’s overflowing love and mercy, we need never make excuses.
Amen.

Worship, Sun 9 Sept: 'Songs of Praise'

This morning we held our annual
'Songs of Praise' service.

Over the last several weeks, the congregation has been quietly nominating favourite hymns, and the choices were absolute crackers.
During worship, we also remembered the Guild, and rededicated our own members as they begin another year's programme at Upper Clyde.
[details will go up shortly on the Guild page].

Including the Guild hymn, we had a total of 9 fabulous hymns and a fairly full house in the hall for morning tea afterwards - singing is very thirsty work!
A great atmosphere, and some excellent singing.

Here's the play-list from this morning:
154 How great Thou art
*Guild hymn: Let us follow Christ's example [tune: Courage Brother]
220 The day You gave us, Lord, has ended
561 Blessed assurance
551 In heavenly love abiding
514 Onward, Christian soldiers
*as we gather the offering we sing: 555 Amazing Grace
461 How sweet the name of Jesus sounds
251 I, the Lord of sea and sky

Readings were taken from the Psalms: Ps 98, 100, 146, and 150.
Rather than a sermon, there were several shorter reflections, including hearing about
two of our hymnwriters this morning - Fanny J. Crosby and Anna Laetitia Waring.
Book-ending these, were reflections on Ps 98, and Ps 150, which are included below....

Reflection on Ps 98/
As part of declaring how great, and how marvellous God is,
the writer of Psalm 98 doesn’t just focus upon the people of Israel –
here we see God’s hand upon the whole of the world:
‘all the ends of the earth have seen the salvation of God’ says the Psalmist.
That’s such a great image –
and, for us, God’s people gathering to worship in the Upper Clyde Parish, it’s so encouraging:
we are small, but, we are part of God’s family – we are Christ’s body on earth.
As the world turns, over the course of this day, the wider church
has gathered,
is gathering,
and will gather...
from New Zealand, the islands of the South Pacific, Australia,
the countries comprising Asia,
and across mainland Europe...
God’s praises have been sung.
From the UK and places on Greenwich Mean Time...
God’s praises are being sung.
Across the Atlantic, the Caribbean, the countries of the Americas,
and those near-end points of the date-line that include Anchorage and Hawaii...
God’s praises are yet to be sung...
From east to west,
north to south,
the nations of the world will join in worship and praise God for all that he has done.
We get to be a part of that –
some forms of worship will be very familiar,
some, not at all like how we are used to worshipping...
and yet, all of it, around the globe,
an offering and outpouring of praise to God:
how amazing is that?

There’s a lovely prayer I came across,
reflecting this sense of God’s global community of praise –
so, in prayer, let’s think of our brothers and sisters in the faith those who have gathered,
those who are gathering, and those yet to gather
Let’s pray:
Your church gathers, Lord,
in Virginia and Mozambique,
in Brazil and to the ends of the earth.
Your church gathers, Lord,
in city and country, in suburbs and slums,
in sanctuaries and buildings,
under trees and by streams of water.
Your people gather to praise you, Lord,
in English and in Portuguese,
with organ and guitar and drum,
with voices of young and old,
with song and with silence,
with dance and with prayer.
Your people praise you, Lord,
for hope in the midst of despair,
for strength in times of weakness,
for justice in situations of oppression,
for courage in the face of fear,
for life in the midst of death.
We are the people who call you Lord.
Let everything that breathes, praise you Lord! Amen.

Thereafter we sang: 'The day You gave us, Lord, has ended'
not often heard in morning worship, but a beautiful hymn, so it was lovely to have
the opportunity to sing it today.

Reflection on Ps 150/
‘Praise the Lord!’
And so, we come back to praise –
Creation began with God singing it into existence,
and, at the end of all things,
when time is no more,
when tears are no more,
when sadness, sickness,
suffering and death
are no more...
so there will be an eternity of praise.

The majority of the psalms give us reasons why we should praise God –
here, our psalmist shows us where, and how, to praise God...
and who is to praise God:
Where?
‘Praise God in his sanctuary...
praise God in his mighty heavens’ –
Basically, there are no limits to where you can praise God –
praise God...everywhere, anywhere.
How?
Praise God with trumpet,
with harp and lyre,
with tambourine, strings, and flute,
don’t forget to add some resounding cymbals...
And not just praise with musical instruments:
praise God with dancing.
This is a bit of a tricky psalm for the more reserved in personality.
And who?
Not just humans:
‘Let everything that has breath praise the Lord!’
As God’s people, we join in with all of creation –
singing songs of praise to the One
who made us,
who saves us,
who loves us,
and who is always with us –
not just now, but forever.
Praise is the song of harmony healing the discord
of a broken creation,
a broken humanity;
praise is part of that spiritual armour that deflects cynicism, bitterness and despair –
for praise puts God at the centre and reminds us we are not alone –
that we are beloved
and we are God’s people;
praise is the song that gladdens the heart
and strengthens us to enter out into the world,
sharing the good news that no matter how dark things look,
love wins –
for God is love.

Praise the Lord –
in the sanctuary,
in your hearts,
from your lips –
with every breath,
and with all of creation.

The Shorter Catechism asks:
‘What is the chief end of man?’ –
or/ What is our life’s purpose, as human beings?
The response is:
‘Man's chief end is to glorify God, and to enjoy him forever’ –
or/ The whole purpose of our life is to glorify God and enjoy him forever...
Our lives are to be one of continual praise –
to turn our ‘all’
into an ‘alleluia’ ...Amen.

Annual Coffee Morning

Service Sun 2 Sept: 'Tradition'

Sunday morning was our Autumn service of communion.
The theme picked up from our texts was on tradition, and serving God wholeheartedly.
Has the reason for some of our ways of doing things been forgotten over time?
Are there bad, as well as good, traditions?
What helps or hinders us as we try to walk in faith as God's people?
We began by hearing a story....

READINGS: Ps 15; Mark 7:1-23

SERMON
Let’s pray: May the words of my mouth and the thoughts of all our hearts be acceptable
in your sight, O Lord, our strength and our redeemer. Amen

She was a stranger in a strange land.
She had travelled far and wide,
met many people,
encountered many different ways of living in the world.
And here she was, another place,
near another group of people.
She settled by the free-flowing river,
made a home of sorts among the willow trees,
set out the few possessions she’d carried with her in her rucksack.
The days were warm, the fishing and hunting were good,
and the neighbouring villagers seemingly harmless.
It was good to rest in this green and pleasant place.

At the beginning of her first week, she was aware that she was being watched –
but not in an alarming way –
rather, it was in a gentle and curious manner:
a checking out of the new neighbour.
Occasionally, she would call a cheerful ‘hello’
holding her arms out wide in front of her
showing them they had nothing to fear,
a gesture of welcome,
of invitation.
The days passed.
Eyes watched.
Welcome continued to be shown.

By the end of the first week,
one of the more curious of the watchers decided that she was harmless.
When the ‘hello’ was sounded,
and the gesture of welcome made,
he emerged from behind a thick brown willow trunk and slowly made his way toward her,
arms open wide – to show no weapons,
giving a nod and a smile acknowledging her presence.
Inviting him to sit by the fire, she made tea,
handed him the cup, and they set to the business of learning about each other.
Mug in hand, he seemed suddenly uncomfortable, slightly unsure.
She, smiled at him, nodded reassuringly, then drank from her own mug first,
to encourage him – and show him the drink was safe.
Cautiously, slightly nervously, he sipped the tea and began to relax.
Soon they found a common language, and exchanged names:
she was Evadne and he, David.
Bidding her to come to the village for a meal and to meet the others,
David urged her to bring a jacket and hat solemnly saying something that sounded a little like: ‘yaahstincaze’. 
Feeling the warmth of the sun on her arms, and looking at the clear blue sky,
Evadne was puzzled by David’s insistence on the hat and jacket –
nor did she understand the word he’d used.
A seasoned traveller, however, Evadne bowed to her new friend’s obvious local knowledge
about possible weather vagaries.
Picking up her coat and cap, she followed David to the village, just less than a mile up river.

Coming into a clearing, she saw a collection of small, stone, white-washed cottages
with neatly thatched roofs,
gathered in a circle around a pretty green bordered with a variety of wildflowers
that were putting on a stunning show.
Villagers emerged from doorways, watching as she and David
walked to the centre of the green to meet a tall woman,
dressed in a long, cornflower blue cotton skirt, and fawn shirt.
Looking at Evadne, the woman noted the jacket and cap slung over her arm, and nodded approvingly.
‘Ahhh, ‘yaahstincaze’. 
Pointing to herself, she said ‘Myra’ then looked at Evadne with a warm smile.
‘Evadne’ came the response, with a smile in return.
Evadne found herself being led to the largest of the village houses.
The bright yellow door was open wide, and delicious cooking smells tempted her in.
Gathered in the living room was an assortment of villagers, who greeted her cheerfully.
Along with the heat of the day the room was also further warmed by the
sheer number of people, so that they were positively ‘glowing’ with perspiration.
Occasionally, David needed to translate, but for the most part,
general conversation flowed in a friendly way.
With the sound of a gong signalling dinner, the group headed...
not to the dining room, but for the coat rack by the door, each collecting their coat and cap,
before turning back and following the smell of the food down the corridor.

Evadne followed the crowd and entered a large room.
At the centre was an enormous dining table,
laden with bowls overflowing with roast tatties, broccoli, peas...
two swan-shaped gravy boats graced either end of the table,
and, mid-table, a huge haunch of beef sat ready to be carved.
A fine feast indeed.
Suddenly there was a brief whispering and then David quickly disappeared,
reappearing with Evadne’s coat and cap, and handing them to her with a nod.
The room was already boiling, and Evadne could not imagine why on earth
she would have need of these.
Bewildered, she took them from David with a puzzled ‘thank you.’
She noticed the diners all stood behind their chairs, each with their coats and caps,
waiting expectantly and looking at Myra.
Tapping her crystal glass lightly with a fork, Myra solemnly uttered the strange word once more:
‘yaahstincaze’.
On cue, the diners placed their caps on head, donned their coats, and were seated.
Following their lead, Evadne did likewise, hoping beyond hope that she wouldn’t
pass out with heat exhaustion...
she could already feel her face growing flushed as she wiped a small bead of sweat from her brow.
Heroically, she tucked into the hot meal.

Many years, many miles, many cultures later,
Evadne had cause to remember the villagers and their custom of donning cap and coat
for their meals.
Now settled, and writing a book, she decided to do a little research on the village.
Sitting in seat B7 of the library, surrounded by books,
Evadne at last caught mention of the village.
Originally a make-shift stock camp, people began to settle –
first in tents, which were gathered in a circle around a common working area.
Here they would make and share a fire,
where, in the open, they would cook and eat communally.
While the area enjoyed generally good weather, it was not unknown for storms
to blow up from out of nowhere,
and so the villagers were in the habit of eating with their caps and coats on
should the weather turn, and they be faced with the risk of pleurisy or pneumonia
so far from medical help.
They took to heart the potential danger and acted accordingly.

As the years passed, and old memories were lost in the mists of time,
the village saw many changes:
stone cottages replaced tents,
cooking was now done in their own homes,
and the common work area became the green.
There was one thing that didn’t change however:
regardless of the temperature, even though they no longer knew why they did it,
the villagers continued their practice of donning coat and cap,
and muttering ‘yaahstincaze’ before they ate.
There it was again, that strange word Evadne had heard so long ago,
now, no longer strange as she looked at it in print,
and said aloud not one word, but three, in her own accent:
‘just in case.’
---------------------------------------------
Remember the old Scout motto – ‘Be prepared’?
Well, it’s a good thing to be prepared –
in the case of the early villagers living in tents and sharing meals in common, out of doors,
it was a good thing to have at hand their cap and coat just in case the weather turned.
Being prepared meant – hopefully – avoiding illness.
Being prepared became something that they just ‘did’...
even many generations later.
Despite changes in the way they lived,
despite the utter discomfort
despite no longer needing to ‘be prepared’
in this particular way any more...
they still practised something that was now essentially unnecessary...
no longer an exercise of the heart,
but an ingrained habit now without meaning.

The Psalmist asks ‘Lord, who may dwell in your sanctuary, who may live on your holy hill?’
And then, they answer their own question –
describing someone who follows God with their heart,
and whose actions are done out of intention, rather than unthinking habit.
Reflection and action working together creating an integrity of purpose.
There are a good number of psalms that talk of ‘ascending’ to God’s holy hill,
that talk of making a pilgrimage to the temple in Jerusalem.
The direction is always  up.
Now, I’m not sure how many of you go hill-walking,
but I am pretty sure that if you are inclined to go yomping up the hills,
that the last thing you want with you is...
well, a lot of unnecessary things to slow you down,
to make it harder than it needs to be.
You want to be well prepared, of course,
and, a part of that preparation is getting rid of that which holds you back.
And this is what Jesus is really talking about when he has yet another
encounter with the group called the Pharisees.

These guys aren’t bad people:
they’re trying to keep the Law that was handed down by Moses.
They’re trying to keep their tradition alive.
A tradition that marks them out as God’s people;
a tradition that gives them a sense of identity,
a sense of purpose,
a sense of purity,
a sense of comfort.
Tradition isn’t always a bad thing.
And yet, in this case, over the generations,
added extras have crept in to the tradition.
Instead of what had been intended to help people follow God more easily,
the tradition with all the added extras
had become a burden...

Again, the Pharisees are not necessarily bad people - perhaps it’s a matter of bad practice.
Doing the thing correctly became the focus:
what they were doing,
not who they were doing the thing for.
And Jesus cuts through the centuries of tradition and addition
and turns the spotlight on heart and motivation:
it’s not the external stuff you do out of habit...
it’s the reason that you’re doing it that matters.
Also, just to say that Jesus isn’t against basic principles of hygiene when
he makes his comments about ritual washing...
he wants them to remember why they’re doing what they do –
it’s not for the sake of the thing,
it’s for God’s sake.
And, if the action is now a barrier to God,
rather than a help to follow in God’s ways...lose it.
Marry word and action so that what you do is an intentional part of how you follow God.

Last week we talked of putting on God’s armour.
Perhaps, in order to put on those things that help to follow God,
you need to take off those things that slow you down or stop you altogether.
It’s good to examine what we do and why we do it, and in doing so,
to rediscover some of the good things in the tradition and perhaps lose some of the less helpful...
doing this, while also discovering new ways to love and serve God –
like the words of that old hymn:
‘ponder anew, what the Almighty can do.’
It’s what Jesus did, in a meal with friends –
where gathered at a table, he took ordinary things –
bread and wine –
and transformed them into something new:
a meal based on old custom and tradition,
but renewed for a new generation of people
wanting to walk in God’s ways.
He stands at the head of the table,
arms open wide to show us we have nothing to fear,
arms open wide as a gesture of welcome,
of invitation.
We can leave behind our caps and coats and all the unnecessary things
we carry with us day to day.
All we need to bring is ourselves, our hearts.
It’s not a meal where we need to have stuff with us ‘just in case,’
it’s a meal offered with the call to lay our burdens down –
a meal of freedom,
a meal... of grace. Amen.

News and events wk beg. 27 August

A round up of news and events coming up:

Sun 2 Sept, 10.30am: Communion service.
All are welcome to share in the bread and wine at the table of the Lord. It is Jesus who invites us to gather as his friends and remember, so come, whether it’s been a while, or more recently. All who are baptised, young or old or somewhere in between, are welcome to the feast. Please let friends and neighbours know.

Also, from this Sunday - Food Bank Donations Box:

‘For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was 

thirsty and you gave me something to drink’  Matt. 25:35 

Beginning from 2 September, we will have a box in which to leave dry/ tinned goods of food, or toiletries, for the Clydesdale Food Bank. If you have items to donate, that would be excellent: we shall make sure they get to their destination!

Sat 8 Sept, 10.30-12pm: ANNUAL CHURCH COFFEE MORNING.
Our coffee morning returns to Roberton Village Hall, featuring morning tea, tombola, home baking stall, and more. Come along, bring your friends, to this annual fun and fundraiser for the church. If you’re willing and able to make donations of home baking or prizes for the tombola, please see Mary Hamilton or other members of the Social Committee. And thanks in advance for your support.

Sun 9 Sept 10.30AM: SONGS OF PRAISE SERVICE & GUILD DEDICATION SERVICE
It’s coming up to that time of year once more: time to think about some of your favourite hymns, and nominate them for inclusion for this year’s Songs of Praise Service. Last nominations to be in by the end of morning tea on Sun 2 Sept.  During our service, we’ll also be rededicating our Guild, as they begin their programme for another year.

100th Anniversary of end of World War I: Remembrance Day project – 

Calling all knitters and crocheters: Would you be willing to help make some poppies to create a Remembrance Sunday Banner, as we mark the Centenary of the end of the Great War? If you can help, see Nikki or Heather. After Remembrance Sunday, we’d like to sell them for a suggested minimum donation of £1 or more, to raise money for Poppy Scotland and Help for Heroes

------------------------------------------------------

Food for the journey: spiritual nourishment for the week ahead

One of our readings for Sunday was Ephesians 6:10-20 - Paul encouraging the Ephesian Christians to put on God's armour to enable them to help follow in faith.
Feel free to read over the passage, and then, should you wish, make use of the following questions for reflection over the course of the week:

What armour do Christians need in today’s world?
Do we – as a community – use all the armour God gives?
How can we be more effective in ‘standing firm together’?

A prayer for strength: 
Lord God, Paul didn’t let the fact that he was physically in chains stop him from serving you. We may have chains of a different kind. We pray that whatever we see as our chains, our limitations, our obstacles, our weaknesses, we will know your leading through the trials of our lives; and that, equipped with your armour, we will work together for you. Amen.

Sermon, Sun 26 Aug: 'You've gotta serve somebody'

READINGS: Joshua 24: 1-4, 11-18; Psalm 34:15-22;
Ephesians 6:10-20

SERMON
Let’s pray: may the words of my mouth, and the thoughts of all our hearts, be acceptable in your sight, O Lord, our strength and our Redeemer, Amen.

This last week was the second week of the new school year, and,
for some of our schools, the first time for school assemblies.
I’d been asked to pick up on the theme of thinking about ‘new things’ with the students:
new experiences,
new skills to pick up,
new school work to learn.
For some, a new teacher,
for others, new friends;
and, in the case of a couple, a whole new school to get used to.
I kicked off my time with the students by asking a very carefully phrased question –
‘How did you get into school today?’
Quick as a flash, up went several hands.
A small person replied: ‘The bus’
Others nodded in agreement.
I smiled at them and asked them to listen to the question very carefully once again:
‘How did you get into school today?’
There was a pause, and then a lightbulb moment,
followed by some grins, a few giggles, and a wee chorus of:
‘Ohhh! The door!’
‘Absolutely!’ said I, ‘think of the mess the bus would make! 
And that’d be a shame, given it’s a nice new school!’
Cue laughter.
Pushing my luck, I grinned at them and asked:
‘Okay, and how will you get out of school today?’
And, with a laugh, a small boy cried out:
‘Reverse the bus!’
It was beautifully done,
and there was much hilarity and it was great fun -
said boy is the grandson of one of the congregation, and that's all I'll give away.

We then spent time thinking and looking at a whole variety of doors –
wondering who, or what, might be found behind them, and, thinking about
how we’d feel if we had to go through the door.
All of it, was, of course, to talk about new things –
and what it felt like to be on one side and move to the other –
from being used to the familiar, to doing something unfamiliar –
the challenge of the new.

Doors ... take us places.
It might just be to the broom cupboard,
or, as in the case of the book, ‘The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe,’
it might just be to an entirely different world.
Doors:
sometimes made of wood, or glass, or metal.
But other times, doors are less physical:
think of Hogmanay and standing at the gate of the year –
time as a door.
Or, think of doors of opportunity –
having the possibility to do something,
a new thing,
a new experience.
Something that may completely change your life.
And, there, standing on the threshold,
you may be experiencing a whole range of emotions and thoughts:
Do you go through?
Do you haver about the edge for a very long time, not sure what to do?
Or do you walk away?

Doors...take us places,
and sometimes, places can be a little like doors.
Shechem, the place where Joshua called the Israelites to gather,
was, in many ways, like a door.
And we have to take a trip further back in time to get a sense of why gathering
at Shechem came with the echoes of all sorts of possibilities:
the opportunity to do something new,
the chance to see life shaped and changed forever.
Why Shechem?
Because, it’s where the story of promise,
the story of being chosen
and making a choice
begins.
We go right back to Abraham, in the Book of Genesis, chapter 12.
God calls Abram:
‘Leave your country, your people, 
and your father’s household 
and go to the land I will show you.
I will make you into a great nation
and I will bless you;
I will make your name great,
and you will be a blessing.
I will bless those who bless you,
and whoever curses you, 
I will curse;
and all peoples on earth 
will be blessed through you.’

Abram, later renamed Abraham, is given a choice by God,
a door of opportunity, if you like, and steps through it to accept, in faith, God’s promise.
He leaves everything that is familiar,
strikes out into the unknown with this as yet unknown God,
and, having travelled through the land,
arrives by the great tree of Moreh,
at Shechem.
It is there that God appears to Abram.
It is at Shechem that God says:
‘to your offspring, I will give this land.’
It is there that Abram makes an altar ...and worships God.
As for Abraham and his household, they will serve the Lord.

Generations pass.
The story of God’s relationship with Abraham
expands from a promise to one person and his household,
to what eventually becomes a numerous people –
the descendants of Abraham,
and the children of the Promise:
God’s people.
God’s chosen, who stand, here again,
at Shechem.
Gathered together, Joshua, who has led them into the land of Promise,
reminds them of their story.
‘Long ago, your forefathers beyond the River 
worshipped other gods...
but I took your father Abraham from the 
land beyond the River and led him,
and gave him many descendants.’

Chapter, by chapter, the stories making up
the story of the people of God are recounted by Joshua –
they’re reminded of their time in Egypt;
of their liberation from slavery there –
of the God who promised to rescue them
and who did.
Of the pursuit of the Egyptians,
and of the crossing of the Red Sea –
the Sea that became for the Israelites
the door to freedom.
They’re reminded of God guiding them
and taking them to the land long-promised.
A long tale, with so many twists and turns,
but always, always, with God at the centre:
God offering choices,
creating opportunities,
the promise of new things.
As he finishes recalling all that God has done for them,
Joshua calls upon them to make a choice:
A bit like the old Bob Dylan song, he notes ‘You’ve gotta serve somebody.’
To the people God has chosen, Joshua says ‘choose.’
Joshua asks them, ‘who are you going to serve?’
And, showing them the door being offered,
echoing the choice made by Abraham so many generations before him, Joshua states:
‘As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.’
Will the people follow in the ways of the gods,
or, will they follow in God’s way?

They walk through the door, choosing God.
They will make a mess of it time and time again,
but God, who had already chosen them,
will walk with them,
will be faithful,
will continue to be the God of the promise –
as the Psalmist will later claim:
‘no one who takes refuge in him will be condemned.’

Generations, kingdoms, and empires pass.
The choice is always there:
‘Who are you going to serve?’
In the good, and in the bad, God continues to walk with his people...
until, at a particular time,
God walks within human time and history,
in flesh and bone as one of us –
showing what love looks like in and through the life of Jesus.
The question is asked again:
‘Who are you going to serve?’
The response is made –
by fishermen, tax collectors, farmers,
radicals, the poor, the dispossessed,
the ill, and everyday people.
They hear the invitation afresh.
They choose to walk, through Jesus,
into new life,
a new way of being, and understanding,
a new found freedom –
even if that freedom is, for some like Paul,
found through service in prison chains,
or persecution.
They will serve the Lord.
But, in challenging times, how will they do it?

Paul, writing from prison, says to the new Christians in Ephesus:
‘put on God –
put on the armour of God.’
But it’s a strange kind of armour –
let’s look at the six items of the kit that Paul lays out before them:
• the belt of... TRUTH
• the breastplate of...RIGHTEOUSNESS
• the shoes that are THE GOSPEL OF PEACE
• the shield of...FAITH
• the helmet of...SALVATION
• the sword of...THE SPIRIT – THE WORD OF GOD
I’ve read this passage a number of times over the years, and gone ‘okay.’ 
But this week, as I looked and prepared,
something new fell into place for me
that had been sitting there in plain sight ever since
I’d come across this passage in my late teens –
and it’s to do with the shoes –
and given I was the Imelda Marcos of shoes at one point in my life,
I'm surprised I'd never really picked up on this before!
Here it is:
‘your feet fitted with the readiness that comes from the gospel of peace’ 
If it’s your shoes that give you balance,
that keep you stable,
that ground you –
what grounds us as Christians?
Here within a very military metaphor...
it’s the ‘gospel of peace.’
The armour of God, then, is very different:
it’s about reconciliation –
peace with God,
peace with neighbour –
God’s ‘shalom’ –
life that’s full and rich and rounded and based on relationship:
‘you gotta serve somebody’ –
found in serving God and serving neighbour.
That’s the way to effect the promise of the harmonious kin-dom of God.
To do that requires integrity –
the belt of truth.
To do that requires walking in God’s way –
the breastplate of righteousness.
To bring in God’s kin-dom requires faith,
living into your salvation –
the knowledge that God has chosen you,
God has rescued you –
and in Paul’s letter ‘you’ is not an individual ‘you’ – it’s plural:
‘you’ as the Body of Christ
‘you’ as God’s people.
We don’t stand alone, we stand together,
with God and with each other.
We are God’s...
and he is ours,
and we, together are his community.
Like Abraham,
like Joshua and the people of the promise,
together we are part of the story of God’s people –  as God’s word reminds us.

Putting on the armour of God is essentially about clothing ourselves in Christ –
who is the Prince of Peace,
the one in whom we find righteousness and our rescue – our salvation and new life.
Who showed us in his own life
how we’re to live.

Like God’s people before us,
we too stand at Shechem –
and perhaps,
to follow in God’s way is to, each day, make that choice
when it comes to who we’re going to serve.
Like God’s people before us,
we too, will make messes,
but, we too, whether we feel it or not,
have God walking alongside us in the rough and the smooth
of all of the things that make up the very stuff of life.

This day, who are we going to serve?
We... will serve God.
How will we do it?
Look at how Jesus lived,
clothe ourselves in him as if it were armour:
live with integrity,
be people of reconciliation,
follow in God’s ways,
walk in the ways of peace.
Put on Jesus –
not the might of armies,
but the world-reconciling power of God,
embodied in the Cross
and the Resurrection of Christ.
Put     on    Jesus...
There’s a very old Sunday School song from the 80’s and the words, tho’ simple,
kind of sum up the question of
who we serve
and
how we serve:
‘Put on love every day,
never hide your love away,
don’t save love for a special day,
put on love every day.’
To put on Jesus is to put on love –
So, this day, and every day:
let us serve the Lord in love,
for that is the most powerful weapon in heaven and on earth. Amen.

News, contacts, information 12 - 16 August

The Minister will be unavailable from 

Mon 30 July to Wed 15 August.

Urgent pastoral cover will be provided by the Rev. George Shand of the Tinto Parishes. His number is
For general parish queries, please contact Heather Watt, our Session Clerk on 

What's On?
Sun 19 August, Morning Worship at 10.30am: 'As wise as the owl'
We'll be thinking about wisdom this morning.
Our readings are:
Proverbs 9.1-6; Psalm 34.9-14; Ephesians 5.15-20

Food Bank Box: 
Matt. 25:35 ‘For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, 
I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink’ 
Beginning from 2 September, we will have a box in which to leave dry/ tinned goods for the Clydesdale Food Bank. If you have items to donate, that would be excellent: we shall make sure they get to their destination! Slightly longer ‘use-by’ dates would be helpful

LOOKING AHEAD:
Sun 2 Sept, 10.30am: Communion

Sun 9 Sept SONGS OF PRAISE SERVICE & GUILD DEDICATION
It’s leading up to that time of year once more: time to think about some of your favourite hymns, and nominate them for inclusion for this year’s Songs of Praise Service. Last nominations to be in by the end of morning tea on Sun 2 Sept.  During our service, we’ll also be rededicating our Guild, as they begin their programme for another year.

Poppy Project: Calling all those who can knit or crochet! 
Would you be willing to help make poppies for a large banner, to be used in the parish church on Remembrance Sunday, marking the Centenary of the end of the Great War? If you can help, Nikki and Heather would be delighted to hear from you. Patterns are available.
After the Sunday, we are hoping to dismantle the banner, and sell the poppies for a minimum £1 donation. All money raised to go to Poppy Scotland and Help for Heroes.

News, contacts, information 5 - 16 August

The Minister will be unavailable from 

Mon 30 July to Wed 15 August.

Worship will be led by the Rev. Sandy Strachan on Sun 12 August.
Urgent pastoral cover will be provided by the Rev. George Shand of the Tinto Parishes. His number is 
For general parish queries, please contact Heather Watt, our Session Clerk on 

What's On?


Sun 12 Aug. 9am: the Prayer Group meets before worship this week. All are welcome to come along and join in prayer. Should you have any prayer requests, you’ll find pen and paper in the vestibule – note your prayer request and then pop it into the box, also in the vestibule.

Sun 12 August, Morning worship at 10.30am:
We welcome the Rev. Sandy Strachan once more, as he leads us in worship.



Food Bank Box: 
Matt. 25:35 ‘For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, 
I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink’ 
Beginning from 2 September, we will have a box in which to leave dry/ tinned goods for the Clydesdale Food Bank. If you have items to donate, that would be excellent: we shall make sure they get to their destination! Slightly longer ‘use-by’ dates would be helpful

LOOKING AHEAD:
Sun 2 Sept, 10.30am: Communion

Sun 9 Sept SONGS OF PRAISE SERVICE & GUILD DEDICATION
It’s leading up to that time of year once more: time to think about some of your favourite hymns, and nominate them for inclusion for this year’s Songs of Praise Service. Last nominations to be in by the end of morning tea on Sun 2 Sept.  During our service, we’ll also be rededicating our Guild, as they begin their programme for another year.

Poppy Project: Calling all those who can knit or crochet! 
Would you be willing to help make poppies for a large banner, to be used in the parish church on Remembrance Sunday, marking the Centenary of the end of the Great War? If you can help, Nikki and Heather would be delighted to hear from you. Patterns are available.
After the Sunday, we are hoping to dismantle the banner, and sell the poppies for a minimum £1 donation. All money raised to go to Poppy Scotland and Help for Heroes.

News, contacts, general information 30 July - 16 Aug

The Minister will be unavailable from 

Mon 30 July to Wed 15 August.

Worship will be led by the Rev. Sandy Strachan on Sun 5 and 12 August.
Urgent pastoral cover will be provided by the Rev. George Shand of the Tinto Parishes. His number is 01899 309400.
For general parish queries, please contact Heather Watt, our Session Clerk on 01899 850211

What's On?


Sun 5 and 12 August, Morning Worship at 10.30am:
We welcome the Rev. Sandy Strachan morning as he leads us in worship.

Further ahead:
Sun 12 Aug. 9am: the Prayer Group meets before worship this week. All are welcome to come along and join in prayer. Should you have any prayer requests, you’ll find pen and paper in the vestibule – note your prayer request and then pop it into the box, also in the vestibule.

Food Bank Box: 

Matt. 25:35 ‘For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, 

I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink’ 

Beginning from 2 September, we will have a box in which to leave dry/ tinned goods for the Clydesdale Food Bank. If you have items to donate, that would be excellent: we shall make sure they get to their destination! Slightly longer ‘use-by’ dates would be helpful

LOOKING AHEAD:
Sun 2 Sept, 10.30am: Communion

Sun 9 Sept SONGS OF PRAISE SERVICE & GUILD DEDICATION
It’s leading up to that time of year once more: time to think about some of your favourite hymns, and nominate them for inclusion for this year’s Songs of Praise Service. Last nominations to be in by the end of morning tea on Sun 2 Sept.  During our service, we’ll also be rededicating our Guild, as they begin their programme for another year.

Poppy Project: Calling all those who can knit or crochet! 
Would you be willing to help make poppies for a large banner, to be used in the parish church on Remembrance Sunday, marking the Centenary of the end of the Great War? If you can help, Nikki and Heather would be delighted to hear from you. Patterns are available.
After the Sunday, we are hoping to dismantle the banner, and sell the poppies for a minimum £1 donation. All money raised to go to Poppy Scotland and Help for Heroes.

Worship, Sun 29 July: Esther - 'For such a time as this'

We were nothing, if not ambitious in worship this week:
attempting to cover the story of Esther in one snapshot-style service!
To do it, we wove 2 reflections [from the point of view of Esther and Mordecai], and a brief homily through 4 sets of readings from the Book of Esther.
It's one of those books in the Bible that can sometimes get overlooked -
and, also [useful for pub quiz/ trivia evenings] one of only two books not to directly mention God [the other is Song of Songs].

Well done to our valiant reader this morning - not easy passages to get through,
with all of those challenging names!
Our readings from the Book of Esther were:
Esther 1:1-5, 9-12, 15-20;
Esther 2:1-9, 17-18; 3:8-14;
Esther 4:1-8, 12-17;
Esther 7.1–6, 9–10, 9.20–22, 32

The short homily picked up the sense of the challenging and precarious time
in which Esther and the Jewish people living within the Persian Empire found themselves,
and wondered about how to best use power, position, and privilege.
Each age has its own variation on 'such a time as this.'
As God's people, what do we do 'in such a time as this',
as we look back to the example of Esther,
and as we look around us, within our present?
In this, Martin Luther King's challenging words are still prescient:
“Cowardice asks the question is it safe?
Expediency asks is it politic? 
Vanity asks is it popular? 
But conscience asks is it right? 
And there comes a time when we must take a position that is 
neither safe, nor politic, nor popular, but because it is right.”

The first reflection, based on Esther's point of view, was written by Dee Yates:
ESTHER REMEMBERS ...
It’s a dangerous world out there.
If I had my way, I'd sit still and keep quiet; keep my head down.
I know we Jews have been here for a hundred years or more
but is it safer now than it was when we arrived?
Thanks to cousin Mordecai, my life is a whole lot better than it might have been.
He took me in after my parents died.
I thought that he would want to marry me when I was of age –
he was always
singing my praises to the neighbours – but he didn't.
Unfortunately he had other ideas for me.
Mordecai found out that the king had decided to look for another wife.
He had divorced his beautiful queen, Vashti,
because she'd refused to join him and his guests at a banquet.
Whether she gave any reason for her refusal, I don’t know,
though these occasions can get a bit rowdy when the wine's flowing.
Then Mordecai came home one night and said that the court was asking for beautiful girls
to be given beauty treatment and then presented to the king,
so he could chose one to become his next wife.
He said I should go.
He said I should not reveal that I was a Jew.
If I kept quiet, he said,
if I was chosen by the king, I would be safe.
It doesn't feel safe.
One wrong move and I could be like Queen Vashti - or worse.
Mordecai told me that two of the palace officials were plotting to kill the king.
I reported it to his majesty, giving Mordecai the credit.
That turned out all to the good.
But next, my cousin fell out with Haman, the king's favourite
and Haman, finding out that my cousin was a Jew, decided to wreak revenge
by asking the king to give permission for all the Jews in the kingdom
to be slaughtered for disobeying the laws.
And the king agreed.
Mordecai was horrified - and then said I must go to the king and beg for mercy.
Me! I could have been put to death for speaking out of order.
But it was do or die - and perhaps die anyway.
So I impressed my husband by dressing to kill
- if you see what I mean -
and ordering a lavish banquet two days in a row.
Then, quaking in my shoes and sick to the core, I told him of Haman's plot to murder the Jews.
And the king responded by giving the Jews protection
and hanging Haman on the gallows that the wretch had built for my cousin.
He made Mordecai second in rank to the king himself and held him in high esteem
because 'he spoke up for the welfare of the Jews.'
If I recall the facts aright, it was I that spoke up for the welfare of the Jews, not him.
But no matter.
I'm still here.
And I'm glad that I had the courage to speak up.
What would have happened if I had kept quiet?
It might have changed the whole course of history - and not for the better.
                                                                                                                      ©Dee Yates

‘MORDECAI REFLECTS’
They were powerful.
Strong.
All-conquering.
Their empire was vast and mighty,
their wealth, unfathomable.
They had crushed other nations underfoot.
They had crushed my nation utterly
and taken my family into exile.
Strangers in a strange land,
but eventually, settling,
learning language and custom,
but never forgetting home,
never forgetting the God of their ancestors.
I had known little else but exile.
Every day, face to face with the brilliance
and wonder and power of Babylon,
I accepted my lot,
and knew they would rule forever.
But they didn’t.
The mighty Babylon fell,
crushed under a newer, greater empire:
it was the time of the Persians.
The great Babylon was a mere plaything
compared to their greatness:
their power reached around the known world
and other nations fell before them.
With so much change, how could I not look after wee Esther –
she had no living family but me.
As the years turned, so, she became as a daughter to me:
I vowed to do my best for her.
It's odd, how life can turn in the spin of a shekel.
The old queen had been banished,
the King had been preoccupied with war,
but now, home, he felt the need of a queen once more.
A series of strange events,
a beauty pageant of sorts,
and then, presto, my lovely Esther
moved from obscurity to the Palace.
But we had enemies.
I urged her to be wise,
not draw attention to her heritage,
and use her power for good.
It was me, however, who found trouble,
earning the anger of the King’s advisor, Haman.
Hatred, vanity, and ambition make for a dangerous combination:
pointing my people out,
putting us down,
telling lies about us,
he stirred up seeds of distrust and discord –
better to get rid of us,
than face any potential disaster we might bring.
Tricking the King,
a decree went throughout the whole empire,
calling for the extermination of my people.
But, what of my lovely Esther?
There in the centre of power and conspiracy,
how would she fare?
And would she dare to use the little power
she had, to save us all?
She was brave...
but I just didn’t know...
                                  ©Nik Mac

Sermon, Sun 22 July 'Sharing our stories, sharing ourselves'

Today we reflected on the power of story, of sharing our stories, of sharing God's story. As we entered the building different coloured tags with the words 'my story' were given out, and in the early part of worship, we thought about the story of our life, and a story from our life. These were gathered up and tied to what became our story tree, placed by the lectern - the many colours representing the diversity of stories, all brought together by a common story: God's story in the world, in our communities, and in our lives.

READINGS:
Ps 23; Ephesians 2:11-22; Mark 6:30-44

SERMON
Let’s pray: May the words of my mouth, and the thoughts of all our hearts,
be acceptable in your sight, O Lord, our strength and our redeemer. Amen.

It was the first time she’d been invited around for dinner.
She’d struck it lucky:
Monday night was roast night, and Deb was quite partial to a decent roast, along with roast tatties.
As they settled at the table to eat, the stories began of how the day had gone for each of them.
Some of the chat got into some pretty blunt speaking about bodily functions and such like.
One particular story had been quite gory indeed – concerning a rugby training injury.
Deb listened, watched, and chewed on her bit of roast beef thoughtfully.
The next day, at school with her friend, she finally blurted out the question that
had been vexing her all through the night:
‘So, do you always talk about bodily functions and blood and guts at dinner?’
Her friend looked surprised, then stopped to think.
‘Yeah, actually, I suppose we do: it’s the only time we get to tell our stories, 
so nothing’s off limits. Um, sorry!’
Poor Deb.
But it was a good lesson for her friend with the cast-iron stomach: me.
I learned that day not to tell certain stories if dining out elsewhere.

A little earlier we were talking about stories –
stories that made up the story of our life;
about Jesus, as the great story teller;
about the followers of Jesus, passing on the stories that made up the story of his life –
a life and stories which in turn, gave us insights into God’s great story –
told from since before Creation came into being.
Stories shared from the dawn of time right down to our present.
And it’s interesting to me, that within the collection of stories gathered together
which make up our Bible, so many are, in some way, food-related.
Last week, a gruesome birthday dinner at King Herod’s palace –
which my friend Deb would definitely have struggled with;
and this week, a much happier event –
an unexpected picnic with Jesus, the disciples, and at least 5 000 others...
although I suspect that there were probably more:
our story of the feeding of the 5 000 only counts the men –
women and children weren’t qualified to testify as witnesses in law,
so weren’t deemed worthy of counting!
I’ll not go into a small feminist rant at this point, I promise!

As we’ve seen in the Gospel of Mark,
the crowds just keep gathering around Jesus.
At the beginning of this particular story,
he, along with the disciples, are heading off to a quiet place to get a little rest.
The disciples are not long back from their mission –
to go, two by two, and share the news of Jesus in the surrounding area.
Having shared their stories with Jesus, of what had happened,
it’s time to stop a wee while, recharge batteries, and generally chill out.
It’s a great plan.
Off they go to what’s described as ‘a solitary place.’
However, they don’t go unnoticed.
Soon, the solitary place is more like party-zone central:
the crowds have literally hot-footed it there, to see Jesus –
almost in the same way some folk flock to see their favourite movie or rock star.

Although he’s tired, as he arrives and sees the gathering crowd,
Jesus doesn’t get hot and bothered,
he has compassion on them –
he sees just how lost they are,
just how desperate they are for meaning in their lives;
they’re searching, looking for something,
wanting a life that...matters;
wanting someone to show them how to make sense of the story that is their life;
they seek a shepherd –
and Jesus, as the Good Shepherd, greets them as they come,
and then settles them down,
and begins to teach them
instead of having the rest he and his disciples had been planning.

Now, there’s a reason that solitary places are often just that, solitary –
they tend to be in out of the way, off the beaten track areas.
This unusually crowded solitary place was in a remote area, and time was moving on.
No handy burger van at the ready,
no phone for a Domino’s pizza available,
and the disciples are getting edgy:
what to do?
This bunch of assorted people,
each with their own particular story,
each with their own particular reason for chasing after Jesus,
well, these people are going to get hungry.
Surely it’s time to send them away?
But we know that this is not how the story goes.

Jesus is very much into welcome and hospitality:
remember, his first miracle was turning water into wine.
He will not see these ‘sheep’, these lost ones, sent away hungry
whether in a spiritual or physical manner.
Even without the benefit of joined up shops, or a trusty Marks and Sparks,
this is a problem that can be fixed.
In fact, this particular problem may be a great example of that age-old saying:
‘A problem shared, is a problem halved.’
The people aren’t sent away.
The disciples are told:
‘You give them something to eat – what have you got?’
They dig out their Star Wars themed lunch boxes – or equivalent...
Some bread, some fish.
Perhaps they look at it a little wistfully as they show it to Jesus,
who blesses the food, and then they start to share it out.
But it doesn’t run out.
And as we know, at the end of this story, there’ll be plenty of left-overs as well.

Whether some mysterious thing happens,
or whether the selfless sharing of the disciples’ own food inspires everyone
to pull out their own lunch boxes and pool resources isn’t the point:
there are other things at play here.
Jesus, the ‘bread of life’ nourishes both body and soul –
and, through this miracle, reminds us of another story,
the feeding of the Israelites as they wandered in the Wilderness.
Jesus actively demonstrates that God will indeed supply all needs.
And another thing:
Jesus feeds them, no questions asked;
he doesn’t require any doctrinal hoops to be jumped through,
doesn’t ask them to show proof of their holiness.
They don’t have to do anything to earn their place at this great picnic.
He simply meets their need.
He feeds them, and in doing so, they become, in that moment, companions.
The word ‘companion’ comes from the Latin:
‘com’ meaning ‘with, and ‘panis’ meaning ‘bread’...
So, a ‘companion’ is someone with whom you share your bread.
And that’s what happens to this group gathered in a remote place:
in the breaking of bread, in the sharing of food, and of their stories, they become companions.

Time and time again, Jesus will eat with a variety of people –
and often be told that they are ‘the wrong kind of people’ –
poor, outcast, unclean, dodgy folk.
Widows, orphans, tax collectors, foreigners, radicals.
A diversity of people, yet with one thing in  common: hunger –
physical, yes, but deeper than that –
a soul-hunger that only Jesus can satisfy.
Each time he eats with them, he makes the statement:
‘these are my people, the people I share my stories and my bread with – my companions.’ 
Each of his companions has their own particular story of how they landed up
sharing a meal with Jesus.
Each will share a story about a particular need that drew them to him.
Each will go away satisfied, having eaten bread with the Bread of Life
and found themselves nourished way beyond their expectations.
Each will share their story – often over bread,
so that the stories and the great story
will be passed down,
will be spread,
and the feeding will feed imaginations,
and hearts, and souls,
and bodies and minds.

‘All who feast on the Bread of Life are family. 
All who dare to feed the hungry, 
fellowship with the suffering, 
and befriend sinners are companions of Christ. 
This, after all, is the Kingdom: 
a bunch of outcasts and oddballs 
gathered together, not because we are rich or worthy or good, 
but because we are hungry, because we long for more. 
And just as the fish and the loaves continued to multiply, so have the companions of Jesus. 
The family just keeps growing and growing.  
So whoever you are in this ongoing story...if you are hungry, come and eat. 
You don't have to earn a spot. It is given. 
The baskets are overflowing and there’s always room for more.’[*Rachel Held Evans]  
And when you’ve eaten, go share:
your story, God’s story,
and don’t forget to share the bread.
Amen.

Sermon, Sun 8 July: 'Unlikely prophets'

READINGS: Ezekiel 2:1-10; Mark 6:1-13

SERMON ‘Unlikely prophets’
Let’s pray: May the words of my mouth, and the thoughts of all our hearts, be acceptable in your sight, O Lord, our strength and our redeemer. Amen.

These days the job market can be a rather tricky thing both for prospective employees, and employers: those wanting to fill a position with just the right person.
Just as there’s an art to putting together a CV, so there’s also an art in putting together an ad:
both the CV and the ad are designed to not only give information, but to create some kind of impression.

Recently I came across some job adverts and ... well, yes, they did make quite an impression!
Have a listen and see what you think about these places of work:
‘Surgeon wanted: for a new health clinic opening in the area.
No experience needed.
Must have own tools.’

Just a quick check: who fancies registering with that particular health clinic?
I’m not sure which is more worrying:
the ‘no experience needed,’
or the ‘must have own tools.’
On the other hand, if you’ve always fancied having a go at being a surgeon
but never really had the time to train – well, there’s a golden opportunity going!

How about this one – would you work here?
‘Precision Tune Auto Care: 
‘We stand in front of our brakes:
help wanted.’
...No?

What about this one – it’s a little longer, but, it doesn’t skimp on detail:
‘Sales advisor:
my clients are a massive bunch of indecisive idiots 
who like to think of themselves as being better than they actually are.
They are now looking for like-minded idiots to join them.
You will be arrogant and have a high level of self-importance,
along with a real desire to rip customers off to make lots of money.
You will be responsible for selling to customers things they don’t need at grossly inflated prices.
Salary on offer is £18-22 000, although at interview, my client will tell you 
that you can achieve manager status in 2-3 years with a salary of £35 000 plus.
However, this is rubbish.
They will interview you and make it sound that they’re keen on you,
then arrange a second interview at which you’ll think you’ve done really well,
however, your feedback will be: ‘not for us’,
which will be really helpful to you in understanding why you didn’t get the job.
If the above sounds like it could be for you, apply today.’
Sound appealing?
A real ad, and the shocking thing is that 8 people actually applied!

These job ads came to mind as I read our passage from Ezekiel, which we heard earlier.
God is calling Ezekiel to be his man –
to apply for the vacant job of prophet.
And here’s the sales pitch:
‘I’m sending you to a rebellious nation;
right from the get-go, they’ve always rebelled,
never listened;
they are obstinate and stubborn;
they may fail to listen;
They’re probably going to get angry
and not only say horrible things,
they might actually physically hurt you;
it’ll be like being surrounded 
by briars and thorns,
like living among scorpions;
oh, did I say they’d be mean to you
and that they’re rebellious...?
Oh yes, yes I did.
Anyway, don’t be afraid.
Go speak my words;
don’t rebel like them,
oh, and while you’re at it, here: 
eat this scroll filled with words of woe and lament – it’ll taste like honey, I promise.’

Now, there’s a tantalising job offer:
go and speak to a bunch of folk who truly are revolting – in more ways than one.
It’s a seemingly thankless, difficult task, destined for failure.
And yet, regardless of success or failure,
the job is to go and speak God’s kingdom words – and trust God to know what he’s doing.
A few weeks back we heard Jesus talking about seeds being scattered by a gardener:
the job was to go scatter the seeds –
and then trust God to be about the business of dealing with the actual growth of the seeds.
Crack on, do God’s will.
And, despite the very challenging job conditions, that’s exactly what Ezekiel does:
he accepts the job offer, and speaks God’s word in soil that appears to be less than fertile:
and yet, it should be fertile ground,
after all, these are God’s own people.

Like a mirror, our gospel passage this morning reflects, in part, a similar story.
We have Jesus returning home for a visit among his own people.
Up to this point in the gospel of Mark, it’s been all go.
We start with Jesus being baptised,
and move quickly into the beginning of his ministry.
He gathers around him disciples – wanting to learn from him.
He rapidly gains quite the reputation:
crowds flock to him – wherever he is, so too, are they.
He drives out evil spirits,
heals the sick,
can command the elements themselves – calming a storm at sea.
Very soon into his ministry he has alienated the religious establishment
who look for ways of killing him.
He is dynamic:
a force to be reckoned with;
a power for good –
a power for God.
‘Messiah’ is being mentioned in some quarters,
as people hear his words and see his deeds:
as they watch love in action,
and the seeds of the kingdom of heaven grow and flourish.
Jesus is on the crest of a great wave as he turns home.

When he gets there, he does what he usually does when he arrives at a place:
on the Sabbath, he goes to the synagogue and begins to teach.
The home-town crowd go wild:
how awesome and amazing is this local boy done good?
They’re filled with admiration and clamour for more, so receptive are they...
A great party happens and they carry him on their shoulders through the streets
cheering and celebrating his success:
a success which puts all of them in a good light –
after all, the success of one is the success of all.

Except...
we know that this is not what happens.
Quite the opposite:
he teaches, yes.
They are amazed, yes.
But the amazement is more from disbelief –
‘Hang on, they’re fine words, but, who do you think you are, sonny Jim, 
to take a place of honour?’
‘He’s just the carpenter – he’s nothing special.’
And then the sly comments about the circumstances of his birth:
less a case of ‘we kent yer faither’
and more a case of maybe they don’t.
So rather than say ‘isn’t he Joseph’s son?’
they say ‘isn’t he...Mary’s?’
In a culture based on shame and honour, there’s a particular pecking order:
to give honour to this humble carpenter would displace someone else.
They’re not prepared to upset the apple-cart:
they’re not prepared to entertain the idea
that someone as seemingly ordinary as Jesus –
or even, that someone with a slight taint, like Jesus –
could possibly make good.*
In their minds, someone like him making good somehow shows the rest of them up.
So, instead of honouring him, they attempt to put him back in his box –
he’s become too big for his britches:
he’s the most unlikely of prophets.
He speaks God’s word,
scatters the seeds of the kingdom,
and appears to have the most meagre response
on this seemingly unfertile soil.
Everywhere else, the ever-present crowd
is desperate for Jesus to help, or heal, or restore them, 
but not here, not the home-crowd,*
not...Jesus’ own people.

After tremendous success, here, in this story, the writer records what looks like a failure.
It’s an interesting turning point, and his own followers, the disciples, are watching.
Which is why it’s interesting that, immediately after this difficult homecoming,
we see Jesus calling the twelve disciples closest to him to go out, two by two,
and to scatter the seeds of the kingdom.
They’ve seen his great successes,
his miracles,
experienced for themselves his rescue from the storm.
It’s almost as if they also needed to see that, at times,
the work of the kingdom can be plain hard slog, without much sign of outward success:
the hard homecoming has been just as instructive as all of the miracles.
Go out, do it: share God’s word –
scatter the seed,
be God’s love in the world, in action.
But they don’t go alone:
they have a companion on the journey –
to share the burden and to share the joys.

They are ordinary people –
fishermen and tax collectors –
and these ordinary people go off on this journey with little provision,
and yet, with everything they need.
They come back, amazed at God,
amazed at what has occurred as they’ve stepped out in faith,
and possibly, even, a little amazed at themselves:
God can use ordinary folk like...them.

I’ve occasionally mentioned church signs – often in relation to sermon titles.
Often they can also have some very cheesy slogans or posters with dire puns.
At one point, it was quite the thing to post on church sign boards a mock up
of an advert for a job:
‘Wanted:
Carpenter seeks joiners.’
That carpenter, Jesus, a seemingly ordinary man, yet, extraordinary too,
calls us to be about the kingdom’s business.
Calls us, ordinary, yet extraordinary folk:
to say ‘yes’ to the job of being God’s people.
To say ‘yes’ to the job of being God’s love in action in the world.
To say ‘yes’ to the job of being unlikely prophets.
To say ‘yes’ to the job even though, at times, it won’t necessarily be all smooth sailing...

We, like Ezekiel, like Abraham, like Sarah, like Mary,
like so many down the ages, are called to faithful obedience:
we might not see ‘success’ in the way the world would have us try to define it;
we might not see ‘success’ in our lifetime;
Nevertheless, wherever we are, we crack on with the business of embodying God’s love.
Actions matter:
‘God has chosen us in baptism, not only for salvation, 
but also for purposeful, consequential lives here and now...
Each day, we have a choice between resisting God’s activity
or partnering with God’s intent and action – to bless and care for God’s world.
...Our acts of kindness are holy,
and our moments of unkindness or indifference are tragic.
What we do matters and...God equips us to be his agents of grace,’ *
ordinary people, yet, made extraordinary –
for we are his,
and together, as his people, and with him,
miracles can happen,
seeds can grow,
hard ground can be revitalised.
God puts out the job advert and calls each one of us to apply:
with our different gifts, and personalities, and skills.
‘A timid believer pauses to listen to the Voice;
A struggling church hears the Voice and turns;
and still the Voice beckons today. . .
can you hear?
As we seek to listen to God’s voice, ever calling,
so may our prayer be:
Here I am. Send me.’**

Let’s pray:
Loving God, our creator, our sustainer,
the one who is the ground of our being
and at the same time is the one who holds
the universe in your hand:
Give us hearts that will sing your praise
in the highs and the lows.
Give us minds that will put some effort
into thinking about how to follow you with honesty.
Give us hands that will work to succeed
and move on from failure.
As your people,
as Christ’s body:
help us to worship you,
help us to live the Christian life,
help us to be followers of Christ...
with every fibre of our being –
heart, mind, body and soul –
In Jesus’ name we pray, Amen.

*David Lose, 'Working Preacher'
**Roots

Sermon, Sunday 1 July: 'The jewel in the crown'

READINGS: Lamentations 3:17-33; Mark 5.21-43

This morning, a little bit of drama to help explore themes arising from our readings, particularly Mark. There was a whimsical piece of wondering, as seen, through the eyes of a funeral director who runs into an unexpected glitch, followed later by two reflections from the point of view of Jairus, and the woman in the crowd. After the readings and reflections, we stayed seated to sing 'We cannot measure how you heal', using it as a form of prayer. Thereafter, the sermon...
After worship this morning, we held our Annual Stated Meeting and approved the accounts.

SERMON
Let’s pray:
May the words of my mouth and the thoughts of all our hearts, be acceptable
in your sight, O Lord, our strength and our redeemer. Amen.

Lament.
There is a long, strong, and very powerful tradition of lament within scripture:
to lament, according to the Oxford English Dictionary, is to make
‘a passionate expression of grief or sorrow.'
Alternatively, a lament is:
'A song, piece of music, or poem expressing grief or sorrow.'
Or, a lament can be a complaint.
This last, well, the children of Israel, having won their freedom from Egypt,
spend quite a considerable time lamenting their fate as they wander in the desert;
the Psalms – the song book of the Bible –
has songs of rejoicing and praise,
but also a goodly share of lament and sorrow;
and, dotted throughout the Bible we find many stories, many situations
in which there are powerful expressions of grief and sorrow –
we even have a book of Lament,
in which are gathered up poems and songs of unassailable despair and sadness.

This book is written around the time of the Babylonian Empire –
and Israel has been utterly crushed under the heel of Babylon.
So much loss:
there has been exile of quite a substantial number of the population –
we have the Psalm ‘By the rivers of Babylon’
expressing the sadness of not being able to sing the Lord’s song in a strange land [Boney M song!];
the temple in Jerusalem has been destroyed;
the city, left ravaged and pillaged and ruined;
no one to lead those left behind;
no sense of hope –
no sense of rising from the ashes.
Out of this experience comes the Book of Lamentations –
a profound expression of grief and sorrow.
Traditionally, its author was reckoned to be the prophet Jeremiah:
called to preach God’s message to the remnant left behind.
It was no easy task:
he was unpopular – so much so, that his life was threatened:
at one point, he was tossed down a well by the people.
And still, he proclaimed the word of the Lord:
he knew about suffering,
he had cause to lament,
and he also knew about hope –
and of God’s unfailing goodness.
No matter how dire,
yet, God was with him,
as God was with the people... even if it might not have felt like it.

Oddly, for a book with such seemingly depressing subject matter,
the Book of Lamentations is one of my favourite books in the Bible –
because right there in the very middle of it,
sitting between laments,
there’s the passage we heard earlier from Chapter Three,
and those words from verses 21 through to 26:
Yet this I call to mind
    and therefore... I... have... hope:
Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed,
    for his compassions never fail.
They are new every morning;
    great is your faithfulness.
I say to myself, “The Lord is my portion;
    therefore I will wait for him.”
The Lord is good to those whose hope is in him,
    to the one who seeks him;
it is good to wait quietly
    for the salvation of the Lord.

There, in the bleakest of bleak places...
there it is, the shining jewel in the crown of this book: 
hope.
A calling to mind of God’s great love;
of God’s faithfulness –
hope in him, says Jeremiah –
or, whoever it was that wrote it.
Hope in him –
he is with you,
he will get you through:
you will not be consumed.

Lament.
Our older lady in the gospel passage had cause to lament.
12 years of ill health and all that came with it:
her illness meant not only pain and discomfort,
it meant social exclusion –
she was seen as ritually ‘unclean’
if anyone touched her,
or she them,
they, too, would be ‘unclean’ by association.
She was ill, isolated, impure:
A bleak and seemingly hopeless life situation.
Are there any last straws to clutch at,
or, should she just turn her face to the wall?

Lament.
Jairus, for all his wealth,
for all of his social and religious standing,
also knew the painful song of lament rather too well.
He loved his wee daughter –
at 12, she is on the traditional cusp of adulthood,
and he watches, as the future is being taken from her before his eyes.
All the promise of laughter and life;
of potential...and of building new stories,
creating new memories as the years roll by, is fading fast.
If there’s any straw to clutch at,
no matter how unlikely,
or seemingly unorthodox,
or, possibly scandalous,
well, Jairus will grab it if he can with both hands.

Lament.
The crowds are ever-present.
A sea of need,
of pain,
of desperation...
so many wanting their own particular straw to take away:
to see healing,
or new life,
or a new way of being,
or a once-proud nation rise again.
And there, right in the very middle of it all:
as a desperate woman breaks with religious proscriptions,
as a desperate father races to find help,
as so many gather...
there he is...
the shining jewel in God’s crown –
the beacon of God’s love,
the beacon of light in the darkness,
the beacon of hope
who is the Word of life –
in flesh and in blood
showing God’s great love,
demonstrating in word and in action
God’s faithfulness –
hope is found in him.
And, on that day, a woman goes home rejoicing;
and a father witnesses the unthinkable,
and the kingdom of heaven continues its quiet work of transformation.

Lament.
We, all of us, go through our own seasons of rejoicing and sorrow;
times of abundance and loss;
times where we look back to times past and think of what we had,
and struggle to find a way forward –
because we know there may be change,
and we are ever creatures of habit.
Sometimes, we find ourselves looking for straws to clutch at:
crumbs of comfort.
Sometimes, we’re tired of clutching at straws that feel well worn.
We lament.
And as we do,
and as he always does...
there in the midst,
there... he... is –
Jesus, the jewel in the crown,
the One who walked among us;
the One who, through the Spirit, is still with us;
the One who hears our songs of lament;
the One who feels the fear and the pain;
the One who turns hopelessness into hope,
for he is the One who will get us through:
the One who will make sure that we will not be consumed ...
the One who asks us to follow him out into a broken world to share that hope;
who invites us to move from mourning, into dancing...
and who calls us his friends – this day, and every day. Amen.