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.

Sermon, Sun 24 June: 'That sinking feeling'

Rembrandt's 'The Storm on the Sea of Galilee'

This week's 'Food for the journey' during the week:
Read through the Gospel passage slowly. Sit a while with Rembrandt's painting 

and perhaps imagine what being on the boat was like. Where are you in the picture?
What might you say to Jesus in the midst of the storm?

If it's helpful, use the prayer at the bottom of the sermon to assist your personal reflections.

READINGS: Ps 107:1-3, 23-32; 2 Cor 6:1-13; Mark 4:35-41

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.

I may have mentioned at some point before, the custom in some parts the United States 

of churches putting the titles of sermons on their noticeboards outside. 

One such church, advertising morning and evening worship, had this rather ‘interesting’ 

combination of sermon titles:

Morning worship: ‘Jesus in the boat’

Evening worship: ...‘Looking for Jesus’ 

Oh, dear.

I did wonder if the Galilean Navy might be involved in that particular search – 

but the sign did serve as a useful lesson: 

to be careful when thinking up sermon titles!

Our readings today, in different ways, feature storms.

Listen to the words of the Psalmist –

and as you do, think just how closely they mirror our Gospel reading.

The Psalmist says:

Some went out on the sea in ships;

    They saw the works of the Lord,

    his wonderful deeds in the deep.

For he spoke and stirred up a tempest

    that lifted high the waves.

They mounted up to the heavens and went down to the depths; -

you can almost see the great rolling waves there, yes? –

    in their peril their courage melted away.

They reeled and staggered like drunkards;

    they were at their wits’ end.

Then they cried out to the Lord in their trouble,

    and he brought them out of their distress.

He stilled the storm to a whisper;

    the waves of the sea were hushed.

They were glad when it grew calm,

    and he guided them to their desired haven.

You can see the parallels between the Psalm and the account 

of the disciples in the boat on the Sea of Galilee.

When I was thinking about these readings, my mind wandered to the movie ‘Jaws’ –

bear with me!

There’s a scene towards the end of the movie when the Sherriff and his side-kick 

head out on a boat with a hardened, very experienced fisherman: a professional shark hunter. 

They’re determined to catch and kill the Great White shark that has been menacing 

the small beach community. Off they go, out to sea. 

Barrels of shark bait are thrown overboard to attract the great sharp-toothed beastie. 

It’s not long until the shark shows up.

And when it does, they’re all awe-struck – this shark is enormous.

And the Sherriff, looking at this freakishly huge shark, 

utters one of the great, iconic lines of the film, saying:

‘I think we’re gonna need a bigger boat.’

After a lot of suspense and some pretty terrifying and gruesome scenes in the ensuing battle, 

eventually the monster is killed – 

having managed to eat the skipper and destroy the boat in the process.

Let me tell you, as someone who grew up in and around boats, 

after seeing that wretched movie it took me a very long time not to get twitchy 

every time I went out on the water. 

The fear was real!

‘We’re gonna need a bigger boat...’ 

I wonder, if the disciples, in the midst of the freakishly big storm that had 

come suddenly upon them, well...I wonder if any of them might have had the same thought? 

These guys are experienced sailors: 

they know the conditions like the back of their hand;

they know their way around a boat;

but suddenly they’re all at sea: literally and metaphorically.

There they are, in the midst of a great storm – 

as our text says ‘a furious storm’ –

a tempest so mighty that it lifted high the waves and caused their tiny boat to be caught up 

in waves so high that they felt as if they were being carried to the heavens ...

and, what goes up, must come down:

so from the heights, they found themselves being hurled to what seemed the very 

depths of the sea. 

Terrifying.

They find themselves battling the elements

find themselves battling for their very lives.

As with the Psalm:

in their peril, their courage melted away;

they reeled and staggered like drunkards;

they were at their wits’ end.

Fear.

As you read the account, you can almost smell it.

It was the end of what had probably been 

quite a long day.

Jesus had been teaching –

telling stories about the kingdom of God –

using simple, every day examples to connect with the crowds who followed him 

wherever he went.

The kingdom was like ...scattering seeds and letting them grow as they would;

The kingdom was like the tiny mustard seed: 

how resilient it was, and how it seemed to sprout everywhere...

There were other stories, too, about lamps on stands.

By evening, it was time for a change. 

Rather than waiting until the dawn, Jesus says to the disciples:

‘let us go to the other side.’

Nothing in our gospel account gives us any indication why Jesus seems to be in such a hurry:

it’s safer to travel by day, he could wait overnight;

and, he goes ‘just as he is’ – no extra supplies, no change of clothes.

‘Let us go to the other side.’

And so they make ready.

On this side of the sea Jesus and the disciples are on home ground – 

they know the area, the culture, share the same religion.

To go to the other side, meant to go to Gentile territory.

Going to the other side meant change and moving out of their comfort zone.

Heading out from the shore,

they find that they've moved very much out of their comfort zone

before they even reached the other side.

But wait a minute.

Even in these early days of Jesus’ ministry,

the disciples have seen him perform miracles.

When the storms of life are raging –

or the Sea of Galilee –

Jesus is, in fact, standing by them.

Sure, he’s asleep.

But he’s there.

And perhaps because he’s able to sleep in the wild and furious storm, 

surely, they should take heart from that –

have a little faith –

even if it’s as small as a mustard seed.

But... it is still early days:

They’re getting to know him, getting to see what he can do – 

which is amazing, but, they don’t as yet really know him.

And because they don’t, there, in the storm,

rather than take comfort that Jesus is with them, they panic.

Rather than asking: ‘Teacher, can you fix this?’

instead, they accuse him of not caring:

‘Don’t you care if we drown?’

Faced with two choices – fear, or faith –

they let fear swamp them just as much as the waves are swamping the boat.

We heard the story: Jesus stills the storm –

from great storm, to great calm.

But instead of being afraid of the storm, the disciples are now afraid of Jesus:

‘Who is this – even the wind and waves obey him?’

Simply put: he is the Son of the One who, in the words of the Psalmist

‘stilled the storm to a whisper;

    the waves of the sea were hushed.’

They learn a little more about this rabbi they’ve been following –

he can do healings, they’ve seen that,

but his power goes beyond that of mere humans:

it extends to power over creation.

They won’t just need a bigger boat to weather storms –

they’re gonna need a bigger view of God.

Fear or faith?

‘Both fear and faith make sense only in relation to something that is unknown, challenging, difficult, or threatening. I mean, it’s just those kinds of things that make us afraid. 

And, when you stop to think about it, it’s just those same kinds of things that summon faith to face them. Indeed, in the face of things that are unknown, challenging, difficult, or threatening, it almost seems like there is a clear choice in front of us – fear or faith.’ David Lose

Following Jesus doesn’t mean difficult things won’t happen: 

we see that clearly in this gospel story, and throughout the gospels –

indeed, we see it expressed very clearly in Paul’s letter to the Corinthians, 

where he talks of being caught up in other kinds of storms:

not the being on a boat in the sea kind, but being caught up in the storms of life 

that had come about due to following Jesus:

‘we live on; beaten and not yet killed, sorrowful, yet always rejoicing; 

poor, yet making many rich; having nothing, yet possessing everything.’

Perhaps it’s not so much of an either /or:

maybe ‘faith doesn’t so much banish fear as it does make it possible to cope with it...

maybe it’s not whether you’re afraid, but how you respond.'

And, having faith is about having trust:

trust grows in relation to the more you learn – the more you know about someone.

For the disciples, it will be a long, ongoing journey of getting to know Jesus.

They’ll make mistakes; 

they’ll misunderstand;

they may even think him mad at times,

and yet, in the end, as they discover him to be the Lord of life

they’ll find in him the longed-for Messiah:

the One who will not just rescue them from the storm,

but who will rescue the whole of humanity,

and they’ll understand that to follow him is perhaps to feel the fear, and do it anyway,

and hang on to his words to be at peace when the storms are all about them.

So, too, for us:

as we learn more of the One we follow and call ‘Lord’

so we learn to trust, even in the storms – especially in the storms –

it’s a long, ongoing journey:

it takes a whole life-time.

You might want to fasten your seat-belts for the ride that may just take you ‘to the other side’ 

– places you’ve never been, 

places outside your comfort zone.

But Jesus is here in the boat with us all the way – 

and, as his followers, we journey with him, and with each other: 

for, we’re all if us in this faith adventure together.

Let’s pray:

When dangers invade our sense of safety

and we wonder if our Redeemer cares,

we hear the invitation:

Be at peace. Be calm.

When we face job loss and financial downturns,

and our sense of security is shaky,

we hear the invitation:

Be at peace. Be calm.

When we experience distress, and conflict,

that feels like it will tear us apart,

we hear the invitation:

Be at peace. Be calm.

When our lives feel chaotic and desolate

because of illness or sorrow,

we hear the invitation:

Be at peace. Be calm.

Help us to know, O God, 

that the one who calmed the dangerous sea is present with us, cares for us, 

and can calm the stormy waters of our lives. 

Help us to trust more fully

 and more deeply in you. 

We pray in the name of Jesus, 

who invites us to be at peace. Amen.

Church news - meetings and updates

Annual Stated Meeting:
This will be held on Sun 1 July, immediately after worship, to receive our annual accounts.
We missed the deadline by a week...!
With the change of Treasurer, and changes to duties [outsourcing our accounts for preparation],
we were slightly held up this year.
Happy to report that we're now on track, and next year should be much more straightforward
[or is that tempting fate??!]

Presbytery Support:
As a congregation, and as a Session, we've had a hard time of it in this last wee while.
As Minister, I continue to be in awe of the resilience and strength of the congregation.
Our Kirk Session has virtually halved over the last 15 months -
most of these unforseen circumstances - leaving the area, retiring; illness, and deaths.
Some of these were long-standing Office holders.
Given our circumstances, Presbytery has offered to provide some support.
This will be done by sending 4 Assessor Elders to come and help us for a wee while -
especially in some areas where we have lost long-held knowledge on particular
office-holder tasks. This is why it's great to be Presbyterian[!!] - and not an independent
congregation, and we're hugely grateful for the help that Presbytery are sending
to get us back up to speed once more. Our Assessor Elders are yet to be appointed,
but once they are, I'll let you know more.

Local Church Review Update:
Many meetings later, along with 'Biscuits and Blethers' and questionnaires,
we are at the stage where our facilitators are processing all the information.
With summer approaching, they have agreed to bring their report to our
September Kirk Session meeting - with our appointed LCR members of the congregation
in attendance. This will be an open meeting, so any other members of the congregation
would be most welcome to attend for that particular piece of business.
The date for that meeting of Session will be 27 Sept at 7pm.
At that meeting, it is also anticipated that our new Assessor Elders will be in attendance.
With the information presented in the report, we hope to put together our 5 year Forward Plan
and, once done, this would be presented to the December meeting of Presbytery.

On a side note:
It's been an interesting time being part of a new process -
'guinea pigs' along with several other parishes [none of whom have yet completed].
Having been on, and 'fronted' LCR teams to other parishes in the 'old' format,
I've found that this new way has taken a lot longer than the previous way of doing things.
Not necessarily a bad thing, but helpful to identify for future time-scales.
Part of that has been new facilitators adjusting, building up relationships of trust, and ironing out some glitches in the new format.
So, with that done, what of the process so far?
I feel it's gone a lot deeper, and been more meaningful than the previous approach:
while the system we had before was okay, sometimes it could feel, at times, almost a
'tick box' kind of exercise. Given that, then new process has been more challenging - but I think
some useful things have come from it.
It's been a mutual learning process - for facilitators and parish - but I think, in the end,
despite some of the early hiccups, that it has been good to be a trial parish.
I'm looking forward to see what transpires from the report in September,
and looking ahead to doing a little forward planning for our next five years.
One thing that I think that would already be a good idea to embed into that plan
is doing 'Biscuits and Blethers' style meetings on an annual basis -
good to have the wider conversations in the various communities within the parish...
although, next time, I'll try NOT to hold one on a long weekend - oops! [still learning!]

Worship, Sun 17 June - 'Small is beautiful'

Our readings for Sunday were: Ezek 17:22-24; 2 Cor 5:6-17; Mark 4:26-34

Because the Minister went 'off-script' there's no full copy of the sermon this week, so instead, a wee sum up of themes and thoughts.

A slight sense of 'Gardeners' Question Time' to worship, with Ezekie'ls 'God the tree planter' metaphor, and Jesus' seed parables. Meantime, in Corinthians, Paul dished out some life goals.

In our 'thinking about' slot, we played 'guess the mystery seed', once we'd determined that what
had been given out at the door with our orders of service were actually seeds.
There were several 'no, you don't eat it' moments...
An indication, perhaps, that on those occasions when presented with items at the door,
they often end up being those of the edible kind!
Mystery seed, by the by: nasturtium.
While Jesus talked of mustard seeds, they were deemed a little too small
and easily lost for the intended worship purposes.
A conversation was had on optimum conditions for growth and flourishing,
and moved into optimum conditions for our own growth and flourishing as God's people.
Congregation invited to take home their seed and use it as a 'prayer plant' -
read the gospel passage, plant it, and over coming weeks, think/pray about God's kingdom
via the various stages of growth - hidden and at work; small shoots; eventually [hopefully] flowers

The sermon focused mainly on the gospel reading, and the theme of scattering seeds
and the qualities of mustard trees. Basic gist as follows!

Regardless of what the person does who has scattered them,
the seeds are doing their thing, quietly, mysteriously - at first unseen – underground,
but later, bursting through the soil and growing.
Seeds, for the most part, just get on with it, and grow.
We might not see the whole picture, we might not even realise there are seeds
underneath us, gently breaking open and beginning to grow...
we might not even be aware of just how long some of those seeds take to grow –
and, some seeds, especially those in the desert, only grow when it rains.
From seemingly nothing, you can suddenly find vast carpets of wildflowers growing in the desert.
The seeds may have been in the soil for years, just waiting for those optimum conditions.
At the right time, they will do what they were created to do.
Jesus: this is like the kingdom of God -
it may seem that nothing much is happening;
it might feel like there are no seeds of the kingdom breaking open and beginning to grow –
it may seem like such a long time since we’ve seen any signs of the kingdom...
but wait, says Jesus – have faith:
the seeds are there, ready and waiting, and some, already growing.

Parable of mustard seed -
Speculation on just how big mustard seeds grow -
not so much a mighty tree, but a decent-sized shrub!
Thought about qualities:
resilient, prolific - bit like a weed, really, grows anywhere it has the chance

So:
The kingdom of heaven is:
prolific...
everywhere, even in the most surprising places...
is resilient
[congregation - some of the most resilient people Minister knows, esp. given this last year or so!!].
Allowed to grow, the mustard bush provides plenty of room to shelter...
so too, the kingdom of heaven.

The truth about God’s kingdom:
like a seed, when planted, it will grow;
like a mustard seed, it begins small;
it’s persistent;
It doesn’t need to be the tallest, it just has to have the optimum conditions, and it’ll flourish.

Church -
Thinking about how small we are, and wider, thinking about main-line church decline:
can cause anxiety. Sometimes look at other parishes and compare - but, every parish
different contexts that affects how and what is happening.
Anxiety about size can lead to jumping on cycle of all-singing, all-dancing programmes,
without necessarily thinking about local culture and context, or even listening to people
in local area. Feeling of disappointment when things don't work...leads to trying something
else, and so on:
 ‘You can’t just scatter the seed, you need to do more’ –
well yes, we need to let go, and let God get on with it.
It starts with scattering seed.
And has its middle and end in trusting God to deal with the actual growth.
We plant the seeds – God deals with the rest.
And the seeds we plant are the smallest of all the seeds, says Jesus...

Current sense re. 'decline' of church in general - possibly comes about from
centuries of 'Empire building' - Church bought into earthly ideas about what a
kingdom looks like, which was a mistake. Empires fall: the Kingdom of Heaven will never fall.
Perhaps what we're witnessing is the death of the old model of Christian empire -
let go of 'but 50 years ago, churches were full, Sunday Schools were packed.'
Societal/ cultural changes haven't been factored into the way we do things.
New things will happen/ new kind of church - as per Ezekiel reading.
Need to remember Kingdom of Heaven brought in by:
King who rides a donkey;
who served others and didn't expect to be served -
washed feet, cared for the stranger, noticed the meek
['why aren't they coming - they should be coming' attitude at times in churches'];
Kingdom a place where all kinds of 'birds' can come and find shelter/ a home:
Jew and Gentile, male and female,
black and white, gay and straight,
rich and poor, introvert and extrovert.
Can do this because our God is big enough -
sometimes bigger than we allow in our imaginations/ hearts.

We are a small congregation - and that is okay, so is the mustard seed -
we might not immediately see signs of the kingdom,
we might be looking at what we don't have - and forgetting our context -
what are the optimal conditions for growing and flourishing here? Might look
v different compared to other places/ towns...
Jesus started the church with 12 friends - good to remember.
Small is beautiful - crack on, scatter seeds, and trust God!

A prayer from Christian Aid finished the sermon:
We may not be able to confront queens, or challenge presidents;
We may not have the capacity to divert resources, or uplift communities;
We may not have the voice to silence the noise of war,
or the words to negotiate peace between armies;
But, as we follow you, O Christ, we are able to do something.
And so, we pray that you would inspire us
to commit to, and act on,
the small difference we can make:
May we bring peace through small acts of gentleness and reconciliation;
May we bring wealth through small contributions and collaborations;
May we bring safety through small acts of consideration and acceptance;
May we bring wholeness through small acts of care and service.
And in the small ways, O God,
so we sow the seeds of your kingdom,
and watch and pray and prepare
to be amazed by the mystery of your faithfulness,
and by your love, at work in our world.  Amen

Sermon, 3 June, Communion Sunday: 'Fix you'

This morning we shared in the Lord's Supper.
Below is today's sermon, with a little bit of 
Coldplay, kintsugi, Cohen, and Communion!

READING: 2 Cor. 4.5-12; Mark 2.23 - 3.6

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

When you try your best but you don't succeed 
When you get what you want 
but not what you need 
When you feel so tired but you can't sleep 
Stuck in reverse...
When the tears come streaming down your face 
'Cause you lose something you can't replace 
When you love someone but it goes to waste 
What could it be worse?...
Lights will guide you home 
And ignite your bones 
And I will try to fix you

Lyrics from the Coldplay song ‘Fix you’.
There’s a lot that’s broken in our readings this morning.
in Mark, we hear of a man who’s broken:
in need of healing because his hand has shrivelled.
Beyond the man with the shrivelled hand, there’s a broken system.
We see this in the scene just before we meet the man in the synagogue:
the disciples, walking through a field, are hungry,
and do the most natural of things,
grab a snack on the go.
Except, that to the religious authorities, this is against the Law.
It’s bad enough to be travelling on the Sabbath,
but they should have prepared beforehand if they wanted food:
taking from the field was seen as harvesting – work...and you don’t work on the Sabbath.

Alerted to the rogue Rabbi and his ragtag followers,
the religious authorities are now ready to try and catch him out.
Arriving at the synagogue on another Sabbath, Jesus and his disciples are watched closely:
will Jesus will break the Law by healing the man?
You know the end of that story:
of course he does.
And is distressed that the ones who should understand the spirit of the Law,
have instead turned it into something soul-destroying...
in a sense, they’ve wrung the life out of it,
and by doing so, have caused it to crush the life out of others.
The Law has become a burden, not a help.

I’ve often said that the Gospel of Mark moves quickly. And here’s a case in point:
Chapter 3, verse 6 is the 79th verse in the Gospel.
And already, Jesus, in healing the man, has made enemies who
are looking to find ways to kill him.
By demonstrating that the Law was intended to be something life-giving,
by showing the religious authorities that compassion and care always come before ideology,
Jesus, the Lord of life, and Lord of the Sabbath, is marked for death:
and it will lead to his body eventually being broken upon a Cross.

But what of our other reading?
The Christians in Corinth have been in a bit of a mess.
Through Paul’s letters, we see that they’ve become a broken and fractured community:
here, the followers of Jesus – the Body of Christ – is broken.
In this second letter to the community, things seem to settling down,
and Paul is providing handy hints and helps for being a reconciled community –
reconciled in Jesus,
and reconciled to one another.
There’s been some seriously bad behaviour –
fighting at communion: please, don’t do this! –
fighting over theology – again, let’s not...
even fighting about who was the best Christian –
this, in arguments about spiritual gifts.
Paul has had his hands full, trying to untangle the mess that the
Corinthian Christians had gotten themselves into.
In all their carryings-on, they’d lost sight of Jesus,
and had lost sight of seeing Jesus in each other.
While the light of God was there in the midst, their own broken humanity
had caused it to burn dim indeed.
Caught up in their own needs,
fighting for a place at the table,
or to prove that they alone were holders of the correct doctrine,
they could no longer see the bigger picture –
that they were all equally beloved of God,
and that they were all equally meant to shine
with his light and life and love
no matter how similar or different they were to one another.

At this point in his letter to the Corinthians, Paul shares with them his struggles:
while being beloved of God is a great and wonderful gift,
it doesn’t mean life’s difficulties just disappear in a puff of magical smoke.
Sometimes, it actually gets more difficult,
especially when you’re doing your level best to avoid putting yourself above God and others –
so very human – and instead, trying to put God in first place.
But, it’s when you do put God first, that you see God’s light shine like a beacon,
showing you the path ahead.
Paul tells them that
Yes, we’re frail, we break as easily as clay jars, but, inside is a great treasure –
life in him,
life that gives us the strength to keep going, hard-pressed as we are.
Paul urges his friends in Corinth
to let God’s light shine,
to let God’s life ripple through every fibre of their being,
to let God’s love reconcile them to him and to one another,
so that, united in Him,
they show the world what God looks like.

There’s an ancient tradition in Japan, ‘kintsugi’,
which is to repair broken pots or ceramics by fusing the cracks with powdered gold or silver:
not hiding the cracks, but making them beautifully visible.
What had been broken, is now fixed.
What had no value, is now beyond price.
Held up, the light shines through the cracks –
flagging up the treasure in the clay jar.
Poet and songwriter, Leonard Cohen once famously said:
'There is a crack in everything. 
That's how the light gets in.'
Each one of us holds that treasure within us:
the light of Gods love –
grace poured out upon us without limit –
God, mending our brokenness, and making something more beautiful.
Shortly, as his people, as the Body of Christ here in the Upper Clyde,
we’ll share in bread and wine:
the meal of reconciliation -
reconciliation with God,
and with one another.
The meal that reminds us that, just as God, in Christ, put us first,
so, as his friends, we are to put him at the centre and remember that:
there is the Cross, and his broken, and dismembered body...
and there is new life:
for in community, as we eat the bread and drink the wine,
we re-member him and are made whole –
a community of reconciliation and resurrection,
called to be his light in the world.

The story goes that, 
“During the bombing raids of World War II, 
thousands of children were orphaned and left to starve. 
The fortunate ones were rescued and placed in refugee camps 
where they received food and good care. 
But many of these children who had lost so much could not sleep at night. 
They feared waking up to find themselves once again homeless and without food. 
Nothing seemed to reassure them. 
Finally, someone hit upon the idea of giving each child a piece of bread to hold at bedtime. 
Holding their bread, these children could finally sleep in peace. 
All through the night, the bread reminded them, ‘Today I ate and I will eat again tomorrow.’”[1]

As friends and followers of Jesus, today, we eat and drink –
and will be fed and nourished by the One who makes us whole, and calls us his own:
the One who is the Bread of Heaven;
the One who knows a thing or two about fixing and mending broken things and broken people;
the One whose light shines in the darkness and who will never be overcome.
The One to whom belongs all honour, and praise and glory, Amen.

[1] From the book 'Sleeping with Bread' by Dennis Linn, Sheila Fabricant Linn, Matthew Linn -
excellent wee book helping to work on what matters, what gives you life, etc. 

Sermon, Sun 27 May: The God who is more...

READINGS: Isaiah 6:1-8; John 3:1-17

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...

About a century or two ago, in a small European mountain village, the local minister decided that all the people who had green eyes should leave.
Only the villagers with blue eyes were direct descendants of the original settlers.
To have green eyes meant that, at some point, they, or an ancestor, had come from somewhere else.
The green-eyed villagers had different values,
different customs and traditions:
they saw things differently, and sometimes this created tension in the village.
Green eyes meant that they didn’t truly belong.
Surely, life would be simpler if the differences disappeared and everyone was the same?
Surely, life would be simpler without having to live alongside, and work with, these others?
Naturally, there was a big uproar from the green-eyed villagers.
Some of them had lived all their lives in the village – had settled, married, raised children.
This was their home.
And, where else could they possibly go?

Being, as he thought, a reasonable man, the minister made a deal.
He would have a religious debate with a member of the green-eyed community.
If their champion won, they could stay.
If the minister won, the green-eyed villagers would have to leave.
Realising that they had no choice, the green-eyed villagers picked a
bright young girl named Myra to represent them.
Now, Myra was the top of the class at school, and, thinking she could do
a fairly decent job of it, agreed.
However, she asked for one addition to the debate.
To make it more interesting, neither side would be allowed to talk.
The minister agreed.

The day of the great debate came.
Myra and the minister sat opposite each other for a full minute before the
minister raised his hand and showed three fingers.
Myra looked back at him and raised one finger.

The minister waved his fingers in a circle around his head.
Myra pointed to the ground where she sat.

The minister pulled out a loaf of bread and a chalice of wine.
Myra pulled out an apple.

Shaking his head, the minister stood up and said,
"I give up. This lass is too good. You win: you can all stay."

An hour later, the kirk session and some members from the congregation had
gathered ‘round the minister asking him what happened.
The minister said,
"First I held up three fingers to represent the Trinity.
She responded by holding up one finger to remind me that there was still
one God common to both our communities.
Then I waved my fingers around me to show her that God was all around us.
She responded by pointing to the ground and showing that God was also right here with us.
I pulled out the bread and the wine to show that God nourishes us, and takes away our sins.
She pulled out an apple to remind me of the Garden of Eden and original sin.
She had an answer for everything.
What could I do?"

Meanwhile, the green-eyed villagers had crowded around Myra
"What happened?" they asked.
"Well," said Myra,
"First he said to me that we had three days to get out of here.
I told him that not one of us was leaving.
Then he decided to play hardball and told me that this whole village would be cleared of our kind.
I let him know that we were staying right here."
"And then?" asked a woman.
"I don't know," said Myra.
"He took out his lunch and I took out mine."
----------------------------------
Two very different ways of seeing something.
And that’s exactly what we find here, in both of our readings this morning.
Our first reading, from the Book of the Prophet Isaiah, recounts a vision that Isaiah has.
It’s mysterious, awe-inspiring.
It’s shown in grand scale:
the great heavenly temple, where the Lord sits upon a high throne –
majestic, exalted.
The train of his robe is so large that it fills the temple.
Surrounding God, are seraphs:
heavenly creatures, the highest in the hierarchy of the angelic host.
Their sole purpose is to proclaim God’s holiness:
‘Holy, holy, holy, is the Lord Almighty;
the whole earth is full of his glory.’
The sound of their voices, as they sing God’s praises, is so powerful,
that the very doorposts, the thresholds, shake
and the temple itself fills with smoke –
possibly a reference to prayer and the incense used when making a sacrifice to God.
The whole scene  is wondrous...
and terrifying.
A display of God’s utter might and power:
hard to imagine,
harder to understand...
and the prophet,
seeing the most high,
seeing the One whose imagination and love brought the world into being,
seeing a glimpse of the immensity and greatness of God...
is overwhelmed.

No one can see God, and live.
It’s just too much to bear.
No one can see God, and not be aware of just how small they are:
God is so all; and we are so small.
No one can see God, and cope with the pure love and goodness that they see
and in the seeing, sense their own lack of love and goodness.
‘Woe to me! I am ruined! For I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among
a people of unclean lips and my eyes have seen the King:
the Lord Almighty.’
Isaiah is amazed, and terrified, and completely undone by this encounter with God.
And yet, all is not lost.
In the midst of the majesty... is mercy.
The offences that Isaiah beholds within himself, when beholding the wonder of God,
are taken away –
he is made whole and the pure fire of God’s love burns within him.
When God asks ‘Whom shall I send?’
Isaiah says: ‘Here I am. Send me.’
In the end, he becomes one of the greatest of the prophets,
touched by the love of God
to touch the lives of others for God
and to be God’s messenger in the world.

Isaiah’s vision of God, of God’s calling,
of God’s love, is one way of seeing God:
an ‘oh’ moment that is as beautiful as it is breath-taking.
A moment where every hair stands on end:
electrifying.
A moment that can do nothing other than bring a response:
love is met ...with love.

In contrast, our second reading of an encounter with God is far less grand.
Having met the prophet Isaiah, our gospel reading introduces us to the Pharisee, Nicodemus.
He’s a teacher of the Law, a member of the Jewish Council:
he’s part of the religious establishment of his time.
And, he’s curious, as well as cautious.
He’s heard of this rabbi, Jesus;
knows he’s done miraculous things.
He wants to know –
wants to see Jesus –
wants to understand.
Under the cover of darkness, he skulks through the streets of Jerusalem,
and finds himself at the place where Jesus is staying.
He’s full of questions, and yet, Jesus remains an enigma.
Each question is answered in a completely unexpected way:
he’s particularly flummoxed by all this ‘being reborn’ stuff that Jesus is talking about –
but it’s about spiritual life, not that journey from the womb.
Jesus talks of ‘water and the Spirit,’
and to help Nicodemus better understand,  widens the conversation out:
essentially, it’s all about
God’s love,
God’s mercy,
God’s desire to be in relationship,
to be involved,
to be at the centre of our lives.

To be reborn is to see anew,
is to understand that there is more to God
than just following a bunch of rules;
to be reborn is to see that there is more to God:
God is Father,
and God is Son,
and God is Spirit –
different and yet one.
Mysterious, and yet made known in Jesus,
and giving life to all through the Spirit –
the Spirit that unites all to God,
and brings us into God’s family:
as God’s children,
and as brothers and sisters to one another.
To be reborn is to recognise that we belong to a community gathered to love God –
not just individually but together,
just as God in Trinity, is in community.
Each one of us makes the whole community,
just as Father, Son, and Spirit, make up the fullness that is God.

As Jesus talks to Nicodemus, he reminds him that God cannot be put in a box:
‘the wind blows wherever it pleases. You hear its sound, but you cannot 
tell where it comes from or where it is going.’
Nicodemus, the teacher, the religious official, is basically told:
‘you can’t control God, but you can trust him.’

This last week, at the General Assembly,
hard questions were asked about the future of the church.
For some, the future was bleak.
There was the language of control,
the language of ‘managing decline.’
There was corporate language and number crunching and ‘hard facts.’
And there was a report called ‘the strategic plan’ which seemed to be written
far from the reality that many parishes, and indeed, presbyteries were facing.
And, it was thrown out:
the Assembly found its voice.
The time to act was seen to be now, not looking 10 years down the track.
From that debate, connections and conversations were had over lunch, or a cuppa:
the beginnings, perhaps, of seeing that to be church is not
so much a matter of the survival of the fittest,
and the forgone conclusion that the biggest and wealthiest win –
but rather, that we’re all in this together:
rural and town, priority areas and leafy suburbs.
Rather than seeing ourselves as a people ‘managing decline’
perhaps last week, we began to see
like Isaiah, like Nicodemus,
the God who is more...
and the God who connects us to him,
and to each other...
the God who calls us
to serve him,
to serve one another,
and to serve the world,
in love –
and in all our diversity:
whether our eyes are green, or blue, or something else entirely.

It’s Trinity Sunday.
And the Father, Son, and Spirit dance together:
each playing a part...
Perhaps, we, who are created in God’s image are called to the great work of dancing together –
and as we do, we play our part in being God’s good news in a world that’s starving for more:
for the God, who is more than we could ever hope for or imagine,
and in whom we find life, now, and forever. Amen.