Sermon: 21st Sunday after Pentecost

 Sermon: 21st Sunday after Pentecost

25 October 2020 – Archdeacon Mark Long

1 Thessalonians 2:1-8; Psalm 90:1-6, 13-17; and Matthew 22:34-46; NRSV 

Today is Thanksgiving Sunday here at St Thomas’, an opportunity to reflect on God’s goodness in our lives and and to respond by sharing something of this blessing through our thanksgiving gifts. The joy is that this year these gifts will make a direct difference to the lives of others who are far less well resourced than ourselves. There is something quite profound in this action as a witness to the goodness of God in our lives and our world. It also special, that despite the challenges of 2020 – not least among them the Covid-19 pandemic that has turned our lives upside down – we are able to find the gift within ourselves to be thankful to God. I am especially thankful for the resilience of individuals and families within the St Thomas’ Parish community, for the gift of digital technology that has enabled us to remain in touch, and despite being separated physically, we are able to sustain that sense of togetherness as we worship virtually via video, and now thankfully also in-person. God’s Holy Spirit is not limited to the physical world, and where perhaps in faith-terms we have imagined the physical and spiritual world as the realm of God’s activity, we’ve discovered this also embraces the virtual world: all three environments offer a life-giving experience of God’s presence. 

Our Scripture readings today call us to holy living, and to a lifestyle that reflects a dedication to the purposes of God in our lives. Thanksgiving is one facet of what it means to be holy, and in terms of our focus today, holy living is a call to live distinctive lives that stand out in the crowd. We stand out because we find the courage in a world increasingly defined by consumerism to look beyond ourselves to the needs of others, especially those who lack resources; and we seek to counter the growing individualism of western society by seeking to participate in community. It is worth reading a little further on from where the epistle reading from 1 Thessalonians 2 ends, to where Paul, Silvanus, and Timothy urge the faithful in Thessalonica to “… lead a life worthy of God”[1], and speak of themselves as committed to share the Good News in such a manner as “… not to please mortals, but to please God who tests our hearts.”[2] As children of God you and I are all called to lead lives worthy of God, difficult as this can be in a world that often is at odds with the values of God’s Kingdom. 

In today’s reading from Matthew’s Gospel Jesus’ response to the Pharisees’ question also highlights the holiness you and I are called to. While Jesus often challenges the Pharisees they are in fact the group he is most aligned with, and we see that in his interaction with them in this passage he takes their question seriously, answering it and posing a question of his own (in contrast with his interaction that directly proceeds this one with the Sadducees where he informs them that they “… are wrong, because [they] know neither the scriptures nor the power of God”).[3] For Jesus there is not one ultimate commandment, but two, and interestingly he draws not from the Ten Commandments, but from Deuteronomy[4] and Leviticus[5]. As Anglicans we know this answer well as we hear it proclaimed each Sunday as part of our penitential preparation for Holy Communion. Our confession is both individual and communal: acknowledging that our lives often fall far short of the holiness we are called to. Although loving God with all our being is the greatest commandment, it is lived out through the second commandment, and much of our personal and communal confession by necessity relates to the variety of ways we ignore our neighbour. In rabbinical teaching reference to a portion of Scripture often referred to a wider passage, and it may be helpful to read the whole of Leviticus 19 – often referred to as the Holiness Code – in seeking to get a hold on what Jesus meant about loving one’s neighbour. There are some aspects of Leviticus 19 that don’t make much sense in our 21^st century environment and can probably be overlooked, but the references to the manner in which we are called to live in good relationship may well be instructive: verse 18, where this second commandment is to be found, also speaks of not holding a grudge nor seeking revenge; verse 17 speaks of the need to reprove our neighbour; in verse 13 we are reminded not to defraud or steal, or hold over an employees wages till tomorrow; in verse 15 we are instructed not to be partial to the poor or defer to the great; in verse 32 we’re enjoined to rise before the aged and defer to the old … these are just a few titbits of the Code that give us an image of what true holiness looks like. Much of this is practical, everyday instruction calling us to live transparent and just lives where people matter, from the more intimate space of family relationships to the societal environment where many are strangers to us. 

Thanksgiving Sunday here at St Thomas’ is a practical step of holiness. Your willingness to be thankful and to translate that into an extraordinary financial gift that will be passed on via Fikelela this year to meet the overwhelming need that the Covid-19 lockdown has created for many in the wider Cape Town environment, above and beyond the food parcels we already provide, is a profound act of practical care for our neighbour. God bless you! 

I close with a prayer by Pádraig O Tuama, Irish poet and theologian. Let us pray, 

Jesus, you shared peace

around a table of anxiety,

peace with the bread, peace with the wine,

peace in the face of the uncertain,

peace in the place of pain.

May we share tables of peace

in places of pain,

sharing food and friendship

and words and life.

Because you came to a fearful world

and found you place

around those tables.

Amen.[6]

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[1] 1 Thessalonians 2:12; NRSV

[2] 1 Thessalonians 2:4b; NRSV

[3] Matthew 22:29;NRSV

[4] Deuteronomy 6:5; NRSV

[5] Leviticus 19:18; NRSV

[6] Pádraig Ó Tuama, Daily Prayer with the Corrymeela Community

Sermon: 19th Sunday after Pentecost

Sermon: 19th Sunday after Pentecost

11 October 2020 – Archdeacon Mark Long

Philippians 4:1-9; Psalm 106:1-6, 20-24; and Matthew 22:1-14; NRSV

Today we again have the opportunity to engage with Scripture, both within the context of our worship and also within the context of our lives. Times of worship give us the opportunity to draw aside from the fullness of life, but not to the exclusion of that fullness; an opportunity to reflect on the priorities God calls us to, and to realign our lives to the imperatives of our faith. Our liturgy provides a framework and a safe space within which this important work can be done, built as it is on the traditions that have nurtured faith and life over millennia. Much of our liturgy is a re-forming of Scripture itself in the prayers and structuring of our communal time together, and the reading and proclamation of specific passages of Scripture are an opportunity to explore God’s ancient Word in the immediacy of the now, in the challenging context of our daily lives. As individuals we gather with a vast variety of differing joys and concerns that exercise our awareness; as a community there are common societal ills that perplex our collective consciousness. We see things differently, we hold differing perspectives, but we are united in our desire to hear God and to have our lives refashioned in the Creator’s hands. Scripture is one of the important instruments in this process. 

The parable in Matthew’s Gospel this morning is a difficult one, and begins with the words,”The kingdom of heaven may be compared to …”[1] and goes on to tell a story about the vindictive and excessive violence exercised by a king over his subjects.[2] Our Christian minds all too easily make an automatic and often unconscious link between the word King and the word God, which is often reinforced when we hear the word parable. A traditional interpretation of this parable does exactly that by expounding this story as an allegory of the historical relationship between God and the Jewish people who in refusing to accept Jesus as Messiah opened the door for the Gentiles to be grafted into this historic relationship. However, clearly Jesus didn’t tell parables in order for them to be easily understood; instead he wished his listeners to be challenged to think more deeply about life and faith. An allegorical interpretation of this passage paints a problematic picture of God as vindictive and excessively violent, the Jews as privileged and unaccountable landowners, and the gentiles at best as common labourers and at worst as beggars in the streets. This conflicts on numerous levels with the testimony of wider Scripture and the broader narrative of Matthew’s Gospel, and not least with Jesus’ very powerful proclamation of love as the primary driving force of Divinity. The key to interpreting this parable lies not in the king, nor in the invited guests who reject the invitation, and not even in the bulk of those who do finally attend; it lies in the man who was “… not wearing a wedding robe”[3], and who when challenged “… was speechless”[4] and subsequently bound and thrown out “… into the outer darkness.”[5] Where else do we hear about a man who is bound and remains speechless in Matthew’s Gospel? A good storyteller – and I would suggest that the writer of Matthew is such a storyteller – will always leave clues. 

In Matthew 27 we read, “Now Jesus stood before the governor; … But when he was accused by the chief priests and elders, he did not answer. Then Pilate said to him, “Do you not hear how many accusations they make against you?” But he gave him no answer, not even to a single charge, so that the governor was greatly amazed.”[6] Jesus, too, is subsequently bound and crucified, cast out into the outer darkness. Here is our clue. Using this clue certain pieces of the puzzle, although not all the answers, begin to click into place. The king is the Roman Emperor, and Matthew’s listeners knew the vindictive and excessive violence of Rome; and much of the parable speaks to the manner in which Rome sought to rule its empire, always working where possible with local leadership in imposing the Roman Peace, but responding with excessive violence when this leadership proved fickle and self-serving and incapable of maintaining the subservience of the those conquored. In the parable, although the king has already murdered those who have angered him, the man not wearing a wedding robe becomes the scapegoat for the king’s broader frustration with the people’s indifference to his authority, just as Jesus becomes the scapegoat for Jewish indifference – often outright rebellion – to Rome. If this Gospel had been written a decade or two later, after Rome’s destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem in 70CE, perhaps this parable would have included the massacre of all who attended the wedding dinner as well. In sharing this parable the writer of Matthew is laying the groundwork for Jesus’ arrest, trial and execution, reminding us of the forces at play; warning us that there will be no fairytale ending. If you’re wanting a happy ending, the writer is saying that this parable is the place to put the book aside. 

The parable ends with the words, “For many are called, but few are chosen.”[7] Perseverance and courage are required to walk the journey of faith, especially if we are willing to live at the intersection of faith and daily life. The temptation to overlook the the social ills of our time, and find false comfort in our faith is always there. The majority of those who do attend the wedding celebration have done just this: they know the vindictive and violent nature of their host all too well, but for the sake of momentary comfort and seeming peace they put on their wedding clothes. One person is willing to stand their ground, and refuses to wear the costume, refuses to dance to the required tune, and is willing to show up the farce for what it is. All were called to name the evil, only one person does, only one is chosen. 

This parable is not a comfortable one. Despite the wedding metaphor there is no joy in it, just the stark reality of life under a brutal regime; and only one individual willing to stare down the oppressor. But it’s not hopeless. One individual is chosen, and finds the courage to call the evil of the day for what it is. In the story of faith one individual is always sufficient: Abraham, Moses, Jeremiah, Jesus, St Francis, Nelson Mandela, Desmond Tutu, Pope Francis. You and me. Yes, you and me … I’m unlikely to ever be a Desmond Tutu, and you’re unlikely to ever be a Nelson Mandela, but we are both called, and we both have within us the inherent gift to be chosen; we may not change the world, but we can make a difference for good and for God where we live, work and worship. We have already made the commitment to be available to God’s purposes; and we affirm this each time we gather in worship; and God is already using us for our greater good and God’s greater glory. To be chosen, we need to become more aware, more fully conscious of our daily participation in God’s activity at the intersection of our faith and daily lives. At this intersectionality of faith and life is our hope, undergirded by the Holy Spirit – the ongoing and unfailing presence of God – and by the regular opportunity to be agents of transformation, equity, and belonging. 

Let us pray, 

Jesus,

our dead and living friend,

We walk the ways of death and life

holding fear in one hand

and courage in the other.

Come find us when we are locked away.

Come enliven us.

Come bless us with your peace.

Because you are the first day of creation

And all days of creation.

Amen.[8]

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[1] Matthew 22:2a; NRSV

[2] Raj Nadella, Commentary on Matthew 22:1-14, http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=4613

[3] Matthew 22:11b; NRSV

[4] Matthew 22:12b; NRSV

[5] Matthew 22:13; NRSV

[6] Matthew 27:11a, 12-14; NRSV

[7] Matthew 22:14; NRSV

[8] Pádraig Ó Tuama, Daily Prayer with the Corrymeela Communityhttps://youtu.be/prUOz__-e-M

Spring Newsletter 2020: Article

Dear Friends

September has arrived far too quickly and is already at and end as we welcome October into our lives. This year has sped past for me and brings back childhood memories of attempting to run up the downward moving escalator! However, despite the speed I am also thankful for some of the recent changes this year has now brought us, heralding as it does new opportunities: we have a new Bishop of Table Bay consecrated, licensed, and installed, marking a new journey for the Diocese as Bishop Joshua picks up responsibility for the daily running of Diocesan life (and in the process new neighbours at St Andrew’s); and a return to in-person worship for those brave (or insane) enough to venture out! September has also marked the Season of Creation in the Anglican Communion – which we have  engaged with again this year – that does encompass our Southern Hemisphere Spring and is an important reminder of the generosity of God in the resources humanity is blessed with.

For myself these last few months of the pandemic have highlighted how much of life and personal freedom I took for granted. I realised the other day that I was experiencing similar emotional trauma to that which I experienced in the mid-1980’s when I underwent military National Service. Basics was equivalent to Alert Level 5, a total loss of freedom; and subsequent postings a bit like a move through Levels 4 to 2 as I was shifted off to Oshakati in what was then South West Africa, and then down to Simonstown (I was with the South African Medical Services), which was a breath of fresh air in comparison and returned much of the freedoms I’d lost, but not all. Level 1 could almost be described as freedom, but with the virus still active we stand in that liminal space reminiscent of Israel’s journey from Egypt towards the promised land, free but still constricted. Lockdown over the last six and more months has been a difficult journey: all that we considered normal on a global scale shifted overnight, and COVID-19 instantly created a new context that we are slowly and cautiously learning to navigate. We all respond differently to trauma, and some of us better than others. However, the reality is that we have all suffered loss in some form and need to not underestimate its effects on ourselves, on those we love, on our wider community, Nation, and global environment; and to realise we walk this road together, none of us more expert than another in negotiating this new context. I have found my relationship with God to be key to my sanity, both in the 1980’s and now in 2020, and immersion in Scripture and Prayer the cement that holds my fragile human state together. I have journeyed – as you know – this time around with Irish poet and theologian Pádraig Ó Tuama’s book, Daily Prayer with the Corrymeela Community. There is simplicity and healing in the words offered in Morning, Midday, and Evening Prayer in this book that have held me, comforted me, and healed me during this time. My prayer is that you, too, may have been given a similar gift.

This new context demands that we hold our plans lightly, but plan nonetheless. Normally at this time of year we are shifting into top gear for our Morning Market, and so it seems strange not to walk into an office overflowing with dropped-off donations for the market. It was fun this last weekend to join Rob, Chris, Tim and Caroline, and Jim in the Greyton Pie Run in an attempt to raise funds in a different way this year for our Ministry to The Needy Projects for next year (thank you to everyone who has supported us!), and to do that in person and shed some sweat in the process.  Thank you all for keeping the Faith during this difficult time of ongoing change that the pandemic has birthed. Please continue to persevere in trust that God is with us, and that God has the best in mind for us at St Andrew’s, and in the broader context of life. A favourite verse that carried me through my National Service and that continues to be relevant comes from Jeremiah 29:11 (NRSV), “For surely I know the plans I have for you, says the LORD, plans for your welfare and not for harm, to give you a future with hope.” This was written to a community in exile, themselves struggling to navigate their new context, much like us who have been exiled for a time by the pandemic from our Church buildings, and yet are finding God faithful in a new land, and are learning to worship in different and fresh ways. Our return to our beautiful Church building has begun, slowly and strangely – a space that marks our identity, and helps define our worship and our faith. We return with the knowledge that what we thought to be indispensable to our lives and our faith has been proved dispensable, giving us the opportunity to re-embrace it differently and yet with no less devotion, knowing that in meeting God meaningfully in our homes and in the digital-virtual environment over the last half-year, that the physical experience is to be welcomed with new reverence. It is time, not to rebuild, but to re-imagine.

I close with some versicals by Pádraig Ó Tuama:

May we find the wisdom we need,

God be with us.

May we hear the needs of those we meet,

God be with us.

May we love the life we are given,

God be with us.

Blessings

Mark

Sermon: 17th Sunday after Pentecost

 Sermon: 17th Sunday after Pentecost

Season of Creation 4

27 September 2020 – Archdeacon Mark Long

Exodus 17:1-7; Psalm 78:1-4, 11-15; and Matthew 21:23-32; NRSV

Welcome to the 4^th Sunday in the Season of Creation, and today’s theme: “Water is Life.” In my last few sermons I have reminded us of how many days we have spent in lockdown, but it struck me yesterday that sometimes focusing on the numbers can make the journey seem harder than it is. This particular lightbulb moment struck me yesterday around 60km into the Pie Run Cycle Race from Greyton to Riviersonderend and back … my body was aching after a particularly steep hill combined along with riding into a strong westerly wind. Watching the kilometres click over so slowly on my cycling speedometer brought me close to pulling over and retiring from the event, unsure that my legs could possible make the next water point a kilometre or two away away, let alone the finish line nearly 30km away. It helped to click over to the cadence reading, and to focus on keeping the pedals revolving at a steady pace. Similarly, watching the days of lockdown click past can mesmerise us and distract us from seeking to live life to the full within the limitations of the difficult journey that COVID-19 has forced on us. Our theme today uses the word water, it also uses the word life. While Scripture never promises an easy life it does promise abundant life,[1] and it is beholden on us to discover and live that abundance no matter the limitations we experience.

You may remember from last week that the Israelites, as they journeyed from Egypt towards the promised land, were somewhat querulous about the lack of food they were experiencing, and that God provided food sufficiently and abundantly for the needs of the day, everyday. A few chapters on in Exodus in today’s reading and they are whinging again, this time about the lack of water. Key to their complaint is not actually the lack of water, but after all that God has done to free them from Egypt and sustain them in the desert, it is really their lack of trust in God’s ability to provide for them that is at stake here. Today’s Psalm reflects on this, saying, “They forgot what you had done, and the wonders you had shown them.”[2] They had quickly taken for granted God’s daily provision of manna in the morning and quail in the evening, and had become focused again on the difficulty of the journey instead. It is testimony to God’s mercy, that in the words of the Psalm, God, “… split the hard rocks in the wilderness and gave them drink from the great deep.”[3] The reference to the “great deep” is again testimony to God’s mercy as this is no superficial gift, referencing as it does the abundant resource used as a foundation for Creation itself: “… the earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep, while a wind from God swept over the face of the waters.”[4] This gift, too, amazing as the moment of provision is, will quickly be taken for granted by the Israelites.

It wasn’t long ago that we were praying fervently for God to break the drought in the Western Cape. Tweewaterskloof dam, which was but a puddle not too long ago, began overflowing yesterday. My question is, “Are we able to see this as God’s mercy and abundant provision, or have we also moved on, taking it for granted that because we’ve now had a season or two of good rain that we can forget that this incredible resource is God’s abundant provision in our lives; and do we remain aware of the need to conserve this resource that is so critical to the survival not only of human life, but life itself?” When we acknowledge something as a special gift, we are more likely to use the gift with great care. When we compare our own responses to God’s provision in our lives, and acknowledge our own lack of trust in God’s willingness to sustain us, it helps us perhaps be a little more compassionate in our response to the Israelites’ demands of God. Apart from the broken drought, many around the globe experience the economic, political, and social hardships brought about by the present pandemic, and as South African’s we are not alone in our frustration (even anger) with our leadership. Are we able to look beyond the broken nature of humanity, and trust that God does truly have our interests at heart, does hear our cry, and will answer?

Today’s Gospel reading refers to “John’s Baptism”[5], and it is a bit of a stretch to link this reference, considering its context, with today’s theme that “Water is life”. However, there is a link to the broader themes I have raised this morning as it touches on legitimacy, particularly Jesus’ legitimacy, and the equivocal nature[6] of the leadership offered by the Chief Priests and Elders. A few chapters back in Matthew Jesus has effectively occupied[7] the Temple, challenged the economic framework of power in place at the time, and in today’s reading the equivocation of the Chief Priest’s and Elders effectively underlines Jesus’ authority as God-given. However, the authenticity of Jesus’s authority is already verified in Matthew’s Gospel by the healing and reconciliation his ministry has brought about in a variety of interactions. Matthew effectively proclaims that Jesus is the water of life in that his life and ministry continuously demonstrate God’s mercy, God’s provision, and God’s willingness to sustain life abundantly (as we have seen in Exodus); and God does this within the context of the difficult life experience of Judeans under the oppressive and violent yoke of Rome.

The gift we are offered in today’s readings is a reminder that whether or not we trust God, God can be trusted; that where we question the legitimacy of our temporal leaders due to their apparent equivocation in dealing with the real needs of the poor in our society, and the corruption that feeds off resources that should serve this need, God’s authority remains legitimate; where we are restless and impatient with the restrictions the pandemic imposes on us, God offers abundant life within these limitations. I am not suggesting we shouldn’t be restless and impatient, because this also is God’s gift to us as it leads us to question and seek possible doorways to embracing the abundance of life that God promises humanity (as experienced by the Israelites on their desert journey in Exodus, and by the Judeans as they seek freedom from Rome’s oppression): it is an opportunity for God to sustain and heal and renew. We come with our agendas and expectations, and God uses these as a platform from which to transform our expectations by aligning them with the purposes of the Kingdom: this is certainly the testimony of Jesus’ life and ministry, and it is the experience of people of Faith throughout the millennia.

In closing, I ask, “Dare we trust that this may be true for us, in our own time and context, that God may transform our expectations and in so doing immerse us in an abundant experience of life? Dare we trust that God is trustworthy? Dare we drink the water that is life? Dare we?”

Let us pray,

God of yesterday,

we knew you then:

your promises; your words;

your walking among us.

But yesterday is gone.

And so today we are in need of change

Change

and change us.

Help us see life now

not through yesterday’s stories

but through today’s.

Amen.

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[1] John 10:10; NRSV

[2] Psalm 78:11; Order of St Helena

[3] Psalm 78:15; Order of St Helena

[4] Genesis 1:1; NRSV

[5] Matthew 21:25: NRSV

[6] Cameron B R Howard, Calling a Thing What It Actually Is, http://www.workingpreacher.org/craft.aspx?post=5456

[7] Stanley Saunders, Commentary on Matthew 21:23-32, http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=4575