It's A Knock Out

 

The summer heat wave moves on apace here at the Knowledge College as the term draws to an end. My 16 year olds are long gone, having completed their exams and I find myself attached to a Year 10 form for the enrichment activities of the last week of term, their regular tutor being on maternity leave.

I arrive at registration to discover, to some surprise, that only ten of them have turned in but they seem keen and enthusiastic. Conscious of the health issues associated with being outside in such temperatures, I run through my air-stewardesque safety routine. I hold up my water bottle.

How many of you have water?

One hand goes up. Not a good start. I dig into the bag and hold up sunscreen. Two hands go up. This is not looking good. Hats and sunglasses elicit no responses at all and I note a lot of strappy tops: so much for the baggy T-shirt. It isn’t as if they’ve not been told – repeatedly.

“It’ll be alright.” They reassure me.

 I rue the fact that I am not young enough to know best.

We set off to the sports field and my lot leg it to the front leaving me, somewhat in the slipstream of their enthusiasm bringing up the rear of a column of some 250 sets of hormones. The halt, lame and lazy are at the back – I exclude myself, although it doesn’t take long for me to wish I hadn’t worn these old trainers: I can feel chaffing and suspect I may be developing blisters.

Oh MAN UP!

The slowest of the slow include two girls who could only care less and walk any slower with the aid of mogadon.

“I’m gonna be nice today” girl A says as she slaps girl B.

“That wasn’t nice.” (Slap).

“Well you run with scissors.” (Slap).

“Yeah? Well, you play with matches.” (Slap).

It’s going to be a long day.

As we arrive I am both intrigued and impressed by a vast array of brightly coloured, giant, inflatable obstacle-course type games. The day is being run by an organisation called We're A Knock Out,  based on a long running pan-European TV show from the 1970s. The basis of the game is team competition with lashings of humiliation. It was a bit like a rerun of World War Two with a more predictable outcome: Germany always won, France peaked early and Belgium always came last. We did the usual magnanimous-in-defeat British thing and pretended that it was the taking part that mattered.

The lead instructor, an Australian, divided each form group into two teams, A and B. Because my lot were so light on numbers they opted to be both A and B and do everything twice, which worried me slightly given the temperature and the lack of shade in the games area.

I particularly liked the heat where the kids were strapped into a huge table-football game, if only because a lot of the kids ended up facing the wrong way and their instructor wouldn’t let them change. They were still better than my lame attempts at table-football.

Wearying of watching after a while I sloped back to the waiting enclosure for a drink and a reapplication of sunscreen. Lucy is brought over to where I am sitting.

“AND DON’T MOVE!” her Form Tutor instructs. I assume he is talking to her. I look at her.

“I hate him.”

I raise an eyebrow.

“Joanne splashed me with water, (the cow) so I splashed her back (the bitch). Then she poured a bottle of water over me, so I poured a bottle of water over her. Then she poured her juice in my hair, so I hit her with my bottle. Then she said I had a big bum, so I told her that her shorts were up her arse-crack. Then Sir came along.”

Some of mine wandered by for a snack. They were giddy with excitement.

“You should have seen Kelley! She’s soaked to the skin and she just kept whacking the boys out of the way.” I picture Kelley, elbows and knees sharpened for the fray, as she throws herself under netting and through huge inflatable obstacles. I’m glad she’s on my team.

At some point I realise that my blister is both sore and inflamed. I take myself to the designated first-aider, whine a bit and am rewarded with a plaster.

At lunch I find myself sitting with a gaggle of my Asian colleagues.

Where’s Derrinder today?

“He’s away. He got sunburnt on sports day.”

Are you serious?

“He’s got sensitive skin. It’s a good job he’s not a girl.”

There are blank looks from the non-Asians and smiles and sage nods from the Asians.

“It’s the Indian Tiger.” Ishvinder confides.

More blank looks.

“I mean the Indian mother. The Jewish mother has nothing on the Indian mother.” She adopts a heavy cameo Indian accent “Get out of the sun! You’ll go dark and then who will marry you? Do you want to be twenty-two and single?”

“You don’t have long to find a doctor.” Zibya takes up the challenge. “And if you don’t find one, we’ll have to settle with a dentist. Oh, the shame. Your grandmother will spin in her grave. A teacher? A TEACHER? Don’t be ridiculous!”

Not to be outdone, Kajol joins in. “When your grandmother was your age in Delhi she had thirty four children. Did she complain? What’s the matter with your cousin? He drives an Aston Martin! He’s a good catch. So what if he’s got one leg longer than the other? No-one’s perfect! What other men have paid you attention? You can’t afford to be choosy. You’re not exactly a looker yourself!”

I look at my friends, Muslim, Hindu and Sikh as they vie to outdo each other with stories of Tiger Mothers, Mothers-in-law, grandmothers, Aunts and Step-mothers, each more outrageous than the last, while the rest of us hoot with laughter. It puts me in mind of Mrs. Bennett from Pride and Prejudice. What a joy.

All was going well until we hear the dulcet tones of one of our Senior Managers.

“Oh God, someone’s given her a microphone.”

We sit in horror as she announces that there will be a staff heat. I look around at my colleagues.

They have evaporated leaving me on my own.

Tumbleweed blows by.

I am doomed and before I can say Not Bloody Likely I am pressganged into a team. Sixteen members of staff who have so far managed to stay clean and dry and two hundred and fifty baying fans: the potential humiliation quota is through the roof.

Has there been a risk assessment? I enquire weakly. Some of us are over 40 and strangers to exercise.

No quarter is given and we are off, bouncing on space-hoppers, scrambling under a net, submerging in a pool of water looking for a ball of a specified colour, (You call that blue?) scrambling under more net and throwing the ball into a bucket.

I decide not to go first when all the attention is on the opening four. Opting to go last in my team, I rightly surmise that no one will notice me in the general scrum. This is good because I fail spectacularly on the space-hopper (I am too tall), get tangled in the net on both occasions “Go on Sir.” Manage to grab Mrs. Bakers dress in the pool, apologise profusely as she accuses me of cheating, nearly drown, retrieve a ball of indeterminate colour, discover my legs no longer work and fail to get the ball into the bucket. My legs seem to belong to someone else and I remember, as I stagger back to the start and my life flashes before my eyes, that I’m not actually 15.

(Mrs. Baker has been coy and skittish with me ever since.)

My next round pairs me against the Demon Headteacher: he is very competitive and leaves me standing. I wouldn’t have minded so much but he’s older than me.

At the end of the game not one of us has actually managed to get the ball (was about to say our balls, but decided against it) into the team bucket.

I feel I may have risked my life to no avail. Four teams have tied for last place.

“It’s like a swimming pool” one colleague complains. “There was a plaster at the shallow end.”

I look at my toe. Oops.

I officially smell like a pond. I have no spare clothes and will be leading Compline in the local church after school. Great!

Every child is throwing water at every other child. Lucy seems to be leading the charge, but it is good natured.

Rather surprisingly, my little lot won both A and B competitions. I am very proud, even though I’d largely forgotten about them as the day wore on, what with me having problems of my own. They had to be stretchered off, but they won!

 

Jesus sends out the Seventy: Luke 10:1-11, 16-20, (and a Baptism.)

Jesus sends out the Seventy: Luke 10:1-11, 16-20

After this the Lord appointed seventy others and sent them on ahead of him in pairs to every town and place where he himself intended to go. He said to them, "The harvest is plentiful, but the labourers are few; therefore ask the Lord of the harvest to send out labourers into his harvest. Go on your way. See, I am sending you out like lambs into the midst of wolves. Carry no purse, no bag, no sandals; and greet no one on the road. Whatever house you enter, first say, 'Peace to this house!' And if anyone is there who shares in peace, your peace will rest on that person; but if not, it will return to you. Remain in the same house, eating and drinking whatever they provide, for the labourer deserves to be paid. Do not move about from house to house. Whenever you enter a town and its people welcome you, eat what is set before you; cure the sick who are there, and say to them, 'The kingdom of God has come near to you.' But whenever you enter a town and they do not welcome you, go out into its streets and say, 'Even the dust of your town that clings to our feet, we wipe off in protest against you. Yet know this: the kingdom of God has come near.'  "Whoever listens to you listens to me, and whoever rejects you rejects me, and whoever rejects me rejects the one who sent me." The seventy returned with joy, saying, "Lord, in your name even the demons submit to us!"  He said to them, "I watched Satan fall from heaven like a flash of lightning.  See, I have given you authority to tread on snakes and scorpions, and over all the power of the enemy; and nothing will hurt you. Nevertheless, do not rejoice at this, that the spirits submit to you, but rejoice that your names are written in heaven.

May the words of my mouth and the meditations of all our hearts be acceptable to you, O Lord.

 Where I work we have a sponsored walk every year. Last year we awoke to lowering leaden skies which did not bode well. Sammi arrived in registration, limping.

"I thought I'd walk today instead of getting the bus."

(Who, in their right mind, walks to school in new trainers on the only day of the year when registration is followed by a compulsory ten mile walk?)

Picture this: the elite runners had set off: those who would run the distance in some silly time and the rest of the children, the second team, the walkers in their Gladiator sandals, Ugg boots and flip-flops, were assembled, shivering - this is the British summer after all - to be given a range of stirringly inspirational speeches by members of the teaching staff who, as soon as the kids departed into the drizzle, would slope off to the weatherproof and warm embrace of the staffroom for a restorative coffee.

The kids remained, strangely, unconvinced by these inspirational speeches “Great.” They thought, as they digested the prospect.

It was with that in mind that I looked at today’s Gospel and thought that Jesus might have benefitted from giving one of those stirringly inspirational speeches before sending the Disciples off into whatever was the first century evangelistic version of a wet British summer morning: even if, like my students, the Disciples remained unconvinced. What the Disciples got instead was the analogy of going out into a complex and hostile world as sheep into an environment of wolves.  “Great!” they must have been thinking as they digested the prospect.

As if that unappetising prospect wasn’t enough, these first Christian missionaries are commanded to go empty-handed, without even the most basic provisions necessary for the road. No purse, no bag, no sandals. They must leave all these sorts of basics at home. They are armed instead with only this message: the kingdom of God has come near. This is both their proclamation and their promise. They are to speak these words to those who offer them hospitality and to those who don’t. They are to be ambassadors for Christ; they are to live as role models for all to see. They are to practice peace, do justice, live out the faith. Sheep in the midst of wolves.

It’s worth noting too, that this Gospel version alone refers to the wider group of disciples: not just the elite runners, the 12, but the second team who we don’t generally hear that much about, the first century equivalent of the Ugg boots and flip-flop wearers. Seventy Disciples in total, we are told.

They are Jesus’ "advance team" for the mission he was on. They were to go into all the towns and cities he intended to one day visit and prepare the way.

No longer watching from the side-lines, these followers are now sent out, to share peace and fellowship, to cure the sick, to proclaim the kingdom of God. In short, they were called to live out and practice the faith that they had confessed. And it is in the doing that the seventy are transformed from bystanders to active participants in the work of God. And we’ve been transformed from bystanders to active participants in the work of God because the Kingdom of God has been brought near to us. My students were pushed well beyond their comfort zones by doing something radically different to their normal routines and so were the Disciples.

Surely this is a really appropriate Gospel reading for a baptism. Surely the Kingdom of God has come near today as Tommy is baptised? If we use the analogy of a long walk for the Christian life then much of what is said here applies to Baby Tommy, to Kelly and Rob and to Sally, Karl and Jenny and the special God-friends who are here to support him, as they guide him out into a complex and hostile world like a lamb amongst wolves. We are all at different stages of that long walk: today Theodore has begun his journey. Look around the room and look at the age-profile. Not chronological age, but spiritual age and yet regardless of where we are on that journey, the Kingdom of God has come closer to each of us at various times and in ways that each of us could probably share with the rest. How has it done that?

Well, let's look again at the instructions Jesus gives to the seventy missionaries: they are to enter a town, and where welcomed they are to stay - that's Christian hospitality. They are to eat what is given to them - that's fellowship. Then they are to cure the sick - that's compassion and care. Finally, they are to proclaim that the kingdom of God has come near. Could it be that it is through the faithful and loving ministry of the disciples, then and now, that the kingdom of God in fact comes near? When we have experienced those things at the hands of others or been the means of sharing them with others we are bringing the Kingdom closer.

We need to recognise that the seventy were unlikely to be trained religious leaders.  Today, we are tempted to think of the clergy as the people who are sent into ministry.  The reality is that everyone is called to proclaim the "nearness of God's reign" no matter what we do to earn money.  The Epistle to the Hebrews talks about “The Priesthood of all Believers”. You and me, lay and ordained. The Vicar and Tommy .The seventy have real lives in addition to being followers of Jesus but what they do in those environments as followers of Jesus is to model, however inadequately the nature of God’s kingdom.  The sharing of God's peace, the bringing of justice, the curing of the sick are all signs of the breaking in of God's future reign into our present world and reality.  These things don’t, contrary to popular belief, require professional religious leaders.  All of us are called to this ministry, and we carry it out in any number of ways. Theo is called to that same ministry.

On the sponsored walk, despite all the moaning, blisters, cow dung and nettle-rash, there was a sense of achievement and accomplishment. At the end of the walk my kids were pleased with themselves.

And the seventy are wildly successful too.  They come back thrilled.  Jesus knows that they will do these things and more – much of which we read about in the book of Acts. 

So, an interesting piece of religious history: but it is more than that – the implications must be clear for all of us to see. You’ve heard me encouraging you to consider whether we are the implied audience for Jesus’ words in any given Gospel passage before. Well, if we call ourselves Disciples then it’s a no-brainer: this isn’t just a piece of religious history; it is an injunction to action to us too.

When we finish our journey will we have that same sense of accomplishment that my walkers and the seventy had? Have we already, at different stages in our lives, already caught a glimpse of this?

There is something about the Christian faith that simply has to be lived to be understood. There are some gospel truths that only make sense in the homeless shelter, or outside parliament, or at a hospital bed, or in any one of the great number of places in the world where people cry out for mercy, for food, for justice, for compassion.

I’m currently in the process of writing an essay on The Vocation of the Church of England. (Don’t ask.) And one of the things I’ve been looking at is the idea of mission. There are lots of examples of mission but, to cut a long story short, if, as modern disciples we are asking how we go about following Jesus’ instruction to minister to others and spread The Kingdom, one model of mission really stands out: see where God is already at work ….  and join him there.

See where God is already at work …. and join him there.

Well we can see God clearly at work in the lives of Rob and Kelly, and Sally, Jenny, Karl and all the other special friends here this morning have joined them there in bringing up Tommy and helping him to find the right path for that long walk.

The rest of us just need, every once in a while to see where God is already at work and join him there. Surely there will be plenty of opportunities on our own journeys to help bring the Kingdom closer.

Let us pray. Liberate us, O God, from all the burdens that we carry on this journey of faith, so that we might welcome your kingdom with open hearts and empty hands. Empower us, O Christ, to share the Good News that the kingdom has come near and to demonstrate its coming through communal acts of compassion, justice, and peace.

 Amen.

Names of the Baptismal Party have been changed.

Sir, what's a FEMIDOM?

 

In a moment of mental weakness I suggested to Mrs. George that age 13/14 might be a little late to start sex-ed so we decided to keep it at the same time of year but drop it down a year.

I am not convinced.

My year 8 class is perfectly pleasant but the boys are prone to giggling and making inappropriate comments. But then that's the point, I suppose: we need to challenge ignorance before it becomes ingrained.

"So, is a vasectomy when your testicles are removed?"

"But condoms always split - a bit like JLS. Did you see what I did there?"

We have reached the stage of discussing contraception and I thought I'd start with the coil. They are stunned into silence at the site of them.

"You could go fishing with that!"

I ask which life stage a woman who chooses to use the coil might be at that this would be her choice.

"Old women." shouts Callum. Now Callum isn't the sharpest knife in the drawer.

"Old women dont need contraselectives, stupid!" Sabrina can be very forceful at times. You don't mess with Sabrina.

Then the class is entirely unconvinced that the cap is, indeed, a method of contraception. I go to my (very) badly rendered diagramatical cross section of "lady parts" and show how a cap would work but only after Callum had suggested that a man might put it "up him". One or two of the other lads looked less than keen at this point and I was left pondering whether we might be in the processing of traumatising young minds into celibacy. ("If you think I'm using that you've another think coming.")  I do not forget to mention the very important section about spermicidal jelly - a little of which lands on my desk. They recoil in horror as if it were acid and cry "Eeeewww" as one. I point out one of the disadvantages: that it is now hard to manipulate because it is slippy and, right on cue, it flies out of my hand and lands on Carly's table. There is almost a stampede to escape as if, in its evil intent, it might just eat one of them.

I remember watching one French and Saunders sketch with one of my girls when she was at an impressionable age; a sketch where Dawn French asserted that a slinky was a method of contraception. I'm sure that explains why my daughter isn't keen on dating.

Anyway, I say, let's look at the condom. I delve into the resources case and flourish a ... femidom. This attempt at humour is completely lost on them and they all sit there expectantly waiting for the explanation. Now the next stage of the explanation for the femidon requires the rather belated introduction into the conversation of Percy the prosthetic blue penis.

Also available in pink. I quip.

Over their heads.

It dawns on me at this point that it is break for another cohort of kids and I am standing with my back to the window waving a blue penis about for all to see. A part of my brain begins to imagine how a letter of parental complaint might be worded.

Nevertheless I plough on.

The femidom is very effective but it really doesn't seem to have caught on.

"Why?"

I don't think they've been very well marketed.

"Perhaps they could put glitter on them."

Buddhism and eleven year olds

Well, it's that time of year again: Sex Ed with 14 year olds ("Shut up or we'll talk about masturbation again.") and Buddhism with 11 year olds.

I'm very fond of my 11 year olds: there's something about their unselfconscious enthusiasm that I find very appealing and they do make me smile. Because they've to study Buddhism under our schemes of work here at the Knowledge College up to GCSE, we thought we'd start them early.

Picture this, Dear Reader: it is the last lesson of the day and it is swealteringly hot, yet they arrive with boundless energy. There is much excited talk of new hamsters and the pattern on Kyle's socks and Zorah shyly tells me that she's 12 today. This is something of a breakthrough as Zorah doesn't usually speak. She even manages to make eye contact briefly.

They are momentarily thrown by the fact that I have moved the chairs and tables to make a big space in the centre of the room but recover well enough for them to decide, as one, to sit on the floor rather than the chairs.

Why not? I think. They were used to carpet time at the end of the day in their primary schools. Yes, why not?

I sit on a table and look at their excited, smiling faces. Isn't puberty a waste of decent personalities?

Karl pops his head round the door. Karl teaches Maths downstairs. "Well, I've had three non-contact lessons today and I've managed to mark one book." he announces. Taking him to be a consummate professional rather than the lazy item he really is, Shelley suggests in all seriousness that, if that's the case, he might possibly be making the work too hard.

Oh Bless!!!! Can I have this little lot all day, every day please?

Their first task is to complete the subject evaluation sheet that we do annually at this time of year. I sneak a look over a few shoulders and am very pleased to discover that they enjoy their work and see me as an exciting, helpful and enthusiastic teacher. (I knew I loved this lot.) There is a specific question that asks what the teacher is particularly good at. Their responses include:

• Helping and explaining things
• Answering questions
• "Religion and stuff"
• Being me
• Being Kind

"Sir?" It is Luke 4. "I can't find "boring" on this sheet. I wasn't going to use it, but it's on all the other subject sheets."

Well, it won't be on the R.S. sheet will it? Think about it.

"That's because it's not boring."

There you go then Molly.

There is a degree of sage and satisfied nodding and I wonder why my colleagues in other subjects haven't had the wit to edit the questionnaire to remove the teenager's default description of everything.

When it came to the question: In order to be better, what could the teacher do? there were a lot of comments like "No improvements needs to be made." No. Really. Stop it. You'll make me blush, together with one suggestion that I grow an afro. There's always one, isn't there?

Given that by the time they are 16 they will all hate me on principle, I take much comfort in this all-to-brief window of affirmation.

Responses collected, Would you like me to read to you? They nod, wide eyed. Jonny's right thumb goes in his mouth. They like the story of the Buddha and there are some sensible questions about his young life as a spoilt prince before they move on to construct Buddhist shrines - hence the furniture rearrangement. We look at six or seven pictures of Buddhists at worship and through question and answer we build up an idea of what is on the shrine and why. There is also a little side discussion about the posture of meditation which I found quite perceptive.

Fortunately my resources box is brimming full and off they go: exotic material to cover institutional tables, scented candles (can I smell burning hair? Will the fire alarm go off?), huge paper flowers (courtesy of Wilkinsons, only £1.00 each, a bargain).

"Sir. We need the statues." I prop open the office door and they reverently remove a selection of Buddha's from the shelves. ("I want the gold one." "I want the fat one.")

"Sir. It's not fair. I'm not tall enough to reach the shelves. It's hard being a midget."

The Fabulous Kath in the Kitchen had provided me with uncooked rice and lentils as part of the food offerings. Confident that all the local charity shops would have plenty of faux-oriental china for sale I had been hugely disappointed only to be able to source two in three weeks.

I move a couple of the latent pyromaniacs away from the candles. Yes. Hot wax does hurt doesn't it?

"Sir. We need more food." I point to the office again. They have a good hunt around and return with:

• Two bananas
• A satsuma
• An apple
• Three apricots
• A bag of mixed dried fruit and nuts
• A wide variety of strange teabags
• A pint of milk
• The remains of Karl's packed lunch.

When I'd finished returning Mrs. Singh's milk and Karl's half eaten "man v sandwich" sandwich to the fridge, we take stock. Where did those toffee's come from?

"What about money?" Luke 1 suggests.

In the resources box are a great many pre-Euro Estonian Kroons. They find their way on to the shrines. (I'm sure I can smell burning hair and have a surreptitious look around to see who might be slow-burning their way towards a letter of complaint.)

When Chloe comes back from the toilet - "That blouse didn't fit anyway Sir" - we are ready for Stage Two: the guided meditation.

That'll have been the bad Karma, Chloe.

The earlier conversation on meditation posture is recapped and I have already found a lovely Youtube Buddhist Chant ("Om Mani Padme Hum") so off we go. And it isn't too bad: of course there is a  certain amount of slightly awkward giggling at the start but in the main they handle it extremely well and get into the swing of it. I use a meditaion based on the Buddhist concept of Lovingkindness. They concentrate on their breathing and we try some visualisation.

At some point Dr. Kav appears, camera in hand, and gingerly steps over the meditating hoards to take photos for the website. I wish I'd got a camera because the sight of him standing on a chair on one leg like a ballerina and leaning forward has to be worth its weight in blackmail opportunities.

Harry chooses this moment to be shy and tries to hide his head behand a particularly large floral display but he's no match for Dr. Kav's photographic skills/contortions and "snap", he's caught.

In the feedback, they are overwhelmingly positive about the experience.

"I'm going to try this at home - only without the candles."

Sunday Sermon: Jesus heals at the pool of Bethezda. John 5.1-9

 

John 5:1-9

After this there was a festival of the Jews, and Jesus went up to Jerusalem. Now in Jerusalem by the Sheep Gate there is a pool, called in Hebrew Bethezda, which has five porticoes. In these lay many invalids—blind, lame, and paralyzed. One man was there who had been ill for thirty-eight years. When Jesus saw him lying there and knew that he had been there a long time, he said to him, “Do you want to be made well?” The sick man answered him, “Sir, I have no one to put me into the pool when the water is stirred up; and while I am making my way, someone else steps down ahead of me.” Jesus said to him, “Stand up, take your mat and walk.” At once the man was made well, and he took up his mat and began to walk. Now that day was a sabbath.

May the words of my lips and the meditations of all our hearts be acceptable to you, O Lord.

The story unfolds and the sharp-eyed amongst us might have noticed that v4 is missing. Hold that thought. Jesus is in Jerusalem and he goes to the Pool of Bethezda. This pool was surrounded by porticoes offering shade and shelter and the area had become the gathering place for anyone with some sort of sickness, waiting and watching the surface of the water for the smallest sign of the rippling of the waves. A bubbling from the underground spring or even a breeze could cause a stampede of invalids trying to be the first into the water and then Jesus talks to one of the invalids and offers to heal him – an offer which is accepted, but not instantly.

There is a lot here that the original audience would have instinctively  understood but which could easily pass us by. Religious commentators explain that when the waters of the pool moved – that movement which triggered the rush of the hopeful to be first into the water for divine healing – the belief was that an Angel had touched the water. That was what was in the missing verse 4, but it’s been removed because people weren’t sure whether it was a later addition. Well, I have no doubts that the people of Jesus’ time had a stronger belief in Angels than we have today: or, at least a different understanding of the nature of Angels, or is it that the distance in time and knowledge and the religious landscape between then and now has left us a little more cynical about some of these more awkward elements of religious belief? I’ve heard it said that most British Christians are "functional atheists". While we believe in God, we function as if God were still resting after the creation. We don't expect God to break into our lives. Our God tends to be perceived as a very passive God and we have very low expectations of him.

I certainly grew up at a time when the trend was to demythologise much of the traditional elements of the New Testament and I suppose like many I simply decided to concentrate on what was clear to me: the person, the teaching and the sacrifice of Jesus. Some of the other stuff, I reasoned, was peripheral, a bit too fantastical or not relevant to where I was in my spiritual journey at that time.

In the end, I suspect it comes down to definitions and I’d like to illustrate that with a little scenario from my classroom because the parallel with today’s Gospel is very strong: angels and miracles.

My Yr. 8 students - aged 12/13 - have been studying Miracles and it has been a struggle from the outset, if for no other reason than spelling. You see “miracles” on the board, look down to your book and write “miricals.” How does that happen? Repeatedly?

Of course, the first issue is that of definition: what are we talking about when we talk of miracles? They look blankly at me. It takes some time, and with heavy guidance from me, to decide on “A dramatic and unusual event which goes against the laws of nature and is caused by God or one of his agents.” This is where it all started to unravel as we were taken down an unexpected line of discussion in relation to what constitutes an agent of God. Predictably angels came in for some considerable forensic examination and I found myself explaining the mind-set of the medieval artist.

“O.K.” I say, “I’m a Medieval Pope.” They look less than convinced.

“Jordan, you’re Michelangelo.” Jordan looks pleased.

“Michaelangelo, Old Boy, I need a nice fresco on the ceiling of my new chapel - a Biblical story. How about the Nativity?”

“Right you are Guv.”

Later Michelangelo gets out his Bible. “What’s in the story that I need to include? Stable, check. Mary and Joseph, check. Infant, check. Cattle, check. Shepherds, check. Wise men, Check. Innkeeper, check. Angels, ch … Angels? Oooh, Angels.”

“What does an angel look like?” I ask.

Surprisingly for a group of avowed Atheists they soon build up a picture: M & S floaty nighty, pigeon’s wings and a tinsel halo.

“Musical Instrument of choice?” I venture.

“Harp.” They chorus happily, entering into the spirit of the occasion.

“Trumpet.” Someone else offers.

(I ponder, briefly, how far we have moved in five minutes from my lesson plan on miracles – sorry: miricals.)

I draw said angel on the board. It takes about six pen strokes but they pronounce themselves happy with the result.

So I ask them, “How did we get to this?”

“Well, it’s in pictures.”

“And adverts. Sir, Sir, Have you seen that advert for cream cheese where …..?”

And so it goes on. Having established that this image is firmly fixed in the international psyche I try to point out that medieval artists were faced with a no-win situation in attempting to represent something visually where there’s not much in the way of description to go on.

I explain, “They needed to get over the idea of something spiritual rather than human otherwise we’d be looking at these paintings asking “Who’s that man in the background?” or “Why are those ladies falling out of the sky?” The angel as we know it is an artistic compromise.”

“Are you saying they don’t look like that then?”

“Well, I’m saying they might not.”

“What do they look like then?”

“O.K.” I take a deep breath.  “What does “angel” mean?”

There is no response.

I ask again.

“Mernerner”

(That’s teen-speak for “I don’t know”)

I offer them a clue, “It’s a Greek word.” Why did I tell them that? This is bottom set Yr 8. What are the chances they know New Testament Greek? What is the matter with you man?

Still no ideas.

“It means messenger of God. What does God’s messenger look like?” Perplexed looks. This is marginally encouraging as it indicates some level of mental activity above and beyond maintaining a heartbeat.

“Do you remember when Mrs. Wilson sent a pupil down with a message last lesson?”

“Are you saying Emily was an angel?”

I’m saying Emily was a messenger. What does a messenger look like?

“Could be anybody.”

“Exactly.”

“I don’t get it.”

I sigh. I do that a lot with Yr 8. “Why does God’s messenger have to look picturesque?”

“Coz it’s an angel.”

Now, you will recognise that this is a circular argument.

“And angel means messenger.” I persevere. “Why couldn’t anyone be God’s messenger? Please don’t say “because we don’t have wings.””

“So, right? Are you saying Sir that anyone could be an angel because they’d be being God’s messenger? Would they know they were an angel?”

“Maybe. Not necessarily.” (I’m thinking out loud at this point.) “Some angels appear to be spiritual beings: I’m just saying that the images of medieval artists might not always be helpful, that’s all. What was an aid to faith in the middle ages seems to be quite the opposite today: "Who'd believe in one of those winged things?"”

“Yeah. Too right Sir.”

We move on from angels and go on to talk about Prophets and Saints and, of course, Jesus as agents of God. There is a glimmer of hope that we might, at last, move on to talk about miricals.

“Any questions on anything we’ve looked at so far?  Yes Jordan?”

“Sir, who’s Michelangelo?”

And yes, much like my lesson, we are moving on to talk about miracles. “A dramatic and unusual event that goes against the laws of nature and is caused by God or one of his agents.” The agent of the Godhead here, being Jesus the Son, and not an angel.

But this is more than just a story about a miracle.

I think it’s a shame that today’s Gospel passage ends at this point when to make full sense of it we ought to read on to verse 18. The miracle story we have here becomes a conflict story which leads to yet another failed plot to have Jesus killed: we have someone who has been infirm for many years; there are comments about the link between sin and sickness; we have a command and with obedience comes a cure; and we have a controversy - a falling out - because Jesus has cured on the Sabbath when nothing that could be understood as work might be done.

Surely healing is a necessary, compassionate act which the Sabbath law allows for? Well, yes – in an emergency but this man had been suffering for 38 years. His condition hardly constituted an emergency and his healing therefore could surely wait until the Sabbath was over.

Two conversations have been taking place simultaneously. The religious authorities have been doggedly pursuing a conversation about breaking the Sabbath while the healed man and Jesus have been discussing healing and being made well.

So what? Interesting enough – or maybe not. Why are we considering this passage?  Well, I think there are a number of possible approaches: firstly – and this is just an idea that struck me last night so I’ve not really developed it fully – but in outline isn’t this incident the Gospel in miniature? Jesus comes and sweeps away the old ways and we have the certainty of Jesus’ presence as opposed to the hope of the old ways, as represented by the angel. It’s even possible that John was flagging this idea up. Is it a coincidence that the man had been ill for 38 years, the same number of years the People of Israel had wandered in the wilderness? As in so many instances in the Gospels, Jesus is spelling out his ministry as a ministry of change. Ironically, the people who saw the implications of this most clearly were the religious authorities who are panicked by the threat.

I think the challenge for us today is to consider whether we are the implied audience for this passage. Are Jesus words as spoken to this man and the Pharisees then also words for us today? What am I going to do with this passage? What are you going to do with it?

Let’s try this approach: And Jesus asked the man, “Do you want to be made whole?”

Do we fear the cure more than the illness? When we cease being a victim – “I can’t get to the water Jesus; there’s always someone else who gets there first” – and start being responsible then our legs are strong enough for us to walk beside others who are in pain and need help. Our arms are empowered to embrace our enemies and the outcasts. We no longer make excuses; instead we walk forward to new life in Jesus and go forward to a life of service.

I sometimes wonder if one of the ways we’re stopped from being more effective disciples is by keeping busy, tired, and diverted. We become numbed to the call of Jesus to serve God and others because we don’t have time. We come home after work and collapse in front of the TV until it is time to go to bed and repeat the process all over again. Weekends are when we want to get out or do something else. So we live life to the minimum. And we say we want change when we actually want to remain the same – but we want to feel better about it.

 We know that to get up and follow Jesus will involve us in people’s lives in ways we’re not sure we really want, because to be whole means to be re-connected with God and with God’s people and God’s creation. No more isolation. No more living my own private life where no one bothers me. To be whole means to get off of the settee and get involved. It means to work hard, often doing behind the scenes work that is tedious and overlooked. We know that to walk out of the door and say, “Here, am I Jesus! Send me!” is something that in our heart of hearts we really don’t want to say.

But there is another way of looking at this passage: If we are the implied audience, then are we being invited to examine when and by whom in today’s church life the knowledge of God brought by Jesus is rejected because it is too challenging to existing religious systems and structures?  Not this time too challenging to individuals. When do the structures and rules of the Church help to keep people "sick" or "stuck in their condition" rather than offering new life through the power of God? I think that was the situation in today’s Gospel: the man had the opportunity for a new life, a fresh start but the religious conventions of his day would have kept him where he was. The rejection of Jesus in this story, then, is a rejection of the possibility of new and unprecedented ways of knowing God and ordering the life of faith. Jesus could have avoided the controversy of this healing by waiting until after the Sabbath; or not commanding him to take up his mat. Jesus did both as a deliberate act. In Chapter 5, Jesus had already declared that God is working, even on the Sabbath day! And “like Father, like son” - the Son is also working.

One way of dealing with an unappetising message, is to kill the messenger. That is what the Jewish leaders had decided to do with Jesus. One way of dealing with an unappetising message today, of course, is to ignore it.

Whenever someone attempts to introduce a radically different insight to people whose minds have been formed by an old and well-worked-out way of thinking, he is up against an obstacle. Their taste, as Jesus said, for the old wine is so well established that they invariably prefer it to the new. More than that, the new wine, still fermenting, seems to them so obviously and dangerously full of power that they will not even consider putting it into their old and fragile wineskins.

To expand on a question I raised earlier, when may our church or religious rules keep people away from the saving/healing presence of Jesus? By that I don’t mean rewriting the structures and doctrines of worldwide Anglicanism: I think we can start a bit closer to home. I remember a lady once complaining about teenagers coming to church in jeans. She was especially upset when they went up for communion in trainers: so disrespectful! Would she rather have had them in church in jeans and trainers, or have her perception of the done thing keep them away?

Many years ago I was a member of a congregation where the morning service was broadcast live on Radio 4. A few days later the vicar received a letter of complaint from a member of the public because the Lord’s Prayer, which had been set to music, had been accompanied … by a guitar!

What about lay participation in the service? I once knew a vicar who actively discouraged lay participation because it got in the way of his ministry. What about those parents who don’t take their children into Children’s church but keep them with them in the congregation? “Well, they might AT LEAST have brought quiet toys with them!” How about children at communion or experimental worship? Does obedience to these “rules” help or hinder the spread of the gospel? Perhaps we should be asking ourselves: "What are we willing to give up so that more people might hear the Gospel?" I don’t suppose it’s any coincidence that one of the contemporary movements in the church today is called “New Wine.” To what extent are we the old wineskins?

Now, I feel confident in saying this to you because I don’t know you and so I don’t know what your experience is and so I have no agenda and, of course, this is a universal message.

Now, one of the things I often do when I read the Gospel stories is to try to imagine that I am there and I’d like you to consider that too. Who in the story did you most identify with?

I doubt that anyone here is going to say, “The Religious Authorities” but does our behaviour give the lie to that – and I ask myself that too.

Well, there was a miracle by the pool of Bethezda. Why? Not just because Jesus performed a healing – and without an angel in sight - but because in that healing the people glimpsed new possibilities. I think that our earnest prayer should be for Jesus to touch many more in the church so that they, too, can see new possibilities.

Amen

 

 

 

Sunday Sermon: John 10. 22-30 - “My sheep hear my voice."

 

 

 

John 10.22-30

At that time the festival of the Dedication took place in Jerusalem. It was winter and Jesus was walking in the temple, in the portico of Solomon. So the Jews gathered around him and said to him, “How long will you keep us in suspense? If you are the Messiah, tell us plainly.” Jesus answered, “I have told you, and you do not believe. The works that I do in my Father’s name testify to me; but you do not believe, because you do not belong to my sheep. My sheep hear my voice. I know them, and they follow me. I give them eternal life, and they will never perish. No one will snatch them out of my hand. What my Father has given me is greater than all else, and no one can snatch it out of the Father’s hand. The Father and I are one.”

How should we approach this passage? As a general principle I try to imagine my way into Gospel stories. I try to see myself as an anonymous member of the crowd as I try to walk through the story. Who do I most identify with? Who do I sympathise with? Who irritates me? What if I stood here or over by him? What if I couldn’t hear properly because of the crowd? What if I didn’t actually trust this man Jesus? What if I was a Pharisee or a Roman?

I have to try to imagine my way into the stories because I am almost always disappointed by the brevity of the gospel accounts and their lack of background detail. I want to know that there was someone there who kept coughing, or that there were children playing nearby, or that there were cooking smells or that it had just rained.

Of course, to what extent can someone like me, a product of my own times truly enter into the experience, the sights, the sounds, the smells and, most importantly, the theological and social conventions of the first century? I can’t. But that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t try.

So, this morning’s text: the occasion was the festival of the rededication of the temple in Jerusalem commemorating when Greek invaders had been vanquished and the temple had been cleansed of the blasphemy – the statue of Zeus. As a consequence those around Jesus were thinking about freedom: freedom from the invader; freedom to live without fear; freedom from foreign domination and freedom from political musclemen and their taxes.

The air at the time of our narrative for today was thus filled with thoughts of victory, freedom, and the return of Jewish leadership, but while the temple was now fully dedicated to God, the land had been lost again, this time to the Romans, with their brutal, heathen practices which again came all too close to this holy place, this magnificent temple of God.

So this is the basic context for my imaginary walking through of the story. I am in awe of the architecture and the history of this place and all the religious and historical symbolism that is associated with it. I am conscious of the occupying army and the problem of the daily compromises we have to make as we try not to cross the fine line between Roman Imperial theology and the faith of our upbringing. And the sense of something about to happen is palpable as my people yearn for religious and political self-determination: a theme that resonates here today as we watch the on-going outworkings of the Arab Spring. Am I unaware in all of this of the role this Rabbi from Nazareth might play in the unfolding events? Well, I’m here and I’m listening closely to the exchange between Jesus and the crowd, possibly looking over my shoulder: this is the home of religious orthodoxy after all, with its religious leaders and its guards – and its informers and, I can’t help but note that this is the point where Jesus appears to berate his listeners: he tells them they don’t understand what he's saying because they’re in the wrong team.

Jesus tells his listeners “You do not belong to my sheep.” I think we can assume, given the setting of the temple, that he was surrounded by the pious and faithful and we might be in danger of buying into the standard stereotype of the Pharisee as some sort of self-satisfied, self-promoting religious thought-police.

No - they were the good guys in Jewish society: yes they upheld exacting standards and yes they were literalists as far as the Law of Moses was concerned and yes, they were on the look-out for heresy, but there were those among them for whom Jesus’ message resonated. Jesus had sympathisers in this group, men who were theological thinkers so we mustn’t assume that Jesus’ encounters with the Orthodox were always encounters of conflict. Sometimes there were genuine seekers of the truth and sometimes there was a meeting of minds.

Nevertheless, we read that things turned nasty.

“And they took up stones again to stone him.” the issue being blasphemy and the fact that Jesus had said “The Father and I are one”, which provokes a fresh but failed attempt to arrest Jesus. Why failed? Because there were people in that crowd who were open to hearing and considering a new perspective. Let’s not assume that every time we hear of conflict it is as simple as Jesus verses all the rest.

Is it too fanciful to assume that some of these people had been following Jesus since he arrived in Jerusalem? Is it reasonable to assume that some present in the Temple with Jesus here had already been present when Jesus had made some other pretty startling claims?  We’ve already heard Jesus proclaim to the crowds “I am the bread of life: he who comes to Me shall not hunger”, “I am the light of the world: he who follows Me shall not walk in the darkness, but shall have the light of life.”, “I am the gate; if anyone enters through Me, he shall be saved” and “I am the good shepherd; the good shepherd lays down His life for His sheep.” So we can easily see the question posed by the crowd at the start of today’s Gospel segment, “How long will you keep us in suspense? If you are the Messiah, tell us plainly.” as part of that on-going dialogue.

So what then? Why does any of this matter? Why has the Lectionary designated this passage as worthy of our analysis this morning? Just a point to consider: when we read the Gospel stories we would do well to consider who Jesus’ target audience was and then to consider whether today we might be the implied audience. Can we hear in Jesus’ words to this group, his words to us?

I think it’s right that we try; otherwise this story will remain on that level: merely a story; an interesting piece of religious history which therefore doesn’t have the power to touch us or challenge us.

Well, I’d like to pursue the theme of discipleship and link that to today’s theme of the identity of Jesus. “The works that I do in my Father’s name testify to me” says Jesus, or to put it another way, “Come on folks, you’ve seen me and what I do for long enough surely to know that what I do is from God”, followed in pretty short order by, “The Father and I are one.” As disciples, how do we present Jesus by our works and by our words?

Why are we here this morning? Well, at the heart of our presence here is surely some affirmation that we, unlike Jesus’ listeners in the Gospel extract, are in the right team. “My sheep hear my voice. I know them, and they follow me. I give them eternal life, and they will never perish. No one will snatch them out of my hand”, he tells the crowd. Well, the “them” and the “they” he refers to here includes us. Like the crowd, we’ve been following Jesus for some time. We are the sheep of this shepherd and our presence here this morning is evidence of that.

What about tomorrow morning when we aren’t here? What’s the evidence of belonging to Jesus then?

That’s a bit challenging isn’t it?

We do not live in a time of persecution. Our discipleship does not need to be hidden. Indeed, I think Jesus provides us with a model of discipleship in this passage. “The works that I do in my Father’s name testify to me” says Jesus and “The Father and I are one.” It’s as if he’s saying “Look, I’ve shown you and now I’ve told you.”

“The works that I do in my Father’s name testify to me.” The works that we do in the Father’s name testify to him. “The Father and I are one” becomes “The Father and Jesus are one.” To put it another way: what we do and what we say reveals our discipleship. That seems to be the pattern Jesus gives us here.

So, what we do: there’s no list here as if there were some simplistic formulae: we’re mature adults and most of us are mature in the faith, so beyond the principle of being a role model what are we talking about?

Some years ago, when I was at vicar school – not a million miles from here as it happens, I was privileged to meet Desmond Tutu. One of the things he said to us as he looked around the room was “God has chosen you for who you are. Do not let others change you.” And at that point he made eye contact with me. Now that was a general injunction but it hit me very personally and really made me stop and think. God has chosen me for who I am and that’s as true for all of us here as much it was for all of us sat in that room at Mirfield. We have a God given personality – and we can talk about the Gifts of the Spirit as part of that general conversation – but the point is you are who you are and God has called that person to discipleship.

Who are your religious role models? Who are the Christians out there who inspire us and who we would love to emulate in our own discipleship?

I love Desmond Tutu. I love him for his enthusiasm and his love of life. I love him for his humanity and his compassion for the underdog. I love him for his bravery. Could I have some of that please Lord?

I love Giles Fraser. I love him for his prophetic voice, for his approachability and his everyday blokishness and I love him because he’s a bit gobby. Gobby in the name of the Lord. Could I have some of that please Lord?

And I love American Bishop John Shelby Spong. I love him because he’s a thorn in the side of the established church. I love him because he’s a theological thinker and I love him because in a very real way he is the conscience of American Christianity.

What a dinner party: Desmond Tutu, Giles Fraser, John Shelby Spong  …  and Joanna Lumley obviously.

What do these Christians have in common? They are men of God, compassionate, well informed, outspoken and without an ounce of piety between them. That’s the model of discipleship I aspire to, but there is more than one model. Of all the passages of scripture that the Holy Spirit might have laid on my heart, the one that stays with me is, “Work out your own salvation with fear and trembling” from Philippians. Put that together with your own personality type and the things you admire from your Christian role models and you have your model of discipleship. What did Jesus say? “The works that I do in my Father’s name testify to me” and as the implied audience of this discussion between Jesus and the crowd, we turned that into “The works that I do in my Father’s name testify to him.” Active discipleship: it’s the life we lead.

So let’s turn to the second part of Jesus’ template for discipleship: the things we say. “The Father and Jesus are one” is pretty much the foundation for our conversations about God. And again, we can wriggle uncomfortably here can’t we. Does anyone here find it easy to talk to others about your faith? If you do, you’re really blessed because it’s something the rest of us struggle with. I suppose for those of us who are “professionally” religious that comes with the territory.

“Sir, are you religious?” Well it’s all about perceptions isn’t it? I don’t tend to think I am, but the question isn’t asking me for my philosophy on pietism. It demands a clear answer.

“Sir, are you a vicar?” “Do you go to church?” I wish I had a fiver for every time, but I have a public profile of being a person of faith. How does that work for you? How do you deal with such approaches? My wife Rachel often finds herself in that Monday morning conversation: you know, the work recap on what you did at the weekend and I remember her saying once: “Well, I found myself making cotton wool sheep for children’s church.” This was followed by some anecdote about four year olds and the perils of unsupervised glue. But it led into a conversation which has subsequently led into others. I have a colleague who is a Muslim and he said to me once, “Christianity, Islam – it’s all the same.”

That’s a conversation which has gone on, on and off, for months.

What those two examples have got in common is that we found common ground and actually now that I think about it we both responded to someone else’s approach, much as we found Jesus responding in the Gospel extract, and that’s why, earlier, I suggested we needed to be careful about the voice tone we ascribed to Jesus in this passage. Confrontational or conciliatory? A judgemental statement or part of an on-going dialogue? Judgemental attitudes close down conversations: conciliatory attitudes keep them open. Confrontational wins us no friends. Conciliatory does, but by conciliatory, I don’t mean compromising. Listening respectfully and entering into discussion is always good but defending the basis of our beliefs remains an essential part of that.

I suppose the other observation I would make is a cautionary one: what is it that we view as an essential part of our faith? How much of what we perceive to be Christian is actually essential to the defence of Christianity. How easily are we sidetracked into more cultural or political issues such as abortion and gay rights? So perhaps my specific challenge to all of us this morning is to spend some time in thought, prayer and discussion with friends about what the essence of our faith is: what needs to be on that list and what doesn’t? I think being clear about that will increase our confidence as we seek to talk to others of our faith.

Of course, this is about mission, the Missio Dei – the Mission of God. I remember sitting through a lecture series on mission. As someone who has participated in various parish or diocesan missions – often having strong reservations which I found hard to rationalise, I was brought up short and challenged by one model of mission. We were asked to consider to what extent mission is a human initiative or a divine initiative? And the answer was, it’s a divine initiative so rather than wasting hours in committees and discussion groups about mission perhaps we should seek instead to discern where God is already at work … and join in. I think that’s a pretty good approach for our own witness and evangelism: let the Holy Spirit take the initiate and lead us to where we can respond to the needs of others where we might be able to say, “The Father and Jesus are one.” In the meantime, may “The works we do in our father’s name testify to him.”

Amen.