Sunday Sermon: Luke 12. Jesus comes to bring divisions.

Luke 12:49-56

[Jesus said to his disciples], "I came to cast fire on the earth, and would that it were already kindled!  I have a baptism to be baptized with, and how great is my distress until it is accomplished!  Do you think that I have come to give peace on earth?  No, I tell you, but rather division.  For from now on in one house there will be five divided, three against two and two against three.  They will be divided, father against son and son against father, mother against daughter and daughter against mother, mother-in-law against her daughter-in-law and daughter-in-law against mother in law."

He also said to the crowds, "When you see a cloud rising in the west, you say at once, ‘A shower is coming.'  And so it happens.  And when you see the south wind blowing, you say, ‘There will be scorching heat,' and it happens.  You hypocrites!  You know how to interpret the appearance of earth and sky, but why do you not know how to interpret the present time?"

Not an easy Gospel passage today. When I started preparing for this morning, I realised I wasn't familiar with this part of Luke’s Gospel, indeed it sounded quite alien – not the Jesus we’re used to at all. Its uncomfortable reading isn’t it? We may be better acquainted with Matthew’s version which somehow doesn’t sound quite so confrontational, Whoever loves father or mother more than me is not worthy of me; and whoever loves son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me; and whoever does not take up the cross and follow me is not worthy of me. Luke, on the other hand, concludes by roundly condemning his audience as hypocrites.

On reflection, perhaps they sound equally bleak.

I don’t know why I was discomforted: I’ve never bought into the Gentle Jesus, Meek and mild image, in fact in my classroom I’ve a picture of Jesus based on a Che Guevara poster which bears the legend “Jesus? Meek? Mild? AS IF!” The rather fey Jesus with small children and fluffy animals so beloved of Bible illustrators couldn’t be further from the truth because we do come across Jesus in anger and violence as he drives the money lenders out of the temple. We rationalise that, rightly, by talk of righteous anger and how offended Jesus was at the sacrilege and blasphemy associated with the way the temple courts were being used in the run-up to the Passover

When we read or hear the Gospel stories we generally assume that we are the audience for what Jesus is saying and that is often the case, but it may be a very individual and personal thing that speaks to your heart – but not to yours on this occasion but the next time we read Jesus’ words it could well be the other way round: the message may relate very much to our personal circumstances; to our political, cultural or social circumstances; it may apply to us today, but wouldn’t have twenty years ago and perhaps won’t in twenty years’ time. Having said that, there are messages which are for all of us and this is surely one.

Do you think that I have come to bring peace to the earth? No, I tell you, but rather division!

Luke has Jesus talking generally to the crowds but in and amongst that he talks in asides to his inner group of 12. It really is two conversations juxtaposed with the disciples being treated to a more intimate commentary on the side. In these disciples, Jesus saw the potential of great commitment. Now, in terms of an implied audience, I consider myself a disciple and I think it’s fair to think that what Jesus said to those first disciples he is still saying to me – and to you - his later-day disciples. Isn’t it a little bit scary to think that in us Jesus sees the potential of great commitment too?

But he tells us he comes to bring division.

And this does speak to me: in my view Jesus is a divisive figure – it’s not for nothing that people warn you not to talk about religion (and politics), particularly at family events. Try talking to your Jewish and Muslim friends about Jesus and see how long it takes to reach at least a theological parting of the ways: friendships have been lost over this. Even within Christianity we can find ourselves in sharp disagreement about Jesus; about what his teaching means; about what we believe he would say about the issues of the day and almost always with the assumption that our view is the one that Jesus would espouse. Often without even realising it we like to own Jesus and deploy him as sponsor of our own theology/morality/ethics. I was once told by an American Christian that the reason I didn’t agree with him over some point of Jesus’ teaching was because of my “sin darkened mind.” Oh, that sin darkened mind of mine. Caught out again.

So, uncomfortable as this passage is, let’s not fool ourselves that what Jesus is saying isn’t based in fact and experience.

I come to cast fire on the earth Jesus tells his disciples. That’s very Old Testament isn’t it? When we hear talk of fire in an Old Testament sense, what images or themes spring into our minds? What is Jesus talking about here? To me, Jesus seems to be talking about judgement – but not in the sense that we usually think of it. I don’t think this is about lakes of fire and all the O.T. imagery we associate with that use of language.  Surely Jesus is being far more sophisticated here: think about that for a moment – it’s personal, it’s individual, but what are the certainties we hide behind that perhaps we shouldn’t? What are those things we delude ourselves with? That pride, those exaggerations we hide behind rather than the honest and painful self-awareness? Jesus' presence is an explosive presence: it lights the blue touch paper which blows away our self-delusions, and what we see as the certainties of life. Surely Jesus is talking about casting the fire of destruction over all the misplaced aspirations and expectations we have, stripping away all that we’ve come to rely on; those things which we allow to insulate us from God’s message of His Kingdom. Mary already anticipated this upheaval in Chapter 1 of this Gospel, when she says, He has shown strength with his arm; he has scattered the proud in the imaginations of their hearts; he has brought down the mighty from their thrones and exalted the humble and meek; he has filled the hungry with good things, and the rich he has sent empty away. 

Gentle Jesus meek and mild? As if!

But another aspect of fire, is that it brings light into darkness.  Elementary though that image may be, it is a very significant one theologically. It is the light of God that is shone into the dark places of this world and into the dark places of our hearts, highlighting those things we would prefer to keep hidden, even from ourselves. We can choose not to; we can prefer the darkness to the light or compromise with a sort of spiritual twilight; a form of lip service discipleship – and I include myself in that.

And light is about revelation – God’s revelation of Jesus. I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life. But that imagery of light is not fully complete without the imagery of fire: that's the contrast the burning away of our false hopes and certainties also illuminates Jesus the Christ. John the Baptist used this image at the very beginning of Jesus' ministry when at Jesus' baptism he said, I baptize you with water, but . . . he will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and with fire.  Just as the children of Israel were led out of Egypt by a pillar of fire by night, so Jesus comes to lead us out of captivity into freedom from the slavery of our own self-centredness, our own self-defeating behaviours and our separation from God which religious writers down the ages have called sin.  That is a powerful image too.

These disciples Jesus is addressing here were to embrace that burning purity and give their total commitment to Jesus Christ and to the Kingdom of God. Not as superheroes but as broken, inadequate humans with all the foibles, weaknesses and frailties that go with the human condition. That’s the first part. The second part is that they were willing to be transformed by that commitment. So, what does that mean? I’m sure we all identify with the first part. How are you doing with the second? What does it mean to be totally committed to Jesus, to be radically committed to the Kingdom of God in this day and age, given that it will bring division?

And that’s the question we need to ask ourselves otherwise why are we here? This passage has to have the power to challenge us and to change or it will remain a slightly awkward piece of religious literature, nothing more.

One of the great temptations for many Christians is to prefer a sugar coated Christianity – Christianity-Lite if you like, to accept the gift of salvation certainly, while eliminating the implications of this great call to discipleship. Our greatest temptation is that the cares and routines of this life can become more important than the call of Jesus. And so the business of family, friends, jobs, homes and hobbies – our own personal familiar routines - get in the way of our discipleship and therefore of Jesus’ mission.

Is this what Jesus means when Luke has him condemn his audience as hypocrites?

Our challenge as disciples is to join Jesus in his mission to bring the Kingdom of God closer. Nothing more, nothing less. What did the reading from Hebrews encourage us to do? Let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus the pioneer and perfecter of our faith. We follow Jesus not just as Saviour but as Role Model. We do it because he did it. That’s the challenge but I’m not coming with answers. If only!  I have to face that same challenge and there’s a little passage from Philippians that exhorts us, work out your own salvation with fear and trembling. I have to do it and you have to do it and there aren’t any answers because each of us is different. The prophet Micah put it very succinctly, And what does the Lord require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God. If we want generic guidelines to begin to work out our own salvation, we could do a lot worse than to listen to Micah, And what does the Lord require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God. If we are acting justly and loving mercy it will inform our politics, our attitudes, our motivations.

Jesus bringing divisions? You bet! And we need to be in the vanguard following our role model. What would Jesus do? What would Jesus say? What would Jesus think? How would Jesus respond? It’s not trite at all: it’s the challenge.

Where do you stand on the issue of the international aid budget? On poverty? On human sexuality? On race, immigration and asylum seekers? On crime and punishment and so on? Why do you think the way you do on those topics? Has that view been shaped by Jesus’ values?

In Matthews Gospel Jesus tells the story of the sheep and the goats and he concludes: What you did for the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me… and whatever you did not do for the least of these you did not do for me.

Oh yes. That is about division.

Amen

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