Rev’d Peter Balabanski

Pentecost +2– Gen 12 1-9, Ps 33 1-12, Rom 4 13-25, Matt 9 9-13 & 18-26

So Jesus just wanders up to Matthew and says, Follow me; come and belong; come and be one of us. It looks straightforward and friendly. But Matthew was a hated outsider, probably a local customs official, working for outsiders, taxing the goods ordinary people took across an imposed border. In your village, that makes you a real outsider. But when you look at what comes next, you see Jesus wasn’t so much calling Matthew back into the community, as offering to join him outside. When the religious insiders saw Jesus eating with Matthew and people like him, they challenged Jesus’ disciples; What sort of Rabbi keeps such unsavoury company.

And Jesus’ first disciples would have been hard put to answer. Customs officials like Matthew weren’t the sort of people you’d stick your neck out for. Peter, Andrew, James and John would’ve felt pretty uncomfortable. The more radical Jesus became, the more vulnerable they must have felt. And yet that’s the movement of this part of Matthew’s gospel. Jesus has come down from delivering his very counter-cultural Sermon on the Mount to take up a mission that he’s soon to send his disciples out on. And towards the end of today’s chapter we’ll see Jesus publicly denounced as a blasphemer, and in league with the prince of demons ^9:34.

So with his disciples nonplussed and silent, Jesus answers the Pharisees’ question – why does he eat with tax collectors and sinners – by saying, It’s not the healthy who need the physician but the sick! Go and learn what this means, ‘I want mercy, not sacrifice.’ Because I’ve come to call not the righteous, but sinners.

Not the righteous, but sinners. Pharisees were ‘righteous people’. They dedicated their lives to righteousness. If Israel was meant to be a blessing to all families of Earth as we heard in the first reading ^{Gen 12.3} – to reveal to the nations the virtue and blessedness of a people truly close to God – then they needed people who knew exactly what God expected of them – and who were prepared to demonstrate that standard by giving their lives over to the most scrupulously righteous lifestyle.

Jesus challenged their view: Go and learn what this means, ‘I want mercy, not sacrifice. Don’t be so fastidious; focus on compassion; on blessing. Matthew soon shows us Jesus getting right down to it with the synagogue-leader’s daughter and the woman with the bleeding. Jesus’ ministry is welcomed by the crowds; by ordinary people. If the contrast with the Pharisees wasn’t already stark enough, a leader of the synagogue bursts in on this confrontation with an amazing request: My daughter has just died, but come and lay your hand on her and she will live.

Where just before we saw Matthew immediately get up and follow, now it’s Jesus who immediately rose and followed him, with his disciples. His mission is mercy – Jesus’ way of costly love – and he takes it without hesitation. Had it been any of the Pharisees who asked Jesus for help, I’m sure he’d have gone with them too. But would a Pharisee have asked? So is an insider a prisoner, and an outsider free?

It’s not healthy people who need a doctor, but those who are sick. This is the chapter which ends with Jesus saying the harvest is plentiful, but the labourers are few. On his way to the leader’s little girl, there’s another desperate need. A woman who’d suffered bleeding for twelve years came up behind him and, reaching out in faith, touched the fringe of his garment. Instantly, Jesus speaks the word of mercy, Take heart daughter; your faith has made you well. The ruler of the synagogue called his child daughter. With the same love, Jesus calls this woman his daughter.

Jesus continues on to the ruler’s house where the professional mourners and flute players are already busy with the ritual of lamentation. He clears the scene of these mourners and mockers who laugh at his apparent foolishness. Again, this is a gospel very much focussed on imagery of insiders and outsiders. What’s really striking is how far that imagery is taken – what’s done with it. Matthew, the outsider is called. But rather than call Matthew into an insider-space of boundaries and righteousness, Jesus opens his arms wider to include the space Matthew inhabits. And Matthew abandons a boundary post to follow Jesus. And just as we begin to lose a sense of what’s inside and what’s outside with this call, some guardians of the nation’s moral boundaries arrive with emergency event fencing.

We in the Church have always known that the Holy Spirit is most active on the boundaries – on the fringes of the Church. She pushes those boundaries out. And that should come as no surprise. We worship Jesus who took the boundaries of God’s love across the borders of the Holy Land, and he charged us, his followers to fulfil God’s promise to Abram and Sarai – to stretch out those boundaries of blessing to embrace every family of Earth.

How do we embrace like this – how do we trail wide the hem of Jesus’ garment for people to reach and touch, so they too can come to know themselves as Jesus’ daughters and sons – can come to discover their birthright? The gospel today challenges us to be that hem of his garment, trailing out, in reckless love for the sake of people whose lives are unravelling. Lord Jesus Christ, lover of all, trail wide the hem of your garment, bring healing, bring peace.  Amen

Rev’d Peter Balabanski

Trinity A – Ex 34 1-8, Song 3YM 29-34, 2 Cor 13 11-13, Matt 28 16-20

Kids in a class answering each other’s names disempower a new teacher. Names are power!

I noticed when Adn Sam visited us how he prayed in the Name of the Trinity – Creator, Redeemer and Life Giver. Those were his words the Name of the Trinity, then Creator, Redeemer and Life Giver. God creates us; God restores us when we stray, and God gives us spiritual life. But Adn Sam’s first word was Trinity – God is Trinity; triune; three persons, Father, Son and Holy Spirit, yet one God. So the Trinity precedes creation as a community; as a relationship which is Scripture reveals to us as creative, life-giving, restoring and loving. What this community creates is intended to reflect those qualities; their image and likeness.

Reading through scripture, we can see the Father, Son and Holy Spirit each creating, restoring the lost, and giving life, and so much more: love; peace; balance; harmony. Father, Son and Spirit are in perfect harmony with one another.

So we experience the Trinity like we hear beautiful harmony in music, or see a perfect, graceful dance, or discover the mesmerising symbiosis of Nature. And more than that, we experience Trinity like participants in music-making do, or like dance-partners do, or as carers of life-sustaining forests and oceans do; as part of something much greater. And Trinity is far more than just what we experience.

Yet we try to describe Trinity; we label things. We try to classify creation to seek to comprehend it. We even say a thing doesn’t exist if we can’t measure it. We break things down into categories we can handle. Often, we talk about the Trinity using words that suggest only God the Father specialises in creating, and then delegates repair work to Jesus, and fine tuning to the Spirit. We may not mean it to sound like that. But with time, phrases like Creator, Redeemer and Sanctifier sound as if we’re replacing the relational Names, Father, Son and Spirit, with a set of functions: Creator = Factory, Redeemer = Repair Workshop and Sanctifier = Online Firmware Upgrade. Not who God is at all!

We sometimes forget when we use names to describe the three persons we know as the one God that we’re only making associations; like I did with music, dance and nature. The names we use may hold very rich associations and significance for us. But none of them can ever be complete. At times, one name is more helpful than another. Later, another name might suddenly light up with new meaning for us. But we can’t let ourselves forget that these are all associations that we’re making, and they can’t define who or what God is.

That’s probably why silence is so powerful.

What does help is to remember that the names God has chosen to give us in scripture are primarily associated with the intimacy of belonging – of family. Knowing that helps us see how some associations are just dead ends. Knowing that also helps us to identify those associations which might truly open us to life together in the living embrace of the Trinity; in the community of the Trinity.

To do that, scripture offers us the image of a loving family inviting us in and transforming us. Jesus, the Son showed us as a human how compassionate and gracious the Father’s love is for the world. Jesus is also the perfect image of the character the Holy Spirit works to nurture inside each of us. Think of those words of Jesus to his friends that we just heard in Matthew’s Gospel: I am with you always, to the very end of the age. We experience that presence within and without.  

To show us how a person might embrace Christ being with us, and to describe its effect, I’ve asked that today we sing together St Patrick’s ancient baptismal hymn, I bind unto myself today the strong Name of the Trinity. One of our study group observed on Tuesday how this hymn comes from a world where spiritual danger was a constant anxiety. The majority world is still conscious of this danger today. Our society seems to sleepwalk through it.

This hymn describes our baptism as a choice to bind God the Trinity to ourselves as a shield. This binding protects our spirits absolutely from the danger of being possessed by the evil forces at work in the spirit world, and what we call the real world. The verse we just sang to prepare for the gospel describes that baptismal binding. It is an expository prayer invoking Jesus’ words when he said I am with you always, to the very end of the age. So we sang – Christ be with me, Christ within me, Christ behind me, Christ in mouth of friend and stranger. Speaking with Fr Donald yesterday, he was very moved by the way it can be a stranger who articulates that belonging. This verse is a prayer to plunge into Christ’s presence.

In a few minutes, we’ll sing three more verses of this hymn. In the first, we swear allegiance to the Trinity, and claim protection in the power of the Name. This declaration echoes our first reading today when the Lord passed in front of Moses, proclaiming, ‘The Lord, the Lord, the compassionate and gracious God, slow to anger, abounding in love and faithfulness. In verse 2, we proclaim our faith given through Christ’s birth, baptism, crucifixion, resurrection, ascension and second coming, and claim what he has done as our protection. Then in the third verse, Patrick proclaims the wonders of creation itself as daily revelation to him and to us of God’s eternal power and divine nature. Rom 1.20

Our own life-experiences and the associations our minds come up with shape our faith. So faith is a changing, maturing process, and we mustn’t get it bogged down into words that can stop us growing. Our dance with the Trinity evolves us and deepens us – personally and as a Church. And that’s the message we’ll go out with ringing in our ears from our thanksgiving hymn. Today we bind to ourselves the power of God to hold and lead … the wisdom of our God to teach, God’s hand to guide, God’s shield to ward, the Word of God to give us speech … the Trinity of whom all Nature has creation, eternal Father, Spirit, Word.

Thanks be, Most Holy Trinity, Amen.

Rev’d Hilary Reddrop

Thank you, Peter, for once again giving me the opportunity to speak about Chaplaincy and my hospital chaplaincy ministry.

Having preached on this topic this time last year I feel very tempted to ask you, as I ask straight up to social work students that I give presentations to on Spiritual Care, what do you understand the word spirituality to mean? Any one brave enough to call out?

Spirituality, simply put, is about what gives us meaning and purpose in life, the reason for getting up in the morning, what motivates us into action, our values and our hope. For some people it is their family, their pets, or it could be their various activities such as walking on the beach or in the bush, gardening, craft work or tinkering in the shed. These are some of the things that gives meaning and purpose to their lives, our lives. For some, like us, their spirituality includes a belief in a deity.

I am one of the Spiritual Care chaplains in the Southern Adelaide Local Health Network, commonly known as SAHLN. SALHN covers the Flinders Medical Centre, Noarlunga Hospital, the Repat Health Precinct and the Jamie Larcombe Centre, the mental health unit for veterans and first responders. In SALHN the Chaplaincy team works on a ward basis. I’m at Flinders three days a week and my assigned wards there are Laurel Hospice and the Older Persons Mental Health Unit. I’m at the Repat one day and visit the rehab wards. When a visit for an Anglican chaplain is requested, I share visiting these patients with my Anglican colleague, Zinkoo Han, who joined the team this year.

The Spiritual Care Chaplains are available to all patients, family, friends and all staff. When cold calling, which we all do on occasions, I introduce myself to patients with the greeting Hello I’m Hilary. I’m from Spiritual Care, some people respond immediately with, I’m not religious, I’m not spiritual, I don’t go to church, or something similar. Some are surprised, and others sceptical, when I say, I haven’t come to visit you to talk about religion. Some invite me to stay and conversation flows from there. Others don’t want to engage. I leave them usually saying, I hope your day is as peaceful and calm as possible. A few do understand that spirituality is more than belief in a deity.

Chaplaincy is about relationship. We visit people who don’t know us, nor we know them, but somehow we build a relationship of trust in a very short space of time. We are often told things that have been long forgotten, deep hurts from the past or perhaps more recent hurts, things they’ve never shared before with anyone. Our primary role is to listen, to listen deeply to what is being said, and unsaid, observing what is happening for the person as they talk to us, as they share their needs, their life stories, their joys and sadnesses, their fears, their determination, their hope. Many visits are to people who are feeling lonely, family might live a long way away, or they have no family, and their friends are not able to visit them. We sit and listen to them sharing their life stories, joining in where appropriate acknowledging their joys and sadness, gently encouraging them to share their fears, exploring how they have coped with these feelings in the past by enquiring what helped them then or what might help them now, always allowing the person to share as much or as little as they feel comfortable to share, to give them the time and space to think things through, to come to their own conclusions and to make their own decisions. It’s not our place to give advice or instruct them, we’re there as a gentle, listening, guiding presence. For all who we interact with we are the hands of Christ, at the bedside, in the corridor, and occasionally in the Chapel.

My ministry in the Hospice brings me alongside people with a life limiting illness, approaching the end of their life, which could be months, weeks, days or hours away. They are receiving palliative care. Their big questions may be, Why me? What have I done with my life? What do I do with my life now? Or they may express sadness, I don’t want to leave my family. Some elderly patients are worried about their partner, How will they manage when I’ve gone, I’ve always done everything.  Another question might be, What’s going to happen now? That question might mean what’s going to happen right now or for those who are imminently dying, what is after death. Some of these questions and thoughts are no different for patients in other wards. They may have been in an accident or have an illness that has changed their mobility, their quality of life. What will I be able to do? What work will I be able to do? I’m going to be a burden.

Do chaplains have the answers to any of these questions? We might have some answers, but we’re there to listen. It’s not our role to give direct answers, especially if a patient is asking about their illness and treatment. We are not allowed to give medical advice. What has your dr told you? Have you asked your nurse? are questions I put to the patient. Or I might suggest they ask to see the social worker if that is more appropriate.

Chaplains are not allowed to proselytise. If a patient asks questions about faith matters we can talk about religion in general terms, and only in direct response to their conversation. We can’t disagree with their theology or try to change their beliefs or thoughts. We are there to support them, not add to their anxiety when they are in a vulnerable state. If I’m asked a direct question about faith I try and reflect it back to them, I’m interested in hearing what you think. Occasionally I will be challenged and asked about my belief in the nature of God. That’s when I tread very carefully. I don’t agree or disagree with their theology even if it is different from mine! Some push back, they want to know about me, what I believe and ask very direct questions, most often about God, and frequently the God of judgement. Sadly, some associate their illness or their prolonged death as being imposed on them by God. If I feel pushed to answer what I feel about God I say, I believe in a loving God, adding more to that if conversation flows from that, or gently exploring with the patient what they believe.  When patients are feeling low, they may feel God is distant from them, not listening, not answering their prayers.  I might explore what has made them feel close to God in the past and let them decide what might be helpful for them now to help them restore their closeness to God. Reading a Bible passage and praying with patients and family are also important parts of our ministry. Attending to patients at the end of their life, responding to requests from family to pray for the dying person forms a greater part of our ministry.

Some patients spend weeks, sometimes months, in hospital. These are the metaphorical prisoners we visit, trapped in a bed, some attached to medical equipment, others just not healing due to their illness or their age, perhaps recovering slowly in rehab or waiting for a bed in residential care.  These long term patients need company. Staff often ask us to go and visit these patients. We have the time to be at the bedside, to be present and listen. We aren’t under the time pressure other staff are under. We might stay a few minutes, or it may be an hour or more. In the Repat dementia wards there are many patients who are not accepted into residential care or who have been made to leave residential care because the facility cannot cope with their behaviour. They remain in hospital care until a suitable place is found for them. This can be months or years. The staff welcome the visits from spiritual care to spend time with the patients.

Some visits are just one-off visits while others may go on over a matter of weeks and some for months.  It is a privilege to spend time with patients, especially those in these situations. I might get to know the family and friends of some of the patients, spending time with them listening to their life stories. Families or friends can’t always be present all the time. In the hospice I sometimes visit sleeping or unresponsive patients if they are on their own. If I haven’t met the patient or family, I don’t presume they will want me to be present. I stand by the bedside and pray silently for a few minutes. For those I’ve spent time with I’ll sit with them in silent prayer or pray aloud if I’ve gained their permission to pray with them on a previous visit. Recently I visited a patient in the Hospice and she asked me to pray for her, which I did. A couple of days later there was a request from her family to visit her. I went but the patient was alone and unresponsive. I spoke to her and prayed for her and sat with her for a while. I left a note for the family to let them know I’d visited. I was on call that day and a while later I had a phone call from the patient’s son. He wanted me to visit and spend time with him and his sister and brother. I returned to the Hospice and spent time with them listening to them talk about their mother and praying once more as they requested. They appreciated me being with them. The patient died early the following morning. A timely visit with them all.

People often say to me, It must be sad being in the Hospice. I don’t always know how to respond because it’s not a sad place. There’s a lot of love and laughter. Yes, sometimes it’s very sad especially there’s a connection been made with a patient. All staff have these experiences and are well supported on the ward, including me.

My very sad feelings are more for the patients in the Older Patient Mental Health Unit. Many are there for months, some are admitted and after they’re discharged there back again a little while later. Yes, I spend time with these patients and regularly they are the people I spend the most time with, often an hour. The staff are grateful for my presence on the ward as spiritual care makes a big difference for the patients on the day they are visited. The staff regularly check with me about the patient I’ve visited, and I share what I may have noticed without breaking the bond of trust and confidentiality. We also check in on each other, how are you and we listen to each other.  Some patients, and not just in the Older Persons Mental Health Unit, are so unwell that you can’t help feeling emotional after you’ve left them and a check in is helpful. And yes, I sometimes break the guidelines for personal wellbeing and carry a patient home in my mind and heart.

I’m fortunate that I am part of a supportive team. We listen to each other, debrief and encourage each other to care for ourselves when we’ve had a challenging visit or day. We know each other well and can pick up when support, a listening ear is needed. We encourage each other by listening, supporting, hugs and on occasions time out to sit and chat.

I know, like me, my fellow chaplains within SALHN, and across the diocese, feel so privileged to be Chaplains, spreading God’s love to all we meet, not only in words but also in actions, prompted and guided by the Holy Spirit, to go where we need to be, often arriving at the perfect moment for the patient or their family member, or meeting a staff member who just needs to talk. I can recall the first time I was prompted by the Holy Spirit to go to a particular patient. It was in the old RAH and I was a lay volunteer. Some of you may recall the layout of the old RAH with various levels having three corridors at right angle to each other. I can recall standing at the place where they met. On my list I had patients down each of the corridors. I stood looking at the list and then down each corridor. I then I felt I need to go this way. I don’t recall the patient, just the experience of arriving at the perfect time for that person. I knew I’d had what I call a Holy Spirit moment and yes, I’ve had more such experiences.

A couple of weeks ago thinking about preaching both here and at St Augustine’s Para Hills last week, I asked my colleagues if they are ever greeted with You’re the chaplain, even when we haven’t said a word. Yes, they have. One colleague shared that just that day she’d visited a patient who said after she introduced herself said, sunshine and love has just walked into the room. What a beautiful experience. We wonder how it is possible to receive such reactions. I can only think, and believe, it is the working of the Holy Spirit in and through us, our advocate, prompt and guide.

Thank you Peter, for putting the flyer about the Chaplain’s Service next Sunday in your weekly.  If you haven’t met the Archbishop yet this will be an opportunity for you as he will be preaching. I’d love to see you there to say hello to at afternoon tea. Please come if you are able. Amen

Archdeacon Sam Goodes

Year A – Ascension Day Eucharist – Acts 1:1-11, Daniel 7:9-14, Ephesians 1:15-23, Matthew 28:16-20

In the name of the Trinity; Creator, Redeemer, and Life-Giver…

A few years ago now, then Archbishop of Canterbury, Justin Welby, preached on the occasion of this important Feast Day in the beautiful church of St. Martin-in-the Fields, London.

In his sermon that night, Justin proposed that “(the Ascension) is about power or victory, but not as we know it.” (repeat) And I suspect that the church throughout the ages has been wrestling with the same confusion about what this feast really means.

Think about the sort of words we have heard today in our readings – words like ‘power’, ‘glory’, ‘witness’, ‘proofs’, and ‘authority’. For the disciples who hear these words, they think that if power is going to be given to them surely that means conquest and victory? If Jesus speaks of a Kingdom, surely they are about to see it?

This is not the case. Rather, the power contained within this feast is not about our power at all. The ascension of Christ to the right hand of God is the ascendency, the rise, the elevation, the promotion of Christ to the position of all authority in heaven and on earth. But the Ascension does not denote some sort of cosmological location, but it is a poetic way of saying that God has now given all authority to Christ.

Most importantly, the ascension of Christ does not lead to the absence of Christ, but to his ongoing presence everywhere. This is why the risen Christ says,in his promise to the disciples in Matthew’s Gospel, “Behold, I am with you always, even to the end of the age.”

In the Ascension, Christ now “fills all things everywhere with himself.” There is now no place where Christ is not, and there is now domain over which Jesus is not Lord.

But I think it is fair to say that is not how most Christians have thought about the Ascension over the years. And this has had a detrimental effect upon our theology — especially our political theology.

If we end the gospel story of Jesus by saying… “And then Jesus went off to heaven (which is why he’s not here), but someday he will come back and bring in the kingdom of God…” then this leads to the conclusion that we are free to run the world the way we want to in what we assume is the absence of Christ. What this does is demote Jesus from being the Eternal Lord “seated at God’s right hand in the heavenly places, far above all rule and authority and power and dominion,” (in the words from the letter to the Ephesians) to being some sort of Lord-Elect in exile.

If we imagine Jesus as being off somewhere in heaven waiting to come back someday and begin his reign, then we default to the idea that those in authority are free to rule the world in the way they believe best in the absence of Christ. And in that case, I’ve got to ask the question expressed in popular idiom, “how’s that working out for you?”

How does the world look at the moment, with those in authority acting in this manner? How’s the state of the environment? How’s the moral compass looking?

How’s the peace and harmony amongst humanity? Not so good, I think…

The Holy Spirit given as God’s gift does not give us the power to fight, to attack each other, to hate, to destroy – but another sort of power – the power to love, to witness, to declare repentance for those things that destroy life and forgiveness; a power that liberates us to a new future. What could be more important than the message Jesus’ followers are left to proclaim? What can be more essential to that message than the gift of power from God; power to liberate not dominate, to bring life not law, freedom not fear?

One of the primary roles of the church – one that we perhaps have not done so well – is to be a prophetic witness in the name of the Lord Jesus advocating for peace, mercy, and justice. The church calls those in authority to obey Christ by promoting peace among the nations, prioritizing provision for the poor, and providing justice for the most vulnerable.

This is not to say that the church is to function as some sort of party-pooper; throwing cold water on everything, but rather that it is to act as a prophetic witness and an embodied presence of the King of kings.

I must say that I am encouraged over the last while, to see and hear some in the church standing up for what is good and right. I’m thinking of Pope Leo, and his not so subtle words in speaking out against the current war in the Middle East – or the bravery of Bishop Marian Budde in her sermon last May that called on the American President to have “mercy” on immigrants and other communities.

And what was the backlash to that? She was condemned – called a “radical”, or a “hard-line lefty”. But, actually, she was simply preaching the Gospel of Christ – may we all be accused of such things because of our words or our actions!

The contemporary task of the church is to make Christianity prophetic again. We must recover our vocation as a prophetic witness for the risen and ascended Christ. But to do this we must actually believe that Jesus is Lord of the nations here and now, and that all kings and governments, peoples and nations are called to obey the Son of God. And that is the thrust of this feast day today.

The Ascension is a vital feast for us to reclaim, as we recall and acknowledge Jesus as our risen and ascended Lord, now available and accessible to everyone. In a paradoxical way, this feast, which celebrates an ascension to another place actually makes Jesus more accessible – not less. For when he lived on earth, fully human, only those who were present at that time could experience and sense him. But now, fully divine, he reigns to intercede for us – to hear our prayers and our cries, and all can have access to him.

As the wonderful Brian Wren hymn proclaims “Christ is alive! No longer bound to distant years in Palestine, but saving, healing, here and now, and touching every place and time.”

Yes, Ascension is about power or victory, but not as we know it. The Ascension sets our destination, and in its compelling conquest assures us of the promises and mission that catch hold of us and compel us to change our world; never to despair, always to endure, to rejoice, to celebrate, to tolerate our failings, patiently to endure suffering – knowing that the victory of Jesus the Christ is certain.

In the name of God. Amen.

Rev’d Peter Balabanski

Easter 6A –John 14.15-21

In times as disturbing as these, we don’t have to look far to see how sudden, drastic changes can upend people’s lives. These surprises jump out at us with no warning. It makes a big difference if we can access the inner strength to weather a sudden change. If so, then we can be inwardly prepared to accept what might come, and also offer that strength to others. This is what today’s gospel is about.

So how can we prepare for sudden, unexpected change? The key we’re offered today is to nurture deep relationships that are so filled with trust and love and hope that they help us survive anything. That’s what Jesus offers us, his fellow travellers. In last week’s gospel, we gathered with him and his closest disciples in the upper room. And in today’s gospel, we’re still there with them. This was the time when Jesus was preparing his friends for the change they’d soon face when he’d no longer be physically with them. He’s telling them about the supports he’ll send them.

In this resurrection season of Easter, you may wonder why our readings take us back to the time before Jesus’ crucifixion. I suspect we’re being given these passages to prepare us for the feast of Christ’s Ascension … and then for Pentecost.

Last week, we heard Jesus tell his friends he was going away. He said he’d go to prepare a place for them, then come back to take them to himself. For us, that feels like a preparation for his Ascension. But for John’s community, that would have been a very raw memory. It’s probably why they specifically remembered those lovely words we heard today: ¹⁸ I won’t leave you orphaned; I am coming to you.

Many of us know what it is to lose somebody central to our life. If we’re lucky enough, and we know early that it’s going to happen, in that last little bit of time we have together, often our loved ones do what they can to prepare us for life without them. They can never prepare us enough. Yet, something they can’t control does happen. Something of them stays in us quite tangibly. We often find ourselves having an inner conversation with them when we’re faced with big decisions. I think this experience is a tiny echo of what we heard Jesus promise today. The Father will give you another Advocate, to be with you for ever … the Spirit of Truth whom … the world neither sees nor knows, [but] you know him, because he abides with you, and he will be in you. Hear Jesus say that Spirit already lives in them!

The disciples in the upper room are soon going to lose Jesus. When that dawns on them, they may feel like fledglings not yet ready to leave the nest; inadequate; scared. But we just heard Jesus tell us the Spirit of Truth lives within them/us now.

So there’s no reason to fear; they’ll be alright. And that’s because it all hinges on the one thing that comes most easily to them. If you love me … says Jesus. It’s not a condition they must attain. Of course they love him! This is not a question he’s asking them. It’s a statement of fact, with its logical consequence. Better said, Given that you all love me, you’ll love each other too, as I’ve loved you. So there’s nothing to fear.

But how’s that meant to help? The love is what makes it hurt so much in the first place! How are we meant to do that? His answer is Love one another as I have loved you. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another. Love one another as I have loved you. How’s anyone who’s grieving and feeling left behind going to find the strength to love – to bear witness to Jesus?

How? Well how did Jesus love them? The foot washing shows us. Put yourself out for your neighbour; not just for your family; not just for those you’re obliged to serve. It’s much wider than that. Do it randomly, like Jesus did. Then everyone will know that you are my disciples. So their chosen identity as his followers continues in random acts of service and care. Where do we find the strength to do that?

Jesus says I’m going to ask the Father, and he will give you another Advocate (helper) to be with you for ever. Advocate. The Greek word translated here is Paraclete. In the New Testament, it refers exclusively to the Holy Spirit and to Jesus. So by saying another Advocate, Jesus is saying that they won’t experience his absence like you would other absences. Another Advocate says that the very same Jesus will be right inside them; inside us; the Spirit of Truth. Just think of hearing the teacher and guarantor of your own integrity and belonging speaking to you from inside your own heart. In two weeks, at Pentecost, we’ll see this begin.

Jesus has told them about his own relationship with God the Father. Now this will be what his friends experience, and so also us. ²⁰On that day you will know that I am in my Father, and you in me, and I in you. A beautiful Celtic knot! The lovely unity Jesus shares with his Father means that he reveals God’s love most perfectly. Jesus shares that unity of love with us so we will always be in him and he in us, and by his grace, reveal him in a broken world that desperately needs his love.

And just like he did, we’ll reveal that love through service; service like the washing of feet. It’s not an essential service. It’s a sign of love – something people can’t earn. In life, there are chores needing prompt attention just so life’s routines can go on. Doing them keeps tensions at bay. But what really turns community into a joyful experience is loving service; like foot washing. And the word gets out! Amen

Rev’d Peter Balabanski

Easter 5A &John – Apostle and Evangelist– John 14 1-14

The Gospel we just heard comes from what scholars call St John’s Book of Glory. It’s where Jesus is preparing his inner circle of disciples for a future without him physically present with them. The Book of Glory begins with the beautiful passage in ch 13 that we read on Maundy Thursday. That’s where Jesus washes his disciples’ feet to teach about servant leadership, where he gives the meal that we call Holy Communion, and where he teaches the new commandment – to love as he did – so everyone will recognise him in us.

Entering the Book of Glory feels like going on retreat after the drama of earlier chapters where Jesus’ ministry is constantly opposed. Now, he’s in the upper room with his friends as they gain their first inkling that he won’t be with them for much longer. Unlike his earlier challenges to his detractors, his words here are words of comfort for his friends; words of hope. Do not let your hearts be troubled. … I go to prepare a place for you … so that where I am, there you may be also.

Here, Jesus is speaking to his closest followers; people on the Way with him. They’re not the people we met in previous chapters who seek to cancel Jesus and damage his reputation. It’s important to bear in mind who he’s speaking to because when we get to verse 6, some people who read today’s passage see it as very challenging; very exclusive. Jesus says, I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.

No one comes to the Father except through me. I’m stressing this issue of context and audience because I meet people who hear these words as Jesus shutting them out. (I don’t know him, so I must be out) I also meet people who assume that Jesus is letting only them – true believers – and people like them into God’s presence. They assume everyone else is out – even other Christians they disagree with. Both these people hear Jesus drawing a line in the sand to exclude most of the world’s people. But I’m sure John the Evangelist did not think Jesus was saying that.

In that room with his friends, and in John’s gospel overall, Jesus is always found stretching that line in the sand into an ever larger circle to bring the whole world in. How often can you remember him talking and eating with outsiders, touching diseased people? He’s breaking down barriers. He wants these people to see their way open to God’s presence. He’s offering hope. That’s the Jesus our patron John wants us to encounter. In the opening verses of John’s Gospel, we read, All things came into being through Him, and without Him not one thing came into being. What has come into being in Him was life, and the life was the light of all people. ^1:3-5 The closest parallel to this statement I can think of is that Jesus is our parent – and we simply can’t ever stop being our parents’ children. It’s who we are.

John is presenting Jesus to us as the source of our being, and that’s a total embrace. I can’t imagine Jesus wanting to exclude anyone. He became one of us to show us how intimately we are identified with him. He became one of us to reveal to the whole world the Way to the Father. Of course there are also verses in John’s Gospel which say that a person’s faith, belief and trust in Jesus are required. But there’s a clear vision for the salvation of the whole world in this Gospel. And the Gospels are written in the context of the Abrahamic faith which tells us that through Abraham and Sarah’s descendants, all families of the earth would be blessed. ^{Gen 12.1-4.} And Christians believe Jesus is the direct descendant of Abraham and Sarah by whom that promise is fulfilled.

So personal, informed faith, or Jesus does it all anyway? What do I preach?

I often find myself choosing the Jesus does it all – message. At funerals, the Gospel is usually John 14.1-6. Often we’re farewelling someone I don’t know, and their grieving family can’t tell me about the faith of their loved one with any confidence. Their faith is now known to God alone. My choice then is to publicly commend them to God in the Christian hope that Jesus came to bring them to the Father too.

I think it’s legitimate for me to do that because in John 14, we see that even Jesus’s closest friends suffer from spiritual blindness and doubt. Thomas wonders where Jesus might be leading them and Philip hasn’t worked out who Jesus truly is. But Jesus is gentle with them both. Both of them are seeking God; both of them feel out of their depth. But Jesus holds them fast. So whoever we are, I believe we can also trust Jesus, the light of all people, to be gentle with each of us – and with everyone.

So I preach the Christian hope at funerals of people whose faith is known to God alone. I do this because I know God showed his love for the whole world – before any world-wide faith was formally articulated – by giving us Jesus. ^{Jn 3.16} I do it because throughout his ministry, Jesus was open to people outside his own faith and nation. He had time for traitors, liars, immoral people, criminals and stupid people. And even if they walked away from him, he kept loving them. I know that through personal experience; it’s as though he has a finger through your belt loop and his arm extends endlessly.

I am the way, and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me. I believe Jesus came to make a Way for the world to come to the Father who loves the world, so I will proclaim that hope. We can all proclaim that hope. We’re all embraced here – not excluded. Not only are Jesus and the Father one, but if we seek the Father – if we see our life as a spiritual journey to unity with God, here Jesus reveals himself not only as our travelling companion, but also as the very road he travels with us, and our destination. He is the WAY.

No one comes to the Father except through me? Of course not – but Jesus and the Father are one. And in Jesus, the Father has come to us; come for us. I don’t think anyone or anything can stand in their WAY. Amen

Rev’d Peter Balabanski

John 10.1-10, Acts 2.42-47, Psalm 23, 1 Peter 2.1-10

I used to take a bus from Jerusalem down to Jericho twice a week to teach in one of the refugee camps. On the way down, the bus would stop to pick up Bedouin children who were going to school. There was no bus stop; just a few kids waiting by the roadside. After school, they’d be dropped back there – in the middle of nowhere, it seemed.

I got to know some of these Bedouin families. Their camp in the Judean wilderness, was tucked into a wadi – a dry river bed – not far from the Jericho road. Bedouin families live in rambling, flat-roofed tents – tents made of goatskins. Several families live in an area, so there are quite a few tents. And each family has its own flock of sheep and goats, which are the family’s bank, deli, clothing and housing material. During the day, the younger children lead the flocks about the countryside to look after them as they graze. There are no fences. But at night, the various families’ flocks are brought home, and all penned together in a sort of stockade.

In the camp I knew, the families had built a thorny fence across the entrance to a blind gully that opened into their wadi. It provided a secure stockade for everyone’s flocks. With tall rocky walls on three sides and the thorn fence across the opening, only one person was needed to guard it at night – sleeping across the gate to guard everyone’s flocks from wild animals and thieves. Jesus called himself that gate. … In the morning each family would send their children to the stockade. The guard would open the gate, and the children would each call out to their family’s sheep and goats who’d come out to them. The boys and girls called, and from the huddle of mixed flocks, their family’s animals came out to them. They knew their shepherds’ voices. And the children would stay with their flock throughout the day.

I remember that when I read what Jesus said, The shepherds call their own sheep by name and lead them out. 4When they’ve brought out all their own, they go ahead of them, and the sheep follow because they know their voices. It’s such a rich image! I wish we could come up with its equal for our time. But I can’t think of anything that speaks so eloquently to these people’s – or our – life experience.

So let’s stay with the original. We know who the Good Shepherd is, and we know who we are. God has sent Jesus, his Son, to call us out of the blind gully. No food there, so a sort of valley of the shadow of death. As we follow his call, he leads us out to the life-giving places, green pastures, still waters. The Bedouin people, living so much like they did in biblical times, embody the beauty of this image with their good, strong community; one marked by co-operation; mutual support, trust, and of course, extraordinarily generous hospitality – you spread a table before me.

This Easter season reminds us as Christians that the bad shepherds Jesus warns us against don’t have the final say. Not even death could stop our Shepherd rising up to call us from the shadows and nurture us. And these Bedouin families – now so dreadfully oppressed across the Middle East and North Africa – are living witness to the fact that people do choose to live as Good Shepherd communities no matter what. It’s wonderful what such good, kind people still achieve against all odds.

This teaching speaks to us directly. It addresses our prayer. In our collect prayer today, we all asked God to send us as shepherds to rescue the lost, to heal the injured and to feed one another. It’s a prayer that expresses God’s heart for all his little ones. We can trust that God will honour this prayer. And we can also be quite sure that we who’ve prayed it will be called to be the instruments of God’s answer. At our baptism, our call is clear. Jesus hands are now our hands; hands to rescue the lost, to heal the injured and feed one another. We are Christ’s body now.

We saw this erupt today in the earliest Christian Church. We read about it in Acts. 44All who believed were together and had all things in common; 45they would sell their possessions and goods and distribute the proceeds to all, as any had need. 46Day by day, as they spent much time together in the temple, they broke bread [from house to house] and ate their food with glad and generous hearts, 47praising God and having the goodwill of all the people. And day by day the Lord added to their number those who were being saved.

How hard is it to sell things – sheep and goats and the sort of stuff one accumulates – sell it and use it to look after strangers? No more now than it was then. That’s what the earliest disciples did, and they transformed lives – transformed their world. We all asked God to send us as shepherds to rescue the lost, to heal the injured and to feed one another. Doing this more than almost anything else binds people together in bonds of love; crossing racial and cultural divides.

Jesus said I am the gate for the sheep … Whoever enters by me will be saved, and will come in and go out and find pasture. What does that mean for us now? Where do we fit in? It seems pretty clear that we – we who each Sunday call ourselves the Body of Christ in this present time – that we are called to embody the roles he names in this teaching. We are any and all of these at different times – shepherd, guard, sheep and goats, the lost, the injured, the hungry, the gate of safety.

Jesus has entrusted you and me with all this – work, growth, compassion, courage, and responsibility. He’s shown us the cost of all this, and yet in the hope his rising inspires in us, we’ve asked to be part of it all. He will honour our prayer.

May Jesus in his kindness strengthen us to be his Body in this, our time. Amen

Rev’d Peter Balabanski

Easter 3 A– Emmaus Road – Hospitality – Meeting Jesus again

The two shattered travellers told the stranger, we’d hoped that Jesus was the one to redeem us. There are now 130 million forcibly displaced people walking that road of shattered hopes with them. And in the crisis gripping the world today, we might all wonder what’s to become of our life’s hopes. Today’s gospel story invites us to know that the real source of our hope may be walking right beside us. ³¹ … their eyes were opened, and they recognized him.

The Emmaus story is only going make sense from the perspective of faith. If you and I chance to meet the risen Jesus and if we are open to being touched by his life and teaching, then this story will be one which resonates with the deepest desires of our hearts. And we shouldn’t be discouraged by imagining we don’t have such desires. Why are we here, after all, hearing about him? Isn’t there something in us that draws us back again and again, hoping to catch even the most fleeting glimpse of that astonishing stranger who may be walking by our side today? We might think we have unorthodox ideas about who Jesus is – that we somehow misunderstand him, and so we mightn’t be granted that elusive glimpse.

That was exactly the case for those two travellers walking away from Jerusalem. Think about what they believed about Jesus They told him ²¹…we’d hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel. They still had the idea that Jesus should be the one to rid Israel of the Romans, and turn it into an independent state with him as its ruler; a political king like David was. But because they wanted his power to be political power, they were baffled by the vulnerability of the crucified Jesus. It’s the same delusion gripping the world now; counterfeit messiahs telling us the lie that our salvation lies in their weapons. But Jesus did reveal himself to these two travellers.

These two had showed their misunderstanding in the very act of retreating to Emmaus that day. Earlier in the gospel, when ^9.51 Jesus set his face to go to Jerusalem, they’d walked with him. But today, they were walking away from Jerusalem – literally turning their backs on the hope that had been their compass until then. We meet them today leaving behind their cherished image of Jesus, and descending the mountain from Jerusalem to the plains; abandoning a mountain of hope. But even then, Jesus came to accompany them – gently to teach them again, and to reveal to them a deeper hope; a hope so deep in their hearts that they were hardly conscious of it. They wondered at it later, how their hearts had been set on fire. ³³ That same hour they got up and returned to Jerusalem; and they found the eleven and their companions gathered together. They resumed the original course that they had chosen to travel with Jesus.

It’s important to remember what opened the eyes of these two disciples. The first thing was teaching; Jesus’ faithful teaching of the scriptures set their hearts on fire. This is the responsibility of every Christian gathering. Hearts and minds need to be offered the scriptures’ power to inspire faith. That was the turning point for these two friends on their journey.

The second thing that opened their eyes was something they did. They responded to the teaching with gratitude. They offered to host their strange companion and eat with him. Their response to the gift of inspired teaching was hospitality. Being taught from scripture is at once a duty and a means of experiencing God’s grace. It’s a duty because scripture enables a response of faith: Isa 55 ¹¹ so shall my word be that goes out from my mouth; it shall not return to me empty, but it shall accomplish that which I purpose, and succeed in the thing for which I sent it. And it’s a means of grace, particularly when your response to the scriptures is hospitality. For then you may discover your guest is an angel, or even Jesus.

The third thing which opened their eyes was understanding: firstly, realising that they were in the presence of Jesus in his crucified, risen, physical body; and secondly that he was made recognisable to them in the breaking of the bread.

His physical body – he’d walked miles with them teaching them, yet still they didn’t recognise him. So understanding on its own is not enough. Just so with the scriptures – often in themselves, not enough. But together with the special actions which Jesus himself handed down to us – in today’s story, re-enacting the Last Supper – they recognised the risen Jesus for themselves. That’s what we’re here to discover. In our gathering, listening, singing and in our sharing of the sacrament – and we need them all – we find that we are the risen body of Christ in this place.

For our two companions on the road, it still didn’t stop there. The final act is to respond. These disciples responded in two ways. The response to God’s call is to do justly and act kindly, and that was shown in their insistent hospitality.

To the experience of meeting Jesus, the response is to seek out fellowship with others to celebrate Christ risen, and go out to proclaim him. And that they did too.

This parish has all these gifts: fellowship, scriptural study, hospitality and faithful, Eucharistic worship. And yet, in our very uncertain time, these are not enough. We need two more things. We need to embody words and actions that offer people real hope. We need to walk alongside people and open the message with them. And we must do it humbly recognising that as much as our companions on the way might meet Jesus in us, we might just as easily meet Jesus, face to face, in them. Amen

Rev’d Balabanski

Easter 2A – John 20.19-31

There’s an extremely well-worn old proposition that doubts Jesus really died on the cross. It says Jesus just passed out, the Roman soldiers mistakenly thought he was dead, and they let people take away his body to be buried. So presumably, after a 48-hour sleep, Jesus woke up so well rested from the exertions of his passion and crucifixion that he could unwrap himself, and unnoticed by the guard outside, push a ton or so of limestone aside and wander off to look for his friends. So it’s a lovely thing that our prayer for the day calls God the hope of those who doubt.

Doubt can be a very healthy thing. Today’s gospel is one that people often call the story of doubting Thomas. And the doubt Thomas expresses is an extraordinary gift; so extraordinary that the writer lets this doubt eclipse other very important things in this story. What things? For one, this is when Jesus breathes the Holy Spirit on his disciples and gives them the same authority to forgive and heal that he exercised during his own ministry: ²² Jesus breathed on them and said to them, “Receive the Holy Spirit. ²³ If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained.” Enormously significant! These gifts are foundational to the Church. We recognise them at Pentecost, at ordinations, every Sunday – and yet they almost take a back seat at this point in John’s Gospel.

What else? What were the first things Jesus did when he appeared to his disciples – before Thomas came? Listen again: ¹⁹ Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you.” ²⁰ After he said this, he showed them his hands and his side. The first thing Jesus does is to show them that this body of his is the same one that was crucified just days earlier. He shows them before Thomas declares that he won’t believe until he’s seen and touched Jesus’ wounds. So what Jesus does isn’t provoked by Thomas’ doubt. It’s a statement that Jesus makes of his own accord.

This passage is full of things we still do to express our faith as the gathered body of Christ. It’s very like our Church services. We share Christ’s peace like he did in this story. The Spirit descends on the gathered community. The authority to forgive sins is exercised, and blessing is given to everyone. This passage gives us much that is central to Christianity.

But what really gives this passage its force is the presence of the physical flesh of the risen Jesus – shown to the disciples at the beginning, and offered again to Thomas at the end. Thomas’ confession of faith – my Lord and my God – is the high point of this amazing passage; it’s the proper response to the Word made flesh.

The absolutely central symbol of our faith is Jesus’ own physical risen body. And we are his body; like Jesus’ body was, the temple of the Holy Spirit. The doubt, expressed by Thomas and the many who have known it since is answered by Jesus. His answer inspires us to proclaim Christ risen to every new generation. Doubters are God’s gift to us. Their integrity calls us to proclaim the Jesus we know – as it did our patron John who wrote so that we may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that through believing we may have life in his name.

So let’s be grateful to the doubters; let’s be grateful for our own doubts. Doubt is our opportunity to explore ever more deeply the mystery and the grace of God becoming one of us – our opportunity to work it through when we are ten, twenty, thirty and forty and seventy and ninety and a hundred – so that we don’t have to live in our old age with the faith of the young person we used to be. Doubt is something God transforms into the gift of spiritual growth.

As well as all that, our Gospel today says that physical bodies are important to the Christian faith. Our faith is not just about what popularly gets called the saving of souls. Our faith is in Jesus, our God, who experienced real doubt, mortal life and death, just like we do. What does that mean about the way we live out that faith.

I think a helpful answer was given by Rowan Williams.

It should not need saying, but it must be said: our Christian faith is a faith in the rising of Jesus Christ from the tomb in his glorified body; and so it is about leading lives that take the life of the body seriously. The words for salvation and health cannot be distinguished in most languages, and this should remind us that faith in Christ has to be bound up with care for suffering bodies as well as suffering souls.

Only Christ can make us whole in every aspect of our lives. But we can show the world something of the nature of that comprehensive hope in Christ as we put our energies to work for healing. First we have to begin to learn what it is for each one of us to receive healing: quietly and thankfully, we must let our wounds be exposed to the physician and allow his life to sink into our lives. And then we must act as if we believed we had truly received authority to heal – in all sorts of different ways.

Each Sunday here, we share healing ministry in faith and trepidation. It’s a miniature of what we do with every step in our lives. We journey in hope that in God’s grace, each step will reveal a blessing; like the benefit of doubt. Amen.

Rev’d Balabanski

Easter reflection

Nicola has painted our Paschal Candle this year with a dove and with olive branches – symbols of peace that speak our prayers in this very dangerous time. On this joyful day, we celebrate the Resurrection of our Lord and Saviour – the Prince of Peace. But we’re celebrating at a time where wars rage and some of the combatants are invoking Jesus as their champion. So there are more-than-usually distorted brands of Christianity being presented to the world. The message some church leaders in powerful countries are presenting to the world is shockingly twisted. Their idea of a Christian message is a vicious brand of bombastic triumphalism. It’s nothing new. But we’re seeing this happening in our daily news with wartime leaders getting themselves publicly blessed by compliant church leaders. How can any Church bless their sort of behaviour – as though God condones it!?

We’ve spent the season of Lent – and particularly Holy Week – focussed on Jesus’ own example of emptying himself of his divine power; of rebuking his disciples when they spoke or acted violently. On Palm Sunday, we saw him enter Jerusalem in peace, even while the crowds were egging him on to seize power and save them. On Maundy Thursday, we saw him risk his life by staying in Jerusalem to teach his disciples about three things: to follow his example of gentle service to others as their model of real leadership; to love others selflessly like he loved them; and to remember him always as the one who offered his own body and blood to protect us. So peaceful; so generous; so full of love for others.

So suddenly, in today’s climate of barbaric distortions of how to follow Christ, I look at our Easter service booklet with somewhat different eyes. I’m conscious that our service begins by announcing our sure hope of sharing Jesus’ triumph over death. The Exsultet says Jesus rose triumphant from the grave. And we’re singing hymns about Jesus as the risen, conquering Son, about joining in hymns of triumph; and about Easter as our triumphant holy day. Are we proclaiming a message that could be co-opted to triumphalism; to an obsession with success and power? When we use language like this, we run a risk of it detouring our discipleship into strange places – turning us away from Christ’s example of servant leadership and self-giving love to the point where he willingly gave his life for others.

So I think our Easter message at this very dangerous moment in history is that we need to learn from the people who really do reflect these characteristics of our Lord. The Christians I’m aware of who truly reflect Christ’s self-giving love are actually pretty hard to see. They don’t put themselves forward as leaders or movers and shakers. They’re more likely to be quietly praying for us – another thing Jesus did a lot. They’re more likely to be interrupted by someone in need, and putting down what they were doing to attend to that other person’s needs.

They may be seen as fools ^{(1 Cor 1 18-25)} who give away their lives for others. But they do reflect Christ to the world; the Christ who gave everything, who died for us and rose again.

So it’s appropriate that before we renew our baptismal promises on this Easter Morning, we hear again the charge that is our baptismal blessing. It’s our job-description for a faithful Christian life that is seen as such foolishness by the power-obsessed of this world.

Go forth into the world in peace; be of good heart;
hold fast that which is good; render to no one evil for evil;
strengthen the faint hearted; support the weak;
help the afflicted; give honour to all;
love and serve the Lord,
rejoicing in the power of the Holy Spirit … Amen