Rev’d Peter Balabanski

Pentecost + 13A – Ex 3 Rm 12 Mt 16

Jesus said …, If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves, take up their cross and follow me. ^{Matt 16.24–25}

There’s a remarkable story in the book of Jeremiah that’s never read in our worship services – for reasons which will become obvious. Jeremiah’s ministry had bits he’d rather have avoided. This time, ^{(Ch 13)} he had to buy a loincloth and preach in it for a long time without washing it. Then God told him to go and bury it in a cleft in the rock by the Euphrates River. Much later, God sent him back to the river to dig up his loincloth and resume preaching in it. We can only imagine how he looked.

First impressions make or break a person’s image. God wanted to show Israel and Judah how their way of living gave everybody a shocking first impression of God. As a people called to showcase the goodness of God to the nations, they were a disgrace. God says ^{V. 11} ‘… as the loincloth clings to one’s loins, so I made … Israel and … Judah cling to me as the Lord, in order that they might be for me a people, a name, a praise, and a glory, but they would not listen.’

We’ve been thinking about our identity as the Body of Christ. We are like Christ’s clothing; the first impression people get of Jesus. As a community, being Jesus here and now is our true identity; our calling is to be living icons of Christ in our time and place. In the language of Jeremiah’s prophetic action, we’re the intimate clothing Christ wears; the first impression people get of what Jesus might be like.

Identity is partly nature, partly nurture, partly choice. And God’s people are able to make astounding choices. Last week, we heard the voices of Muslim people in Aotearoa/NZ. One voice struck me particularly; Janna Ezat’s. Her son Hussein was murdered at Al Noor Mosque. In court, she told the gunman “I decided to forgive you … In our Muslim faith we say . . . we are able to forgive. I forgive you. Damage was done and Hussein will never be here so I have only one choice to forgive you.”

God’s people can choose to show what God is truly like. Mostly, it means choosing the way of giving things up; choosing the more vulnerable way, as this mother did.

It goes against the grain to choose this way; we saw it in today’s scriptures; Peter’s allergic reaction to Jesus speaking about his coming passion, death and resurrection – Peter rebukes Jesus for talking like that; he calls on God to prohibit such a path. And Moses is hardly a model of enthusiasm when God tells him what his mission is. The way of – is it weakness, or is it trust? Whichever we call it, it doesn’t come naturally; it’s almost always a deliberate choice. But when we choose to accept this way – this pilgrimage – God is revealed. This will happen in a time and manner of God’s choosing. But we must know that I AM has called us – I AM sends us.

Last Sunday, I spoke briefly of a conversation where we discussed working on three aspects of our life as a parish to develop our ongoing mission as disciples of Jesus; those three things are Sanctuary, Community and Pilgrimage. Last week, our scriptures got us exploring Community – St John’s’ identity as the Body of Christ in this part of the city. Today the scriptures draw our focus to Pilgrimage. Moses is embarking on the Exodus – the perilous journey out of slavery for God’s people. And in the gospel, Jesus is inviting his disciples to the daunting Way of the Cross.

I believe that as a pilgrim people, the choices we make as we travel alongside others have the potential to reveal the companionship and the ways of God. Paul obviously thought this way when he wrote to the Christians in Rome. He portrayed those choices as revealing the love of God through our choices for love for others.

Let love be genuine; … show honour. ^… Rejoice in hope, be patient in suffering, persevere in prayer. Give to saints and strangers. Bless those who persecute you; don’t curse them. Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep. Live in harmony … don’t be haughty, associate with the lowly. Don’t repay anyone evil for evil, but take thought for what is noble in the sight of all. So far as it depends on you, live peaceably with all. Never avenge yourselves; no, ‘if your enemies are hungry, feed them; if they are thirsty, give them something to drink. Don’t be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.

As street directory for walking in the footsteps of Jesus, this is crystal clear. When people choose to accept this path – this pilgrimage – Christ is revealed to our fellow travellers. When we decide on a new mission, these are clear directions for helping us find our way, and for welcoming fellow travellers to come with us. Amen

Rev’d Peter Balabanski

Pentecost + 12a – Ex 18-2.10, Ps 124, Rm 12 1-8, Mt 16 13-20

Our readings today invite us to think about identity. Moses’ identity, Jesus’ identity, Peter’s identity and our own identity. This question of identity matters; if we’re not clear about who we are, how can we expect others to know who we are? Vicky’s just shown us about how someone can go from one identity to another; Moses moved from being a slave to a prince of Egypt, but without losing his connection with his family of origin. The Gospel today talks about a similar move. Peter goes from being just himself to being the Rock of the Church, and having the identity of Christ. He is still himself, but he has taken on a broader identity.

In the Gospel reading, Jesus poses the question of his identity to his disciples, ‘Who do people say the Son of Man is?’ They tell him what they’ve overheard in the crowds. People say he’s one of their greatest prophets. But then Jesus asks, ‘[What about you]; Who do you say that I am?’, and Peter answers; ‘You’re the Messiah, the Son of the living God.’ … Is that what we would say?

Messiah and Son of God: those titles name the one God’s people have been waiting and hoping for; the mighty defender and rescuer; the one to restore liberty to slaves, the healer, provider, giver of life itself; the one whose love is the very love of God.

This is the true identity of Jesus. Once we’ve realized this, it says something about our own identity as Jesus’ followers. Imitating Jesus is our true identity and mission. Imitating Jesus shapes us, the Church, to be a body that is Christ to others. We are sent to offer his gifts of liberty, healing, compassion, generosity, hope, life, peace and love to all comers – rescue in the here and now; not just the afterlife. The world needs to meet Jesus in us; in followers of Jesus.

Our NT readings both say the imitation of Christ is our calling; that being Jesus is our true identity. Did you notice in the Gospel how, as soon as Peter could name the true identity of Jesus, Jesus responded with a true identity for Peter? He changed his name from Simon to Peter; named him as one of the living stones of the Church; mortals who bind evil and set captives free; living embodiments of Jesus the Messiah.

As we see, what is true for Jesus the Messiah is true for all his followers. We’re sent out from our baptism to provide people with the very gifts we see offered by Jesus himself; healing, hope for freedom, unconditional, loving acceptance, compassion, and practical support, freely given to all comers.

Paul tells the Christians in Rome essentially the same thing. Paul tells a community with a multitude of opinions about who they are that ^12.5 we, who are many, are one body in Christ, and individually we are members one of another. Paul uses the analogy of a body to describe the fact that our differences are simply functional, like the difference between eyes and ears, feet and hands. Our calling is to work together as a body with a common mission to offer spiritual insight, practical service, wisdom, encouragement, generosity, leadership and hope. That’s our collective identity; a Christ Body in this place, animated by the Holy Spirit. We are the Body of Christ in this place. That’s who we say we are.

Who do other people say we are? Let’s think about that for a minute. What people say is very much shaped by their experience of the Anglican Church. So if they’ve been hurt by the Church, they’re likely to say we’re judgmental hypocrites who protect our own; we protect our paedophiles, our wealth and our social prestige; that we tell people how to live and who they may love; that we’re cultural imperialists who’ve actively engaged in the genocides of original cultures in this and many other lands. Very severe stuff, yet understandable.

And people who have no connection with the Church? They’re likely to see us as just another club or society; part of the establishment; another brick in the wall.

What do we do about this? The question is, when people encounter us at St John’s, do they meet Jesus? If we’re the ones who showcase Jesus – his blessings of sanctuary, belonging and journeying together with him – are we introducing people to the authentic Jesus?

For anyone who’s browsing for an impression of God, what might they think of the goods we have on most prominent display? Are we what Jesus is really like? This is a question worth asking ourselves, both as individuals and as a community.

How we embody Christ – our Christian identity – is significant. Many people don’t read the Bible. They’re going to look at us, and on the basis of what they see, they’ll form their opinion of Jesus. Will people recognise that we are offering everyone and anyone the glorious freedom of the children of God – like Jesus?

For some weeks now, we’ve had the opportunity of reading through the National Church Life Survey results for this parish. We can see what we value most highly and also what we most want to give attention to. We have a number of people who are interested in supporting social action and aid, and ensuring that new people are included. These are special gifts of this parish; spiritual gifts that we’ve been given. They’re qualities which closely match the character of Jesus. But is that something that’s visible both in our gatherings and beyond them?

At the moment it’s not prominent on our website; I don’t see stories of our day-to-day parish life there. Just a statement; ‘St John’s is an open and welcoming Christian community’. I can imagine a net-surfer seeing that and wondering, Okay, that sounds good! But is there evidence in what they do?’

As we look closely at our NCLS results we need to look with the eyes of people who might ask startling questions, ‘Will I meet Jesus if I come to this community?’ Will I find a sanctuary there? Will I find a community offering me friendship? Are there companions there for my spiritual journey? A seeker might say, ‘I heard Jesus got out on the streets and loved people. Does this community come out to find people like that?’

Who do people say Jesus is? We who say we are the body of Christ – does the life we live as his body mean people will really meet Jesus among us? … I think so.

Who do people say Jesus is? We say we’re the body of Christ. Can we plan for a future where people will continue to meet Jesus among us? … I believe we can.

Please pray with me that, by God’s grace, we grow as a community that makes Christ visible to others.   Amen

Rev’d Peter Balabanski

Pentecost + 11a – Matthew 15 21-28

A sick child gets healed in an instant. But before that joyful instant, there are some shocking moments. If you found the story shocking, you’re not alone. It’s so unlike the Jesus we think we know. What’s happened to him? Actually quite a lot; there’s been the feeding of the 5000, yet another fight with religious leaders and again Jesus withdraws to take refuge from the crowds and critics. This time, he goes way up north in the region of Tyre and Sidon, in Lebanon. But his last debate with the Pharisees about who’s an insider and who’s not – that debate won’t get left behind.

No sooner does Jesus escape the Pharisees than he’s being hounded by a foreigner – a local woman who cries out to him constantly that her daughter’s being tormented by a demon. A Canaanite woman. Canaanite civilization was the one Joshua meant to wipe out 1500 years earlier. But Joshua didn’t succeed; Canaan still had a sophisticated artistic, commercial and religious life in the time of Jesus. There was a big temple in Sidon dedicated to the Canaanite god Eshmun, a god of healing. But this woman doesn’t go to Eshmun for her daughter’s healing; she goes to Jesus.

She appears out of nowhere, crying out loudly and continuously that her daughter is tormented by a demon. She uses words familiar to us; eleison-me Kyrie – have mercy on me Lord. She calls Jesus ‘Son of David’. She knows who this exhausted traveller really is. But Jesus’s response shocks us. He meets her anguished cries with silence. Then, musing to himself, or to his disciples, he mutters that his mission was only to the ‘lost sheep of the House of Israel’. That’s what he’d taught his disciples.^{cf 10:5-6} But the woman’s cries continue. She confronts him; blocks his path – ²⁵ she came and knelt before him, saying, ‘Lord, help me.’ ²⁶ He answered, ‘It’s not fair to take the children’s food and throw it [out] to the pet dogs.’

This shocks me. It’s insulting; racist; it devalues the woman’s humanity. It goes against all I proclaim Jesus to be. But then something unexpectedly cross-cultural happens. And it bridges the gulf between them. She accepts the insult – and it is an insult. She agrees with Jesus, but then uses his own dog image to contradict him.

Yes, Lord, yet even the pet dogs eat the crumbs that fall from the master’s table. Cross cultural? Jewish households of the time didn’t allow dogs inside. So even though the word Jesus uses is the one for pet dogs, not wild dogs, he’s saying that for him, taking a gift he’s brought for Israel and giving it to a foreigner would be like flinging it out the window. But in this woman’s community, pet dogs did come inside. They’d be near the table, ready for any scraps that came their way. (Contrasts like this still between Middle Eastern communities) This woman doesn’t see herself asking for the children’s bread; she’s just desperate for any crumbs that may fall. For her child’s sake, she accepts the insult, and Jesus is won over; Woman, your faith is great. Let it be to you as you wish. Her daughter was healed from that hour.

She’s audacious and unflinching, and Jesus is won over by her unshakable faithfulness to her child, and her belief in him. Woman, your faith is great. Let it be to you as you wish. And her daughter was healed from that hour.

This woman teaches us about faith. Faith doesn’t just mean belief in the way we think of it. The Old English word beleven meant ‘to love’. So the belief aspect of faith is not belief in, but commitment to. It’s an expression of trust; of faithfulness, of love. This woman’s love for her daughter, and her trust in Jesus took him part of the way from local mission to world mission. He would only fully declare himself as Messiah to the whole world, not just Israel, after his resurrection. ^28.16-20 She sensed the mercy of the Son of David. Somehow she knew that the heart of the mission of Jesus was not about who’s in or out; it was about grace; that ultimately, all are welcome in. That’s what Jesus came for, and I wonder if she helped him realise that.

Matthew’s community was based in this area, and this story flagged their mission as one to outsiders. It tells us about our mission too. Those unlooked for moments of distraction from the main game, when our mission seems to be hijacked by peripheral things and people – those very moments can be moments of insight which we must seize. We must also learn that peripheral people are not peripheral at all. We are all family. Jesus heard one call; he changed; he responded – and so must we. Amen

Rev’d Peter Balabanski

Pentecost+10A – Mt 14 22-36 Peter walks on water to Jesus, Gen 37 1-14, 12-28 Joseph to Egypt

Let’s look again for a moment at the prayer of the day.

Mighty God and ruler of all creation, give new strength to our faith, that we may recognise your presence even when all hope seems lost. Help us to face all trials with serenity as we walk with Christ through the stormy seas of life and come at the last to your eternal peace.

I’d like to bring some how questions to this prayer. How do I take hold of the new strength God gives my faith; … how will I know God’s there when things look hopeless, … how can I learn to face hard times serenely, … and when I find eternal peace, how will I settle into it? It’s a big prayer; it’s inspired by today’s readings about Joseph and Peter. We saw each of them today as they set off on hopeless looking journeys through the stormy seas of life – Peter quite literally.

The prayer set for today asks that our life’s journeys might also take us to a place of strong faith – take us to where we are conscious of God’s presence – take us to where we might face our trials with serenity – take us to a place of peace. But how? How is this possible? Is there a tried and trusty way?

Actually, yes. Let me tell you a story of one person who discovered a way. It started for a friend who, like so many today, suddenly and unexpectedly lost her job. It was very hard; it was spiritually crushing. Did anyone want her; would anyone? Who was she without a job? She just had to go, but with no idea where. It was totally new for her to be out of control like this. She had nowhere to go.

Someone invited her to try an ancient form of prayer – to walk a labyrinth. It was a way of praying she hadn’t tried before. But she decided to try it.
[There’s a difference between a labyrinth and a maze. As you see in the pictures below, the labyrinth (on the left) has no dead ends, but the maze (on the right) has them. So a maze is a puzzle set up with false paths to trick us. But a labyrinth has a path which we can trust. Walking a labyrinth is a journey of prayer – a metaphor for walking our journey of life towards God – the centre.]

Standing at the entrance to the labyrinth, she was about to look it over and get an idea of its layout; that’s what she’d normally have done – plan ahead. But something told her not to do that this time. So she set off, looking only at the path right at her feet. She took a first step, then another, and slowly went on.

She simply put one foot in front of the other. She had trouble keeping her balance; she was stressed. But gradually, she learnt to trust that the path would come to meet her. She let go of the worry; she stopped trying to be in control.

By the time she’d reached the centre – and she has no idea how long it took – she’d received a gift from the labyrinth. It was this; she knew by then that whatever her direction, whatever her feelings, the path would come to meet her. And more; regardless of the number of turnings or the amount of time she took, that path would lead her unerringly to the centre.

What a lesson about prayer! – that prayer is not about duty and planning, not determined by remorse or worry for the past. Rather, it’s God’s way of coming to us; of calling to us – to help us leave those burdens behind, outside, as one step at a time, we wend our way to the centre.

Her journey back out of the labyrinth was a very different experience from the inward journey. She’d entered the labyrinth carrying a heavy load of pain and worry. But by the time she’d reached the centre, she’d learned to let it go, and in return, she’d received a special gift for the outward journey. The gift was her new understanding that the path would always come to meet her, and regardless of all the changes in direction, it would lead her to the centre. Today’s readings speak of journeys like this one – journeys whose travellers take the next step on a path which will come to meet them. Joseph sets out to find his brothers not knowing that it’s the start of a journey which will take him bound as a slave to Egypt. Ultimately his journey will see him rescue his family from famine. Years later, his descendants will walk a labyrinth too; one that we call the Exodus.

Then there’s Peter; he steps out of his boat to walk on the water towards Jesus. A few faltering steps and he’s overcome by fear. He begins to sink and cries out to be saved. Jesus – the Way – comes and takes hold of him. It‘s his whole life-story glimpsed in a moment.
Throughout this week, let’s pray the prayer of the day. Let’s wonder – could the frightening how questions to be answered by a wordless prayer as uncluttered as walking a labyrinth, and seeing what comes to meet us; or who? Amen

Step by Step by Shirley A. Serviss
We enter the labyrinth – this sacred space –
not knowing our way, not knowing how the day
will unfold, what the outcome may be.
In the labyrinth we have nothing to fear;
the path will become clear as we take one step
after the other. All we need do is keep on going.
All we need ever do is continue to take
the next step to see where it takes us.

We are each on our own journey,
can take our own time, move at our own pace.
The only race we’re in is the human one.
We are kin to all who walk this way,
searching for guidance in place of uncertainty,
hope in place of despair. Namaste-
our spirits greet each other as we meet on the path.

In the labyrinth, we move in circles, but are not lost.
We find our way through what appears to be a maze,
learning patience as it twists and turns, seemingly
taking too long, taking us further from our goal,
before it doubles back around, finally bringing us
to a place where all becomes clear.

Now we prepare to re-enter: our work, our world,
our lives. We make progress, only to regress –
no straight road to follow. We take comfort in the walking:
the meditative meandering of the labyrinth,
the guidance of the lines, the reassurance
we will find our way through the challenges we face
as we continue to place one foot in front of the other.
© Shirley A. Serviss. Reproduced with the author’s permission.

For you, deep stillness by Julie Perrin
For you, deep stillness of the silent inland
for you, deep blue of the desert skies
for you, flame red of the rocks and stones,
for you, sweet water from hidden springs.
From the edges seek the heartlands
and when you’re burnt by the journey
may the cool winds of the hovering spirit
soothe and replenish you
in the name of Christ, in the name of Christ.

Rev’d Peter Balabanski

Pentecost + 9A –  Mt 14 13-21

He was totally wrung out. But you see it in all caring professions. Like a nurse who’s been most of the night looking after someone who’s dying – and not just looking after the patient – caring for their family and visitors too. They’ve all been suffering terribly. This patient and their loved ones have become your friends over the past days. You can’t care for people so intensely and not get close to them. So at the end, this becomes your time of loss too. You’ve held it together; you had to. But finally, at the end, it’s time for you to leave them there together and crawl off to a quiet place on your own. But just then, the call bell rings; room 14 this time, and you think, ‘I’ve got nothing more to give; what can I possibly offer!?’

Today we meet Jesus at a time just like this. Recently, his ministry has been an uphill struggle in his home town. And just now he’s received the shocking news of his cousin, John the Baptist, beheaded at a public banquet by King Herod. John; was probably the only other person who’d really understood Jesus’ mission. Now he’s gone, and Jesus wants to be alone. So we just read –

¹³ …when Jesus heard that Herod had beheaded John, he withdrew from there in a boat to a deserted place by himself. … The crowds heard it [and] followed him on foot from the towns. ¹⁴ [So] when he went ashore, he saw a great crowd;

A great crowd! Just what he needs! Should he push off again and sail away to a place where they can’t find him. He doesn’t; he won’t turn his back on these poor, hopeful souls. … He had compassion for them and cured their sick … so many of them – people who’d walked so far; waited so long. … His work resumes.

Finally, ¹⁵ when it was evening, the disciples came to him and said, “This is a deserted place, and it’s late; send the crowds away so that they may go into the villages and buy food for themselves.” If he wouldn’t do the self-care thing, they’d have to take matters into their own hands. But this is a compassion story; Jesus, having shown compassion, expects the same of his disciples.  ¹⁶ … “They need not go away; you give them something to eat.”

So many people!? Like I would, the disciples focus on the problem. Looking out over that sea of people, thinking of the now exhausted supplies they’d brought with them, ¹⁷ They replied, “We have nothing here but five loaves and two fish.” They focus on the problem; we have nothing … well, something. But it won’t be enough.

How many of us back out of a challenge with that excuse? ‘What can I do; leave it to the experts. They really ought to do something about it! It should never’ve been allowed to get to this point.’ … We take our passion about something and hand it over to someone else so they can act; not us. ‘What I have won’t be enough.’ Jesus challenges us. Nothing but five loaves and two fish? ¹⁸ Bring them here to me.

Every Saturday night for over 30 years, a parish or a school in this diocese has provided food for a three-course meal to be served at St Mary Mag’s church. And most Saturday nights, this feeds about 150 needy people. Imagine if one day those parishioners and school families said, ‘My casserole’s only enough for four people; that won’t be any use.’ If that’s what they decided, then last night, those 150 people would have wrapped themselves in their old blankets under shop awnings or trees in the parklands and tried to sleep with no food inside to help keep them warm.

Bringing what little we have to Jesus changes everything. Every Saturday, people all over this diocese in our parishes and schools bring their little bit to Jesus, and every Saturday night, he comes out of under a tree or awning and sits down at St Mary Mag’s to eat a beautiful, hot three-course meal that any restaurant would be proud to serve. It’s a regular miracle that’s been happening now for decades.

People bringing what little we have, he blesses it and makes it enough. And he blesses us – he won’t transform our gift without transforming us too. You give them something to eat; he continues to challenge us today.

We live in a world with millions of desperately needy people. When we pray that Jesus might help them, or maybe send them to someone who can meet their needs, and he replies, ‘You give them something to eat,’ that’s us he’s talking to.

Sr Joan Chittister writes ‘Prayer is not meant to be a magic act that cajoles and coaxes God to act. Prayer is meant to change us so that we will then change the world.’ We’ve been bold to pray so far; and we’ve been transformed. Can that encourage us to step out yet further, and pray; ‘Jesus, please keep taking our offering and bless it and bless us’?

This makes me think about the way we affirm two things here each week; that we are the body of Christ, and that his Spirit is with us. The logical upshot of this is that when we ask Jesus to act, we should expect him to act through us; we should take our identity as the body of Christ seriously; we should expect that it has a practical outworking.

We are the body of Christ; Teresa of Avila understood this to mean that Christ has no body now but ours; that if the world is to have practical experience of the love of Christ, it has to be through what we do – through what the Church gives.

In her 2008 book, The Mystic Way of Evangelism, Elaine Heath makes it clear that it’s only when the Church is spending itself for others – not spending money on ourselves, but spending ourselves for others – it’s only then that we’re recognisable as the body of Christ ^{(eg p.123)} – it’s only when the Church is spending itself for others that we’re recognisable as the one who truly loves the needy and the persecuted; it’s only when the Church is spending itself for others that we’re recognisable as the healer, the provider.

I’m struck, in today’s story, by the fact that the only source all that extra food could have come from was Christ’s own body. And that challenges me and all of us to look at our priorities; to be clear with each other and with our Maker how we are to resource our mission as the Body of Christ – healer, provider, and lover of all.

Amen

Rev’d Peter Balabanski

Pentecost + 8A – Rom 8 26-39 

When you pray, where is God for you? Up in heaven? Maybe kneeling beside you? Is God in front of you? Or is God right inside you? Where would you like God to be when you pray?

Paul tells us in Romans 8 that God is very close when we pray; closer than beside us or right in front of us. Paul tells us that God, the Holy Spirit is so close to our hearts that when we pray, it’s not necessarily just our voice praying. It’s quite likely that the Holy Spirit is praying on our behalf. And it’s not necessarily a prayer made up of words, because sometimes words aren’t enough to articulate our grief, our joy, our pain, our relief, our need or our gratitude. Paul reminds us that such prayers are often expressed not in words, but in sighs and groans, because these prayers are just too deep for words.

We heard Paul tell us how the Holy Spirit is inside us, crying out to the Father on our behalf. This is the intimacy of God’s care of us. God, the Holy Spirit, is offering our deepest prayers when we can’t find words to pray, even when we don’t notice the need to pray at all. The Spirit searches our hearts. The Spirit knows what’s really going on in there, so the Spirit prays for us the prayers we don’t know how to pray; prays for us in sighs and groans, too deep for words.

We might think we aren’t really praying if we don’t tell God of our fear or sadness, or our hopes or our thanks – if all we can sense coming from us is a helpless groaning. But it’s the deepest prayer of all. Paul is telling us that’s the voice of the Spirit who intercedes for us with groans that words cannot express. I’d say we’ve all heard that prayer whether we recognised it as prayer or not.

²⁷ … God, who searches the heart, knows what is the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints according to the will of God.

God wants this to happen. God is barracking for us; crying out for us with support, with understanding, with compassion.

If we are distressed or joyful, fearful or grateful, God is right in the thick of it with us; our closest friend and champion.  And God hears our prayers, even when they seem to us just to be inarticulate groans. We know that God the Son – Jesus – prayed and struggled in just this way. So we can be sure that God really does know our prayer from the inside. That’s the depth of God’s care for us; Emmanuel God is with us. It’s very important that we understand this; the Cross tells us that the care God actually wants us to receive is absolute solidarity – care that risks entering our pain to be with us in it. That’s what the Spirit is doing groaning from within us; that’s the Jesus we see on the Cross. This is God’s love for us.

³¹ What then are we to say about these things? If God is for us, who is against us? ³² He who did not withhold his own Son, but gave him up for all of us, will he not with him also give us everything else? ³³ Who will bring any charge against God’s elect? It is God who justifies. ³⁴ Who is to condemn? It is Christ Jesus, who died, yes, who was raised, who is at the right hand of God, who indeed intercedes for us.

This is Good News of a most wonderful hope. Along with the Spirit praying on our behalf, here we see Jesus, who could by rights be the counsel for the prosecution, but he’s standing pleading on our behalf to a judge who is absolutely biased in our favour. So what can separate us from the love of Christ? Paul lists the possible obstacles. He starts with death; it’s dogged us since chapter 5. But this is its last appearance in Romans! Death, life, angels, rulers, the present, the future, powers, heights, depths – the things of the end times, the marks of an enslaved creation; they are barriers no more.

Nothing can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord. And the love of Jesus for us is one and the same as the love of God for us. God’s commitment to us in Christ is central and final. This is the heart of Paul’s theology; it’s the heart of the Gospel. This is our salvation. Thanks be to God!

Amen

Rev’d Peter Balabanski

Pentecost + 6A – Mt 13 1-9, 18-23

A public figure says something that gets them in trouble. Next day they tell us that their words were taken out of context. Often, they’re right. In a media world of ten-second sound grabs, a few words without context can easily be replayed in a way that gives exactly the opposite message. We need to remember that when we study scripture; context is always important if we want to understand its true message.

At first glance, the parable of the sower seems to be a self-contained story with a straightforward message. God or Jesus scatters the seeds of the Kingdom – words of truth which can take root in our hearts and minds – and under the right conditions, these words produce abundant life.  The parable seems to challenge us to ask if our hearts and minds are soil worthy of the seeds Jesus plants. Am I like those unproductive places: the path, compacted hard by the passing of many feet; the rocky ground, where no scattered seed will survive; the thorny ground where there’s too much competition? Or, like the good soil, could my life nourish others?

They’re good questions for us to ask. But these questions come from our context where we’re battered daily by questions of productivity. Do workers really earn their wages? Do people on welfare really deserve the support they receive? But this parable has its own context. It’s more than a parable about different soil qualities or efficient farming practices. We find this out when we look at the parable’s own context. The chapters leading up to this parable describe what happens earlier on the same day. Jesus’ ministry is joyfully welcomed by some people but bitterly opposed and rejected by others who traps to catch him out. And then there were his disciples being trained for a life of ministry in this conflicted context. The Parable of the Sower is Jesus’ way to help his followers deal with rejection; not to be discouraged by it. Can you see the difference between our contextual reading and this one? We, of the productivity generation read it as a sort of judgement or warning; we think it’s sorting us into good and bad soils.

But in Matthew’s Gospel setting, we followers of Jesus can hear it as training in dealing with real dangers; not hypothetical worries. Jesus faced rejection on a daily basis; but that doesn’t mean God wasn’t active in his ministry*. The Church community who gave us this Gospel also faced rejection on a daily basis*. And Christians today still face this sort of vehement rejection and criticism*. In this parable, Jesus provides a way to help us understand and weather rejection.

The mixed crowd that day by the lake embody the soils the parable names. Some hear and receive the gift, but they can’t share it. Why did Jesus bother teaching them anything? Others lie in wait to snatch the teaching away before it can show its potential for blessing. Why on earth teach them? Then there are the people who handed it all down to us. Aha – that’s why.

So what can we learn? Some people are struck by how wasteful the sower is. That’s exactly what Jesus was doing that day at Lake Galilee. He taught indiscriminately: there were people who wouldn’t receive his teaching, but he taught regardless.

We – the productivity generation – need to forget our way of reading this parable. If we could proclaim Jesus, but we hold back because we think our listeners won’t be able to receive it productively, we should think again. That’s giving in to discouragement. Jesus told everyone. Some people rejected his teaching. He knew they would; but that didn’t stop him. And he teaches us to be like him. And why wouldn’t we; we can look back at the countless harvest over the centuries and only wonder at God’s power to transform.

And that’s the final message of this parable – for today at least. The power to transform life – to give life; to bring life into being – the power is in the seed, not in our judgement of how it will be received. The sower in this parable scatters the grain extravagantly; as though it will never run out. And it’s true; it never will run out. The power for its germination lies with God; not with us. Ours is but to sow the seed; God will call forth its life; God always has. Amen

Rev’d Peter Balabanski

Pentecost +5A – Mt 11.14-30 – Healing Sunday

Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light. ^{Mt 11.28-30}

We carry terrible burdens in our lives. It never fails to shock me – the size of the burdens people stagger along under. It doesn’t matter how rich, how successful, how clever, how attractive, how good or how blessed a person is, there will often be a burden. It might be a terrible memory, a disabling sickness or injury, a poisoned relationship, a terrifying decision, a festering resentment, an unresolved sadness or guilt, a deep fear, a tormenting grief or regret – you name it. Each one is a burden, and each burden, carried alone and unrelieved, can cripple us in time.

Jesus says bring those burdens to him and he will give us the rest we long for. We lay them at the foot of his Cross and in return, he offers us his yoke. A yoke is a long piece of wood we sling over our shoulders with a heavy load swung from each end. Maybe this offer of a yoke doesn’t sound all that attractive at first glance.

One of my images of the yoke Jesus offers us is his arm around our shoulder. His skin bears the chafing with ours: his shoulder bear the weight with ours. He faces in the same direction we do; we don’t have to face our challenges alone.

I find this image encouraging because quite often, someone in pain gradually ends up alone. Their pain makes other people feel uncomfortable – maybe even guilty about not being able to help. And so, far from helping, sometimes people will even lash out with something illogical and cruel, writing sufferers off with cop-outs like They must have brought it on themselves. That’s what the Hindu / Buddhist doctrine of Karma works like. The suffering person must have done something to bring on their misfortune. Rape victims often suffer this too: ‘asking for it!’ And poor people in the developing world apparently ‘shouldn’t have had so many children’.

Followers of Christ are needed to help the world see things differently. Christ sees burdens and suffering through the eyes of compassion – through the eyes of a fellow sufferer: and so do the followers of Jesus. If Jesus, who was so good, could suffer the way he did, who’s to assume that bad things that happens to people could only be their own fault, or that their suffering is God’s judgement? The Cross shows me the opposite: that suffering is actually a place where God draws nearest to us. God chooses to be here in solidarity with us in our pain.

Jesus didn’t make his followers invulnerable. He was vulnerable himself. He became entirely one of us. He came to help us discover his freedom in our weakness; to give us peace with who we are. Jesus accepts our reality: our being human; mortal; and he loves us for it. Being mortal is a condition which means that suffering is inevitable for us. But into our mortality, Jesus brings healing – not an end to suffering; not a change in our being; not a cure – but healing. He puts an arm around our shoulder, and faces our pain with us. Healing. I once saw on a poster in a hospital; ‘Suffering is inevitable; misery is optional’.

And that’s where we can fit into the picture. Some women who’d lost partners to workplace accidents started visiting work-places where people had died. They went to help the survivors move towards healing and wholeness. They did it by staying with them in their time of suffering. That’s not easy, but they knew it’s what was needed to bring healing. These women ministered out of their own experience of suffering. They had true compassion, for they knew what that suffering felt like.

So if anyone with a sad past thinks they’re too damaged to give pastoral care, think again. In the way of Jesus, our pain is a qualification as one of His healers. Today can we see in our own arms the arms of Christ – just as we find his arms in the arms of the dear ones who help us. We’re called to follow the Healer; to help carry each other’s burdens; to be ready to shoulder them at times when they’re too heavy and they need to be handed over. That’s what it is to be the body of Christ. Amen

Rev’d Peter Balabanski

Pentecost + 5A –  Gen 22 1-14 –

The Aqedah and the Pandemic
Abraham bound his son Isaac … Then he reached out his hand and took the knife to kill his son (22:9-10).

Christians call this story “the sacrifice of Isaac” and Jews call it “the Aqedah” (the “binding” of Isaac). It’s always scandalised us. Is it a story of an abusive God? Of a deluded Abraham? Of religious violence at its worst? Or is it about God helping Abraham to discover grace? Many scholars say it’s essentially a tale of the shift from human sacrifice to animal sacrifice. That’s because of the mention of Mount Moriah, named elsewhere only in 2 Chr 3.1 as the mountain where Solomon built the Temple. So the sacrifice of the ram instead of Isaac at Moriah is for Jews the prototype of all the animal sacrifices to happen on the Temple Mount – Mt Moriah.
For very early Christians, Abraham’s obedience – being ready to sacrifice his son – was one of the greatest examples of his faith: (Heb 11:17, 19) By faith Abraham, when put to the test, offered up Isaac … He considered the fact that God is able even to raise someone from the dead. In Romans 4, Paul sees Abraham’s obedience as a model of faith against all odds, (Rom 4.32). And of course there’s the sense for Christians that this story foreshadows God’s self-giving in Jesus Christ.

God promises Abraham that he’ll be the father of a great nation. Yet he and Sarah endure long years of waiting. So they contrive the just-in-case birth of Ishmael with the servant woman Hagar. But at long last, the impossible happens; Sarah and Abraham rejoice in the birth of a boy they call Isaac [laughter]. But today, we see God demand a most horrible thing: “Take your son, your only son, whom you love, Isaac, and go to the land of Moriah and offer him there as a burnt offering on one of the mountains that I will show you” (22:2).
We know the end of the story, thank heaven – we’ve just heard it. But what do we do with this story? I believe it can help us explore and address the difficulties confronting the people of the world at the moment. Let me explain.

For better or worse, not so long ago, we Australians lived in a world which seemed safe and predictable. Then came the fires and life’s certainties were rocked. With no time to recover, just as we were gathering resources to help, floods came. The word unprecedented was run up every masthead again. But in the background, like a growing storm-cloud, news was gathering about a new virus. In far distant places, we saw lockdowns, hospitals on life-support as staff went under, fear-crazed panic buying, normal freedoms axed, gatherings limited, then suddenly prohibited.

When that storm finally broke over us, our nation shut down; even churches had to close. Our predictable world – our old certainties, our plans, our security – none of them were safe. This catastrophe is mirrored for us in today’s shocking story of the binding of Isaac. Abraham’s hopes for a future – for a life with any meaning – were abruptly replaced by a vision of bitter emptiness. We felt these fears and confusion when we had to shut ourselves off from friends and family; from this parish family. Would we ever see each other again? Would we ever hold our loved ones again?

And yet here we are today, praise God, gathered again. At first I was shocked that this story was the one set for us to read on this day of joyful reunion. But on reflection, given the end of the story, it’s the right one for today. Our comfortable rhythm, for so many years, of predictability, of peaceful enjoyment of each other’s love and support has been shaken; threatened. We’ve learnt that it can’t be taken for granted – that it’s a fragile treasure which God has sustained and continued to bless for the 4,000 years since the gift of laughter was given back to Abraham and Sarah.

We rejoice today that we have also been given back that gift. I thank God that we are back here safe. We know what a treasure it is we’ve been given back, and I ask that our prayers and thanksgiving might bear practical fruit which can help poorer communities survive unimaginable threats in the coming days. ‘Whoever gives even a cup of cold water to one of these little ones in the name of a disciple – truly I tell you, none of these will lose their reward.’ Mt 10.42 Amen

Rev’d Peter Balabanski

Pentecost +3A – Mt 10 24-39

Faith can unite families and friends – it can also divide us. It can be a costly commitment. Today’s Gospel calls us to explore the cost. Jesus tells his followers they must expect persecution and hardship as they follow his Way. Some of their families will divide because one member accepts and another rejects the Gospel. It won’t be easy to bear. But the importance of the mission is so great that all this must be faced and endured. Where does all this come from, and what is it to us?

Matthew’s record of the missionary teachings of Jesus – the Mission Discourse – was written down years after his ministry among us. It speaks out of a community struggling with the traumatic side of their missionary activities; family breakdowns, contempt from the mainstream community – accusations being misguided by some, and downright evil sect by others. The religious and civil authorities were united in their persecution of what they saw as a dangerous pop-up religion. They’d go for a believer’s family if it meant quickly wiping out the group. Power still protects itself like that today.

We might find it hard to imagine some of the words in this passage ever having crossed the lips of gentle Jesus. Yet they’re the sayings the community remembered when they were facing times of extreme stress. Many considered renouncing their faith altogether, apostasy. But it would have destroyed the morale of their little persecuted community. So they recalled and recorded the sayings in today’s Gospel to galvanise their courage; sayings which helped them remember what Jesus himself had gone through to bring them the message of the Kingdom.

They were disciples of the crucified one, they would follow his example. A disciple is not above the teacher, nor a slave above the master; … if they’ve called the master of the house Beelzebul, how much more will they malign those of his household! … Followers of Jesus can live quiet, safe lives – not rock the boat; be left in peace to make our way. Or we can choose a life which responds to the extraordinary demands of Jesus’ teaching and his lived example.

That’s a life where we choose to love, to forgive, to heal, and to set captives free. Setting captives free is something daily more important as the number and misery of refugees around the world inexorably grows. Following Jesus is a life where we choose at every moment to be like him, confronting violence with peace, standing up for justice, mercy and faith, and by doing that, giving people a living, breathing introduction to the teachings of Jesus. Jesus calls us to answer to his authority; not that of our popular culture. Obeying him will mean a life of confrontation and danger both for us and our loved ones. Jesus calls us to risk this; to trust him.

²⁶ … have no fear of them; [he says] for nothing is covered up that will not be uncovered, and nothing secret that will not become known. ²⁷ What I say to you in the dark, tell in the light; and what you hear whispered, proclaim from the housetops. ²⁸ Don’t fear those who kill the body but can’t kill the soul; rather fear him who can destroy both soul and body in hell.

That may sound like living for a heavenly reward. But following Jesus is about the now; not just the hereafter. For Jesus’ disciples to have betrayed the discovery they had made about him – to have gone silent about him – would’ve been unthinkable.

³² “Everyone therefore who acknowledges me before others, I also will acknowledge before my Father in heaven; ³³ but whoever denies me before others, I also will deny before my Father in heaven.

Not to have told the world that in this Jesus, they’d met their loving maker, they’d experienced the certainty of God’s love for them – they’d have denied others the chance to know the freedom that belonging to Jesus meant to them.

During the ministry of Jesus, he gave a huge focus to care for the outcast and the untouchable. These people are still with us in ever greater numbers; displaced people, refugees and homeless people. Much of today’s gospel resonates with these people’s experience? They’re sayings Matthew’s community remembered when they were facing times of extreme stress. Can we imagine discussing these words with someone in such a predicament? If that prospect chills us, can we ask ourselves what that’s about? And maybe can we consider directing our charitable giving this year to include support for people who are persecuted for their faith.