March 2023 – An Informed Faith

Save us, we beseech you: singing a Hallel psalm (Psalm 118; Lent 6A, Palm Sunday)

“Save us, we beseech you, O Lord!” This is the cry we hear in the psalm which is offered by the lectionary for this coming Sunday, Palm Sunday, the Sunday in Lent. Psalm 118 is one of the Hallel Psalms—six psalms (113 to 118) which are sung or recited on high festival days, such as Passover (Pesach), the Festival of Weeks (Shavuot), and the Festival of Booths (Sukkot), as well as Hanukkah and the beginning of each new month. This final Hallel Psalm, like the other five, is intended to be an uplifting, celebratory song, suitable for the congregation to hear and to sing as a way to inspire and rejoice.

See

What Is Hallel?

It is no surprise that this psalm is offered by the lectionary for this coming Sunday, Palm Sunday—because the Gospel story for this day, of Jesus entering the city of Jerusalem to the acclaim of the crowd (Matt 21:1–11), is certainly one of celebration and joy. It is also, equally unsurprisingly, offered as the psalm for a week later, on Easter Sunday, which celebrates something much greater and more enduring: the raising of Jesus from the dead (Matt 28:1–10).

But clearly the psalm has a good fit with the Palm Sunday story that we will hear on Sunday; indeed, the Gospel writers report that the crowd cheering Jesus was singing, “Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord”—which is, of course, a verse from the final Hallel Psalm (Ps 118:26).

Blessing God is a favourite Jewish activity—indeed, so many prayers still used by Jews today begin with a phrase of blessing: “Blessed are you, O Lord our God …”. Blessed are You, O Lord our God, Ruler of the universe, Who brings forth bread from the earth is prayed before a meal. Blessed are You, O Lord our God, Ruler of the universe, who creates the fruit of the vine is prayed before drinking wine. And a favourite blessing which I learnt from Jews is Blessed are you, O Lord our God, Ruler of the Universe, who has kept us alive, sustained us, and brought us to this moment. It’s a prayer to mark momentous occasions in life.

All of these prayers of blessing begin with the Hebrew words, Baruch atah Adonai Elohenu melekh ha’olam, the same formula of approaching, acknowledging, and blessing God.

We can see that formula used in blessings spoken by David (1 Chron 29:19 and the psalmist (Ps 119:12), as well as in later Jewish texts such as Tobit 3:11; 8:5, 15–17; Judith 13:17; 14:7; the Prayer of Azariah (six times), and 1 Maccabees 4:20. It appears also in New Testament texts such as Luke 1:68; Rom 9:5; 2 Cor 1:3; Eph 1:3; and 1 Pet 1:3.

More familiar, perhaps, is when Jesus uses a prayer of blessing, but speaks it to human beings; “blessed are you, Simon son of Jonah” (Matt 16:17), or “blessed are the eyes that see what you see”, to his disciples (Luke 10:23), or “blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe” (John 20:29), and most famously of all, in a set of blessings spoken to a crowd on a level place (Luke 6:20–22) or to his disciples on a mountain top (Matt 5:3–12).

So the cry of the crowd as Jesus enters Jerusalem, “Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord” (Ps 118:26) is a typical Jewish exclamation at a moment of joyful celebration.

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A further reason for linking this psalm with the Gospel narrative might well be that the cry of the crowd, “Hosanna!” (Mark 11:9–10; Matt 21:9; John 12:13). The word transliterated as “Hosanna” might actually be better translated as “save us”—another quote from the previous verse in that same psalm (Ps 118:25). The Hebrew comprises two words: hosha, which is from the verb “to save”, and then the word na, meaning “us”. Hosanna is not, in the first instance, a cry of celebration; rather, it is a cry of help, reaching out to God, pleading for assistance—and yet with the underlying confidence that God will, indeed, save, for “his steadfast love endures forever” (vv.1, 29).

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Hoshana: Beseeching God

Whilst the psalm, overall, sounds thanks for a victory that has been achieved, the petition, “save us” (v. 25) lies behind the first substantial section of this psalm (vv.5–14), which is largely omitted by the lectionary offering for this coming Sunday (which is Ps 118:1–2, 14–24). That section begins “out of my distress I called on the Lord” (v.5), claims that “the Lord is on my side to help me” (v.7), and concludes with rejoicing, “I was pushed hard, so that I was falling, but the Lord helped me; the Lord is my strength and my might; he has become my salvation” (vv.13–14).

“Save us” is a prayer offered in other psalms (Ps 54:1; 80:2; 106:47); the petition appears more often in the singular, “save me” (Ps 7:1; 22:21; 31:16; 54:1; 55:16; 59:2; 69:1; 71:2; 109:26; 119:94, 146; 142:6; 143:9). “Save us” when faced with danger is the prayer of the elders of Israel as they faced the Philistine army (1 Sam 4:3) and the all the people a little later (1 Sam 7:8), David when the ark was put in place in Jerusalem (1 Chron 16:35), Hezekiah when Judah was being threatened by the Assyrians (2 Ki 19:19), as well as the prophet Isaiah at the same time (Isa 25:9; 33:22; 37:20).

This prayer in the context of festive celebrations—the context for which Psalm 118 appears to have been written—expresses the firm confidence of the people, trusting in the power of their God. That viewpoint is perfectly applicable to the Palm Sunday story (and even more so to the Easter Sunday narrative!).

But this psalm is not only a prayer of celebration; it is also a strong statement about the resilience and trust of the people, expressing their belief that God will give them redemption, even in the face of their Roman overlords, who had held political and military power for many decades. If this is what the crowd intended with their cry as Jesus enters the city—and I have no reason to see otherwise—then this is a striking, courageous political cry embedded in the story! It is a cry that affirms that salvation is at hand.

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Salvation is what is in the mind of the people as they cry, “save us” (v.25) and the earlier affirmation, “I thank you that you have answered me and have become my salvation” (v.21). As we have noted, “save us” was a recurring cry amongst the Israelites. In the song sung after the Exodus, the people acclaim God, singing “the Lord is my strength and my might, and he has become my salvation” (Exod 15:2). In his song of thanksgiving after battles with the Philistines, David praises God as “my rock, my shield and the horn of my salvation” (2 Sam 22:3; also vv.36, 47, 51; and 1 Chron 16:23, 35).

The same language, of salvation, appears in the psalms (Ps 13:5; 18:2, 35, 46; 24:5; 25:5; and another 40 times) and the prophets (Isa 12:2–3; 25:9; 33:2, 6; 45:8, 17; 46:13; 51:5–6; 52:7, 10; 56:1; 59:11; 61:10; 62:11; Mer 3:23; Mic 7:7; Hab 3:18). From the psalms, we remember “the Lord is my light and my salvation” (Ps 27:1); from Isaiah, “I will give you as a light to the nations, that my salvation may reach to the end of the earth” (Is 49:6).

There are a dozen occasions in Hebrew Scripture when God is identified as Saviour (2 Sam 22:3; Ps 17:7; 106:21; Isa 43:3, 11; 45:15, 21; 49:26; 60:16; 63:8; Jer 14:8); as the Lord God declares through Hosea, “I have been the Lord your God ever since the land of Egypt; you know no God but me, and besides me there is no Saviour” (Hos 14:4).

Salvation is linked with righteousness; “the salvation of the righteous is from the Lord … he rescues them from the wicked and saves them” (Ps 37:39–40). Being righteous is a quality of the Lord God (Ps 11:7; 35:28; 50:6; 71:16; 85:10; 89:16; 97:2, 6; 103:17; 111:3; 116:5; 119:137, 152; 129:4; Isa 45:21; Jer 23:6; 33:16; Dan 9:16; Zeph 3:5) which is thus desired of those in covenant with God (Gen 18:19; 1 Sam 26:23; 2 Sam 22:21, 25; 1 Ki 10:9; 2 Chron 9:8; Job 29:14; Ps 5:8; 9:8; 11:7; 33:5; Prov 1:3; Isa 1:27; 5:7; 28:17; 42:6; 61:11; Jer 22:3; Ezek 18:5–9; Hos 10:12; Amos 5:24; Zeph 2:3; Mal 3:3).

It is no surprise, then, that this psalm celebrates that “[God] has become my salvation” (Ps 118:21) by holding a “festal procession with branches” (v.27), entering through “the gates of righteousness” (v.19) and proceeding all the way “up to the horns of the altar” (v.27), singing “save us, Lord” (v.25) and “blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord” (v.26). This is a high celebratory moment!

So the closing verses take us back to the opening refrain, “O give thanks to the Lord, for he is good, for his steadfast love endures forever” (v.29; see also vv.1–4). The celebration is lifted to the highest level, with praise and thanksgiving abounding. And that makes this a perfect psalm for Palm Sunday!

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On the indications of the political nature of the Palm Sunday scene, see

Towards Palm Sunday (Matt 21): Riding on a donkey (or two) as the crowd shouts ‘Hosanna’

Towards Palm Sunday (Matt 21): Waving branches, spreading cloaks

Towards Palm Sunday (Matt 21): Acclaiming the king, anticipating the kingdom

The end of the Assembly of Confessing Congregations and, hopefully, their aggressive apologetic antagonism

Another step in the story of evangelical fundamentalism in the Uniting Church has come to a close. The Assembly of Confessing Congregations (ACC) has recently decided to close. It brings to an end a long process of various evangelical organisations within the life of the Uniting Church which have attempted to “correct” the theology and practice of the Uniting Church, since it was established in 1977. They said they were evangelical; I heard little of the Gospel in their words and saw only dogmatic fundamentalism in what they did.

The ACC has existed as an entity within the UCA since 2006. It took its name from the Confessing Church that formed in Nazi Germany in the 1930s—a name that has also been adopted by other conservative groups around the world, staking their claim for “the true Gospel”. Of course, looking back to the 1930s and 1940s, we can see that the German Confessing Church in Hitler’s Germany did, indeed, hold fast to the principles of the Gospel. For other movements that later took that name, making their stand over other issues does not appear to be as clear cut. At least, that is my take on them.

The ACC is the child of the Reforming Alliance (RA), which had been formed in 2003—the RA was a relatively short-lived entity, as it soon morphed into the ACC in 2006. RA itself was a child of the Evangelical Members of the Uniting Church (EMU), making the ACC the grandchild of EMU. EMU had been formed early in the life of the Uniting Church.

Each of these conservative splinter groups sought to enforce their narrow and retrograde understanding of matters pertaining particularly to sexuality on the whole UCA—with persistent, and increasing, failure. They each, in turn, failed in that enterprise.

The proponents of the conservative theological perspective articulated by these splinter organisations buttressed their claims with a particular way of reading scripture, and with a particular mode of theological argumentation that slots well into the field called Apologetics. That’s the name given to a way of arguing that sets out a collection of beliefs that are held by a certain group and advocates that this cluster of beliefs represents “right doctrine”, “the true faith”, “what Bible-believing Christians hold to”, or some other catchphrase that revolves around being right.

Apologetics at its best the craft of arguing your case, putting forward your point of view, in a way that engages constructively with the listener. It can be done in an irenic and reasoned way. But the way the ACC and its precursors argued was anything but irenic and reasoned. The implication from much of what they said has been that those who hold different viewpoints to the one they are proposing are just plain wrong. It’s a style of speaking and writing that often, in these kinds of situations, takes on a hard edge—moving from assertions about beliefs, to a much more aggressive manner of apologetic argumentation. We can see that throughout the years that these groups were in existence.

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Evangelical Members of the Uniting Church started as Evangelical Ministers of the Uniting Church, formed in South Australia out of a concern about the so-called “liberal” tendencies dominant in the newly-formed Uniting Church. Over time, the SA group grew with branches formed in other Synods, and then a national organisation emerged.

In the early years of the church, various evangelical members and ministers had opposed the church’s commitment to equality and mutuality, specifically arguing against female ministers. In my first parish, for instance, in 1981–1983, I worked hard to engage with members of my own parish, as well as members of other nearby UCA congregations, who held to that retrograde view and argued that the UCA was doing the wrong thing by ordaining women. They argued apologetically against me, and others. I think their apologetics were misguided.

I was a member of a Synod working group later in the 1980s that produced resources addressing the issue of mutuality in ministry, and the ordination of women, in direct response to evangelical members pushing the counter position. I know that women in ministry in the UCA have continued to experience discrimination and marginalisation into the 21st century. I have both heard from others, and witnessed for myself, some horror stories, unfortunately.

EMU was strongly focused on the issue of biblical authority. (This stance has been used to undergird the claim that the Bible does not support the ordination of women). The doctrinal statement crafted by EMU had strong resonances with the general conservative evangelical assertion that the Bible was inerrant, infallible, and completely authoritative, even though the founding documents of the UCA had explicitly not included such terminology. It’s almost fundamentalist, I think.

For a summary of the doctrinal position taken by EMU, see http://www.confessingcongregations.com/emusite/All%20About%20emu/Doctrinal%20Statement.pdf

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Already in the 1980s the Assembly had established a Task Group on Sexuality, exploring the issues raised by EMU and then RA. There is a good summary of the work of this group, and the ensuing two decades of discussion of sexuality, at https://assembly.uca.org.au/images/PDF/SexualityandLeadership_DocumentingtheHistory.pdf

The Reforming Alliance was established in response to the 10th Assembly’s decision in 2003, not to make a statement opposing the ordination of people who are in a same-gender relationship.

RA had fought against the reasoned articulation of “an informed faith” in relation to scripture and sexuality. Its apologetic line was to advocate a conservative, perhaps even fundamentalist, approach to scripture, which although it had been the dominant paradigm in some denominations, had never been the way that the UCA had approached biblical interpretation.

The push by RA to have a ban placed on ordaining candidates who expressed an attraction to people of the same gender, whether or not they were in an active relationship of not, has failed spectacularly—there are now scores of ordained people who live in same gender relationships and, since 2019, have been married to a person of the same gender.

For a summary of the doctrinal position taken by the Reforming Alliance, see http://www.confessingcongregations.com/resources/reforming-alliance/

After the decision of the Assembly in 2003, there was a resurgence in rhetoric warning that the church would die, that this latest decision would mark the end of the Uniting Church. The rhetoric was steadily inflated. The apologetic took on an angry, aggressive tone. The strategy seemed to be to induce guilt about the future of the church, with the hope that this would result in an overturning of the decision. It did not. Some people left the UCA. Some congregations split. Ministry and Mission continued apace. The UCA continued on.

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After the 11th Assembly in 2006, a special summit of the remnants of EMU and the relatively new Reforming Alliance met, to establish a new organisation, the Assembly of Confessing Congregations (ACC) within the Uniting Church. The marriage was purely on the basis of sex—or, at least, on a common negative view of sexuality and a shared desire to combat anything that was perceived to be accepting of same-gender attracted people in ministry, and accepting also of same-gender relationships.

The battle waged by the ACC has continued into the present time. The appologetic rhetoric has continued, and intensified, as the obvious lack of impact in the strategy became more evident. The focus became narrower and narrower; more discriminatory, more homophobic. The furious attempts to generate guilt and build opposition was magnified, but to no avail. The move,ent began to dwindle. Meanwhile, the Uniting Church has continued on the path it has set years ago: a path of welcome and inclusion, and the valuing of all people.

So, what we have seen in recent years is playing out the four decades of the UCA where disenchanted conservative evangelical pietistic fundamentalists have resisted the moves towards “an informed faith” which thinking Methodists, Congregationalists, and Presbyterians all saw as a key commitment within the Uniting Church. The ACC has been waging an ongoing battle against this position for 15 years, but the majority of the UCA has always been engaged with the processes of critical thinking and fresh words and deeds which the Basis of Union holds as a key value.

In the last few years, the ACC has swerved even more to the hard right; it spoke in tones even harsher and unflinching, compared to RA and EMU. The extremes of the theological position of the ACC can be seen on their webpage at

http://www.confessingcongregations.com/uploads/acc027_confess_a5_ncov_imp_hr.pdf

and also in a statement expressing its hard line about sexuality, at

http://www.confessingcongregations.com/uploads/acc027_sexuality_a5_new_cov_lr.pdf

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It has only been in recent days that the ACC has “seen the light” and realised that continuing this battle is futile. An attempt earlier this year (2023) to negotiate a way for ACC congregations to leave the Uniting Church, but maintain the use of the property they inhabited and continue to use the funds they had accumulated, got nowhere.

Because the Uniting Church was set up with a structure in which the property is legally owned by the legal entity, the UCA Property Trust, established by law in each state and territory, no local congregation has legal ownership of their property. Each congregation enjoys “beneficial stewardship” of the property—they can use it, and look after it, but they do not own it in the strict legal sense. That has been the case for all of the 46 years during which the Uniting Church has been in existence.

So, after the ACC pitch for an amenable parting of the ways got nowhere—and after some key leaders of the ACC had their recognition as Uniting Church Ministers removed—the ACC national executive saw the writing on the wall, prepared a proposal to close the organisation, and then last week the national membership of the ACC voted to close.

It has been a sad and sorry saga; not because we have come to a sad end result (on the contrary!), but because of the turmoil caused and the damage inflicted by rabid members of the ACC and their predecessors over the last four decades. The constant badgering of councils of the church to address matters which they saw as of primary importance—but which did not figure in most people’s view as warranting that amount of attention—has been frustrating, annoying, and counter-productive. The Gospel has actually been hindered by these tactics.

The regular antagonism, the growing negativity in rhetoric, and the incidences of specific vitriolic attacks on individuals within the church—undertaken by members of the ACC and their predecessors, and targeted largely at gay, lesbian, and transgender people—has been utterly shameful. I don’t know how many times I have heard people from within the LGBTIQA+ community recount how terribly they have been treated within church circles—including, but not limited to, the Uniting Church. And as far as I can tell, any ACC leader who was called to account for such behaviour failed to acknowledge any remorse, or show any compassion over such behaviour.

The regular response I have heard and read is that they are “standing up for the Gospel”, “declaring the truth to an apostate church”, and suchlike. There is no compassion, no empathy, no understanding—simply an aggressive prosecution of a rigid dogmatic line. I know this to be the case across the board; I know it especially since Elizabeth and I have each been targeted by a rogue ACC member, who is completely without understanding and completely without compassion in the way he goes about things. I don’t think he is an exception; I have heard and seen other instances of the same behaviour.

It is a well-known fact that members of the LGBTIQA+ community are much more likely to have suicidal ideation and at times to act on that, and also to develop other negative coping mechanisms that impinge upon their mental and physical health—simply because of the way that they are treated, the terrible negative comments and brutal attacks that they have to endure, simply because of who they are. That is completely unacceptable. The words and deeds of the ACC have fed into this dynamic; ACC leaders have fostered this negativity, persecution, and even irrational hatred. It is completely unChristian.

So that is why this has been a sad and sorry saga. I rejoice at the conclusion of the ACC. I lament that it did not come years early. I am sad that there was ever felt a need to create EMU, or RA, or ACC. I rejoice that the Uniting Church is committed to providing safe spaces for members of the LGBTIQA+ community, just as much as for straight people. We are all welcome, all included, all valued, and all honoured for being faithful followers of Jesus, across a wonderfully varied spectrum of identities.

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Today is a good day to reflect on these matters. Today is the Trans Day of Visibility—an annual international celebration of trans pride and awareness, recognising trans- and gender-diverse experiences and achievements. Gender diverse people right around Australia gather on this day to share stories, engaged in conversations, and attend trans-focusses events.

Trans Day of Visibility was started by activist Rachel Crandall in 2009 as a reaction to the lack of recognition of trans people, noting that the only well known gender-diversity centered day at that time was the Trans Day of Mourning, a day of mourning, on 20 November. So the j was created as a counterpoint to this; a day to acknowledge and celebrate living members of the transgender community. International Transgender Day of Visibility has been held on March 31 ever since.

In our current context in society, when trans people are the object of vitriolic verbal abuse as well as physical assault—simply for identifying as transgender—it is important for people of goodwill to speak out in support of trans people. Undergoing that journey in your life is a significant and challenging process; adding verbal and physical negativity on top of the challenges of the process is most unfair.

I have been blessed in recent years to get to know a number of trans people personally. In each case, they are people of integrity, who have quite a story to tell, who are committed to expressing in public “who they feel they really are, deep down”. It’s a journey and a commitment that I feel I have no right to criticise—I feel I should only be honouring them for their chosen pathway in life. Indeed, being true to yourself has been a virtue since the classical period of Greece and Rome, millennia ago.

We should honour and value those people in our midst who, facing a large challenge, knowing that they are walking into the active dislike and fear that other people have, still choose to walk the way of absolute inner integrity and complete honesty. That’s what this day offers us: we see trans people, we hear them, we honour them. They are valued.

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My previous posts on the various evangelical/fundamentalist groups in the UCA are at

https://johntsquires.com/2019/07/25/ramping-up-the-rhetoric-generating-guilt-and-provoking-panic-the-failed-strategy-of-conservatives-in-the-uca-part-i/

https://johntsquires.com/2019/07/26/ramping-up-the-rhetoric-generating-guilt-and-provoking-panic-the-failed-strategy-of-conservatives-in-the-uca-part-ii/

https://johntsquires.com/2019/07/28/ramping-up-the-rhetoric-generating-guilt-and-provoking-panic-the-failed-strategy-of-conservatives-in-the-uca-part-iii/

See also my post on the United Methodist Church at

https://johntsquires.com/2022/05/11/splitting-a-church-maintaining-a-prejudice/

For the various affirmations that the Assembly has made that led the church to agree to the marriage of people of the same gender, see

https://johntsquires.com/2018/10/20/seven-affirmations/

Your king is coming, sitting on a donkey (Zech 9; Matt 21; Lent 6A, Palm Sunday)

“Go into the village ahead of you, and immediately you will find a donkey tied, and a colt with her; untie them and bring them to me. If anyone says anything to you, just say this, ‘The Lord needs them.’ And he will send them immediately.” So reports the Gospel of Matthew, in the Gospel offered by the lectionary for this coming Sunday (Matt 21:1–11). The same story is told at Mark 11 and Luke 19.

John’s account is much more succinct; that Gospel simply notes, “Jesus found a young donkey and sat on it” (John 12:14), before explaining that this fulfils what was written in a scripture passage, “Do not be afraid, daughter of Zion. Look, your king is coming, sitting on a donkey’s colt!” (John 12:15, quoting Zech 9:9).

The narrator in Matthew’s Gospel explains that “this took place to fulfill what had been spoken through the prophet, saying, ‘Tell the daughter of Zion, Look, your king is coming to you, humble, and mounted on a donkey, and on a colt, the foal of a donkey’” (Matt 21:15). The prophet who is referred to in both John and Matthew is Zechariah, a post-exilic figure whose work is found as the eleventh of the twelve Minor Prophets in Hebrew Scripture.

Zechariah was active in the period when the exiles in Babylon were returned to Judah late in the 6th century BCE, by a decree of the Persian King, Cyrus (whom Second Isaiah described as God’s “Messiah”; see Isa 45:1). We are told that in his decree, Cyrus acknowledges “the Lord, the God of heaven” and states that “any of those among you who are of his people … are now permitted to go up to Jerusalem in Judah, and rebuild the house of the Lord, the God of Israel” (Ezra 1:2–4).

Under Nehemiah as Governor, worship had been reinstituted in Jerusalem (Ezra 3:1–7), the walls around the city of Jerusalem were rebuilt (Neh 2—6, 12), and the Temple was rebuilt and rededicated (Ezra 5–6). After this, the Law was read in the city under the guidance of Ezra, a priest who is also described as a scribe (Neh 8) and the covenant with the Lord is renewed (Neh 9–10).

Initially, there was opposition to the rebuilding works from “the enemies of Judah and Benjamin” (Ezra 4:1–16), and with intervention from King Artaxerxes, work on the temple ceased (Ezra 4:17–24). The narrative in Ezra reports that “the prophets, Haggai and Zechariah son of Iddo, prophesied to the Jews who were in Judah and Jerusalem, in the name of the God of Israel who was over them” (Ezra 5:1), and then work on restoring the temple recommenced (Ezra 5:2).

Further opposition emerged (Ezra 5:3–17), resulting in intervention from King Darius that decreed “let the house be rebuilt … let the Governor of the Jews and the elders of the Jews rebuild this house of God on its site … let it be done with all diligence” (Ezra 6:1–12).

The end result is that the prophets of the Lord and the rulers of the Persian Empire collaborated together to ensure that the temple would be restored: “So the elders of the Jews built and prospered, through the prophesying of the prophet Haggai and Zechariah son of Iddo. They finished their building by command of the God of Israel and by decree of Cyrus, Darius, and King Artaxerxes of Persia” (Ezra 6:14).

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Zechariah dates his opening prophecy to “the eighth month, in the second year of Darius” (Zech 1:1), which places him as a contemporary of Haggai and perhaps around the same time that the anonymous prophet whose words are known as Third Isaiah (Isaiah 56—66). Zechariah begins witha familiar prophetic refrain: “return to me, says the Lord of hosts, and I will return to you, says the Lord of hosts” (1:3), noting that when this message was presented to earlier Israelites, “they repented and said, ‘the Lord of hosts has dealt with us according to our ways and deeds, just as he planned to do’” (1:6).

What follows this opening salvo is a report of eight visions (1:7—6:8). They are dated to “the twenty-fourth day of the eleventh month, the month of Shebat, in the second year of Darius” (2:7), two months after the final prophecy of Haggai. The visions combine glimpses of hope with reminders of the need to remain faithful to the covenant: “if you will walk in my ways and keep my requirements, then you shall rule my house and have charge of my courts” (3:7). The fourth vision (3:1–10) includes the figure of “the accuser” (ha-satan in Hebrew) standing at the right hand of Joshua, to accuse him (3:1).

At the conclusion of the eighth vision there follows words of condemnation (7:1–7) and punishment (7:8–14), citing classic prophetic notes: “render true judgments, show kindness and mercy to one another; do not oppress the widow, the orphan, the alien, or the poor; and do not devise evil in your hearts against one another” (7:9–10).

Then come words of promise (8:1–23): “I will return to Zion, and will dwell in the midst of Jerusalem; Jerusalem shall be called the faithful city, and the mountain of the Lord of hosts shall be called the holy mountain” (8:3). Once again, prophetic injections are offered: “speak the truth to one another, render in your gates judgments that are true and make for peace, do not devise evil in your hearts against one another, and love no false oath” (8:16–17).

An oracle pronouncing judgement on other nations then follows (9:1–8), followed by a joyful celebration of the restoration of Judah (9:9–11:3), introduced by a rousing shout of joy: “rejoice greatly, O daughter Zion!Shout aloud, O daughter Jerusalem! Lo, your king comes to you; triumphant and victorious is he, humble and riding on a donkey, on a colt, the foal of a donkey.” (Zech 9:9). This verse is well-known, of course, from its quotation in the story of Jesus’s entry into the city of Jerusalem, which we will hear this Sunday (Matt 21:5).

A quirky feature is that some interpreters have taken the words of Zechariah so literally, that they imagine Jesus actually had two animals with him as he entered the city. Of course, the original oracle was formed in typical Hebraic parallelism, a pattern whereby an idea is expressed one way, then immediately repeated using other words. Thus, “riding on a donkey” was the first expression of the idea, followed immediately by “on a colt, the foal of a donkey”. One animal, two ways of expressing that.

The remaining chapters of Zechariah continue the note of exultation about the future, reworking the motif of “the day of the Lord” so that it signals joy for Jerusalem and terror for other nations (12:3, 4, 6, 8, 9, 11; 13:1, 2, 4; 14:1, 4, 6, 8, 9, 13, 20, 21). A triumphant note of universalism is sounded: “on that day “the Lord will become king over all the earth” (14:9) and “all who survive of the nations that have come against Jerusalem shall go up year after year to worship the King, the Lord of hosts, and to keep the festival of booths” (14:16).

The quotation from Zechariah in the story is a reminder that there is always hope; in the difficult situation of rebuilding the beloved ruins, reconstituting the fractured society, reconstituting the religious practices and customs that had lapsed, hope remains strong. Little did those travelling with Jesus into the city know what lay ahead of him, and them, in the coming days. Their hopes were high, very high, on this day. Joy came easily to them.

It was a day for celebration. This could well be the time when “the Lord will become king over all the earth”—even over the mighty Romans, they may well have felt. Joy was the dominant emotion, as the singing, waving of branches, and celebration demonstrated.

*****

On why Jesus was riding a donkey, and not a horse (definitely NOT a horse!), see https://johntsquires.com/2023/03/27/why-jesus-never-did-and-never-would-ride-a-horse-for-palm-sunday-lent-6/

Why Jesus never did, and never would, ride a horse! (for Palm Sunday, Lent 6)

It’s a good guess that you, like me, would have heard it said, on more than one occasion, that “Jesus rode a donkey into Jerusalem to protest against the Jews, to tell them that he would not be the military king that they desired”. According to this view, Jesus chose to ride into Jerusalem on a donkey, rather than a horse, to signal that he was a man of peace, and also that he would not be acting in the way that the Jews were expecting the Messiah to act.

I’ve discussed this claim quite a lot with my wife, Elizabeth Raine, whose knowledge of classical and Jewish texts has been most helpful in informing this blogpost. In what follows, I want to demolish that claim. Jesus never did, and never would, ride a horse. Nor would the Messiah, in Jewish thinking, be expected to ride a horse, a mighty weapon of war.

Horses were highly valued in the Roman Empire, which was the dominant power in the region at the time when Jesus lived. Horses were valuable both in warfare and in domestic life. They provide efficient and (relatively) quick means of communication along the extensive road system that the Romans built to link all the parts of their Empire, both for the upper classes who could afford them, and within the imperial communications system operating from Rome.

Horses were used for entertainment, in chariot races. And they were important animals in the military strategy that the Romans had developed, as a second line of attack behind the infantry. The foot-and-horseback nstrategies developed by the Romans enabled them to conquer far-flung regions and add them to their burgeoning Empire.

See

Horses in ancient Rome

and

Famous Horses in Rome’s Chariot Races

Within Israelite society, we encounter a different approach to horses. The hilly, rocky terrain of Israel must have contributed to this; but there are more factors at work. The Psalmist sets out the basic problem: “Do not be like a horse or a mule, without understanding, whose temper must be curbed with bit and bridle, else it will not stay near you” (Ps 32:9). The horse is wild, unruly, unstable. Indeed, in the foundational story of Israel, the horse is enmeshed with the enemy, Egypt; “I will sing to the Lord, for he has triumphed gloriously; horse and rider he has thrown into the sea” is the song of both the prophet Miriam (Exod 15:21) and her brother Moses (Exod 15:1).

Accordingly, the Psalmist sings, “Some take pride in chariots and some in horses, but our pride is in the name of the Lord our God” (Ps 20:7), and indicates that “a king is not saved by his great army; a warrior is not delivered by his great strength; the war horse is a vain hope for victory, and by its great might it cannot save” (Ps 33:16–17). The story of the Exodus hovers not far away from each of these assertions. And it begs the question: with this heritage and tradition, why would Jesus even consider riding on a horse to enter Jerusalem?

In the long historical saga of Israel, the great King Solomon is praised for his wisdom; the Lord God grants him “a wise and discerning mind; no one like you has been before you and no one like you shall arise after you” (1 Ki 3:12). However, in that same speech by God, we hear also that “I give you also what you have not asked, both riches and honour all your life; no other king shall compare with you” (1 Ki 3:13). So as the story continues, Solomon is revealed as a man who appointed a large administrate infrastructure, accrued immense wealth, raised a huge army, and built a lavish Temple for the Lord God, as well as a grand Palace for himself (1 Ki 4—7).

To support this grandeur, Solomon, we are told, “had forty thousand stalls of horses for his chariots, and twelve thousand horsemen” (1 Ki 4:26). In a later story, it was noted that “King Solomon excelled all the kings of the earth in riches and in wisdom”, that “the whole earth sought the presence of Solomon to hear his wisdom”, and that “every one of them brought a present”, including horses and mules (1 Ki 10:23–25).

The effect of this was that Solomon had accumulated “fourteen hundred chariots and twelve thousand horses” (1 Ki 10:26), and a note is made that “Solomon’s import of horses was from Egypt and Kure”, at a price of 600 shekels of silver for a chariot and 150 shekels for a horse (1 Ki 10:29; also 2 Chron 1:17). As the work of a labourer was paid with between two and ten shekels per month, both chariots and horses were very expensive commodities.

These descriptions of Solomon demonstrate the grandeur of his court and the profligate nature of his spending. Horses were integral to his means of gaining and holding power, even though a word of the Lord commands that the one set as king over the people “must not acquire many horses for himself, or return the people to Egypt to acquire more horses” (Deut 17:16). Solomon, in his wisdom, disobeyed this word of the Lord—although we recognise, of course, that whilst the speeches in Deuteronomy are placed on the lips of Moses, the actual scroll dates from a much later time—perhaps the time of Josiah (Solomon’s 13th great-grandson!).

*****

Horses were obviously crucial in Solomon’s grand expansionary venture, enlarging the extent of Israel through his military and political nous. The value of horses in warfare is clear from the way that the Lord God describes them in his “speech from the whirlwind” in Job (chapters 38–39). The horse is known for its might; it leaps “like the locust” and snorts majestically; “it paws violently, exults mightily, and goes out to meet the weapons”, all the while being fearless, raging fiercely, as it smells the battle and hears “the thunder of the captains” (Job 39:19–25).

When the trumpet sounds, calling the army into battle, the horse exclaims heach, a Hebrew word regularly translated simply as “aha!” (Job 39:25). Brown, Driver and Briggs note that this word is an “interjection (onomatopoetic) expressing joy”. Perhaps the horse thrives on the battle! But this a somewhat ironic use of the term, which generally has a pejorative sense. When the word appears in psalms, it clearly expresses ridicule, being used as a taunt of derision (Ps 35:21; 40:15; 70:3).

Nahum describes with poetic vigour “the crack of whip and rumble of wheel, galloping horse and bounding chariot, horsemen charging, flashing sword and glittering spear, piles of dead, heaps of corpses, dead bodies without end” (Nah 3:2–3). However, to the Psalmist, “the horse is without understanding”, for “its temper must be curbed with bit and bridle” (Ps 32:9), and the rider must always be ready with a whip (Prov 26:3). A later writer noted wistfully that, just as an “unbroken horse turns out stubborn, [so] an unchecked son turns out headstrong” (Sir 30:8).

As we have noted, in Israelite piety, “the war horse is a vain hope for victory” (Ps 33:17); although “the horse is made ready for the day of battle, the victory belongs to the Lord” (Prov 21:31) and the delight of the Lord “is not in the strength of the horse” (Ps 147:10). The horse exemplifies the folly of sinful Israel—those who “turn away in perpetual backsliding … do not speak honestly … no one repents of wickedness … all turn to their own course, like a horse plunging headlong into battle” (Jer 8:5–6). Such behaviour clearly undergirds the divine lament that “my people do not know the ordinance of the Lord” (Jer 8:7).

Indeed, a story told of the time when the people were in Exile in Persia, the scroll of Esther, has a scene in which a Jew, Mordecai, is clothed with royal robes and a royal crown and, seated on a horse from the royal stables, is led through the open square of the city, with a proclamation that he is to be obeyed (Esther 6:6–11).

*****

Earlier in the saga of Israel, recounting how the people of Israel came to take control of the land of Canaan, the “very many horses and chariots” of King Jabin of Hazor and the alliance of kings which he had gathered to stand against Joshua (Josh 11:1–5) proved not to be a barrier to the forces assembled by Joshua. The instructions to “hamstring their horses and burn their chariots with fire” are, it is said, executed precisely by Joshua and his “fighting force”, as he takes Hazor, “the head of all those kingdoms” (Josh 11:6–15)—a strategic victory in the conquest of the land.

Nevertheless, prophets employ references to horses both to indicate the power of the Lord (Isa 43:16–17; Jer 51:20–23). It is a horse bearing a rider “of frightening mien” who vanquished Heliopolis as he prepares to sack the Temple (2 Mac 3:25–28), thereby demonstrating “the sovereign power of God (2 Mac 3:28). Much later, in a Christian apocalypse, a series of horses appear to deliver vivid messages: a white horse “to conquer”; a red horse with “a great sword”, to wage war; a black horse, whose rider “held a pair of scales in his hand”; and a pale green horse “whose rider’s name was Death, and Hades followed with him” (Rev 6:1–8).

Later still, another white horse appears, whose rider leads an army to do battle with “the beast and the kings of the earth with their armies” (Rev 19:19). This climactic battle ends with “the beast” and “the false prophet” thrown into “the lackey of fire that burns with sulfur” and the others slaughtered to provide carrion for the hovering birds (Rev 19:20–21). The imagery is potent; the account is not, of course, intended to be either literal history or specific predictive prophecy.

It is a prophecy of Zechariah, writing during the period of return to the land of Israel after Exile in Babylon, that is then applied to Jesus by the writer of two of the Gospels, as he enters Jerusalem. In this prophecy, the victorious ruler does not ride a horse; he comes riding on a donkey. Zechariah, centuries earlier than Jesus, had informed the exiles returning to Judah that a ruler would soon come to usher in universal peace; “his dominion shall be from sea to sea, and from the River to the ends of the earth” (Zech 9:10). This ruler arrives, “triumphant and victorious … humble and riding on a donkey, on a colt, the foal of a donkey” (Zech 9:9).

Indeed, the prophet declares that the king riding on a donkey “will cut off the chariot from Ephraim and the war-horse from Jerusalem” (Zech 9:10). The peaceful ruler will use force to rebut and destroy the weapons of warfare—chariots and horses. Thus the prophecy is seen to be particularly applicable to Jesus; it is cited at Matt 21:4–5 and John 12:14. So under no circumstances would Jesus, wishing to fulfil this prophecy, intending to place himself as the one chosen by God to bring in the kingdom, give consideration to riding on a horse. That would send all the wrong signals.

So we should not think that he considered this as an option. Nor would his followers, or the faithful people of Israel in the crowd that welcomed him as he enters the city, have thought that Jesus would appear riding on a horse. Not at all!!! So I hope this speculative idea doesn’t find its way into any sermons, this Palm Sunday!

*****

For further posts on the Palm Sunday story, see

Why Jesus never was, and never should be called, “meek and mild” (Lent 6; Palm Sunday)

Towards Palm Sunday (Matt 21): Riding on a donkey (or two) as the crowd shouts ‘Hosanna’

Towards Palm Sunday (Matt 21): Waving branches, spreading cloaks

Towards Palm Sunday (Matt 21): Acclaiming the king, anticipating the kingdom

From the Statement from the Heart to the Voice to advise Parliament and Government

At a meeting of the Canberra Region Presbytery of the Uniting Church, held at North Belconnen Uniting Church on Saturday 25 March 2023, Nathan Tyson was invited to address the Presbytery on issues relating to the upcoming referendum proposal to establish a Voice to advise the Federal Parliament and the Executive Government. There was a full house as Nathan spoke and then responded to questions from those present.

The Rev. Ivan Roberts introduced Nathan Tyson. Ivan has worked with Nathan in Synod roles since 2017. Nathan is currently the Manager, First Peoples Strategy and Engagement with the Uniting Church in Australia’s Synod of NSW and the ACT. He is an Aboriginal man of Anaiwon/Gomeroi descent, who has lived most of his life in Sydney.

Nathan is a lawyer and long time advocate for the rights of Aboriginal peoples, having worked for organisations such as the NSW Ombudsman, the ICAC, the Australian Securities and Investments Commission, Western Sydney University, and Uniting, before commencing his role with the Synod in May this year. Nathan is currently undertaking a Graduate Diploma in Theology.

Nathan spoke to the Presbytery about the Statement from the Heart, and matters promoted in that Statement, namely, Truth, Treaty, and Voice.

The Statement from the Heart, 2017

The Statement emerged after twelve regional dialogues, relating particularly to constitutional recognition, had occurred. The process drew together many conversations that had taken place amongst First Peoples in the previous decade. The Statement was crafted during a gathering at Yulara, close to Uluṟu in the heart of the continent of Australia. There was a diversity of views at the gathering, including a group that left the gathering before the Statement was finalised. This diversity reflects the reality of society in Australia, and of Aboriginal and Islander peoples.

Truth, Treaty, Voice

The Statement calls for a Makarrata Commission, following a model used in Canada. There needs to be a recognition of the terrible things that did take place in Australia in the past; Truth means acknowledging that history, and the impact that it has had on our society. There is no need for personal guilt amongst those of us living today; rather, it is simply acknowledging the Truth about that history.

The Statement asks for the Commission to oversee a process of forming Treaties with the First Peoples. (There would need to be multiple treaties, as there are multiple First Nations in Australia.) Such treaties exist in all the other Commonwealth countries; Australia is the only nation without such a Treaty. Having a Treaty—or Treaties—in place would enable constructive ways of addressing the past and its impacts into the present.

The Synod has supported Truth, Treaty, and Voice. (See the link below.) All three are equally important; they each need to be implemented, they each need to be in place. (The Assembly is likewise strongly supportive, have agreed to the repudiation of the Doctrine of Discovery in 2015 and recognised the prior sovereignty of First Nations in 2018. Again, see the links below.)

The Presbytery discussing the presentation by Nathan Tyson

The Voice

The question for the referendum has been made public. It is a straightforward proposition. There are key principles underpinning the proposal. There are also key criticisms that have been made in recent times.

Opponents to “Voice before Treaty” claim that this will cede the sovereignty of First Peoples. This is not the case. As a lawyer, Nathan recognises that any ceding of sovereignty would need to involve the free, prior, and informed consent of the First Nations people. Sovereignty will be addressed through the process relating to Treaty.

A second criticism relates to the order of things. “Treaty should come before Voice” is the claim. Applying the doctrine of terra nullius in 1788 meant that a Treaty was not required. Now that the Mabo decision has declared terra nullius null and void, a Treaty process is required. Nathan compared the situation in Australia with what is the case in New Zealand. There was never, here, any opportunity to cede sovereignty, as there has been in New Zealand.

A third area of criticism is, quite simply, “we don’t trust government”. The Stolen Generations feeds this, and there are legitimate concerns here. However, the present government does want to move things forward. It is a once in a lifetime opportunity. This is an opening we need to take. If not now, how long will we have to wait?

The process is a legislative process—the politicians will be responsible for creating the detail of this matter as it is prepared, debated, and decided upon in the Federal Parliament. To say “we don’t have enough detail” is disingenuous, as those critics will be sitting in Parliament, deciding those details!

Nathan quoted from the documents already released which explain how The Voice will work. It will make representations to Parliament and the Executive Government; it can research, propose, and advocate through these representations. Membership will be by elected members, representative, and with fixed term limitations. Membership will rely on the three-part test that has been applied since 1983 (a person identifies as Aboriginal, is recognised by their community, and is Aboriginal by descent). It will have gender, age, and geographical diversity. Members will reflect the wishes of their communities.

A key task for the Voice will be to address the current situation of inequity experienced in Aboriginal communities, with direct access to advise and advocate. It will be accountable and transparent, subject to the usual processes of all governmental bodies. It will work alongside existing First Peoples organisations. It will not deliver services; it is only advisory. It will not be a third body in the parliamentary structures, despite what a former Prime Minister (mistakenly) claimed.

What is the point of a body that does not make decisions? Is that not creating a body with no power? Article 19 of the UN’s Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples provides that Indigenous peoples have the right not to consent to decisions that may impact on them. That is not reflected in the Voice. However, the advice provided to the Voice will be made public, for all to see. If the advice is counter to proposed legislation, that will be public. There is a level of public accountability, and the Voice will certainly have power within the current system. It will not be a powerless body.

Nathan suggested that it may be helpful to see the new Voice as an Indigenous lobby group, akin to the ACTU, the Business Council of Australia, the Farmers Federation, and other lobby groups. He then responded to a series of questions which sought further clarifications, and comments which expressed support for the case he had put.

In making a proposal to thank Nathan Tyson for his presentation, Presbytery Secretary Robbie Tulip noted that the UCA Assembly and the UAICC National body has supported a YES vote, as has the Board of Uniting and five of the six Synods of the UCA.

In response to the substantive matters in Robbie’s proposal, the Presbytery agreed by consensus that it would support advocacy for a YES vote in the referendum in the coming months; encourage Church Councils to consider the issues involved in the Voice and to facilitate local conversations about this issue; and to encourage all members of the church to give serious consideration to the way that they vote in that referendum.

(In the Uniting Church way of doing things, a consensus decision means that all who took part in the deliberation and decision process agreed to the proposal, and nobody participating in that indicated that they were unsure of, or opposed to, the decision.)

*****

For resources relating to First Nations people that Nathan Tyson has collected and developed, go to https://nswact.uca.org.au/first-nations-resources/

For Uniting Church decisions, see my reflections at

https://johntsquires.com/2018/08/13/affirming-the-sovereignty-of-first-peoples-undoing-the-doctrine-of-discovery/

https://johntsquires.com/2018/10/13/on-covenant-reconciliation-and-sovereignty/

On relevant themes in recent years, see

https://johntsquires.com/2019/07/07/giving-voice-telling-truth-talking-treaty-naidoc-2019/

https://johntsquires.com/2020/11/08/always-was-always-will-be-naidoc2020/

https://johntsquires.com/2021/07/06/heal-country-the-heart-of-the-gospel-for-naidoc-week-2021/

https://johntsquires.com/2022/07/03/get-up-stand-up-show-up-naidoc-week-2022/

https://johntsquires.com/2023/02/13/we-say-sorry-remembering-13-february-2008/

https://johntsquires.com/2023/02/08/eye-of-the-heart-enlightened/

Reading scripture with attention to its context (John 11, Year A)

The lectionary has offered us a series of readings during Lent which show Jesus encountering and conversing with others (John 3, 4, 9, and 11). The anonymous author of the Gospel of John had high-level literary and dramatic skills. The lectionary has very clearly demonstrated this in the series of readings offered in weeks 2–5 of Lent.

The Pharisee in Jerusalem (Ch.3) is really a foil who asks leading questions which offer Jesus the opportunity to speak forth at some length for the first time in the Gospel (3:11–21). The woman in Samaria is a genuine dialogue partner for Jesus who learns through the back-and-forth of their conversation about a number of matters (4:7–26). The story of the man born blind (9:1–41) is presented as a seven-part comedic drama, illustrating the “light of the world” claim of Jesus (8:12; 9:5) and showing how people respond in varied ways to that.

Then, the story of Lazarus (11:1–45) is a complex dramatic moment, a story with its own integrity and form, with a range of characters and varied dramatic moments. This story also serves as the seventh and final sign in the Gospel; these signs commenced at 2:1–11 and are interspersed throughout the ensuing narrative (4:46–54; 5:1–9; 6:1–15; 6:16–21; 9:1–7; and 11:38–44). This sign, like others before, has lead many to believe (11:45), but it serves also to confirm the plot of the Sanhedrin leaders to arrest and kill Jesus: the reason for the crucifixion, in this author’s eyes (11:46–53; 11:57; 18:1–12).

All of this is a masterly dramatic development through the first half of this “book of signs”. These stories are certainly worth hearing in full every three years!

These encounters, however, are told in the context of an emerging story which places Jesus into a position of antagonist, arguing and dissenting, disputing and disagreeing, with some regularity. This thread comes to a head in the story of Martha and Mary, their recently-deceased brother Lazarus, and Jesus (John 11:1–45).

Soon after he has raised Lazarus back to life in Bethany, Jesus says, “I have come to this hour” (12:27), the hour when “I am lifted up from the earth, [when I] will draw all people to myself” (12:32), the hour when the Father will “glorify your Son so that the Son may glorify you” (17:1). The death of Jesus is to be, paradoxically, the complete fulfilment of his mission (19:30). Its inevitability has been flagged since early in the Gospel narrative.

Antagonism begins early in that narrative. It is initially signalled by “the incident in the Temple” (John 2:13–22). In his conversation with Nicodemus, Jesus tells the Pharisee, “we speak of what we know and testify to what we have seen; yet you do not receive our testimony. If I have told you about earthly things and you do not believe, how can you believe if I tell you about heavenly things?” (3:11–12). The plural form of the Greek word translated “you” makes it clear that the “you” being addressed is at least the collective Sanhedrin Council, if not the whole population of Judea. It is an oppositional, confrontational encounter at this point.

In talking with the Samaritan woman, Jesus reflects the historical antagonism between the Judeans of the south and those of the north. “Our ancestors worshiped on this mountain, but you say that the place where people must worship is in Jerusalem”, the woman says to Jesus (4:20). Jesus replies, pugnacious oh, “you worship what you do not know; we worship what we know, for salvation is from the Jews” (4:22). The use of the plural “you” once again in these verses makes clear the antagonism between the peoples, especially if we translate that final phrase, “salvation is from the Judeans”.

When Jesus heals a man born blind, the Jewish authorities function as the chorus reflecting on, and reacting to, the events taking place in Jerusalem. First, some Pharisees declare, “This man is not from God, for he does not observe the sabbath” (9:16). Then, they declare to the healed man, “we know that God has spoken to Moses, but as for this man, we do not know where he comes from” (9:29).

Their view of Jesus is quite negative— in an earlier debate with him, they had called him “a Samaritan and have a demon” (8:48), and that encounter ends, “they picked up stones to throw at him” (8:59). Mind you, Jesus had said to them, “you are from your father the devil, and you choose to do your father’s desires” (8:44), so it was a vigorous two-way argument!

So Jesus responds to the negativity of the Jewish authorities who questioned his credentials after learning of the healing of the man born blind, with a statement, “I came into this world for judgment so that those who do not see may see, and those who do see may become blind” (9:39), followed by, “if you were blind, you would not have sin; but now that you say, ‘We see,’ your sin remains” (9:41). This encounter ends, yet again, on a negative note.

Then, after Jesus has raised Lazarus back to life, the Jewish authorities decide to make their move. Worried that, “if we let him go on like this, everyone will believe in him, and the Romans will come and destroy both our holy place and our nation” (11:48), Caiaphas leads with these prophetic words: “it is better for you to have one man die for the people than to have the whole nation destroyed” (11:50). And so, “from that day on they planned to put him to death” (11:53).

Jesus is clearly aware of this antagonism; he later warns his disciples, “the world hates you” (15:19), and then, “they will put you out of the synagogues; indeed, an hour is coming when those who kill you will think that by doing so they are offering worship to God” (16:2). And of course, the narrative of the Gospel ends with Jesus handed over to die by crucifixion (18:28). We need to think carefully about how we interpret this antagonism.

*****

Was the world an evil place, in the sway of the devil, which would inevitably turn against Jesus? But what, then, of the claim that God sent Jesus because he “so loved the world” (3:16)? How are we to see the relationship between Jesus and “the world”?

Of course, it needs to be said that none of these scenes offered by the lectionary—nor any of the intervening scenes in this Gospel—come as eyewitness (or rather, earwitness) accounts of what actually happened in a real, historical encounter. Of none of the scenes can we say with certainty that they actually occurred, let alone that the dialogue recorded by the author of the book of signs was what was actually said. These scenes are all literary creations, perhaps based on a report of an encounter that took place, but most certainly elaborated and developed over a period of time, worked into a narrative that catches attention, invites reflection, and has a life all of its own.

“John” wrote his book of signs some 50 to 80 years after the lifetime of Jesus. The account of each of these conversations—at night with Nicodemus, at noon with the woman, in Jerusalem with the authorities, and then the encounter in Bethany and the council meeting in Jerusalem—are thus far removed from each of these events. (How could we possibly claim to know verbatim what was said in a Sanhedrin meeting in the early 30s CE? — especially since the High Priest articulates a central tenet of later Christian doctrine!).

I recently read a comment that said, “The television show MASH was set during the Korean War but was about the Vietnan War. While the framework was faithful to the earlier conflict with regard to combatants, equipment, etc., the issues selected reflected Vietnam: distrust of authority, questioning blind patriotism, the need to get around the rules, the effort to ‘get out of this place’, the cynicism-based humor.”

Similarly, John tells a story set in the the time of Jesus; but this period is seen through the lens of the division of Christians and Jews that has eventuated and the heartache that comes when there’s a separation. I think that’s a helpful analogy. The later situation, when the work is created, is reflected in so many ways, even though the story is set decades earlier. As with MASH, so with John’s Gospel.

The depictions of these encounter scenes in the first half of John’s Gospel are shaped by the events that have taken place over those intervening decades—particularly, the rising antagonism between “messianic Jews” following Jesus, and “rabbinic Jews” adhering to the teachings of their teachers. The antagonism reflects the situation.

John’s Gospel indicates, three times, that followers of Jesus were expelled from the synagogue (9:22; 12:42; 16:1–2). That’s quite a schism! So any negative comments or portrayals of people from years back may well have as much to do with what has transpired in those intervening years, as with the actual event—probably, I think, much more to do with those intervening years than with the conversations and encounters as reported in the book of signs. All of this is basic Gospel interpretation.

The church to which I belong, the Uniting Church in Australia, adopted a Statement on Jews and Judaism in 2009 (I was on the working group that developed initial material for this) which offered guidance about our theology, exegesis, and preaching. It is in the same vein as many other statements issued by various enlightened denominations around the world, ever since the lead was taken by the Roman Catholic Church in promulgating Nostra Aetate in 1965.

(I published an analysis of these statements as “Christians relating to Jews: key issues in public statements”, Journal of Ecumenical Studies 44/2, 2009, 180–202.)

Nostra Aetate covered important new ground: it repudiated the centuries-old “deicide” charge against all Jews, stressed the religious bond shared by Jews and Catholics, reaffirmed the eternal covenant between God and the People of Israel, and dismissed church interest in trying to baptize Jews. It called for Catholics and Jews to engage in friendly dialogue and biblical and theological discussions to better understand each other’s faith. Many other Christian denominations have followed suit in the decades since.

The 2009 Uniting Church Statement declares that “The Uniting Church acknowledges with repentance a history of interpretation of New Testament texts which has often failed to appreciate the context from which these texts emerged, viz. the growing separation of Christianity and Judaism with attendant bitterness and antagonism, resulting in deeply rooted anti-Jewish misunderstandings” (para. 9).

See https://assembly.uca.org.au/resources/key-papers-reports/item/1704-jews-and-judaism

That’s a key guiding principle for me, as I read and interpret the Gospels—particularly those attributed to John and Matthew, for these books contain texts which have been grossly and inventively distorted and misused by the Church over many centuries, to fuel the false doctrine of supersessionism and thus the hatred of antisemitism. They do provide evidence for the growing separation between Judaism and Christianity, but they should not be used in a supersessionist way or to fuel antisemitism.

The Uniting Church Statement offers concise definitions of supersessionism (“the belief that Christians have replaced Jews in the love and purpose of God”) and antisemitism (“a term coined in imperial Germany during the 1870s by propagandists who did not wish Jews to enjoy equal rights with Christians. Its true political meaning is ‘I am against the Jews’.”). We should take care not to reflect either of these in our interpretation of scripture. Passages from John’s Gospel, especially, present us with the temptation to be negative about “the Jews”. We need to resist these temptations with all our heart!

*****

Flesh and bones, spirit and life (Ezek 37, Psalm 130, Rom 8, John 11, Lent 5A)

On the Fifth Sunday in Lent, the scripture passages offered by the lectionary revolve around a central theme: life in contrast to death. It’s not every Sunday that all four passages line up to provide a clear and obvious focus on a single theme. For more than half of the Sundays in the year, the Hebrew Scripture, Epistle, and Gospel each follow their own course, and any overlap of theme is accidental, not planned. For Sundays in Advent, Christmas, and Lent, as well as key days like Pentecost, Trinity, and the Reign of Christ, the thematic overlap is intentional. This week we have just such a Sunday!

Death is at the heart of the story of Lazarus that forms the Gospel passage for Sunday (John 11:1–45). Initially, Jesus is told “he whom you love is ill” (John 11:3), but when he arrives in Bethany, Martha accosts him with “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died” (11:21)—an accusation repeated by her sister Mary (11:31); and then comes a graphic description provided by Martha as they draw near to the tomb: “already there is a stench because he has been dead four days” (11:39).

The emergence of Lazarus from the tomb marks a climactic moment, for the family in Bethany and many of their neighbours (11:44–45), but also for the chief priests and Pharisees, who together determine to put Jesus to death (11:53). The seventh sign recounted in this Gospel is the most significant miracle of Jesus, but also the deed that determines the fate of Jesus. Soon after this event in Bethany, he says, “I have come to this hour” (12:27), the hour when “I am lifted up from the earth, [when I] will draw all people to myself” (12:32), the hour when the Father will “glorify your Son so that the Son may glorify you” (17:1). The death of Jesus is to be, paradoxically, the complete fulfilment of his mission (19:30)—the pathway into life eternal (3:16; 10:28; 17:3).

This climactic movement, of death moving to life in Bethany, resonates with the words of the prophet Ezekiel and also the writings of the apostle Paul that are offered for this coming Sunday. Ezekiel confronts the signs of death: “The Lord set me down in the middle of a valley; it was full of bones. He led me all around them; there were very many lying in the valley, and they were very dry” (Ezek 37:1–2). Paul considers the state of humanity: “to set the mind on the flesh is death … the mind that is set on the flesh is hostile to God; it does not submit to God’s law—indeed it cannot, and those who are in the flesh cannot please God” (Rom 8:6–8).

So, death is in view in these three readings. It is no wonder that the psalm we are offered alongside them speaks a cry of deep despair: “out of the depths I cry to you, O Lord” (Ps 130:1). The depths of the earth were the place where sinful people went (Ps 63:9; Isa 14:15), following the lead of the Egyptians who pursued the Israelites and “went down into the depths like a stone” (Exod 5:4–5; Neh 9:11; Isa 63:11–13). There, in the depths, God’s anger burned (Deut 32:22).

However, those banished to the depths were able to be brought back from the depths by God’s decree (Ps 68:22; 71:20; 86:13), so the cry of the psalmist from the depths is followed by the plea, “Lord, hear my voice! Let your ears be attentive to the voice of my supplications!” (Ps 103:2). As the prophet Micah affirms, God’s steadfast love will rescue those who “lick dust like a snake,

like the crawling things of the earth”, and will indeed “cast all our sins into the depths of the sea” (Mic 7:17, 19). So the psalmist affirms, “I wait for the Lord, my soul waits, and in his word I hope” (Ps 103:5).

Just as Lazarus emerges from the tomb where his dead body was laid, so Ezekiel foresees a wondrous revival amongst the dead bones of the people of Israel: “I will put my spirit within you, and you shall live, and I will place you on your own soil; then you shall know that I, the Lord, have spoken and will act,” says the Lord” (Ezek 37:11). The vision he sees emac s that dramatically. Likewise, Paul glimpses that same hope: “if the Spirit of him who raised Jesus from the dead dwells in you, he who raised Christ from the dead will give life to your mortal bodies also through his Spirit that dwells in you” (Rom 8:11).

Both prophet and apostle hold to the hope enacted in the Gospel and articulated by the psalmist: “Israel, hope in the Lord! For with the Lord there is steadfast love, and with him is great power to redeem. It is he who will redeem Israel from all its iniquities” (Ps 103:7–8).

*****

Ezekiel was both a prophet and a priest (Ezek 1:3). He had been exiled to Babylon during the siege of Jerusalem by King Nebuchadnezzar II of Babylon (599 BCE; see 2 Kings 24:10–17). His prophetic activity was thus undertaken entirely in exile. He addresses both those in exile with him in Babylon, and also those left behind in Judah. His prophecies continue through the period when the people in Judah were conquered and taken to join Ezekiel in exile (587 BCE; see 2 Ki 25:1–21), and then for some time after that.

A dramatic vision opens the book, in which “the glory of God” appears in the form of a fiery, flaming chariot (1:4–28). Priestly attention to detail marks the account of this vision, whilst contains multiple allusions to other scriptural stories. The bright cloud and flashing fire evokes the scene on Mount Sinai, when God gave Moses the Law (Exod 19:16–19); the “burning coals of fire” (1:13) remind us of the burning coals in the scene of the call of Isaiah (Isa 6:6); and “the bow in the cloud on a rainy day” evokes the sign of the covenant made with Noah (Gen 9:12–17). In seeing this vision, Ezekiel has had a life-transforming experience!

Ezekiel is impelled to play his role as a prophet by “the hand of the Lord” (1:3; 3:22; 8:1; etc); indeed, he says, “the spirit lifted me up” (3:12). That same spirit continues to lift him up with regularity (8:3; 11:1, 24; 37:1; 43:5) to show him vision after vision. More than this, Ezekiel declares that “the spirit entered me” (3:24), a process which he promises will be experienced by Israel as a whole (36:26–28)—for the Lord says he will “pour out my spirit upon the house of Israel” (39:29).

This emphasis on the renewing spirit of God is seen, most dramatically, by Ezekiel when he is taken by the spirit into “the middle of a valley … full of bones” (37:1) and sees a vision that he conveys in what must be his most famous oracle. What Ezekiel sees in this valley of dry bones is the work of God, as God puts sinews and flesh and skin on the bones, and breathes into the bodies so created, so that they live (37:5–6, 8, 10).

The vision indicates what God will do: “I will put my spirit within you, and you shall live, and I will place you on your own soil” (37:14). The end of the exile, it seems, is in sight. This passage is often interpreted in a Christian context as a pointer both to the resurrection of Jesus, and also to the general resurrection; indeed, its appearance on the Fifth Sunday in Lent means that it complements, and indeed illuminates, the dramatic story of Jesus bringing Lazarus back to life, as he approaches the tomb, and cries in a loud voice, “Lazarus, come out!” (John 11:38–44).

For Ezekiel, however, this vision is not a far-into-the-future prediction (foretelling), but a word of hope to the people in their immediate situation (forthtelling). Indeed, the very next section of this chapter reports a proclamation of Ezekiel which is quite directly forthtelling. The two sticks that he takes (37:16) stand for Judah and Israel; as he joins the sticks, so he points to the return of these peoples from their exile, their return “to their own land”, and a cleansing which will mean “they shall be my people, and I will be their God” (37:21–23, 27).

That final phrase is a common covenantal affirmation made by God (Lev 26:12; Ruth 1:16; Jer 7:23; 11:4; 24:7; 30:22; 31:1, 33; 32:38; Ezek 11:20; 14:11; 36:28; Zech 2:11; and Hos 1:10–11, overturning Hos 1:9). The reunited people shall have one king (37:24) and they will observe “an everlasting covenant” (37:26).

So the dramatic story that the prophet Ezekiel reports from his vision set in the middle of a valley full of dry bones is intended to speak directly into the life of the covenant people of God, the people of Israel, offering them hope despite their current circumstances.

*****

Paul also was commissioned for his task through a vision—reported in graphic terms by Luke, who makes the moment into a grand call-and-commissioning scene (Acts 9:3–8; 22:6–11; 26:12–18), but mentioned only briefly, in general terms, in passing by Paul himself (1 Cor 9:1; and perhaps Gal 1:1, 12). Of course, Luke was not present for this event, so he shaped in along the lines of classic call-and-commissioning narratives that existed in earlier Jewish writings. (I have explored this in detail in my commentary on Acts in the Eerdman’s Commentary on the Bible, 2003).

That vision turned Paul from persecutor of the followers of Jesus to an apostle fervently declaring “the good news of Jesus Christ” as far as possible, “from Jerusalem and as far around as Illyricum” (Rom 15:19). (Illyricum was a Roman province that covered the coastal area of the Balkans, northwest of Macedonia stretching towards Italy.) Paul delivers this good news in person to many communities, but he sets it out at length in his letter to believers in Rome, which he had not yet visited.

Paul is embued with the same hope that the psalmist and the prophet demonstrate. He rejoices with the Thessalonians that they share with him in “hope in our Lord Jesus Christ” (1 Thess 1:3), tells the Galatians that “through the Spirit, by faith, we eagerly waits for the hope of righteousness” (Gal 5:5), and reminds the Corinthians that “faith, hope and love abide” (1 Cor 13:13). In a subsequent letter to believers in Corinth, he asserts that “he who rescued us from so deadly a peril will continue to secure us; on him we have set our hope that he will rescue us again” (2 Cor 1:10)

Paul reports to the Romans that “we boast in our hope of sharing the glory of God” (Rom 4:2) and that it is “in hope that we were saved” (Rom 8:24). He affirms that it is “by steadfastness and the encouragement of the scriptures, we might have hope” (Rom 15:4), notes that scripture promises that “the root of Jesses shall come … in him the Gentiles shall hope” (Rom 15:12), and so characterises God as “the God of hope” (Rom 15:13). He shares in that strong hope which is sung by the psalmist and spoken by the prophet, and which is acted out in the Gospel reading for this Sunday.

Cuthbert: monk, prior, bishop, hermit, miracle-worker, and saint (20 March)

In the Uniting Church’s resource provided for worship leaders, Uniting in Worship, there is a Calendar of Commemorations, based on the cycle of annual feast days for saints in the Anglican, Catholic, and Orthodox churches—but broadened out to be much wider than this. Many days of the year are designated to remember specific people. Today (20 March) is the day to remember three Celtic pioneers, Cuthbert, Aidan, and Bede. Cuthbert of Lindisfarne is remembered as monk, prior, bishop, hermit, and miracle-worker—and, eventually, as saint.

Born in Northumbria into a noble family in the mid-630s, Cuthbert was raised in a Christian society, as King Edwin of Northumbria had recently converted to Christianity and (as was the way) brought that faith across the society. Accounts of the life of Cuthbert, written in the later medieval period, claim that there were miracles taking place even in his childhood. The historicity of these claims is highly dubious.

We do know that Cuthbert had quite a career: he was, in turn, monk, prior, bishop, and hermit, before his death. Matching the miracles claimed during his childhood and into his adult life, there are many claims of multiple miracles which allegedly took place after the death of Cuthbert on 20 March 687.

We can’t, of course, substantiate those miracles—the most striking of which relates to Alfred the Great, King of Wessex, further to the south (Wessex was the southernmost part of the Anglo-Saxon Kingdom). Alfred was apparently inspired by a vision of Cuthbert, encouraging in his struggles against the invading Danes. (A saint supporting military action … hmmmm.) He won, of course! The fact that a southern king admired a northern cleric meant that Cuthbert came to be regarded as a focus of reconciliation across the kingdom.

We do know that the body of Cuthbert, originally buried at Lindisfarne on the day that died, was removed and placed into a decorated oak coffin, and reburied in 698. The eleven-year-old corpse was, it was claimed, completely preserved-the first of the post-mortem miracles associated with Cuthbert. We know this from the 8th century account of Cuthbert written by the Venerable Bede, a scholar-monk at Jarrow, who wrote extensively covering science, history, biography, scriptural commentaries, and theology. (Bede is also remembered today in the UCA Calendar of Commemorations.)

Three centuries after his reburial at Lindisfarne, the body of Cuthbert was taken by wagon to Durham, where it was buried again. However, before that, it had been exhumed when Danes overtook the monastery at Lindisfarne in 875, and taken by the monks with them as they wandered the northern countryside. It is now located in Durham Cathedral, where it is said that it is buried (bizzarely) with the head of Oswald, King of Northumbria, who died some decades before Cuthbert’s life.

The life of Cuthbert included various phases. Although raised in a noble household, Cuthbert was attracted to the ascetic life. He had a period of military life, but then in 651 he joined the monastery at Melrose Abbey, an offshoot of Lindisfarne Priory, where Boisil was Prior. Lindisfarne had been founded in 634 by Aidan (who is also remembered today in the UCA Calendar of Commemorations). When Boisil died in 661, Cuthbert was appointed as Prior. He was subsequently invited to become guest master at a new monastery at Ripon, but soon he returned to Melrose as a monk. He became Prior once again in 664.

Cuthbert participated in the Synod of Whitby in that year; this was the Synod that decided to leave behind the Celtic form of Christianity that had been prevalent in much of Northumbria, led from the Abbey at Iona. The specific issue was the way that the date of Easter was calculated. The Synod adopted the Roman custom of dating, and looked to Rome, rather than Iona, for leadership. Cuthbert adhered to this decision and introduced Roman practices at Lindisfarne, where he became Prior in 665, the year after the Synod of Whitby.

Cuthbert continued his ascetic lifestyle as Prior through the ensuing decades, preaching as he travelled through towns and villages; it is said that he preached also to nobles and to royalty, and also that he performed various miracles during this period, as a result of which he later became known as “the wonder worker of Britain”. He maintained his simple lifestyle, with few material needs, as he travelled, and on into the next phases of his life.

Cuthbert moved to what today is called St Cuthbert’s Island, near Lindisfarne, and then soon after to Inner Farne Island, further south, wher he established his abode in a cell in a cave. Elizabeth and I have visited the Farne Islands, as well as Lindisfarne. The northeast coast of Britain is exposed to strong, icy winds blowing across from the Arctic; “living rough”, as we might describe the conditions of Cuthbert’s life, required a strong constitution and a determined mindset. Cuthbert obviously had this.

On this island, Cuthbert befriended the eider ducks and instituted laws to protect the ducks and other seabirds that made their nests on the Farne Islands. As well as his strong environmental credentials, for which we give thanks, Cuthbert is also remembered for his strong misogynistic attitude, for which we lament.

At the west end of Durham Cathedral, a thick black line, made of marble, has been inserted into the flooring. The line (still visible when we were there in 1997) marked the furthest into the Cathedral that women were permitted to step. The reason for this was the belief that Cuthbert would be offended if women came too close to him. This was deduced on the basis of the rules that he introduced in the monastery at Coldingham, where the “improper familiarity” of monks and nuns led to the monastery being consumed by fire—a result interpreted as an act of God!

When Bishop, Cuthbert ensured that there was rigorous separation of the genders in all places where monks and nuns lived throughout the diocese. This meant that women (nuns) were unable to visit the holy sites at Lindisfarne, Inner Farne, and Durham Cathedral. Subsequent to his earthly life, Cuthbert was believed to have acted to punish females who transgressed relevant boundaries—some struck dead, one other driven to dementia and killing herself. And that is the basis for the story (fact? or fiction?) about the line in the floor at Durham Cathedral.

Cuthbert was elected as Bishop of Hexham in 684, but was reluctant to leave his hermit’s cave; he was persuaded to take up the appointment as Bishop of Lindisfarne instead. He was consecrated in March 685 but late the next year, he resigned from his episcopal office and returned to his hermitage. This short tenure as Bishop of Lindisfarne explains why he is remembered as “Cuthbert of Lindisfarne”. He died two decades later, in March 687, aged in his mid 50s.

As already noted, numerous miracles after the death of Cuthbert are attributed to his intercessory powers; accordingly, he is honoured as a Saint. He became closely associated with the powerful Bishop of Durham from the 11th century onwards; the people of the region were known as “the people of the saint” (that is, Cuthbert). In the Battle of Neville’s Cross (just up the hill from where we lived in Durham in 1997), a vision of the saint inspired the Prior of Durham Abbey to raise the banner of Cuthbert, thereby ensuring their protection and victory in that battle.

That same banner was carried by Northumbrians in their battles against the Scots, and the shrine of Cuthbert behind the altar in Durham Cathedral (where the body was interred in 1104) was a pilgrimage site through the medieval period (for males—but not, as explained, for females).

So, to the above list—Cuthbert of Lindisfarne, monk, prior, bishop, hermit, miracle-worker, and saint—we add environmentalist, and misogynist. And we remember him, today.

The resting place of Cuthbert in Durham Cathedral

Perception is everything: a sermon on John 9 (Lent 4A)

This sermon was written and preached by the Rev. Elizabeth Raine at the Tuggeranong Uniting Church on Sunday 19 March (the Fourth Sunday in Lent).

*****

The story in John this week reminded me of the play, The One Day of the Year. I don’t know if you know it, but it is about different perceptions of Anzac Day. For Hughie Cook, the son, Anzac Day appeared to be just an excuse for “one long grog-up”. For his father Alf, an ex-servicemen, it was a day to be with your mates. For Wacka, his mate, it was a day when we as a nation reflected on those who had paid with the sacrifice of their lives.

At one point during a heated debate between father and son, Alf points out that Wacka was there at Gallipoli and knew what Anzac was all about. Hughie puts the counter argument that soldiers who took part in the campaign at Gallipoli couldn’t know the full story of the disaster that was Anzac Cove because they only saw part of the whole picture, the part they were involved in. He sees himself as having a full overview, having studied history.

But Hughie’s view that Anzac Day was just “one long grog-up” is also flawed, as this is the only part of the picture Hughie can currently see. He doesn’t see the mateship, or the skill and resourcefulness, or the sense of pride that Alf and Wacka see in the ex-servicemen who ‘hung in there’ on Anzac Cove. And Hughie fails to recognise that the freedom that gives him the right to speak his opinion was a freedom in part won by soldiers like his father, fighting in the jungles of Asia.

These different viewpoints in the play all contributed to the whole picture of what Anzac day is, but none of the parts on their own are the full story. The story today of the healing of the blind man is very similar in its construction.

How often do we fail to grasp the whole picture? Let us do a simple exercise. Look around you. What do you see? Now, look around again, more carefully. What do you now see that you didn’t notice the first time? If I asked to describe the church, the answer would vary depending on whether you were looking at the front or the back, or even relying on your memory. The whole picture can be hard to take in.

We view the world through the lens of our own experience and perceptions. Like Alf and Hughie in the play, we concentrate on some things and take them in, but filter out others that we deem as unimportant or that perhaps we don’t understand or don’t like. We regularly interpret the information we receive, and we each choose different ways to respond to it. The writer Anais Nin was right when she said, “We do not see things as they are. We see things as we are.” In effect, often we see only what we choose to see.

We see this happening in the gospel story. As the disciples walk down a village street with Jesus, they saw what they had been taught to see – a man who was being punished by God. They knew something of his story. He had always been blind. Which raised a tough question for them. Did the birth defect mean that he had somehow sinned in the womb, or was he the victim of his parents’ transgression? For the disciples, this was simply an interesting theological question to raise with their teacher, Jesus, but for the man concerned it was a painful reality that he lived every day, and that, it seems, had left him destitute.

We know that his parents were still alive because later in the story they get called in by the religious authorities to testify at the investigation into his healing. But, probably out of fear, they refuse to be drawn in, and simply point out their son is now a grown adult and can answer for himself.

Their presence at this point in the story raises some questions though. If they were alive, and close enough to be called in for questioning, why was this man a beggar? why was he left pleading for the pity of strangers in order to survive? why was he not cared for by his parents?

*****

How then did this man see himself? After a life of being outcast, perhaps from his parents, from his neighbours, from the Temple, how could he have felt anything but shame and despair? how could he possibly even think that he might see something different in himself from what everyone else saw? how could he not accept the wisdom of the crowds and judge himself accordingly?

And he remains this way until someone came along who could see the whole situation, and see it differently. Jesus did not accept the dominant paradigm of his times, that illness and disability was a punishment from God. Perhaps for the first time, the blind man felt the gaze of someone who did not pity him or wonder what sin he had committed. For the first time the blind man knew what it was to be valued, to be accepted and to be made whole.

And then, as if this wasn’t enough, he discovered what it was like to really see, to accept light into his eyes and have it transformed into colours and textures, depth and movement. But if he thought this healing would make everything right he was mistaken. He may have had his eyes opened, but there were other, more powerful people who were not interested in having theirs opened. They were convinced that they knew how the world worked, and they weren’t about to change their perceptions.

*****

It can’t have been easy for the Pharisees in this story, for Jesus had a tendency to complicate things. When religious custom dictates that blindness is God’s judgement for sin, it’s easy to know what to do and what to think. But, when blind people get miraculously healed in God’s name, it all gets messy. If sin didn’t cause the problem, then where did it come from? And what about all those other beggars? Would they now be expected to be treated as equals? And if a healing really had happened, then they had another problem. None of them had done it, Jesus had done it. For them, it was best not to see the whole picture and just stick with what they knew.

What to do? The Pharisees try and extract a confession from the blind man. Perhaps he wasn’t really blind – it had been a lifelong hoax and the community had fallen for it. Or maybe he’d found a body-double who was now pretending to be healed to get him a few minutes of fame. Then they resorted to questioning his parents. Again, the result was unsatisfactory.

*****

Finally, there was no other option but to throw him out of the synagogue. Though the blind man could see, the Pharisees refused to see. The religious leaders had decided that Jesus was a fraud, so that’s all they could see. They decided the blind man was a sinner, so that’s all they could see. And they had decided that God could no more use Jesus to heal than that God would heal a person God had afflicted with blindness in the first place. Because that’s what they believed, that’s what they saw.

Perception is everything. It’s not just what we see or don’t see, but how we interpret what we see that determines our actions, our responses and our beliefs. We can look at the poor and see unfortunate victims of circumstance, or lazy people who refuse to work, or dignified human beings making the most of a tough situation. We can look at climate science and see a natural cycle which has just happened to hit us now, or human actions putting our planet under pressure.

Ultimately, how we determine what we see and what it means must flow from Jesus’ example. How did Jesus address poverty? How did Jesus view the natural world, power, violence, sickness, and human dignity? If we are to follow Jesus into a world of justice, we will have to wrestle with these questions and not see them as outside of the realm of faith. And once we have seen the problems, we also have the task of helping others – our leaders, our neighbours, our children – to see as well.

In our daily lives we all make choices (consciously or subconsciously) about what we will see and what we won’t. It’s tempting to choose not to see the suffering and injustice in our world – to switch off the news, and to ignore reports of grief, warand trauma. It’s tempting to avoid seeing certain people and to allow them to just blend in with the landscape, removing their need and struggle from our vision.

It’s tempting to avoid seeing God’s truth and grace in those with whom we disagree, and whom we would rather see as “all bad”. It’s tempting to avoid seeing the brokenness in those we support and with whom we agree and to see them as “all good”. It’s tempting to avoid seeing the resources, the opportunities and the capacity we have for making a difference, and to believe we can do nothing.

But, if we have really seen Jesus, and if we have truly seen God’s reign proclaimed and manifest in him, then we have to confront how we see things, and allow God’s grace and mercy, God’s truth and justice to change our seeing and shed light on our world, our relationships and our neighbourhoods.

And, once again, our seeing must be informed by God’s different perspective where the greatest are the least, and where everyone – even a young shepherd boy, or a carpenter from the countryside – can make significant differences in the world.

“If you or anyone you know needs help, call Lifeline on 13 11 14”

It’s a familiar mantra that we hear on TV news bulletins and read at the end of online news items: “If you or anyone you know needs help, call Lifeline on 13 11 14”. And this month marks sixty years since Lifeline began.

Lifeline describes itself as “Australia’s leading suicide prevention service”, which is “a national charity providing all Australians experiencing a personal crisis with access to 24-hour crisis support”. It began as a small-scale local enterprise in Sydney, and now has branches right across Australia, where 1,000 staff and 10,000 volunteers work together to provide a caring, compassionate response to people who are in crisis.

In the early 1960s, the Rev Alan Walker took a phone call from a distressed man who was very distressed. The Rev Walker was the Superintendent Minister of the Central Methodist Mission in Sydney, a part of the then Methodist Church. The CMM, as it was known, had a long and valued ministry to vulnerable people in the inner city of Sydney—including a number of hostels and day programmes for such people. The ministers and staff of the Mission had regular contact with a wide range of people in distressing and difficult circumstances.

The Rev Alan Walker during his time as the Superintendent Minister
of the Central Methodist Mission in Sydney

Three days after taking that phone call, the Rev Walker learned that the man had taken his own life. Determined that he would do something to assist other people who were lonely, anxious, depressed, or suicidal, the Rev Walker instigated a planning process that eventually led to the establishment of Lifeline, on 16 March 1963, as a crisis line operated by people associated with the CMM.

The website of Lifeline Australia states that “Lifeline Sydney was two years in planning and preparation, with 150 people attending a nine-month training course to work at the centre. A century old, dilapidated building owned by the Mission, on the fringes of downtown Sydney was renovated for the purposes of this new support centre. A staff of full-time employees was appointed to direct the work of these new telephone crisis support ‘workers’. The Director General of Post and Telephone Services authorised that this crisis support service should be listed on the Emergency Page of the Telephone Directory and the phones were installed.”

You can read more at https://www.lifeline.org.au/

In 1994, Lifeline transitioned the 24-hour telephone crisis support line, with local counsellor dealing with local phone calls in each location, to a single national priority 13 number (13 11 14). Then in 2007, Lifeline introduced national call flow to the 24-hour service, which allowed Lifeline to begin flowing calls nationally over a wide area network, to be answered by the next available telephone support volunteer, anywhere in the country. It has been a wonderful development that has taken place over these six decades.

My own connection with Lifeline took place in 1975. I was working at the Central Methodist Mission as the Youth Director (a grand title for what was actually a very lowly job). I ran a variety of weekly programmes that brought me into contact with younger people that were vulnerably housed, or living below the poverty line; people who faced mental health challenges, but who found comfort in the community of the church on Pitt St in Sydney.

Looking to develop my own (meagre and basic) skills in relating to such people, I did the Telephone Counsellor Training Course that Lifeline offered—three hours, once a week, for six months, with practical sessions as a trainee counsellor, taking phone calls and learning how to deal with people in crisis. (The limited success, or rather the ultimate failure, of my attempts to develop good skills in listening, intervening, and referring, I leave to the judgement of those who know me now!) I served in that role for a couple of years, by which time I was a candidate for ministry, undertaking other training to prepare me for my lifetime in ministry.

The Rev Dr Sir Alan Walker, as he became, is rightly remembered and honoured for the creative and practical way that he responded to what was becoming, even in the 1960s, a widespread and difficult societal problem. Well known for his strong public stands against gambling and alcohol, and for his opposition to the Vietnam War, the Rev Walker’s initiative to establish Lifeline points to the way that he lives, and preaches, and acted, in response to the Gospel: both pastoral and prophetic responses were required.

The Rev Walker shows that the Gospel is as much about a person’s individual life and their relationship with God, as it is about how society was structured and how it provided equity and justice for all. I have always appreciated my opportunity to learn this at close quarters, from the 13 months that I spent working at the CMM. (The CMM is now Wesley Mission, one of Australia’s largest benevolent organisations, as well as one of the largest Uniting Church organisations.)

In substantiating their claim that “Lifeline is Australia’s largest suicide prevention service provider”, the website of Lifeline Australia reports:

• Each year, over 1 million Australians reach out to Lifeline for support.

• Lifeline’s 13 11 14 crisis support line receives a call every 30 seconds.

• Lifeline’s network of 41 centres, 10,000 volunteers, and 1,000 employees provide a lifesaving national infrastructure for those experiencing immense pain and anguish.

• There are 3,500 Crisis Supporters working with Lifeline so that no person in Australia has to face their darkest moments alone.

It is sobering to read the breakdown of suicides reported in Australia. The following statistics, reported by Lifeline Australia, are taken from the Australian Bureau of Statistics (https://www.abs.gov.au/statistics/health/causes-death/causes-death-australia/latest-release#intentional-self-harm-deaths-suicide-in-australia)

• 8.6 Australians die every day by suicide; that’s more than double the road toll

• 75% of those who take their own life are male

• An unknown number of Australians attempt suicide every year, with some estimates suggesting this figure may be over 65,000

• Suicide is the leading cause of death for Australians between the ages of 15 and 44

• The suicide rate in Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples is twice that of their non-Indigenous counterparts

• People in rural populations are 2 times more likely to take their life by suicide by suicide

In addition, they report that LGBTIQ+ community members report having attempted suicide in the past 12 months at a rate 10 times higher than the general Australian population. Despite the advances made in recent years relation to this sector of society, they still experience much stress and live in high risk environments.

All of this remains a cause for deep concern. It is a fine thing that people in Australian society do have the support of Lifeline Australia—and, indeed, other organisations such as Beyond Blue, the Black Dog Institute, both Headspace and Reachout for young people, Open Arms for veterans and their families, and 13Yarn for First Nations people; and more. See https://mhaustralia.org/need-help

I am grateful today for the energy, initiative, and compassion of Alan Walker, six decades ago, in seeing a need and working to implement a practical response. I am also grateful to the many staff and especially the thousands of volunteers, on the phone and behind the scenes, that enable this service to operate right around the clock, every day of the year—no annual breaks, no public holidays, no time out at all (collectively).

“If you or anyone you know needs help, call Lifeline on 13 11 14”.

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	What the Nicene Cree… on Building towards the Creed (6)…
	karencj on In the squares she raises her…
	John T Squires on Convicted (5): Nathan Tay…
	karencj on Convicted (5): Nathan Tay…
	John T Squires on Unjust judge, shameless widow…