October 2025 – An Informed Faith

On remembering, celebrating, and contextualising (Halloween, All Saints, and All Souls) … and Samhain.

Today, 31 October, begins a special sequence of days, which in traditional Roman Catholic piety form a triduum (simply meaning, “three days”). There is one set of three days that is very well-known: the Great Three Days of Easter (Good Friday—Holy Saturday—Easter Sunday). This current sequence of three days is the “other” three days—standing in the shadow of those other three days. Whilst the three days of Easter celebrate new life (the Triduum of Life), this “other” set of three days has been called the Triduum of Death.

Why, death? Well, the explanation lies in the three particular days that are included: All Hallows’ Eve, All Saints’ Day, and All Souls’ Day. All three have to do with life beyond this life as we know it, in one form or another—that is, they are dealing with death and those who have died.

All Hallows’ Eve is best known to us as Halloween; it falls, every year, on 31 October, round about six months after Easter Sunday. Unlike Easter, however, this is not a “moveable feast”, following the pattern of the lunar cycle (which does not lineup with our solar-based calendar). Halloween falls, each and every year, on the very last day of October.

It needs to be said that the contemporary commercialised celebration of Halloween is a long way from its origins in medieval Christian piety. And so it also needs to be emphasised that Halloween is not a pagan festival. It has its origins deep in Christian history and tradition.

The English word ‘Halloween’ is a shortening of All Hallows’ Eve(n), which long ago began this series of three holy days, designed to enable the faithful to remember the saints of old (All Saints’ Day on 1 November) and the faithful who have died, “the souls of the faithful departed” (All Souls’ Day on 2 November). These three days, Halloween—All Saints’ Day—All Souls’ Day, belong together—as the “other” Christian triduum (like Good Friday—Holy Saturday—Easter Sunday).

How long ago this sequence began is not clear, as local customs varied. There is evidence that some days had been identified as the time to remember individual saints or groups of saints in some locations in the 7th to 9th centuries. By around 800, churches in Northumbria and Ireland apparently remembered “all saints” on 1 November.

In the online resources of the Northumbria Community, there is a good statement about the significance of this time: “The old belief was that there was danger and vulnerability at this time of transition, which was neither in one year nor the next. Spiritual barriers could be dissolved. Inevitably, looking back led to the remembrance of those who had died and gone before; and, as the dark, cold days were awaited, protection was sought against the evil spirits that were bound to be abroad until spring returned. These old beliefs were never quite eradicated by the coming of Christianity, but lingered as a persistent superstition, a residual folk memory.” See

https://www.northumbriacommunity.org/saints/celtic-new-year-all-hallows-eve-and-all-saints-tide-october-31stnovember-1st/

By the 12th century, All Saints’ and All Souls’ had become holy days of obligation in the medieval churches, and various rituals developed for each day. Baking and sharing cakes for the souls of baptised people is evidenced in some European countries in the 15th century; this may be the origins of trick-or-treat. Lighting candles in homes on these days was done in Ireland in the 19th century—another element which is reflected in current Halloween practices.

*The Forerunners of Christ with Saints and Martyrs*
by Fra Angelico (1395–1455)

I have had the experience, in churches today, of being caught up in a grand worship experience for All Saints’ Day, the middle of the three days (a number of these were memorable experiences where my wife Elizabeth Raine created and presided at the liturgy). We surrounded ourselves with the memory of saints of ancient and more recent times, and recalled with gratitude saints of the present times, particularly those important to the immediate locality or congregation.

In those times of worship, we joined in singing “for all the saints who from their labour rest—alleluia! alleluia!” (from a hymn by William Walsham How), and then “a world without saints forgets how to praise; in loving, in living, they prove it is true— their way of self-giving, Lord, leads us to you” (from a hymn by Jacob Friedrich).

It is sometimes claimed that Halloween originated as a response to existing pagan rituals—but we need some considered nuance as we reflect on this. A number of the current practices involved in Halloween certainly do show the strong influence of folk customs with pagan origins in a number of Celtic countries.

This is especially so in relation to Samhain in Ireland, marking the start of winter with a festival from sundown on 31 October to sundown on 1 November. This was a liminal time when the boundary between this world and the world beyond was thinned; at this time, it was thought, the spirits could more easily enter this world. The connection with the Christian days of All Saints’ and All Souls’ is thus clear to see.

However, this does not mean that we can simply (and simplistically) conclude that these days have pagan origins; rather, what we ought to recognise is that, like other Christian festivals, there has been a blurring of customs and practices and a linking of Christian patterns with pagan festivities.

This blurring and linking is a natural tendency that has taken place time after time in place after place. This is what historians and scholars of religion call syncretism—the merging and assimilating of traditions that were originally discrete, with separate origins. It can also be called eclecticism; but I prefer to see this more accurately as contextualisation, the shaping of a tradition in the light of the immediate social and cultural context.

For that is what Halloween did in the mists of the time when it was being created and shaped—existing practices of pagan neighbours were co-opted and adapted by faithful Christians. Then, the practices were extended with the introduction of days to remember All Saints and All Souls. (The same dynamic was at work in the ways that Easter was shaped, drawing on northern hemisphere Spring practices, and the way that Christmas also developed, drawing on northern hemisphere Winter Solstice practices—but these are stories for other times of the year!)

The same perspective can be applied to the ways that Halloween, in particular, is commemorated each year. Lamenting the commercialisation of a festival that was originally Christian is a poor strategy. (And, as noted, this commercialisation has already happened with Christmas—which is now peak selling period for so many businesses and peak holiday period for many families—and in a different way with Easter—which is now a second peak holiday period for so many families.)

This kind of commercialisation (Jack-o’-Lantern pumpkins, bright lanterns, all manner of costumes, the proliferation of sweets for Halloween, trick-or-treat, and more) is now well underway with Halloween. We won’t turn the clock back. People of faith can simply hold to Christian understandings and practices in the midst of the increasing changes being made in broader society. As we observe what is taking place around us, the best strategy, surely, is to inform ourselves of the origins of, and reasons for, the season, and to reflect on those matters that take us to the heart of our faith.

*****

To close, here is my poetic musing on this season in the life of the church:

Every year in the church we remember,

we remember the saints of old;

those who kept silence, those who spoke clearly,

monks and ascetics, sisters and nurses,

teachers and preachers, writers and poets,

mystics and prophets, all serving faithfully;

saints who were blessed in their lives,

saints who blessed others through their lives.

Every year in the church we remember,

we remember those souls now departed;

family, friends, acquaintances, strangers,

known and remembered, hallowed in death.

To commemorate all the faithful departed,

we mark this time as All Souls’ Day.

And the evening before All Saints’ Day,

it is best known as “Halloween”.

Hallowed, sanctified, sainted in memory,

recalled in remembrance, all saints and all souls.

Once in each year, that is our focus;

once in each year, year after year.

“We thank you for the ministry you have exercised”. A service of Closure of Ministry.

Elizabeth and I have just attended the Closure of Ministry service at which the Rev. Jane Fry concluded her years of service as the Secretary of the Synod of NSW.ACT—or, as Elizabeth referred to it, the Synod of the ACT and NSW (ever loyal to our time in the Canberra Region Presbytery!)

It was held in the impressive surroundings, dripping with signs and symbols of Christendom, in St Stephen’s Uniting Church in Macquarie Street, Sydney, directly opposite the NSW Houses of Parliament. The team from St Stephens, under the wise and gentle leadership of Ken Day, did a fine job in hosting the crowd of people who came for this important occasion.

Banks of wooden pews filled the large floor area of the church, with wooden panelling running around the walls. At the front, above the high central (typically Presbyterian) pulpit, stained glass windows reached up to the high vaulted ceiling—including various Hebrew prophets and early Christian saints (including, of course, St Stephen himself). Two flags from the glory days of Church and Empire hung high at the front—the Australian Blue Ensign on the left, the British Union Jack on the right—and the respective flags of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islanders were draped over the railings running out from the high pulpit. Rich symbolism abounded.

Our venturing all the way into the Sydney CBD for this event (170km, but who’s counting?) meant, on the one hand, that we had to endure the thick, turgid, stress-evoking traffic snarls of Sydney; nothing can be a stronger signal to Elizabeth and myself that we have made the right decision to retire in rural Dungog! Yet this visit also offered the welcome opportunity to celebrate and express gratitude for the gifts Jane has brought to this crucial leadership role, and to meet up with many people with faces and names familiar from past years (or decades)! It was good to reconnect in person with many who for some time now have been “Facebook friends”. The bonds of years past hold strong.

There were multiple conversations in the church’s Ferguson Hall in the time after worship, as we ate, drank, and caught up, under the watchful eye of the Rev. John Ferguson, after whom the hall is named. Ferguson was minister of St Stephen’s from 1894 to 1925, including a term as Moderator-General of the Presbyterian Church in Australia commencing in 1909.

Alan Dougan writes in the Australian Dictionary of Biography that “his inaugural address, published as The Economic Value of the Gospel, raised a storm in Melbourne and praise from trade union leaders. Billy Hughes said ‘The new moderator preaches a gospel all sufficient, all powerful. He grapples with the problems of poverty … he insists on justice being done, though the heavens fall. I advise every citizen to read every word of it’.”

Ferguson was a most enlightened minister, it would seem; apparently he sought an audience with the Pope on a visit to Rome in 1914, “an action that evoked much hostile criticism in Sydney”, says Dougan. The tribalism in Sydney’s ecclesial life, clearly evident in this reaction, is sadly still alive and well in this city, where sectarian fundamentalism (“We Know The Truth, and Only We Have It!”) has an iron grip in some churches. Not in the Uniting Church, however!

The church on this occasion held a full congregation when the service itself began, with Jane in characteristic pose, arms outstretched, as she called the people to worship: “Look! Listen!”, with a string of appropriate scripture sentence after each iteration. Nathan Tyson then acknowledged Country, giving thanks for the First Peoples who have cared for the land for millennia, and offering a gracious and warm welcome to the many Second Peoples (of multiple cultural heritages) who had gathered for the occasion.

Nathan Tyson (left), Simon Hansford (right)

Past Moderator Simon Hansford brought words of confession (“we speak words of cynicism and anger; for this we are sorry …”) before offering an Assurance of God’s pardon, to which we replied, “thanks be to God”. Jane and Simon had worked together as a fine set of leaders of the Synod team for six years, through the difficulties and challenges of the COVID pandemic. It was good to have his clarity of thought in these prayers of confession.

We sang a number of good hymns, including a favourite one written by Charles Wesley “a long time ago”, as wry Jane’s annotation in the order of service observed. How many people were like me: enjoying the melody and harmony of “And can it be” whilst inwardly recoiling at the blood, wrath, and divine vengeance permeating the hymn, before divine grace eventually shone through?

Yes, these words show that it was indeed “a long time ago” that such theology reigned supreme; fortunately within the Uniting Church we can see that “the Lord has yet more light and truth to break forth from his word” (in the words of John Robinson, spoken to the Pilgrims in 1620 as they departed on their journey to “the new world” in 1620, and then include in a hymn written by British Congregationalist George Rawson in the 1850s).

So it is that, as a church, we do indeed rejoice in the affirmation that we “remain open to constant reform under [God’s] Word” and that as “a pilgrim people, always on the way towards a promised goal” we are able to delve into our scripture, traditions, and heritage, “give thanks for the knowledge of God’s ways with humanity which are open to an informed faith”, “sharpen its understanding of the will and purpose of God by contact with contemporary thought”, and stand “ready when occasion demands to confess the Lord in fresh words and deeds”. (Excerpts from the UCA Basis of Union)

Neale Roberts of Uniting brought two readings from scripture, delivered with eloquence, nuance, and expression. From the scriptures we share with Jewish people he read a passage celebrating Wisdom: “When he marked out the foundations of the earth, I was there, beside him … now, then, listen to me” (Proverbs 8).

And then he read words attributed to Jesus: “do not worry about your life … look at the birds of the air … consider the lilies of the field … do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring worries of its own; today’s trouble is enough for today”. As Neale observed to me afterwards, “I am sure Jane picked that passage for its final words, as a word to the church today”. They do indeed encapsulate the deep faith and strong hope that Jane has always exuded.

Elizabeth Raine, friend and colleague of Jane since they first met as theological students at UTC in the early 1990s, preached the sermon. Indeed, as a personal aside, I was struck the fact that all who offered leadership in this service, apart from Nathan Tyson, had studied theology and undergone formation for ministry at UTC during the 1990s; perhaps a fine testament to the grounding they had received then—more certainly, a clear indicator of the qualities and giftedness that each person has brought to ministry over the ensuing decades. The church has benefitted much from the calling to which each of them has responded.

Elizabeth preaching (left); Elizabeth and Jane (right)

Elizabeth spoke about the figure of Wisdom who had been the focus of the Proverbs reading. She warned the congregation, “I told Jane I would be feral and unfiltered … and Jane said to me, ‘go for it!’” And so she did. You can read the full sermon via the link at the end of the blog, but here are some choice extracts: “Wisdom calls us on an unexpected journey … she transgresses male boundaries, standing at the street corner, raising her voice in public places … but Wisdom has been grafted on to Jesus by the early church scholars … they were consumed by their categories and systems … we emerged with a transgendered Holy Spirit … a meek, obedient virgin-mother became the model for women … the figure of Wisdom has been overshadowed.”

Elizabeth offered incisive exegetical insights into the riches that the poetic passage in Proverbs contains. concluded that Wisdom speaks to the church today; “she offers us a relational faith, listening to others, working together for the common good … anyone, but anyone, can acquire what she offers … she would undoubtedly value the invitation of Jesus to his disciples to ‘fish on the other side of the boat’, to be open to new possibilities, not to be bound to practices of the past, and to hold to a relational, experimental theology”. “How will we as a church relate to Wisdom?” she concluded.

*Lady Wisdom,* from the “Women of the Bible” series
by Sara Beth Baca; https://www.sarahbethart.com

It was clear from the many expressions of thanks—mostly, not entirely, from women in the congregation—that Elizabeth’s “unfiltered” feminist exposition of this crucial passage had struck a very positive chord for many who were present. “We need to hear this message, we need to hear your voice” was a regular refrain. Preachers and teachers in the church should take note; there is, within informed Uniting Church people, a deep appetite for substantive biblical preaching with a clear, prophetic, feminist hermeneutic that speaks directly into our situation today!

After joining in an Affirmation of Faith, we enjoyed the inspiring playing of the Stephens’ Organ Scholar, Andrei Hadap (pictured in action above), as we meditated on the delightful words of a hymn by Thomas Troeger: “how shall we love this heart-strong God who gives us everything, whose ways to us are strange and odd: what can we give or bring?” Associate Secretary of Synod Bronwyn Murphy then led the prayers of the people to this “heart-strong God”: “so much pain held within one small planet … so hear us, O God, as we pray for your earth … for all people, gathered within your welcome … for the Uniting Church, a body in transition … and for Jane and her family”.

Jane then spoke in her characteristic direct and challenging style. She referred to the “nine years of drama, change, and engagement across the church”. She is, she confessed (as if we needed reminding!) “a sceptical person, not an early adopter [who] did not expect the recent significant decisions of Synod to have been adopted!” Her reflection at this point was, once again, characteristically Jane; she saw this as an indication that “God is not done with the Uniting Church”.

She reminded all present that “the change [we have] initiated is just housekeeping. Synod is administrative, Presbytery has an oversight role, but the Congregation is where faith is nurtured”. She emphasised that the church is called to “nurture faith, form discipleship, and welcome all: these are the critical elements of being the church.” Her final word exuding the hope she has always held over the years in fulfilling her leadership roles in Congregation, Presbytery, and Synod: “neglecting the disciplines of faith is incredibly dangerous: prayer is the foundation. Letters us remember: ‘God has got this’”.

The Moderator receives from Jane the stole which symbolized
her ministry as Secretary of Synod

The Moderator, Mata Havea Hilau, then led the formal closure of ministry for Jane, offering the thanks of all present in the worship space and those participating via the livestream, and praying for Jane, “May the God who rested on the seventh day to delight in all the creation hold you in her arms as you have held this work, celebrate with us the life that takes life from you, and give you grace to let go into a new freedom”; to which all the people responded: Amen!

In the Ferguson Hall after the service, in the midst of the plethora of conversations filling the space with a cascade of sounds, Peter Walker, the incoming Secretary of Synod and former Principal of UTC (and yet another graduate of UTC from the 1990s!) presided over a brief time of formality. Jane expressed her thanks to many people who had worked alongside her and encouraged her over the past nine years. She was given a gift of a lovely bunch of native flowers.

And then the crowd dispersed, stepping back into the rain, the traffic, the chaos of everyday life … … …

*****

You can read the full text of Elizabeth’s sermon at

Happy is the one who listens to me, watching daily at my gates, waiting beside my doors; for whoever finds me finds life!

Happy is the one who listens to me, watching daily at my gates, waiting beside my doors; for whoever finds me finds life!

A sermon on Wisdom in Proverbs 8

A sermon on Proverbs 8: 22–36, preached by the Rev. Elizabeth Raine in St Stephen’s Uniting Church, Sydney, at a service of Closure of Ministry for the Rev. Jane Fry, outgoing Secretary of the Synod of NSW.ACT, on Wednesday 29 October 2025.

When Jane asked me to preach at this event, I was very surprised. I expected that a former Moderator or Board Chair would be invited to preach at such an important event as the General Secretary of the NSW/ACT Synod retiring. But here I am!

It is true that Jane and I go back many years, as we went through UTC together, bonded by the attitude of the sexist male colleagues who accused us from everything from ‘sleeping our way to high distinctions’ to being ‘feminists’, like it was some sort of virus. I confess this rather patriarchal attitude has informed this sermon, though it is also true that so many more women now occupy prominent positions in our church, which is a very good thing.

I did warn her that I was unsettling, potentially feral and capable of saying things that were unfiltered in my sermons. Was she sure she wanted to risk such a this? Apparently she did, so here I am.

I was grateful to Jane for her friendship and support then, and I am grateful to her now for her presence as General Secretary over the last 9 years. She has approached this position as she does most things, with integrity, thoughtfulness and a straightforward approach to dealing with what I call ‘faffing around’. Jane has a deep and abiding love for the church and hopes only for its successful transition into the future, and I wish her well for her future in retirement.

*Wisdom*, from the “Women of the Bible” series by Sarah Beth Baca; https://www.sarahbethart.com/products/p/full-image-women-of-the-bible

The book of Proverbs from which one of the readings we heard is drawn tells us a lot about Wisdom (hochma in Hebrew). She is a central character in chapters 1–9, and she appears as a mystical feminine aspect of God. “Lady Wisdom”, as she is known, is a central character in many chapters of Proverbs, and those who know her are seen asrighteous people. She calls to us and invites us on an unexpected journey. She is offered as a role model for us, her teachings are a template for life, and she a pioneer who opens up a pathway to faith and obedience.

Scholars have debated how the personification of Wisdom should be interpreted, especially as Wisdom is stated to be the first creation of God (“the Lord created me at the beginning of his work, the first of his acts of long ago”, Prov 8:22) and is involved in the creation process itself (“the Lord by wisdom founded the earth”, Prov 3:19). Is wisdom meant to be a specific aspect of God or even a separate being from God? Or should all such language be taken as mere metaphor?

She has been described in many ways—as an aspect of God, as a divine entity existing in her own right, even as something approaching a feminine deity, as Proverbs 8 states: Wisdom was present at the beginning of creation as a co-creator with God, who delighted in her presence.

The divine Wisdom has fascinated ecclesiasts and scholars since the inception of the Christian church. As we have heard, Wisdom has been described in many and various ways but Wisdom’s primary function was understood by the very early Christians to be a mediating force between God and the world, and was particularly associated with the work of creation.

The text from Proverbs 8:22 was important for this belief: here, Wisdom declares, “The Lord created me at the beginning of his work, the first of his acts of old”. Wisdom was believed to be a vehicle of God’s self-revelation, granting knowledge of God to those who pursue her through scripture and learning.

Wisdom (Sophia) on her throne supported by seven pillars
A 16th century Icon of Divine Wisdom
in the St George Church in Vologda, Russia

Despite this, the Christian tradition, for most of its life, cannot be said to be famous for finding the feminine aspect of the divine. Relentlessly masculine, the early Christian church systematically excised any sense of the feminine from the orthodox view of God, spirit and Jesus.

The ruach (Holy Spirit) became masculine through the language of Latin; the bat qol (the voice of God) of the rabbinic literature found a different, masculine grammatical construct in Greek, and hochma or sophia (wisdom) morphed into the figure of Jesus, as the New Testament writings firmly associated the attributes of Wisdom with the person of Jesus Christ.

This last is most clearly seen in the letter to the Colossians. This document was originally attributed to the apostle Paul, but is now thought to have been written by a follower of Paul, soon after the apostle’s death in the early 60s. Some early verses in Colossians make it clear that Wisdom had been grafted onto Jesus:

“He is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation; for in him all things in heaven and on earth were created, things visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or rulers or powers — all things have been created through him and for him.”

The Divine Feminine through whom God created the world was replaced with the Divine Masculine. A good example of this can be found in the writings of Justin Martyr – he claimed that Jesus was Wisdom, Logos and the Glory, thereby removing the feminine Spirit (ruach), Wisdom (hochma), and Glory (shekinah) all in one stroke.

Wisdom sadly morphed into a male saviour, who by assuming the divine characteristics Wisdom was meant to share with God, found himself inserted as the third person of a doctrine of trinity with a transgendered holy spirit, who crossed masculine, neuter and feminine across biblical languages.

Instead of recognizing Wisdom, this feminine aspect of the divine, early Christian male leaders instead have tried to satisfy women throughout the world by presenting them with role models of martyrs and virgins, thereby setting a standard that the vast majority of females cannot possibly aspire to.

Wisdom fast lost her independence and feisty nature, and the meek, obedient woman, characterized by the mother of Jesus (another virgin), was held up as the model to which all women should strive to be.

However: far from being obedient and submissive, Wisdom occupies what is the domain of men, teachers and prophets. She stands on busy street corners, she is at the town gate; she sets her table at the crossroads where many pass by. Unlike her counterpart in Proverbs 31, there is nothing of the domestic goddess about her. She is radical, counter cultural and subversive. She teaches knowledge and leads her people on their way through history. In a most unfeminine way, unaccompanied by a male chaperone, she raises her voice in public places that are the domain of men and calls to everyone who would hear her.

Wisdom offers us a radical example of faithfulness yet she remains a disturbing presence. She is a most unladylike figure, venturing outside the house, to stand beside the crossroads, crying out in full voice, surprising and startling and provoking with her words.

She transgresses boundaries by standing amidst the male elders at the city gates and presuming to teach them. She has a clear voice, a colourful personality, a dominant presence, and offers words of hope and the promise of life. She is a vehicle of God’s self-revelation, and grants knowledge of God to those who pursue her through scripture and learning.

The prominent biblical scholar, Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza, has written this about Wisdom:

Divine Wisdom is a cosmic figure delighting in the dance of creation, a “master” crafts wo/man and teacher of justice. She is a leader of Her people and accompanies them on their way through history. Very unladylike, she raises her voice in public places and calls everyone who would hear her. She transgresses boundaries, celebrates life, and nourishes those who will become her friends. Her cosmic house is without wallsand her table is set for all.

In short, the biblical figure of Wisdom represents a spirituality of roads and journeys, of public places and open borders, of nourishment and celebration, of justice and equality – rather than a spirituality of categories, doctrines, closed systems and ideologies. Her dramatic modus operandi stands in striking contrast to the slow and methodical way of operating that we see in the classic formulations of Christendom, doctrines that have come to define the church in the eyes of those outside of it.

The church fathers, the male patriarchs of the church, and the myriad of male theologians who followed were, in my humble opinion, consumed with their categories; they articulated their doctrines by amassing the data, analysing the information, systematising the component parts and categorising the key dogmas. And they wrote down these dogmas and systems and turned them into the doctrines by which faith was measured.

By contrast to these closed systems of belief and knowledge, the biblical figure of Wisdom asks for a relational faith, and invites us to develop a wide openness in the way we approach others and God. She requires of us that we really listen to others, including those we don’t agree with … she calls us to listen, to understand, to speak in ways that connect with others and ways that build productive and fruitful relationships across the differences that separate us.

Wisdom calls us to work together, for the common good, with others in our society. She is not a figure bound to buildings, books and writing; she is an outdoor, community spirit, seeking relationships with people, engaging wholeheartedly in the public discourse, debating back and forth in the public arena the key elements of a faith-filled life.

What Wisdom presents is a radical democratic concept, in that anyone, whether illiterate or educated, whether without or with status, whether poor or wealthy, can acquire what she offers.

She invites us to be life-long learners of the faithful and missional type, and calls us to be constantly open to challenge and change as we read, study, think, discuss, explore, debate, and decide.

I think that Wisdom is precisely the kind of person who would have relished the invitation, once offered to his disciples by Jesus, to fish on the other side of the boat. She would value the opportunity to look in a different direction, to reconsider the task at hand and seek a new way of undertaking it. Rather then remonstrating with Jesus saying ’but we have always done it this way’, she would jump at the chance to set out in a new arena, to pioneer a new task, to reshape her missional engagement so that it was fresh, invigorating, and creative, open to new possibilities and exciting pathways. What a role model that is, for the church today!

*Lady Wisdom*, by Canadian artist Kiernan Antares (2013)
https://womenspiritualpoetry.blogspot.com/2013/12/lady-wisdom-by-kiernan-antares.html

So, the question that I invite you to ponder at this moment is: How will we interact with Wisdom? Are we open to the exploration and discoveries that the biblical figure of Wisdom invites us to pursue?

Are we content with just repeating our tried and true traditions from the past? Are we happy staying in our familiar comfort zones? Will our mission be simply no more than wishing people to walk through ourdoors, as we remain in our comfortable, self-contained spaces?

Or will we choose the way of the rather unladylike and subversive Wisdom, the radical at the street corner, crying out to all who pass by? Can we adopt Wisdom’s model invitation of radical hospitality as relevant to the church today? Should we be more concerned with ‘raising our voices’ in the public arena than confining ourselves to church buildings?

Hopefully as a church we will choose to follow the path of Wisdom into the future, which through its relational, radical and inclusive theology offers us the potential to transform contemporary situations of injustice, brokenness and violence in the communities we serve. By taking our stance in the marketplace, we can demonstrate the ways that show our deep and profound relationship with and love for God, and how that love is extended to all people. Hopefully all of us, not just a few, can follow Wisdom out of our enclosed gatherings to the space where such social and spiritual change can take place.

I trust that as a church, we will continue to encounter Wisdom, hochma, and learn from her, again and again in the coming years.

*****

You can read a report of the whole service of Closure of Ministry at

“We thank you for the ministry you have exercised”. A service of Closure of Ministry.

In the sound of sheer silence (1 Kings 19; Narrative Lectionary for Pentecost 21)

On the passage about Elijah in 1 Ki 19 proposed by the Narrative Lectionary

In the passage which the Narrative Lectionary places before us this coming Sunday (from 1 Kings 19), we come to Elijah; one of the key prophetic figures whose deeds are recounted in the books of the Kings or whose words are collected within the Hebrew Scriptures under the catch-all second section of Nevi’im (Prophets).

Elijah, famous for being described as “a hairy man, with a leather belt around his waist” (2 Ki 1:8), was first introduced as Elijah the Tishbite, meaning he came from Tishbe in Gilead (1 Ki 17:1), a place whose precise location has occasioned some debate. See

This initial portrayal of Elijah is nested within the accounts of that long period of time when Israel was ruled by kings, when prophets functioned as the conscience of the king and the voice of integrity within society. The distinctive dress of Elijah perhaps sets him apart from the court of the kings, where a more “civilized” dress code was presumably operative. Nevertheless, Elijah does have some engagement with the kings who ruled at the time he was active: Ahab, and then Ahaziah. Indeed, his distinctive dress points to his emboldened attitude towards those kings.

Elijah operated during the period when Ahab ruled Israel; he figures in various incidents throughout the remainder of 1 Kings—most famously, in the conflict with the prophets of Baal which came to a showdown on Mount Carmel (1 Ki 18), and then later in his confrontation with Ahab and his wife Jezebel, over the matter of Naboth’s vineyard (1 Ki 21). Like Jesus, Elijah was no shrinking violet!

Elijah first appears in the narrative of the various kings, seemingly out of nowhere, just after King Ahab had taken as his wife Jezebel, daughter of King Ethbaal of the Sidonians, who presumably influenced him to begin his worship of Baal (1 Ki 17:31–33). In the same way, at the end of his time of prophetic activity, Elijah simply disappears from sight soon after Kong Ahaziah died. Elijah hands over his role to his successor, Elisha, and as “a chariot of fire and horses of fire separated the two of them”, Elijah ascends in a whirlwind into heaven (2 Ki 2:1–15).

In the book we know as 1 Kings, the compiler of the Deuteronomic History (which stretches from Deuteronomy through Joshua and Judges to Samuel and then Kings) reports many incidents which attest to the courage and power of Elijah. The boldness of Elijah is evident in the confrontations that he has with various rulers; this is made clear, centuries later, to the followers of Jesus, in the earliest account of his life, when John the baptiser is depicted as a fiery desert preacher, calling for repentance, just as Elijah had called the kings to account (Mark 1:1–8).

In a later account of Jesus, there is a clear inference connecting John with Elijah when Jesus notes, “Elijah is indeed coming and will restore all things; but I tell you that Elijah has already come, and they did not recognize him, but they did to him whatever they pleased” (Matt 17:11–12).

Then, in his sermon in Nazareth (Luke 4:16–30), Jesus refers to the first reported miracle of Elijah, when he provided a widow in Zarephath with food and oil that “did not fail”, even though the land was in drought (1 Ki 17:1–16). In subsequent incidents in 1 Kings, Elijah raises a dead son (17:17–24), directly confronts King Ahab with his sins (18:1–18), and famously stares down the prophets of Baal in a mountaintop showdown (18:19–40), leading to the breaking of the drought (18:41–46).

Elijah later condemns Ahab over his unjust seizure of the vineyard of Naboth (21:17–29) and then stands before Ahab’s son, King Ahaziah, to condemn him to death (2 Ki 1:2–16); a death “according to the words of of the Lord that Elijah had spoken” which is promptly reported (2 Ki 1:17).

During the rule of Ahab, Elijah had also most famously heard the Lord God “not in the wind … not in the earthquake … not in the fire”—but rather in something else, which the NRSV renders as “the sound of sheer silence” (1 Ki 19:11–12). This incident is, as noted, the story set before us by the lectionary this coming Sunday. We need to ponder what is being conveyed through the symbols employed in this story.

The three means by which God is said not to have appeared to Elijah reflect the very same means through which Moses, and the people of Israel, did experience the manifestation of the Lord God in their midst. When the escaping Israelites arrived at the Sea of Reeds, according to one version of this archetypal story, “the Lord God drove the sea back by a strong east wind all night, and turned the sea into dry land; and the waters were divided” (Exod 14:21).

The people later celebrated the defeat of the Egyptians who were pursuing them: “you blew with your wind, the sea covered them; they sank like lead in the mighty waters” (Exod 15:10). The wind was a sign of God’s presence, and an agent of divine protection—indeed, it was the very same “wind from God” which “swept over the face of the waters” at the beginning of creation (Gen 1:2). But for Elijah, the Lord God was “not in the wind”.

Then, as they had travelled through the wilderness, the people were accompanied by a blazing fire, another sign of divine presence: “the Lord God went in front of them in a pillar of cloud by day, to lead them along the way, and in a pillar of fire by night, to give them light, so that they might travel by day and by night” (Exod 13:21). The fire signalled the divine presence.

Indeed, the very same flaming fire had been manifested to Moses when he was but a mere shepherd in Midian; “the angel of the Lord appeared to him in a flame of fire out of a bush; he looked, and the bush was blazing, yet it was not consumed” (Exod 3:2). What follows is the account of the call of Moses; God tells him “I will send you to Pharaoh to bring my people, the Israelites, out of Egypt” (Exod 3:10). The fire had been the assurance to Moses that it was the Lord God who was present. But for Elijah, the Lord God was “not in the fire”.

The same element of fire was present when Moses and the people ultimately arrived at Mount Sinai in the wilderness of Sinai (Exod 19:1–2). “Mount Sinai”, so the account goes, “was wrapped in smoke, because the Lord had descended upon it in fire; the smoke went up like the smoke of a kiln, while the whole mountain shook violently” (Exod 19:18). Associated with this there was “thunder and lightning, as well as a thick cloud on the mountain, and a blast of a trumpet so loud that all the people who were in the camp trembled” (Exod 19:16).

The scene at Sinai surely reflects the experience of an earthquake; the same phenomenon that prophets would later interpret as a sign of divine presence—indeed, divine judgement. “You will be visited by the Lord of hosts”, Isaiah subsequently tells the people of his time, “with thunder and earthquake and great noise, with whirlwind and tempest, and the flame of a devouring fire” (Isa 29:6).

Still later, Zechariah describes how “the Mount of Olives shall be split in two from east to west by a very wide valley”, and instructs the people, “you shall flee as you fled from the earthquake in the days of King Uzziah of Judah; then the Lord my God will come, and all the holy ones with him” (Zech 14:4–5).

Nahum reflects on the jealous and avenging nature of God, declaring that “his way is in whirlwind and storm, and the clouds are the dust of his feet; he rebukes the sea and makes it dry, and he dries up all the rivers; the mountains quake before him, and the hills melt; the earth heaves before him, the world and all who live in it” (Nah 1:2–5).

This dramatic motif continues on into later apocalyptic writings (Isa 64:1; 1 Esdras 4:36; 2 Esdras 16:12). The prophets and their apocalyptic heirs knew clearly that this whole dramatic constellation of events revolving around an earthquake was a sign of divine presence. But for Elijah, the Lord God was “not in the earthquake”. He was heard in something quite different.

What did Elijah hear? The Hebrew phrase in verse 12 is qol d’mamah daqqah. The King James Version translated this as “still small voice”. More recent translations have provided variants on how these words might be translated. Alternatives that are found include “the sound of a low whisper” (ESV), “a gentle whisper” (NIV, NLT), “a soft whisper” (CSB), or “the sound of a gentle blowing” (NASB). These reflect variations on the kind of nuance that the KJV was offering.

However, the NRSV option of translating this phrase as “the sound of sheer silence” is more confronting: the presence of God is sensed in the absence of sound; any communication from the deity comes, not in audible sounds, but in the utter absence of any sound. It is a striking paradox!

And in the context of the developing story of 1 Kings, the paradox is strong. Earlier, the prophet had stood firm against the might of Baal, the foreign god whom Ahab and Jezebel had prioritized in the life of Israel (1 Ki 18:17–40). When “the four hundred and fifty prophets of Baal and the four hundred prophets of Asherah who eat at Jezebel’s table” gathered on Mount Carmel, they failed to obtain any response from their god, the god of storms. No matter how intensely the pleaded, all they heard was “no voice, no answer, no response” (18:29).

Elijah, by contrast, prays to the Lord God and the fire of his god fell on the sacrificial altar; it consumed “the burnt offering, the wood, the stones, and the dust, and even licked up the water that was in the trench” (18:38). The victory was absolute and complete; the storm god had been defeated. And yet, the deity who accomplished this would communicate most personally and intimately with his chosen prophet, “not in the wind … not in the earthquake … not in the fire”, but rather in “a sound of sheer silence” (19:11–12). What a deliciously powerful irony!

Elijah was his own, distinctive man, with his own, distinctive encounter with God. He experienced God in a way quite different from what was experienced by Moses and the people of Israel. He experienced God in a way that stood apart from his contemporaries who were priests and prophets of Baal. For that reason, whilst the Lord God of Elijah stands over and against the Baal of Ahab and Jezebel, so too Elijah stands alongside and apart from Moses as a different, but equally great, leader of the people.

I have built you an exalted house, a place for you to dwell in forever (1 Kings 5, 8; Narrative Lectionary for Pentecost 20)

Discussion of the passages from 1 Kings 5, 8 offered by the Narrative Lectionary

Some weeks ago, the Narrative Lectionary offered the story of God calling Moses to lead his people out of slavery, into freedom (Exod 3–4), followed by another story about the way that Moses exercised this leadership during a testing time (Exod 16). Two weeks ago, we heard the story of God calling Samuel to be prophet (1 Sam 3)—the first of many who would be called to that role. Then last week, we moved on to hear the story of God calling David to be king. So we have had stories about a range of leaders in ancient Israel: the Liberator, the first Prophet, and the most beloved King.

This coming Sunday we jump to another element that is foundational in the religion of ancient Israelite society. For many years—ever since the “wandering in the wilderness”—the people had a focal point for worshipping their God. The Tabernacle, created during the “wilderness story”, was a mobile sanctuary, travelling with the people (Exod 25:1–9). This sanctuary was faithfully served by the Levites, a group set apart for this priestly role (Num 1:48–54).

However, the central figure in this coming Sunday’s story is not a Priest, but rather a King—Solomon, one of the many offspring of David, and the one who, by all manner of machinations, succeeded his father on the throne. The lectionary deftly steps over all those stories, told with gruesome detail in the early chapters of 1 Kings.

Solomon was not first in line to ascend the throne; that would lie with the eldest of his brothers still living, Adonijah. Adonijah knows this; the first book of Kings opens with the revelation that, since “David was old and advanced in years … Adonijah son of Haggith exalted himself, saying, ‘I will be king’; he prepared for himself chariots and horsemen, and fifty men to run before him” (1 Ki 1:1,5).

However, Solomon plots with his mother Bathsheba and the palace prophet Nathan to arrange for the assassination of his older brother. In addition, a number of other people also had to be eliminated to establish Solomon’s firm grip on the monarchy, and to ensure there were no other possible legitimate claimants to the throne remaining. Such was the raw and vicious nature of “life at the top” those days. (Has anything much changed?)

In fairly quick succession, after Solomon had arranged for the death of his eldest brother Adonijah (2:13–25), he banished the high priest Abiathar who had supported Adonijah (2:26–27) and replaced him with another priest loyal to himself. Next he removed Joab, a cousin who was the commander in the former king’s army (2:28–34). He achieved this via a hit man, Benaniah, who became the general of his army (2:35).

Then, Solomon had Shimei, who was a relative of Saul, the king before David, killed (2:36–46). In this way all potential contenders for the throne and their powerful supporters were removed, mostly by violent means. As the narrator curtly comments, “so the kingdom was established in the hand of Solomon” (2:46b).

Fortunately for preachers following this lectionary, there is no expectation that there will be any need to read, reflect on, and speak about these chapters during worship. They certainly reveal the depths of degraded humanity! Rather, in the manner that characterises the Narrative Lectionary, we move from high point to high point—and so, this coming Sunday (in 1 Ki 5:1–5), we hear about the beginning steps taken by Solomon in the preparations for erecting the building which would not only sit on the highest point in Jerusalem, but would stand as a symbolic representation of the highest elements—what was best, most valued, most important—in ancient Israelite society.

Solomon, King of Israel, consults with Hiram, King of Tyre (who has a large navy and workforce) regarding the materials and labour needed to undertake this major building project (1 Sam 5); as the narrator indicates, “Solomon’s builders and Hiram’s builders and the Gebalites did the stonecutting and prepared the timber and the stone to build the house” (1 Ki 5:18). And then, after seven years of intense work, the temple is complete (7:1). Here, the lectionary (wisely) skips over the tedious detail of the items made by the artisans and craftsmen of Solomon (6:1–38).

The second part of the reading offered by the lectionary for this coming Sunday tells of how, after thirteen years, King Solomon assembled “the elders of Israel and all the heads of the tribes, the leaders of the ancestral houses of the Israelites” (8:1). Again, the lectionary skips over the detailed account of the work of Solomon’s men in building his own house: the House of the Forest of Lebanon, the Hall of Pillars, the Hall of the Throne, and the house where he would live (7:1–12).

In like manner, the lectionary jumps over the detailed account of the work of Hiram the bronze worker: pillars, stands, basins, pots, and a whole host of items to be used in the sanctuary (7:13–50). Thank goodness the lectionary compilers jumped over all of those verses!

At any rate, when Solomon assembles the leaders of the nation, in the presence of “all the people of Israel” who had assembled, the priests and Levites bring forward the Ark of the Covenant, the Tent of Meeting which had housed the Ark for decades, and “all the holy vessels that were in the tent (8:1–4). It was surely an impressive majestic procession, followed by a scene of overflowing abundance, as the priests received and sacrificed “so many sheep and oxen that they could not be counted or numbered” (8:5).

There’s no mention of the rivers of blood that must surely have flowed as these sacrifices took place. It may seem like a most unpleasant and unedifying scene to modern eyes and ears; however, the sacrificing of blood was an expression of the central Israelite belief that “the life of the flesh is in the blood … as life, it is the blood that makes atonement” (Lev 17:11). Each sacrifice of a chosen animal was a sacred offering of life that symbolised the obedience and dedication of the person, or people, who had brought the animal to be sacrificed. They were dedicating their whole life to the Lord God through this action, and in return, they were receiving atonement (the forgiveness of their sins) for all the misdeeds they had performed.

Finally, after the procession and sacrifices, the Ark was brought to “the most holy place” (8:6). The presence of the Ark evoked Solomon’s father, David, and his taking of the city from the Jebusites. Solomon was making clear that he was seen to be standing in that fine tradition.

The Ark was placed in the space known as “the Holy of Holies”, as a much later Jewish-Christian writer describes it (Heb 9:3). It was from that time to be set apart as holy for only the High Priest to enter, and at that but once a year (Heb 9:7).

The scene is presented as one of profound religious significance, for “when the priests came out of the holy place, a cloud filled the house of the Lord, so that the priests could not stand to minister because of the cloud; for the glory of the Lord filled the house of the Lord” (1 Ki 8:10–11). The Temple from that time became the fixed dwelling place of God; “O Lord, I love the house in which you dwell, and the place where your glory abides”, one psalmist sings (Ps 26:8); another sings, “bring an offering, and come into his courts; worship the Lord in holy splendour; tremble before him, all the earth” (Ps 96:8b-9). Other psalmists likewise assert the holiness of God in his temple (Ps 11:4; 24:3–4; 48:1; 99:1–5,9).

Holiness (kadushah) was central to the people of Israel. Those who ministered to God within the Temple, as priests, were to be especially concerned about holiness in their daily life and their regular activities in the Temple (Exod 28–29; Lev 8–9). The priests oversaw the implementation of the Holiness Code, a large section of Leviticus (chapters 17–26), which explained the various applications of the word to Israel, that “you shall be holy, for I the Lord your God am holy” (Lev 19:2; also 20:7,26). The people were expected to be a holy people, dedicated to God, serving obediently by adhering to all the laws and commandments that Moses had received from the Lord God at Sinai (Exod 19:5–6).

As the glory of the Lord fills the Temple, Solomon makes the solemn declaration to his God that “I have built you an exalted house, a place for you to dwell in forever” (1 Ki 8:13). He then offers an extended prayer which stretches over the next 38 verses—another element of the whole story that the Narrative Lectionary, mercifully, does not prescribe for reading in worship!

Henry J. Soulen, ‘Queen of Sheba Visits Solomon’ (1967), illustration in *Everyday Life in Bible Times*
(National Geographic Society, 1967), pp. 230-231

Solomon, I am sure you are thinking, is remembered as The Wise King. As the lectionary has offered this passage for this Sunday, it is worth our thinking further about Solomon. Next week we will jump forward a century or so, to the prophet Elijah. So we might, today, reflect on the quality of Solomon he is best known for: his wisdom. In 2 Chronicles 1, God says to Solomon, “because you have asked for wisdom and knowledge for yourself … wisdom and knowledge are granted to you” (2 Chr 1:11).

And later, King Solomon is said to have “excelled all the kings of the earth in riches and in wisdom. And all the kings of the earth sought the presence of Solomon to hear his wisdom, which God had put into his mind. Every one of [those kings] brought silver and gold, so much, year by year” (2 Chron 9:22–24). And so, Jesus relates how “the Queen of the south [the Queen of Sheba] came from the ends of the earth to hear the wisdom of Solomon” (Matt 12:42).

This wonderfully wise, insightful, discerning man, Solomon—bearing a name derived from the Hebrew for peace, “shalom”—became a powerhouse in the ancient world. But he did not always live as a man of peace, as we have seen in tracing his rise to the throne. Indeed, as ruler he used his 4,000 horses and chariots and 12,000 horsemen to good effect; we read that “he ruled over all the kings from the Euphrates to the land of the Philistines and to the border of Egypt” (2 Chron 9:26).

Solomon was remembered as king over the greatest expanse of land claimed by Israel in all of history. This large scope of territory noted in scripture forms the basis for the claims of zealous fundamentalist Zionists, in the 21st century, that Israel should run “from the river to the sea”. It’s a claim that has fuelled the building of illegal Jewish settlements on the West Bank and the erection by the modern state of Israel of The Wall which divides Israel from Palestinian Territories—but which divides families and friends as it seeks to separate Israelis from Palestinians.

Solomon, there can be no doubt, was a warrior. And warrior-kings were powerful, tyrannical in their exercise of power, ruthless in the way that they disposed of rivals for the throne and enemies on the battlefield alike. Think Alexander the Great. Think Charlemagne. Think Genghis Khan. Think William the Conqueror. Solomon reigned for 40 years—a long, wealthy, successful time. (Although 40 years, in Israelite time, is basically a way of saying “a heaps long time”.)

Yet in the passage we hear this Sunday Solomon appears not as a powerful king. Rather, he is a humble person of faith. He stands before all the people, raises his arms, and prays to the God who is to be worshipped in the Temple that he had erected. He is a person of faith, in the presence of his God, expressing his faith, exuding his piety.

The prayer of Solomon goes for thirty-eight solid verses; there are eight different sections in this prayer. In the first two sections of this prayer, Solomon identifies two important features of the newly-erected Temple. The first is that the fundamental reason for erecting this building is to provide a focal point, where people of faith can gather to pray to God (2 Ki 8:23–30). The second key element of Solomon’s prayer is that the Temple reaches beyond the people of Israel, covenant partners with the Lord God. He recognises that the Temple is also the place for the prayer of “a foreigner, who is not of your people Israel, [who] comes from a distant land because of your name” (2 Ki 8:41–43).

This is a striking and dramatic element to include in this dedication prayer before all the people of Israel! Perhaps that is the best way we can remember Solomon: a man of his time, committed to his people, but open to receiving the gifts and the prayers of people from afar. Would that, in our present world of nationalistic fervour, militaristic aggression, and parochial bigotry, there were more rulers like that!

For more on the prayer of Solomon in 1 Kings 8, see

O hear in heaven, your dwelling place (1 Kings 8; Pentecost 14B)

Shamelessly persistent: a widow and a judge, the Christians and the system (and Nathan Taylor). A sermon on Luke 18 (for Pentecost 19C).

A sermon that I preached at Dungog Uniting Church on Sunday 19 October 2025.

He was the seventh child—seven of ten. That had to be lucky. And all bearing biblical names: Joseph, Sarah, Daniel, Benjamin, Rebekah, Elizabeth, Nathan, Hannah, Mary, and Joshua. Biblical names, reflecting the strong religious convictions of their non-conformist parents, Joshua and Mary.

Young Nathan was born surrounded by promise and hope. What would his life turn out to be? His parents hoped, and prayed.

As a young adult, Nathan Taylor was joined in marriage to Betty Clegg. He had known her all his life. They lived in adjoining houses, in their West Yorkshire village of Almondbury, a few miles to the south-east of Huddersfield. Perhaps Nathan had married up in the world; non-conformist as he was, his marriage was conducted by the vicar, on 15 September 1839, in the Almondbury Parish Church. It seems that the Clegg family were members of the established Church of England.

A son, William, was born that same year, in 1839. (Perhaps he was the reason that Nathan and Elizabeth married?) Then, two years later, a daughter, Mary, was born. The Census for 1841 lists a family comprising Nathan Taylor, 25, Clothier, his wife Elizabeth, 20, and their two children, living in Schofield Lane in the township of Huddersfield. Sadly, William later would die by drowning at the age of 18; and no other trace of Mary can be found beyond this 1841 Census.

A second son, John, was born to Nathan and Betty in Huddersfield in January 1845. He was given the maiden name of his mother, Clegg, for his middle name, and appears in official records as John Clegg Taylor.

However, within two years, the family, was torn apart. On 6 March 1847, at the age of 33, Nathan Taylor was tried at the York Assizes, on the charge of “Warehouse breaking”. He was sentenced to ten years imprisonment. All the promise of a fine son, that his parents had invested in him, was broken.

Also tried with him that day were John Johnson, 33, and Thomas Waddington, 37, both of whom received the same sentence for their crime of “Robbery in company with violence”. These three men were amongst 302 convicted men who subsequently were transported to the colony of New South Wales on board the ship Adelaide. This was the last of the ships bearing convicts to come to the colony of NSW. Later convicts were sent to Moreton Bay (now Brisbane), and then later to the Swan River (now Perth). But none followed the Adelaide to New South Wales.

Indeed, further investigations reveal that Nathan Taylor had already served time, for an incident of aggravated assault, a couple of years earlier. He was not, by any means, a fine, upstanding, law abiding citizen, it would seem.

So Nathan came to NSW. So, too, did Betty, with sons William and John. They were reunited, and went on to have further five children, three daughters and two sons, who were all born in the Richmond River region in northern New South Wales.

Nathan himself appears to have lived a full life in the Richmond River Region, where he was employed initially as a Labourer. In 1858 he bought land in East Ballina, and in 1862 additional land in Casino. He was appointed as a Foot Constable in the Northern Police District, on 22 November 1858. Police records describe him as 5’8” tall, with light brown hair, brown/grey eyes, and a sallow complexion. He worked as a Constable for six years (Number 782) before resigning on 31 October 1864.

******

Nathan had come good. From being a criminal, breaking the law, serving time in prison, and being transported to the colonies, he had ended up as an enforcer of that law, a solid, upstanding citizen.

After leaving the police force, Nathan conducted a store and then was licensed as the publican of the “Horse Shoe Inn” in Lismore in the 1870s. He later bought the warehouse and hotel of Henry Brown, which he kept until his death in 1874. He was a valued citizen of Lismore in his later years.

Nathan Taylor, my great great grandfather, intrigues me. He intrigues me because he was a convict: the sixth one of my ancestors to have been sent to the colonies as convict, as far as I have been able to ascertain thus far—three on my mother’s side, three on my father’s side, although there are still another three ancestors that I haven’t been able to nail down precisely, about whom I suspect they may well have been convicts.

Nathan Taylor intrigues me, also, because he was a Chartist. Nathan Taylor, as well as John Johnson and Thomas Waddington, along with many others on board the ship Adelaide, were Chartists. A whole group of a Chartists had been sentenced to ten years imprisonment, and then sent to the Colony, under special arrangements.

Now, Chartism was a movement in Britain during the period of 1838 to 1857 which was initiated by the promotion of a Peoples Charter in 1838. The Chartists held mass protest meetings and collected petitions which were presented to Parliament. There were protest activities by Chartists in many English cities. It was especially strong in the northern regions of England—precisely where Nathan Taylor was living as a young adult in the 1840s.

The Chartists were seeking a series of reforms to the political system (reforms which were eventually adopted, and which are taken for granted in modern democracies)—the vote for all adult males, the use of a secret ballot, the removal of a requirement for property ownership by Members of Parliament, payment of Members of Parliament, electorates with equal numbers of electors, and annual Parliamentary elections.

The arrangement concerning convicted Chartists was that such men would be sentenced to ten years and then sent to the colonies, and if they exhibited “exemplary” behaviour on the voyage to the south, they would be pardoned on arrival. This appears to have been what was done in relation to Nathan Taylor, for he was promptly pardoned and then his wife and two sons were brought to the colony, under the arrangements made by the Poor Law of the United Kingdom.

There is an annotation in the records of the ship that Betty Taylor and her two sons, William and John, travelled on, that reports “£5.0.0 paid by self and £10.0.0 paid by the Relieving Officers of Huddersfield”. Relieving Officers were appointed under the Poor Law Act of 1834, to oversee the administration of relief to the poor. It appears that the system was such that Elizabeth was able to petition to be reunited with her husband in the Colony.

And so she was. Had she not, I would not be here!

******

The story of Nathan Taylor, Chartist, convict, and copper, and his wife and family, came to my mind as I thought about the Gospel reading we have heard today (Luke 18:1–8). In a sense, the Chartists were very much like the widow in the story which Jesus told. Like her, they were seeking justice. Like her, they were met by indifference, or resistance. Like her, the Chartists pressed, arguing their case, disrupting the society of their day, and even, it is clear, resorting to violence in order to fly their flag and gain wider attention.

And, like the judge in the Gospel parable, eventually the British system relented, and began to adopt a number of the reforms that the Chartists had argued for over the years: the vote for all adult males, the use of a secret ballot, the removal of a requirement for property ownership by Members of Parliament, payment of Members of Parliament, electorates with equal numbers of electors, and annual Parliamentary elections.

If that list sounds familiar, it should—for we, today, have inherited these reforms (and more) in our own Australian parliamentary and legal system—inherited directly from British society. We owe our current democratic system to the agitation, the persistence, of those Chartists.

The parable which Jesus tells, is regularly understood to be a parable about persistence. Don’t give up! Keep on pressing the point! Knock on the door of that judge, and keep knocking, until he rises from his sleep and opens the door to you. Don’t let the authorities ignore you or marginalise you. Make a noise! Rouse the sleepers! Agitate! Work to see your demands brought to fruition!

Now, a standard way of interpreting parables is to allegorise them. That means, drawing clear lines of connection between the characters in the story, and people in real life. Classically, the judge who was being disturbed by the persistent widow, knocking on his door, perhaps crying out in the dead of night, this judge is usually equated with God. The persistent widow, by contrast, is equated with faithful people, praying to God.

If that is done, then we are provided a most disturbing picture of God. Do we really see God as unjust, oblivious to the cries of need around him, asleep in bed as the needs of the world grow larger and more pressing? It is not, I would suggest, how people of faith really conceive of God.

What about turning this interpretation on its head? Even though the text suggests that we interpret the judge as a symbol for God, that isn’t the end of the matter. If the text is about prayer, then it is about the two-way interaction that happens when we pray. Prayer is as much about what we say to God, as it is about what God says to us, what we hear when we pray, what is pressed upon us from our close and intimate engagement with our Creator.

So, if we flip things in the parable—what about if we see the judge as a symbol of systems in our human society? Like our systems often become, the judge was inflexible, aloof, resistant to interference, opposed to alteration. And why not see the woman as a picture of God? Persistent, incessant, calling out the injustices of our society, raising a ruckus when things are unfair or inequitable.

Read like this, the parable is about the way that God continues to press on us, challenging us, confronting us, pushing us to grow in our discipleship and deepen in our faith.

Now, there is one more aspect of this parable that I want to raise before we finish. If we explore the word used to describe the widow in the original Greek of this Gospel, the word that is usually translated as “persistent”, we will find that the original Greek is more accurately rendered as “shameless”. How about that picture of God—the one who is utterly shameless—shamelessly persistent in making demands of us?

In this way of reading the parable, the widow acts in precisely the way that Lady Wisdom is portrayed in Proverbs 8:1-4. She, a female, is on the public arena of ancient Israel: “On the heights, beside the way, at the crossroads she takes her stand; beside the gates in front of the town, at the entrance of the portals she cries out.” These locations were where men were expected to be active, and the gates to the town were the places where men gathered to discuss Torah and determine cases brought to them as judges.

For a woman to be there, and to be vocally active in such a public way, was a breach of the honour-shame code. Women speaking out in public were acting in a way that challenged the honour of the men who alone “rightly” belonged there. They did not adhere to the posture and action of shame that they were required to demonstrate, as the flip side of honour. They were acting in a way that demonstrated they were shameless.

The widow, pressing the point with the judge, is not only persistent, but—like Lady Wisdom, like God as we listen to and engage with God—utterly shameless.

*********

So for each one of us, the question stands: how does God call us to account, in the covenant by which we have committed ourselves to God? What knocking do we hear on our doors in the middle of the night? What voice cries out to us, persistently and shamelessly, at all hours of the day?

Where is God challenging us to deeper discipleship in active ways? How is God beckoning us to gracious openness, to offer lavish hospitality, to provide friendship and fellowship to those from outside our indeed circle?

In the Wesleyan tradition, which entered the Uniting Church through the Methodist Church, there is a Covenant Service, which was first used by Charles Wesley in 1755, drawing on a liturgy that is believed to have been created by the 17th century English Puritan, Richard Alleine.

Wesley’s Covenant Prayer includes words which I take as the start of our Prayers of the People for today.

Let me be exalted for you,

or brought low for you;

let me be full,

let me be empty,

let me have all things,

let me have nothing:

I freely and wholeheartedly yield all things

to your pleasure and disposal.

Will “the peace” hold in Gaza?

There is intense emotion in Israel and in Gaza. Hundreds of Israeli families are mourning the deaths of the 1200 people killed on 7 October 2024, the deaths of scores (perhaps even hundreds) of the 251 hostages taken on that day, the 468 Israeli soldiers who have died since that day.

At the same time, the families and friends of the nearly 68,000 Palestinians killed in Gaza over the same timeframe, and especially the 20,179 of them who were children, are experiencing a similarly intense sense of grief.

It’s a region bubbling with all that unrequited grief brings: sorrow, despair, anger, a festering hatred, a resolve to “never forget”. It’s hardly a fertile ground for peace to flourish. Will the “peace agreement” hold? Will the “peace plan” prove to be effective?

As the latest group of hostages return to Israel, giving understandable joy to their families and friends, and hope for an enduring peace in the region, let us not forget that the displaced Gazans returning to the homes will find 78% of the structures in Gaza are damaged or destroyed; 22 of the 36 hospitals in Gaza have been destroyed, and some of the remaining 14 hospitals are only partially functional; and 1.5% of the viable cropland in Gaza is able now to be used for cultivation. They are not simply “coming back home”; they are returning to scenes of devastation and destruction that will surely intensify their despair.

This is the third ceasefire since the events of 7 October 2023. Will it last? Relations between many (not all) Israelis and Palestinians are incredibly complex, and an enduring peace amidst the aggressive antagonism and intensifying hatred that has marked recent years (indeed, decades) does not give me confidence.

The US has provided $21.7 billion of military aid to Israel since 7 Oct 2023. If Trump really wants peace, he could cease all future military aid and divert funds to the needs in aid supplies, health, and restoration of infrastructure in Gaza.

I’ve taken these figures from an article by NPR, a media organisation in the USA that is “an independent, nonprofit media organization … founded on a mission to create a more informed public”. (Thanks to Megan Powell du Toit for the link.)

https://www.npr.org/2025/10/13/g-s1-92205/ceasefire-gaza-war-key-figures?

The history of “the peace” in this region over the past 50 years does not give grounds for hope. The establishment of Israel in 1948, as important and necessary as that was after the horrors of the Shoah (a Hebrew word meaning “desolation, sudden destruction, catastrophe”), caused the expulsion of hundreds of thousands of inhabitants of that area, in a catastrophe called by Palestinians the Nakbah (an Arabic word which also means “catastrophe”).

The Camp David Accords (1978) ultimately led to an agreement in which Israel agreed to “resolve the Palestinian question” and permit Palestinian self-governance in the West Bank and Gaza within five years. It never happened.

The Oslo Accords (1993) included a pledge to end hostilities, and the second Accords (1995) provided that Israel would accept Palestinian claims to national sovereignty. As an interim measure, a Palestinian Authority was established, to govern designated areas (see the map) in a phased process leading towards Palestinian self-determination. The Palestine Authority still exists today, and the goal of the Accords has never been reached.

See https://www.aljazeera.com/news/2023/9/13/what-were-oslo-accords-israel-palestinians

Indeed, from 1993 onwards, Israel increased its building of settlements in the West Bank, leaving that area utterly fragmented between Israeli and Palestinian areas—a process deemed illegal under international law. Families who had lived on their historic lands were expelled so that new Israeli settlements could be built. It’s been an utterly unjust process.

When PLO leader Yasser Arafat gave up the right for Palestinian refugees to return to their historic lands which Jewish settlers had seized from them in 1948 when Israel was created, many Palestinians became disenchanted with him. The ground was fertile for dissent and revolt; Hamas emerged out of this situation as the leading organisation advocating for—and acting to gain—a Palestinian right to return. Peace was never possible while such an ideology was the key driving force.

Chris Hedges, an American journalist, author, and commentator (and also an ordained Presbyterian minister, as of 2014) writes that the current “peace” is simply “a commercial break … a moment when the condemned man is allowed to smoke a cigarette before being gunned down in a fusillade of bullets”. He foresees the crumbling of the current ceasefire, on the basis of the history of these recent decades.

“Once Israeli hostages are released, the genocide will continue”, he writes. “A pause in the genocide is the best we can anticipate. Israel is on the cusp of emptying Gaza, which has been all but obliterated under two years of relentless bombing. It is not about to be stopped. This is the culmination of the Zionist dream.”

He notes the staggeringly obscene amount of military aid that the USA has given Israel, and observes that the US “will not shut down its pipeline, the only tool that might halt the genocide”. He then goes on to argue that “of the myriads of peace plans over the decades, the current one is the least serious”. He details all the flaws and inadequacies in the much-trumpeted 20-point “peace plan” that has been advocated recently and claims that “there will be no peace in Gaza; only the temporary absence of war”.

Hedges notes that this “peace plan” fails to mention Palestinians’ right to self-determination; it ignores the advice of the International Court of Justice that Israeli settlements are illegal; it places no brakes on Israel’s continuing military power; it does not provide for Israel to provide anything in the way of reparations for Gaza, the area which it has mercilessly bombed; and many provisions are vague to the point of being unenforceable. You can read his scathing analysis at https://chrishedges.substack.com/p/trumps-sham-peace-plan?

Eric Tlozek, the ABC’s Middle East correspondent, observes that “Israel gets to keep troops in Gaza instead of having to withdraw, but that only signifies that the key issues in this conflict — disarmament, security, governance — are far from being resolved”. What will change once the thousands of displaced Gazans return?

He continues, “Hamas still refuses to disarm and remains in control of large parts of the [Gaza] strip. The US may claim the war is over, but Israel’s defence minister has already flagged plans to attack Hamas, and Israeli fire and air strikes continue in Gaza. The violence has not ended, it has only decreased in intensity.” Tlozek’s pessimism is, nevertheless grounded in reality.

See https://www.abc.net.au/news/2025-10-15/donald-trump-should-not-be-thanked-for-the-gaza-ceasefire/

Will the current “peace” last? How long will it last? How long before the genocide of Palestinians resumes and continues to its inexorable end? As a person of faith, I can join with people of faith around the globe, to pray and to hope. As a citizen of the world in 2025, however, I think that, sadly, we must temper this with realism about the situation and the prospects of an enduring peace.

*****

See my other, earlier, ruminations at

Peace with Justice: end the genocide in Gaza

Israel, the West Bank, and Hamas: a prayer for peace, and a yearning for justice

Significant days, reflecting Shoah, Independence, Nakba, and 7 October.

Do not judge by appearances (1 Samuel 16; Narrative Lectionary for Pentecost 19)

A discussion of the Narrative Lectionary passage from 1 Samuel 16

The narrative passage proposed by the Narrative Lectionary for this Sunday (1 Sam 16:1–13) comes from the period of time when Israel was ruled by a king. The story of the choosing of the first king, Saul, is told in 1 Sam 9; his rule runs through this narrative until the last chapter of this book, 1 Sam 31.

As I have noted before, although these narratives have the appearance of being historical, they are actually ancient tales which were told and retold, passed on by word of mouth and then written down, because of their enduring significance for the people of ancient Israel. Scholars call such stories “myths”, meaning that they convey something of fundamental importance. (We might best define myth as “a traditional story, usually associated with the time of origins, of paradigmatic significance for the society in which it is told”.)

See more on the nature of these stories at

How can we preach on passages in the Bible that are myths?

The picture of Saul, the first man chosen to be king in Israel, demonstrates the flaws of this system of leadership. His reign was characterised by turbulence and opposition; as early as chapter 13 there are signs of the problems that there were in his leadership. After defeating the Philistines, and being impatient for the prophet Samuel to arrive, he went ahead with a burnt offering, in contradiction to the command of God. “You have done foolishly; you have not kept the commandment of the Lord your God, which he commanded you”, Samuel berates the king (1 Sam 13:13). This is not the behaviour expected of a person leading the chosen people of God!

The prophet Samuel foreshadows the coming turmoil under Saul’s leadership, telling him that “the Lord would have established your kingdom over Israel forever, but now your kingdom will not continue” (1 Sam 13:14). In the passage offered by the lectionary for this coming Sunday (1 Sam 16:1–13), we learn that because the rule of Saul is fraught with difficulties, a significant change is on the cards.

Pushed by the words of the prophet Samuel, Saul confesses his sin (1 Sam 15:24, 30). Samuel announces to him that “the Lord has rejected you from being king over Israel” (15:26) and declares, quite dramatically, “the Lord has torn the kingdom of Israel from you this very day, and has given it to a neighbour of yours, who is better than you” (15:28).

The narrator of this story engages in an interesting theological exploration at this point. Samuel is clear about God’s intentions: “the Glory of Israel will not recant or change his mind; for he is not a mortal, that he should change his mind” (15:29). This God had explicitly chosen Saul, who said he was “only a Benjaminite, from the least of the tribes of Israel, and my family is the humblest of all the families of the tribe of Benjamin” (9:21).

God had chosen David, this least and most humble person, to serve as ruler over the people, to “save my people from the hand of the Philistines” (9:16). He would rule form40 years—the biblical,way of saying “for an awfully long time”—and exert great power. We might note that this “least-become-greatest” dynamic prefigures some of the teaching of Jesus, a descendant of David, a millennia later.

Samuel, exercising his prophetic leadership, had assured the people, “there is no one like him among all the people” (10:24); but some in the crowd were doubtful, saying, “how can this man save us?”, and they despised him (10:27). Paradoxically, these men had insight into the character of Saul which the Lord God himself failed to perceive at this time.

However, a little later, the narrator of this story muses that “the Lord was sorry that he had made Saul king over Israel” (15:35). This is regret, but seemingly not quite a full change-of-mind. It does, however, paint the divine in a rather human way; an action undertaken that does not bear fruit for us as anticipated can indeed generate regret.

Elsewhere in Hebrew Scriptures, the matter of a change-of-mind for the divine is explored. Jeremiah instructs the people, “amend your ways and your doings, and obey the voice of the Lord your God, and the Lord will change his mind about the disaster that he has pronounced against you” (Jer 26:13). In the tale of Jonah, when God saw the repentance of the people of Nineveh, “God changed his mind about the calamity that he had said he would bring upon them; and he did not do it” (Jon 3:10).

The prophet Amos petitions God, such that “the Lord relented concerning this; ‘it shall not be,’ said the Lord” (Amos 7:3, 6). And in the story of the Golden Bull, Moses implores God to “turn from your fierce wrath; change your mind and do not bring disaster on your people”, and so the Lord repents (Exod 32:12–14).

We might wonder: is the regret that the narrator perceives in the divine (1 Sam 15:35) strong enough to chasten God in future actions, so that there will be no need for a divine change-of-mind?

For more on this topic, see

God changed God’s mind (Jonah 3; Epiphany 3B)

As Saul relinquishes his role, Jesse steps onto the stage; one of his eight sons will sit on the throne. It has been a bitterly-fought transition, and Samuel was saddened by the course of events. But the voice of God pushes him on, to step into his role in the transition taking place; and so the prophet faithfully anoints Saul’s successor.

We should remember that, in the a Christian canon, the two books that tell of the rule of Saul and then David are named, not after those kings, but after the prophet, Samuel—who held and exercised great power, as the story shows, in that he is attuned to God’s voice and speaks God’s words to the people. We saw this dynamic clearly articulated in the earlier narrative (1 Sam 3) on the Sunday after Trinity Sunday (Pentecost 2).

So Samuel follows God’s advice: “do not look on his appearance or on the height of his stature, because I have rejected him; for the Lord does not see as mortals see; they look on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart” (1 Sam 16:7). This verse is often quoted by people of faith when reflecting on the importance of inner conviction and commitment to God.

This narrative portrays a God who sees and deals with the heart of human beings (v.7). The heart is important to God because of its directional role: “the good person out of the good treasure of his heart produces good, and the evil person out of his evil treasure produces evil, for out of the abundance of the heart his mouth speaks” (Luke 6:45). In like manner, Proverbs 4:23 states “keep your heart with all vigilance, for from it flow the springs of life”.

There is a danger here, of course; the outward actions of people are indeed important, and the claim that God’s focus is solely on our “heart” can be deceptive. Both our inner nature and our outer actions are significant; they each point to our faith and express our discipleship.

Indeed, it is worth remembering that, in the Hebrew language—the language in which this narrative was written—the word translated as heart is לֵבָב, lebab. It’s a common word in Hebrew Scripture, and is understood to refer to the mind, will, or heart of a person—words which seek to describe the essence of the person. It is sometimes described as referring to “the inner person”. The word appears 248 times in the scriptures, of which well over half (185) are translated as “heart”. It has a strong connotation of indication “the whole of a person’s being”. That’s what God is focussed on; that’s where faith is shown and discipleship is lived out.

For more on this, see

Love with all that you are—heart and soul, completely and entirely (Deut 6 in Mark 12; Pentecost 23B)

So Jesse brings his sons before Samuel. But which son is it to be? Samuel first offers a sacrifice to God (15:2–5), in the expectation that what he does next will be in accord with the will of God. Samuel had his own ideas, based on appearances; God reprimands him, now telling him to focus on the heart—the very core of the being of the chosen one, the whole of that person’s being (16:7). After receiving all of Jesse’s sons in order (16:8–10), Samuel exercises his prophetic discernment, selecting the youngest son, David, to be the new king (16:11–13).

God confirms this choice by gifting David with the spirit: “the spirit of the Lord came mightily upon David from that day forward” (16:13). Openness to new ways and new possibilities has led to this defining moment.

Ironically, when Samuel first sees David, the narrator introduces him with the description, “he was ruddy, and had beautiful eyes, and was handsome” (16:12)—precisely the elements of “outward appearance” that we were told earlier that the Lord does not consider. Even the careful crafter of this story gets caught!!

Peace with Justice: end the genocide in Gaza

It’s hard not to look at what has been happening in the Middle East—and particularly in Gaza—over recent years, and make some very harsh decisions from afar. For a start, after the series of attacks that Hamas and some other Palestinian groups made two years ago yesterday, on 7 October 2023, it seems easy to condemn the violence of terrorists fighting for Palestinian rights. The firing of 4,300 rockets, the slaughter of 1,195 Israelis, mostly civilians, and the taking of around 250 hostages, some still held today, all deserve to be condemned.

The Gaza Strip and the national state of Israel,
from a map in the Encyclopedia Britannica

But it is also hard not to decide that all Israelis should be condemned for the aggressive militaristic actions taken in response to the 7 Oct attacks. On 8 Oct, the Israeli government declared that the nation was “in a state of war”. That “war” has continued each day since then, with consistent attacks across Gaza.

Current estimates by the Hamas-run Gaza Ministry of Health are that around 67,000 residents in Gaza have been killed, including 18,000 children; 170,000 people have been injured, and 1.9 million people displaced. Amongst the deaths, Al-Jazeera estimates that around 300 journalists and media workers have been killed. They say that across Gaza, the destruction includes 92% of all residential buildings, 88% of all commercial facilities, and more than 2,300 educational buildings have been destroyed.

The clearest accusation that has been made for some time now is that Israel is committing genocide. The World Council of Churches asserts that “the Government of Israel’s military campaign in Gaza has entailed grave breaches of the Fourth Geneva Convention which may constitute genocide and/or other crimes under the Rome Statute of the International Criminal Court (ICC)”. This council has denounced “the system of apartheid imposed by Israel on the Palestinian people, in violation of international law and moral conscience”. It’s clear that Israel,is acting outside the agreed international laws and customs. Yet the USA and other countries continue to provide Israel with all manner of materials and products to sustain their genocidal aggression.

However, it’s important not to not tag all Israelis with the one brush. The Israeli Defence Forces are carrying out the policies implemented by the right wing Prime Minister and his far right fundamentalist coalition of parties. They are committed to the Zionist ideal of ensuring the security of Israel, and of removing all opposition to this nation within the region. They are prosecuting this with vigorous zeal. The bombs and buckets continue each day. But as they oversee this policy, we should remember that they are not representative of everyone in Israel.

Elizabeth and I have a friend in Israel who is faithful and deeply committed to justice; they have been working with others for peace in their country for decades, and they are currently most distressed by their government’s callous fundamentalist actions. And we have a friend in Australia who served in the IDF who is now campaigning vigorously to stop the genocide, lobbying our government to push this message internationally.

They are not all “the same”—what the army is implementing is a government policy that is incredibly divisive within Israel. Not all Israelis support what has been happening; many disagree with the genocide happening in Gaza. Jeremy Bowen, of the BBC, reports that “Israelis are war-weary and polls show that a majority want a deal that returns the hostages and ends the war. Hundreds of thousands of reservists in the armed forces, the IDF, want to get back to their lives after many months in uniform on active service.”

In like fashion, it’s not fair to label all Palestinians as terrorists. Some are, but many are not. Good Palestinians of integrity do not support the actions of organisations like Hamas.

It’s a complex situation which is not helped when people adopt the simplistic media language that paints all XXs as evil people or all YYs as good people. Indeed, the actions of warfare, terrorism, and genocide that we see playing out each day are held in disdain by millions of people in the region. Like them, we should hope for, yearn for, and pray for peace.

I wrote this blog on what happened two years ago today:

Israel, the West Bank, and Hamas: a prayer for peace, and a yearning for justice

In today’s blog, I have drawn on the following sources:

https://abcnews.go.com/International/israel-hamas-wars-devastating-human-toll-after-2/story?id=126252242

https://www.aljazeera.com/news/liveblog/2025/10/7/live-israels-genocide-continues-across-gaza-two-years-since-start-of-war

https://www.bbc.com/news/articles/cvgqyj268ljo

https://www.oikoumene.org/resources/documents/statement-on-palestine-and-israel-a-call-to-end-apartheid-occupation-and-impunity-in-palestine-and-israel

For other related blogs, see

Significant days, reflecting Shoah, Independence, Nakba, and 7 October.

The problem of Canaan: conquering, colonising, massacring (Deut 34; Pentecost 22A)

Re-reading the story of Palestine and Israel

Speak, for your servant is listening (1 Samuel 3; Narrative Lectionary for Pentecost 18)

The two books of Samuel and the early chapters of 1 Kings recount the development of the monarchy in Israel, with stories of Saul, David, and Solomon, the first three men charged with the responsibility of leading Israel and ensuring that there was justice in the land. We have four passages proposed by the Narrative Lectionary at this point of the cycle, beginning this Sunday with 1 Sam 3:1–21.

These stories also engage us with the lives of prophets, Samuel and Nathan—men who were called to speak the word of God. This week we hear about the call of the young Samuel. We are told that as Samuel grew up, “the Lord was with him and let none of his words fall to the ground; and all Israel from Dan to Beer-sheba knew that Samuel was a trustworthy prophet of the Lord” (1 Sam 3:20–21). Years later, Nathan is commissioned by “the word of the Lord” to “go and tell my servant David, ‘thus says the Lord’” (2 Sam 7:4–5). That is the role of the prophet—to listen to what God says to them, and then to speak forth the word of the Lord to the people of their society.

Samuel, Nathan, and other prophets were particularly called to speak truth to the king and to recall them to the centrality of their role, to ensure that God’s justice was a reality in Israelite society (Isa 42:1–4; 61:1–2; Mic 3:8). We see this when Nathan confronts David (2 Sam 12), when Elijah confronts Ahab and the priests of Baal (1 Ki 18), when Isaiah advises Hezekiah (2 Ki 20), and when Josiah consults Huldah (2 Ki 22; 2 Chron 34).

As we pay attention to the details of the stories, let us remember that these stories are not “history” as we know it today. Rather, they are ancient tales told and retold, passed on by word of mouth and then written down, because of their enduring significance for the people of ancient Israel. Scholars call such stories “myths”, meaning that they convey something of fundamental importance. (We might best define myth as “a traditional story, usually associated with the time of origins, of paradigmatic significance for the society in which it is told”.)

See more on the nature of these stories at

How can we preach on passages in the Bible that are myths?

Identifying the stories in the narrative books of the Hebrew Scriptures as myths doesn’t mean they are “not true”—rather, it means that we need to read them, not as historically accurate accounts, but as stories which convey fundamentally important ideas. These stories were valued by people of ancient times. They may well offer us, in our own times, insights and guidance of value.

So we read and ponder these stories from old once again, in our time, because we believe that there is wisdom and guidance in the dynamics we see at work in this ancient society. We pay attention to them because we believe that the same Spirit who anointed the kings, and who called and equipped the prophets, is the very Spirit who today meets us, calls us, and equips us.

This Sunday, the Narrative Lectionary offers us a narrative that recounts the call of the young boy, Samuel, to the role of prophet (1 Sam 3:1–21). Samuel was the designated prophet whose wisdom guided the people in the early period of the monarchy. This story from the early years of Samuel’s life instructs us as we hear it in later times, to listen to God’s voice, and to respond with obedience.

Young Samuel was in the temple, where the elderly Eli was priest. In the evening, while the lamp was still burning, Samuel hears a voice. The voice simply calls his name. “Here I am”, Samuel responds when he hears that voice. He is sure that it is Samuel who is speaking to him—there is nobody else around. Three times, he hears “Samuel”; and three times, he responds “here I am” (vv.4,6,8).

Samuel had been thinking that it was Eli speaking to him; but it was not the priest, it was the voice of the Lord. The story conveys a sense of confusion and unknowing. This reflects something of the uncertainty that people of faith often have with regard to “hearing the voice of the Lord”.

Indeed, the fragility of living by faith without clear and obvious demonstration of he presence of God is signalled in the opening verse: “the word of the Lord was rare in those days; visions were not widespread” (v.1). The poor vision of the elderly priest, Eli (v.2), is a second signal of this uncertainty. The priest cannot see; the child hears but does not understand.

Paying attention to the voice of the Lord is a persistent refrain in Hebrew Scriptures. Indeed, the psalmist rejoices in the clarity of God’s voice: “the voice of the Lord is over the waters; the God of glory thunders, the Lord, over mighty waters; the voice of the Lord is powerful; the voice of the Lord is full of majesty” (Ps 29:3–4). Yet another psalmist recalls the time, in the wilderness, when the people of Israel “grumbled in their tents, and did not obey the voice of the Lord” (Ps 106:25). The people were not always faithful, even though the voice sounded with clarity. They needed reminders of that voice.

In the foundational saga of Israel, Moses is called by the voice of God while tending sheep on Mount Horeb (Exod 3:4). In obedience, he leads the people to freedom—and then informs the people, “if you will listen carefully to the voice of the Lord your God, and do what is right in his sight, and give heed to his commandments and keep all his statutes”, then God promises not to inflict them with disease (Exod 15:26). Later, when Moses has delivered to them “all the words of the Lord and all the ordinances”, the response of the people is an affirmative “all the words that the Lord has spoken we will do” (Exod 24:3).

A number of the prophets indicate that they are impelled to declare “the word of the Lord” to a sinful people because they have heard, and are obedient to, “the voice of the Lord”. Isaiah hears the voice of the Lord calling him: “whom shall I send, and who will go for us?” (Isa 6:8). Isaiah is given words of woe to pronounce over the people (Isa 6:9–13); he warns the leaders of Israel, “listen, and hear my voice; pay attention, and hear my speech” (Isa 28:23).

His fellow-southerner, the shepherd Amos, opens his words with the bold declaration, “the Lord roars from Zion, and utters his voice from Jerusalem” (Amos 1:2), before he launches into his long series of oracles against the surrounding nations (Amos 1:3—2:3) and then against Judah and Israel (Amos 2:4–16).

The image of the lord as a roaring lion is used also by Joel, “the Lord roars from Zion, and utters his voice from Jerusalem, and the heavens and the earth shake” (Joel 3:16), while in another oracle he says, “the Lord utters his voice at the head of his army; how vast is his host!” (Joel 2:1). Joel’s words of judgement penetrate to the heart of the evil of the people: the coming day will be “a day of darkness and gloom, a day of clouds and thick darkness!” (Joel 2:2), and so he calls the people to “return to [the Lord] with all your heart, with fasting, with weeping, and with mourning; rend your hearts and not your clothing” (Joel 2:12–13).

Micah also declares, “the voice of the Lord cries to the city (it is sound wisdom to fear your name)” (Mic 6:9) before he lambasts the people for their wickedness: “your wealthy are full of violence; your inhabitants speak lies, with tongues of deceit in their mouths” (Mic 6:12; the whole damning oracle is 6:9–16).

Called as a youth by “the word of the Lord” (Jer 1:4–8), Jeremiah hears the assurance, “I have put my words in your mouth” (Jer 1:9); the prophet later instructs the people, “amend your ways and your doings, and obey the voice of the Lord your God, and the Lord will change his mind about the disaster that he has pronounced against you” (Jer 26:13). Again, he tells them, “obey the voice of the Lord in what I say to you, and it shall go well with you, and your life shall be spared” (Jer 38:20). Eventually, the people affirm, “whether it is good or bad, we will obey the voice of the Lord our God to whom we are sending you, in order that it may go well with us when we obey the voice of the Lord our God” (Jer 42:6).

In the return from exile, both Haggai (Hag 1:12) and Zechariah (Zech 6:15) rejoice that Israel “obeyed the voice of the Lord their God”; but Daniel laments that his people “have not obeyed the voice of the Lord our God by following his laws, which he set before us by his servants the prophets; Israel has transgressed your law and turned aside, refusing to obey your voice” (Dan 9:10).

And yet, various prophets had hesitated when first hearing “the voice of the Lord”. The initial response of Moses is “who am I that I should go to Pharaoh, and bring the Israelites out of Egypt?” (Exod 3:11), followed by a series of further objections that he raises (Exod 3:13; 4:1; 4:10). Amos explains to the priest Amaziah how his call had surprised him: “I am no prophet, nor a prophet’s son; but I am a herdsman, and a dresser of sycamore trees” (Amos 7:14).

Isaiah seeks to excuse himself from the prophetic task: “I am lost, for I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips” (Isa 6:5). Jeremiah objects, “truly I do not know how to speak, for I am only a boy” (Jer 1:5). A number of the prophets are, initially at least, reluctant spokespersons for the Lord God.

By contrast, in the story told in 1 Sam 3, after hearing his name spoken by the Lord for a third time, Samuel responds with a declaration of obedience: “speak, for your servant is listening” (v.10). This was just as the priest Eli had instructed him (v.9). Here, Samuel demonstrates careful listening, patience, openness to what he encounters, and complete obedience to that voice.

Just beyond the passage set by the lectionary, the narrator indicates that what will follow will be dramatic and compelling; it will “make both ears of anyone who hears of it to tingle” (v.11). The immediate drama which les ahead will tell of punishment for the sins of the house of Eli. Young Samuel is given his first commission: tell his patron Eli about what lies in store for him. Samuel, in fear and trembling, dutifully does so (v.18); Eli recognises the word of the Lord in the voice of the prophet, and accepts his fate.

The pattern of Samuel’s life is thus set: he will need to summon inner strength, demonstrate commitment to the cause, use clarity of speech, and model integrity of life. The fact that the young Samuel already demonstrated these qualities may well be why this story is remembered and retold. These two stories from the early years of Samuel’s life are remembered in order to instruct those who hear them in later generations, to listen and to obey, to be brave and focussed. And so we, in our time, are to hear the story, reflect on it, and respond appropriately.

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