A sermon written by the Rev. Elizabeth Raine for the celebration of Easter Sunday, 9 April 2023, at the Tuggeranong Uniting Church
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All four Gospels tell of women, coming to the tomb where Jesus had been lain, early in the morning. In this more intimate narrative of John’s Gospel (John 20:1–18), Mary Magdalene comes alone to the tomb in the dark, not bearing myrrh, not expecting anything. The presence she encounters in the garden is not what she has previously experienced or understood.
When Mary realises that it is Jesus she sees in the garden, she instinctively reaches out to him, only to be rebuffed by the words ‘Do not hold on to me’.
It is both a tender and painful moment that sits between intimacy and distance, love and loss. It reminds us of how it was at the beginning of the pandemic, where the normal, natural instinct to reach out to touch and hold one another became a potential source of danger.
But there was no pandemic in Jerusalem when Mary heard her name being spoken in the unmistakable tones of her beloved teacher and friend, whom she had thought was lost to her forever. Mary’s seeking to touch Jesus would have been the most natural form of greeting in any circumstances, never mind in this extraordinary moment. So why does Jesus respond with what must have felt like a hurtful rejection?
We have the sense that the Gospel is picking up that Mary had a hard time letting go of the physical Jesus. It is no wonder. We all feel like this in our grief. Yet, Jesus is pointing to the broader context of God’s liberating power at work in the Easter story.
John is making the point that the risen Jesus is not a return to the ‘old normal’ but the start of something new. Life is not going to continue as before, whatever Mary’s initial hopes may have been.
The ‘new normal’, which John’s readers were already having to live, did not include Jesus’ physical presence in a recognisable, huggable human body. For a short time, resurrection appearances would convince the disciples that he was, indeed, alive, but the message was that they must not become dependent on him.
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“Do not hold onto to me”. Like much of John’s gospel, there is a deeper meaning to the words. John is advising us. Do not cling to the holy as you once knew the holy. The time is here for you to learn, see, hear and perceive anew. Open your consciousness and awake to the dawn of something entirely transformed and transforming.
We can also pick out the events of Simon Peter’s dash towards the tomb with the ‘other disciple’, and the events that unfolded there, as worthy of thinking about. When they entered the space, only the linen was there. We are told that the other disciple “saw and believed”. This is an interesting comment. What did he believe? What exactly did he see that turned his heart from despair to hope? What belief exactly did he come to?
We are told that the disciples still did not understand the scriptures in relation to Jesus’resurrection, yet something clearly happened in their understanding as they left transformed by the encounter.
Surely transformation sits at the core of the mystery of resurrection. It is not a magical replacement of the old with something new, but an innovating change from deep within. We are reminded in this story of the first Easter that God’s action often takes place in the liminal spaces—on the edges of things, at the boundary points between ‘this and that’: despair and hope, hate and love, death and life.
William Brodrick, in a thoughtful reflection used by the Northumbria community, notes that the faithful have to be like candles, “burning between hope and despair, faith and doubt, life and death” and that this is the “disquieting place where people must always find us.”
We need people like Mary who will blunder through the garden blinded by tears but also with a willingness to be curious and open to the impossible. We need people like the male disciples to wonder out loud, stay present in the moment and take risks rather than living life in fear. We need people who somehow generate more hope than we believed could be possible.
While Easter morning brings joy and hope, and a fresh start after grief and brokenness, it also encourages us to be those candles shining brightly between hope and despair in our world. It encourages us to transform and to recognise that the world cannot be the same either in a post-covid era or indeed, a post-resurrection one.
May we not cling on to things that we imagine will keep us safe: may we learn instead to let go in order to findour true selves; and die in order to rise to newness of life.
The period of Lent is forty days—although it actually takes 46 days to get from Ash Wednesday to Easter Sunday. The reason for this is that Lent is reckoned by omitting the six Sundays in this period, since Sundays are not counted in the season of Lent itself. An explanation for this was given in a statement from the Second Vatican Council (1962–1965), reflecting on ancient practice: “The Lord’s Day is the original feast day.… Other celebrations, unless they be truly of greatest importance shall not take precedence over the Sunday which is the foundation and kernel of the whole liturgical year” (Sacrosanctum Concilium, No. 106).
As the forty days draw to a close, I am reflecting on how the experience has been this year. There is always a lot of focus at the end of Lent, for it is then that we move into the high season of Easter, filled with the emotions of Good Friday, the liminal space of Holy Saturday, and the joyful celebrations of Easter Sunday. There is also a focus, somewhat less, at the start of Lent, with Shrove Tuesday—the original Mardi Gras (meaning “Fat Tuesday”) followed by the solemn Ash Wednesday rituals.
These reflections explain how Lent has been held within the Congregation where I am a member: Tuggeranong Uniting Church, in the southern suburbs of Canberra, in the Australian Capital Territory. Each weekday during Lent, first thing in the morning and then again at the end of the working day, before evening sets in, a group of people from the Congregation, and some beyond, gather online for a brief (8–12 minutes) of prayer and reflection. It is a way of marking the season in a distinctive fashion.
At each gathering, there is an opening prayer, taken from a prayer by Ruth Burgess, published in the Iona liturgical resources: the desert waits. It is a theme that invites us to pause, slow down, listen, and pray. So we hear a short scripture reading, a brief reflection in response, and then listen to a psalm. (There are many wonderful videos of psalms being sung by contemporary artists—the Sons of Korah, Francesca LaRosa, Poor Bishop Hooper, The Psalms Project, Jason Silver, and more). The session ends with a closing prayer and blessing.
The desert waits is also a theme that resonates with a key New Testament story—that of Jesus, in the wilderness for forty days, tested by the devil and sustained by angels. By tradition, it is the Gospel reading for the First Sunday in Lent every year (this year, we heard Matt 4:1–11).
That story, of course, draws deeper from the wells of Hebrew Scripture, where many stories include the time frame of forty days, or forty years. Rain fell during the flood for “forty days and forty nights” (Gen 7:4); then Noah waited for forty days after the tops of mountains were seen after the flood, before releasing a raven (Gen 8:6–7). The people wandered in the wilderness for forty years, to “suffer for their faithlessness” (Num 14:33) at the decree of the Lord, “until all the generation that had done evil in the sight of the Lord had disappeared” (Num 32:13). The spies which Moses sent into the land returned to report to Moses after forty days (Num 13:25).
Moses was said to have spent three consecutive periods of “forty days and forty nights” on Mount Sinai; first, to receive the Torah (Deut 9:9–11), then to beg forgiveness on behalf of the people (Deut 9:25–29), and for a third time seek again God’s forgiveness (Deut 10:10–11). A number of leaders in Israel were said to have reigned for forty years: Eli (1 Sam 4:18), Saul (Acts 13:21), David (2 Sam 5:4), and Solomon (1 Kings 11:42). The prophet Elijah walked for forty days to Mount Horeb, where he meets God “in the sound of sheer silence” (1 Kings 19:12).
All of this indicates that the period of forty days or years was a rounded-out way of describing “a long period of time”—not an accurate reporting of precise days or years, but an indication that whatever was being described was an extended, lengthy period of time. It was a story-teller’s phrase, not an historian’s precise chronicling.
During the extended period of this current Lent, in the online daily prayers each morning being hosted by Tuggeranong Uniting Church, we have traced the theme of wilderness, through a series of readings that commenced in the stories of the ancestors: Abraham and Hagar (Gen 16:7), Hagar and Ishmael (Gen 21:14, 20–21); and Moses on Mount Horeb where he saw the burning bush (Exod 3:1–7).
After that, we spent a week hearing of the travails of the Israelites in the wilderness (Exodus 13–17) and then passages which indicated the extent of the land that was promised to them (Exod 23:31–32; Deut 32:8–10; Joshua 5:6–9; and Joshua 20:7–9) before ending the week with a song about the power of God, seen in creation (Psalm 29:5–11). These stories each morning were coupled each evening with a psalm which was read and then sung, during which our personal reflections were voted.
Following that, the focus of morning prayers was on hearing the names of the people who already lived in the land that had been promised to Israel from the time of Abraham onwards: “the Kenites, Kenizzites, Kadmonites, Hittites, Perizzites, Rephaim, Amorites, Canaanites, Girgashites, and Jebusites.
We heard the genealogical list of the descendants of Canaan, the grandson of Noah (Gen 10:1–20), then the promise to Abraham (Gen 18:1, 18–20) and then to Moses (Exod 3:7–10), the instructions given through Moses to “make no covenant with them and show them no mercy” (Deut 20:1–5), and the list of “the kings of the land whom Joshua and the Israelites defeated” (Joshua 12:7–8). Each time, a list of these original peoples was given. Again, a psalm for reflection was matched with these passages.
This list of people already inhabiting the land, but confronted by—and in some cases annihilated by—the invading Israelites, is sobering. For each day during this week, we viewed, firstly, the map of peoples in Canaan, and then the map of peoples on the continent of Australia that we know were here before the British invasion and colonisation of 1788 onwards.
There were many more nations in Australia than there were in Canaan, which is of course understandable since the land mass of the continent is far, far larger than that of Canaan. However, there are very strong resonances between the fate of the First Peoples of Australia and the fate of many of the peoples of Canaan. (The graphic description provided in the battle scenes of Joshua and Judges were not read during the daily prayers; these are available in our Bibles for people to read and reflect on individually.)
So alongside the map of those First Nations, we began to reflect on the experience of those peoples. We heard how the Uniting Church has described this period of history in the opening clauses of the Revised Preamble to the Constitution of the UCA (adopted in 2009 by the National Assembly). We listened, each day, to Aboriginal singers, singing both in their own languages as well as in English: the late Dr. G. Yunupingu (known as Gurrumul), Frank Yamma, Archie Roach, the group Wildflower, and then Yothu Yindi, singing their key song, “Treaty”. And we heard sentences from the 2017 Statement to the Nation read each day.
After this week of listening to the voices of the indigenous people in the morning prayers, the following week offered a series of reflections with a different psalm sung each day, drawn from the quieter, reflective psalms in which the psalmist reaches out to God to seek support and healing. It is as if these psalms might be sung by the First Peoples, in the light of their experiences of invasion and colonisation, the many massacres that took place, and the intergenerational trauma that resulted.
As we heard these psalms sung, we began also to listen to the series of psalms known as the “Psalms of Ascent”. They are so called because it is believed they were sung by faithful Israelites as they made their pilgrimage to Jerusalem on one of the three annual festivals—the Feast of Unleavened Bread (Passover), the Feast of Weeks (Pentecost), and the Feast of Tabernacles (as listed in Deut 16:16). They begin “in my distress I cry to the Lord” (Ps 120:1), moving on to “I lift up my eyes to the hills” (Ps 121:1), as the outline of the city on Mount Zion appears in the far distance.
We can imagine the pilgrims drawing closer to the walls of the city as the psalmist sings, “I was glad when they said to me, ‘Let us go to the house of the Lord!’l (Ps 122:1), then offers an expression of trust in God (Ps 124:8; 125:1–2) and confidence in God’s house (Ps 127:1). I imagine that, entering the city, the psalmist offers to a heartfelt cry to God from “out of the depths” (Ps 130:1), and as the Temple comes into view, sings, “Let us go to his dwelling place, let us worship at his footstool” (Ps 132:7).
Psalm 134 in Hebrew
As our daily prayers continue, we hear the shortest of all the Psalms of Ascent, with the pilgrims “stand[ing] by night in the house of the Lord”, concluding with the prayer, “may the Lord, maker of heaven and earth, bless you from Zion” (Ps 134:3). As the season of Lent had begun with the theme “the desert waits”, so as we draw near to the end of the season, “the city beckons”. It is in the city that the pilgrims of long ago offered their sacrifices and praised their God. It is in the city that the story of Jesus, recalled especially in the days of Holy Week, reaches its climax.
This brings us to readings which recollect the entry of Jesus himself into the city of Jerusalem (Matt 21:1–11), the week of scenes in the Temple precincts (Matt 21:12—23:39) and nearby (Matt 24:1—26:2), and the hatching of the plot to arrest him (Matt 26:3–5) which would lead to his death, which is recalled as Good Friday ends the period of Lent.
We end daily prayers during Holy Week, on the morning of Maundy Thursday, with a section of Psalm 22. We know this psalm best from the fact that Jesus was said to have begun to say it, as he hung on the cross (Mark 15:34; Matt 27:46). Whether he intended only to speak the first verse, or whether his waning strength meant he could get no further than this, we do not know.
We cannot know whether Jesus intended to end with the words of praise from the later part of the psalm (vv.21b to 31), with an exultant “praise in the great congregation”, proclaiming “his deliverance to a people yet unborn”, as some scholars speculate. More likely, in my thinking, he was content to stay in the despair and agony of the opening section (vv.1–21a), feeling forsaken, his prayers going unanswered, one scorned and mocked, “poured out like water, all of my bones out of joint, my heart like wax, melted within my breast “ (v.14).
The psalm portrays a man, completely human, utterly defeated, with no hope, crushed by events. Both Mark and Matthew report that this is how he ended his life. The end of our Lenten journey takes us to this place of abandonment. It will be the work of Easter to process the powerful emotions generated by this devastating state of being, and move through the testimony offered about the ensuing moments, to come through the tunnel of darkness, into “deliverance [for] a people yet unborn” (v.31). Those days are still ahead.
Psalm 118 is one of the HallelPsalms—six psalms (113 to 118) which are sung or recited on high festival days, such as Passover (Pesach), the Festival of Weeks (Shavuot), and the Festival of Booths (Sukkot), as well as Hanukkah and the beginning of each new month. This final Hallel Psalm, like the other five, is intended to be an uplifting, celebratory song, suitable for the congregation to hear and to sing as a way to inspire and rejoice.
It is no surprise that this psalm is offered by the lectionary for this coming Sunday, Easter Sunday (Ps 118:1–2, 14–24), for this is a day which celebrates with joy the raising of Jesus from the dead (Matt 28:1–10). This psalm is very suited to the celebrations that take place in churches on this high holy day.
The psalm begins with a call to “give thanks” and an affirmation of the “steadfast love” of the Lord (vv.1-2). The next two verses, following the same pattern are omitted by the lectionary. However, I am thinking that the pattern of the first four verses, calling people to join in the affirmation, “his steadfast love endures forever”, could well be extended from “Israel … the house of Aaron … those who fear the Lord”, to include “let those who know the risen Lord Jesus say, “his steadfast love endures forever”.
God’s steadfast love is a recurrent theme throughout Hebrew Scripture, which often sings praises for “a God merciful and gracious, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love and faithfulness” (Exod 34:6; 2 Chron 30:8–9; Neh 9:17, 32; Jonah 4:2; Joel 2:13; Ps 86:15; 103:8, 11; 111:4; 145:8–9).
Affirmations of “[God’s] steadfast love” (v.2) are found in psalms (Ps 5:7; 6:4; 13:5; 17:7; 18:50; 21:7; 25:6–7; 25:10; 26:3; and another 100 times) and various narratives (Gen 24:12–14, 27; 32:10; 39:21; Exod 15:13; 20:6; 34:6–7; Num 4:18–19; Deut 5:10; 2 Sam 2:6; 7:15; 15:20; 22:51; 1 Ki 3:6; 8:23; 1 Chron 16:34, 41; 17:13; 2 Chron 1:8; 5:13; 6:14; 6:42; 7:3, 6; Ezra 3:11; 7:28; 9:9; Neh 1:5; 9:17, 32; 13:22).
Many prophets speak about God’s “steadfast love” (Isa 16:5; 54:10; 55:3; 63:7; Jer 9:24; 16:5; 32:18; 33:11; Lam 3:22, 33; Dan 9:4; Hos 2:19; 6:6; 10:12; Joel 2:13; Jonah 4:2; Micah 7:18), and Job also refers to it (Job 10:12).
The pervasive presence of this theme indicates just how central it was to ancient Israelite thought and how integral it was to how God was understood. The idea carries on into New Testament writings through the love that God expresses in Jesus (John 15:9; Rom 8:39; Eph 2:4–7; 1 John 3:1; 4:9) and is manifest through the Spirit (Rom 5:5; Gal 5:22).
However, we should never imagine that the God of love is simply “a New Testament idea”, in contrast to a perceived (completely inaccurate) view of “the God of wrath” in the Old Testament. The idea of divine love is shared in equal measure amongst both testaments. (So, too, we find the idea of divine judgement in both testaments—but that is another story!)
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In the selection of verses offered by the lectionary (vv.1–2, 14–24), we encounter some other well-known concepts. The reference to “the chief cornerstone” (v.22) appears also in an oracle of Isaiah, “see, I am laying in Zion a foundation stone, a tested stone, a precious cornerstone, a sure foundation” (Isa 28:16), which continues, “I will make justice the line, and righteousness the plummet” (Isa 28:17).
It is found also in Zechariah’s strident oracle against the shepherds, of whom the prophet says, “of them shall come the cornerstone, out of them the tent peg, out of them the battle bow, out of them every commander. Together they shall be like warriors in battle, trampling the foe in the mud of the streets; they shall fight, for the Lord is with them, and they shall put to shame the riders on horses” (Zech 10:4–5). Clearly, the “cornerstone” (along with “the tent peg” and “the battle bow”) offers a somewhat cryptic reference to an anticipated future leader in Israel.
The “cornerstone” has then been picked up in the New Testament, where it is interpreted as referring to Jesus; in a speech attributed to Peter when he and John were before the Council in Jerusalem because of a “good deed done to someone who was sick” (Acts 4:9), namely, the healing of a man lame from birth (Acts 3:1–10). “This man is standing before you in good health by the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, whom you crucified, whom God raised from the dead”, Peter is reported as saying; “this Jesus is ‘the stone that was rejected by you, the builders; it has become the cornerstone.’ There is salvation in no one else, for there is no other name under heaven given among mortals by which we must be saved” (Acts 4:11). This is a critical theological statement placed on the lips of Peter.
In like manner—although less directly, in a more allusive fashion—Jesus equates himself with this “cornerstone” when draws to a close his parable about the vineyard and the tenants who killed all who were sent to them by the master, culminating in the master’s son; at that point in the parable, Jesus curtly concludes, “have you not read this scripture: ‘The stone that the builders rejected has become the cornerstone; this was the Lord’s doing, and it is amazing in our eyes’?” (Mark 12:10–11; Matt 21:42; Luke 20:17). In this citation of the psalm, Jesus has extended to include the following verse, about “the Lord’s doing”, which is a cause for amazement.
We hear that affirmation on Easter Sunday, in the psalm: “this is the Lord’s doing; it is marvellous in our eyes” (Ps 118:23). When included in a Christian liturgy, these words seem very readily to reflect the experience of the first Easter—a marvellous deed, indeed.
The psalm then continues in an upbeat manner, with “this is the day that the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it” (Ps 118:24), echoing once more an oracle of Isaiah, “Lo, this is our God; we have waited for him, so that he might save us; this is the Lord for whom we have waited; let us be glad and rejoice in his salvation” (Isa 25:9). That oracle includes three elements included in this section of the psalm: joy, at the chosen time, with knowledge of salvation.
The linking of “be glad” with “rejoice” is also common throughout Hebrew Scriptures (1 Chron 16:31; Ps 14:7; 32:11; 40:16; 48:11; 53:6; 70:4; 90:14; 96:11; 97:1; 149:2; Prov 23:24–25; 24:17; Isa 35:1; 65:18; 66:10; Lam 4:21; Joel 2:21, 23; Zech 10:7). The people of Israel were called to joyous praise quite often.
The celebration of the means of salvation is certainly a theme that is relevant to Easter Sunday, when this psalm is offered in the lectionary. It is worth singing and celebrating on this day!
The passage from Acts which is offered by the lectionary this coming Sunday (Acts 10:34–43) is an impassioned speech to Gentiles, by the Jewish man, Peter. It is one of a number of speeches that are found throughout the first two thirds of the book of Acts, in which one of the leaders in the movement that was initiated by Jesus (and would later become “the church”) spoke to others, declaring “the good news about the kingdom of God and the name of Jesus Christ” (8:12; see also 8:25, 35, 40; 13:32; 14:7, 15, 21; 15:7; 16:10; 17:18; 20:24).
These speeches, of course, all come to us from the pen of one person, the author of this work; although they are, in good speech-writing style, shaped to the particular situation at hand, there is nevertheless a consistency of themes, ideas, and language that runs through the speeches which have what me might call an evangelistic purpose—declaring the good news (the evangel) to those who have not yet heard it. Whether it is Peter, Stephen, Philip, or Paul who is speaking, the message is consistent and focussed on Jesus and how he relates to God’s intention for the people being addressed.
So Peter has come, by a sequence of events that Luke wants us to understand were quite miraculous, from Joppa to Caesarea; from the house of the Jewish man Simon, a tanner, with whom he was staying in Joppa (9:43), to the house of Cornelius, a centurion—and thus most likely a Gentile—in Caesarea (10:1–2). That movement, in itself, is quite significant, as Peter moves from his fellow-Jews to the Gentiles. Cornelius was sympathetic to Judaism; he is described as “a devout man who feared God … who gave alms and payed constantly” (10:2), he was, nevertheless, a Gentile; and those of his household were, likewise, Gentiles.
What Peter says in this speech in the Gentile household of Cornelius needs to be understood in the context of the events that have just taken place, and indeed in terms of the whole span of events recounted in this volume. Peter had been called to Caesarea by a vision, in which God spoke directly to Peter (10:9–15)—and Luke,reports that this took place, not once, but three times (10:16). In what God said, Peter was given a message, to declare to others who were part of the movement that he had been leading since Jesus had ascended into heaven (1:6–14).
That message, “what God has made clean, you must not call profane” (10:15) was, in effect a call to Peter to speak to that movement as a prophet. Prophets were anointed by the spirit to declare “the word of the Lord” for the people of their time (1 Sam 19:20, 23; Isa 11:2; 59:21; 61:1; Ezek 2:2; Joel 2:28–29; Micah 3:8; Zech 7:12, referring to “the former prophets”). Indeed, the servant of the Lord himself is guided by the spirit (Isa 42:1). The Spirit actually calls Peter to go with three men who have come searching for him (10:19–20); they lead him to Caesarea, to the house of Cornelius, where he duly delivers this message (10:24–29).
Subsequently, as he speaks in more details to the assembled household, the Spirit falls on all present, as they listen to Peter’s words (10:44). This coming of the Spirit had happened before, and it will happen again, as the story of Acts continues. But there is something striking and significance about this story of the coming of the spirit.
This has happened before. The spirit has twice filled the messianic community gathered in the Jewish capital, Jerusalem (at Pentecost, 2:1-4, and subsequently, 4:31). When the spirit is poured out on the Gentiles (10:45) in this gentile capital, it is already known that this is an act of God; “God declares, I will pour out my Spirit upon all flesh, and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, and your young men shall see visions, and your old men shall dream dreams” (2:17).
In both previous cases, God had acted through the spirit in relation to Jews. That this current outpouring of the spirit, outside of Judaea, amongst Gentiles, is still an act of God, is emphasised by a series of narrative comments. The Jewish believers present express surprise at “the gift of the holy spirit” (10:45), but the reader already knows that such a gift is from God (2:38, 8:18).
They hear the Gentiles “speaking in tongues” (10:46), a phenomenon already experienced as a divine event in Jerusalem (2:11). Peter draws this connection when he interprets the event: they “received the spirit as we also [did]” (10:47; see 2:38). Peter and his fellow Jews thus “exulted God” (10:47; see 5:13).
Indeed, the Spirit had come to these Gentiles after a striking sequence of events had taken place. Peter had a vision whilst praying in Joppa, that he was no longer to keep separate at table (10:9–16). No longer were Jews to eat separated from Gentiles. God had declared all foods clean (10:15), so separate table fellowship was now overturned. Peter receives this dramatic change to the status quo—and he faithfully acts on it.
Peter and his companions in Joppa share at table with the men from Cornelius (10:23; 11:4–11) and then, when they have travelled to Caesarea, with the household of Cornelius and those who were baptised with him (10:48; 11:12–18). Indeed, the very point of the vision seen by Peter is to establish an inclusive, all-embracing table fellowship in the Jesus movement, open to both Jews and Gentiles, from this point onwards (11:3).
This is a moment when the old is overturned, and the new is implemented. It is a strong moment of transition for the early church. From this time, the good news spreads amongst Gentiles; to the extent that it does, indeed, reach “to the ends of the earth” (see 1:8) by the end of the book. (In saying this, I take the arrival of Paul into Rome in Ch.28 to be a symbol of the fact that, as the good news becomes known in Rome, the centre of the dominant empire of the day, so that message will then be taken out from the city into all the far-flung reaches of the empire—in a sense, “to the ends of the earth”.)
So the story of Peter and Cornelius, narrated in detail in chapter 10 and then reported in summary to the gathering in Jerusalem in chapter 11, is a key turning point in the overall story being told in Acts. (In my research, I describe Acts 8–12 as “the turn to the Gentiles”, the pivot on which the whole story turns.) it is in this dramatic and pivotal context that Peter speaks the words which are offered by the lectionary for the First Reading on Easter Sunday. This speech is worth attending to in some detail.
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This speech by Peter begins in the characteristic style of previous speeches, by announcing God as its subject (see 2:16–21, 22; 3:13; 4:24; 5:29–30; 7:2; and see subsequently at 13:16–17; 14:15–17; 15:7, 13–17; 17:23–25; and as a summary, 20:24, 27). I have explored this in other blogs at
The key theme of this speech is the impartiality of God (10:34), an important theme, especially in later scriptural writings. “The Lord your God is God of gods and Lord of lords, the great God, mighty and awesome, who is not partial and takes no bribe”, Moses declares (Deut 10:17). God is one “who shows no partiality to nobles, nor regards the rich more than the poor—for they are all the work of his hands”, Elihu advises Job (Job 34:19).
Later writings concur: “the Lord of all will not stand in awe of anyone, or show deference to greatness … he takes thought for all alike” (Wisd 6:7), and “do not offer [the Lord] a bribe, for he will not accept it … the Lord is the judge, and with him there is no partiality; he will not show partiality to the poor, but he will listen to the prayer of the one who is wronged; he will not ignore the supplication of the orphan, or the widow when she pours out her complaint” (Sir 35:13–17).
This theme of divine impartiality thus reinforces and confirms the message of the vision (10:11–16). Even though the prescriptions of the levitical holiness code where being adhered to by faithful Jews, the vision speaks over those regulations and invites that who see it and hear God’s words into a new manner of being community. Specifically, that vision validated table-fellowship as being consistent with divine impartiality, a key aspect of God’s nature. Things would be different from now on!
Peter explains that this divine impartiality is especially evident in Jesus, whom he affirms as Lord of all (10:36). Peter interprets the whole life of Jesus as the action of God, who anointed him, was with him, raised him and made him manifest (10:37–43). For Peter, the significance of what Jesus did and said was that he was addressing not only Jews, but also Gentiles.
Peter affirms both the apostolic witness: “we are witnesses to all that he did” (10:39,41; see 2:32, 3:15, 5:32) and also the prophetic witness: “all the prophets testify about him” (10:43; see 2:25-31,33–35, 3:18,21–25, 4:25–26). We see here a rhetorical strategy typical of Luke, who has Peter make the exaggerated claim that “all the prophets testify about him” (10:43; see 3:24). These prophets testify to “the forgiveness of sins” which is essential to this proclamation (2:38, 5:31, 13:38).
Peter continues, that Jesus has been “ordained by God” to be the eschatological “judge of the living and the dead” (10:42), a concept which Paul will later express (17:31; cf. 24:15). The speech thus comprises a consistent exposition of God’s activities in Jesus, extensively in the past as well as (briefly) in the future. When we read what Peter says here, alongside what he says in other evangelistic speeches in Acts (chs. 2, 3, 4, 5, and 13), as well as what Stephen says in his long speech (Ch.7) and what Paul says to Jews (Ch.13) and to Gentiles (chs. 14 and 17), we end up with a most comprehensive statement of the Gospel and how it relates to the ways that God had long been at work in Israel.
The author’s interpretation of the events that have taken place in Caesarea draws them into close relationship with the interpretation of Jesus which Peter has given (here, and in earlier speeches in Acts). That is not surprising, since it is the one person (Luke, the alleged author of this work) who has reported all of these speeches—and, in my opinion, has actually created each speech.
Certainly, the speech itself relates to key features in the surrounding scenes involving Peter, a Jewish man, with the Gentile Cornelius, and his Gentile household. The impartial God who has acted through Jesus (10:34–43) is the same God who declares all things clean (10:15), who shows this to Peter (10:28), who gifts Gentiles by pouring out the spirit (10:45), and who is exulted by the people (10:46). It is language about God which interprets the significance of the narrative at each key moment.
The consequence of this dramatic event is noted briefly: “they invited him to remain for some days” (10:48b). Table-fellowship with Gentiles and the breach of the food rules was considered to be the inevitable result of God’s actions (see also 11:15–18). Such hospitality continues to be one of the key markers of the church today. That is the good news which is declared by the Easter event, when we remember that “God raised Jesus from the dead” and we testify that “everyone who believes in him receives forgiveness of sins through his name”.
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In this blog I have developed themes, ideas, and analysis that I wrote in my commentary on Acts in the Eerdmans Commentary on the Bible, ed. Dunn and Rogerson (Eerdmans, 2003). I have also explored the theme of the plan of God throughout Luke and Acts in the doctoral research that I undertook in the 1980s, which was published in 1993 by Cambridge University Press as The plan of God in Luke-Acts (SNTSM 76).
Today we begin Holy Week. This is the final part of a longer period leading up to Easter, called Lent. We do this every year, as part of the annual cycle. It is a familiar and comforting ritual for many people of Christian faith.
Holy Week culminates the season of Lent, which is an ancient practice for a Christian people. It lasts for 40 days, serving as a time of preparation for Easter. But whereas Lent is an ancient tradition, Holy Week is a more recent development. Designating the week leading up to Easter as Holy Week most probably comes from the narration of chapters 11 and 12 of Mark’s Gospel, in which Jesus is understood as being in Jerusalem from a Sunday until his last meal on a Thursday.
We can see those time markers embedded in Mark’s account of Jesus’ final days: Sunday – “when they were approaching Jerusalem …” [Mark 11:1] Monday – “on the following day …” [Mark 11:12] Tuesday – “In the morning …” [Mark 11:20] Wednesday – “It was two days before Passover …” [Mark 14:1] Thursday – “On the first day of Unleavened Bread …” [Mark 14:12] Friday – “As soon as it was morning …” [Mark 15:1] Saturday – “When the Sabbath was over …” [Mark 16:1] Sunday – “Early on the first day of the week …” [Mark 16:2]” (Thanks to Greg Jenks for setting this out so clearly in his blog.)
The week starts with Palm Sunday, when Christians remember Jesus entering Jerusalem and the crowds waving palm leaves as he enters the city. Jesus stays near to the city for the remainder of the week. On this day, we remember that event with festive processions and cheerful hymns.
Each day during Holy Week, from Monday to Thursday, many churches hold daily prayers that are pertinent to the week.
On Maundy Thursday, Christians remember Jesus washing his disciples’ feet. His words are recorded in John 13:34, “A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another.” This gives rise to the name for the day. The Latin for “commandment” is mandatum—hence the name of the day, Maundy.
Some people believe that Lent officially ends at sundown on Maundy Thursday, so they celebrate that with Holy Communion, or with a meal known as an agapé or a “love feast”. It is a remembrance of the last meal that Jesus shared with his followers. Others maintain that Lent continues through into Easter Saturday, until the end of the day just before the empty tomb is discovered.
After Maundy Thursday comes Good Friday, remembering when Jesus was crucified. Why is this day called Good? It comes from the theological evaluation that, on this Friday, Jesus died on the cross “for our sins”, thereby securing our redemption. This is the basis for the “good news” which the Church has proclaimed for centuries.
Churches all around the world normally hold various rituals for people to attend. Roman Catholics have the Adoration of the Cross, the Mass of the Pre-Sanctified, the Stations of the Cross, and Evening Prayers. Anglicans have a three-hour service with reflections on the Last Words of Christ. Many people come for these times of gathering together.
The Stations of the Cross are focused around the events of Good Friday, recalling the various events which took place as Jesus made his way from his trial to his death on the cross. These Stations have been appropriated, in art or through personal creative responses, as ways of moving attention from the story as a singular ‘history’, to the significance of the story and the resonance of the events with universal human experiences.
Next comes Holy Saturday or Easter Eve—a day of vigil, when believers watch, wait and pray. This is an in-between time, a day when time can be spent reflecting back on the traumatic events that have just taken place, and looking forward with hope to the new possibilities that might emerge from those event.
After Holy Saturday, the celebration of Easter Sunday bursts through the gloom and despair with a vibrant message: Jesus is risen, Jesus has conquered death. Counting inclusively, as was done at the time, beginning from Friday, means that Sunday is the third day. So the traditional affirmation is that Jesus rose “on the third day”. This leads into an expression of joy, that the trauma and grief, the uncertainty and fear, are now passed. Life is different; hope is renewed; the future, even if it looks different, will still be viable.
For the next period of time, the Church moves into a new season—the season of Easter, 40 days when the celebration of resurrection continues. And so the cycle continues, death turning into life, despair breaking out into hope, frustration moving into promise.
Easter itself emerged out of the Jewish festival of Passover, for this is the setting of the story about the arrest, trial, and crucifixion of Jesus that is reported in the Gospels (Mark 14:1–25; John 13:1; 18:28; 19:14).
There is a meme that circulates every year at this time, claiming that Waster was originally a pagan celebration, focussed on the fertility goddess Eostre—but this has no basis in fact. It derives from what seemed, to him, to be an educated guess made by the 8th century scholar, Bede, but this is completely incorrect.
“Save us, we beseech you, O Lord!” This is the cry we hear in the psalm which is offered by the lectionary for this coming Sunday, Palm Sunday, the Sunday in Lent. Psalm 118 is one of the Hallel Psalms—six psalms (113 to 118) which are sung or recited on high festival days, such as Passover (Pesach), the Festival of Weeks (Shavuot), and the Festival of Booths (Sukkot), as well as Hanukkah and the beginning of each new month. This final Hallel Psalm, like the other five, is intended to be an uplifting, celebratory song, suitable for the congregation to hear and to sing as a way to inspire and rejoice.
It is no surprise that this psalm is offered by the lectionary for this coming Sunday, Palm Sunday—because the Gospel story for this day, of Jesus entering the city of Jerusalem to the acclaim of the crowd (Matt 21:1–11), is certainly one of celebration and joy. It is also, equally unsurprisingly, offered as the psalm for a week later, on Easter Sunday, which celebrates something much greater and more enduring: the raising of Jesus from the dead (Matt 28:1–10).
But clearly the psalm has a good fit with the Palm Sunday story that we will hear on Sunday; indeed, the Gospel writers report that the crowd cheering Jesus was singing, “Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord”—which is, of course, a verse from the final Hallel Psalm (Ps 118:26).
Blessing God is a favourite Jewish activity—indeed, so many prayers still used by Jews today begin with a phrase of blessing: “Blessed are you, O Lord our God …”. Blessed are You, O Lord our God, Ruler of the universe, Who brings forth bread from the earth is prayed before a meal. Blessed are You, O Lord our God, Ruler of the universe, who creates the fruit of the vine is prayed before drinking wine. And a favourite blessing which I learnt from Jews is Blessed are you, O Lord our God, Ruler of the Universe, who has kept us alive, sustained us, and brought us to this moment. It’s a prayer to mark momentous occasions in life.
All of these prayers of blessing begin with the Hebrew words, Baruch atah Adonai Elohenu melekh ha’olam, the same formula of approaching, acknowledging, and blessing God.
We can see that formula used in blessings spoken by David (1 Chron 29:19 and the psalmist (Ps 119:12), as well as in later Jewish texts such as Tobit 3:11; 8:5, 15–17; Judith 13:17; 14:7; the Prayer of Azariah (six times), and 1 Maccabees 4:20. It appears also in New Testament texts such as Luke 1:68; Rom 9:5; 2 Cor 1:3; Eph 1:3; and 1 Pet 1:3.
More familiar, perhaps, is when Jesus uses a prayer of blessing, but speaks it to human beings; “blessed are you, Simon son of Jonah” (Matt 16:17), or “blessed are the eyes that see what you see”, to his disciples (Luke 10:23), or “blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe” (John 20:29), and most famously of all, in a set of blessings spoken to a crowd on a level place (Luke 6:20–22) or to his disciples on a mountain top (Matt 5:3–12).
So the cry of the crowd as Jesus enters Jerusalem, “Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord” (Ps 118:26) is a typical Jewish exclamation at a moment of joyful celebration.
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A further reason for linking this psalm with the Gospel narrative might well be that the cry of the crowd, “Hosanna!” (Mark 11:9–10; Matt 21:9; John 12:13). The word transliterated as “Hosanna” might actually be better translated as “save us”—another quote from the previous verse in that same psalm (Ps 118:25). The Hebrew comprises two words: hosha, which is from the verb “to save”, and then the word na, meaning “us”. Hosanna is not, in the first instance, a cry of celebration; rather, it is a cry of help, reaching out to God, pleading for assistance—and yet with the underlying confidence that God will, indeed, save, for “his steadfast love endures forever” (vv.1, 29).
Whilst the psalm, overall, sounds thanks for a victory that has been achieved, the petition, “save us” (v. 25) lies behind the first substantial section of this psalm (vv.5–14), which is largely omitted by the lectionary offering for this coming Sunday (which is Ps 118:1–2, 14–24). That section begins “out of my distress I called on the Lord” (v.5), claims that “the Lord is on my side to help me” (v.7), and concludes with rejoicing, “I was pushed hard, so that I was falling, but the Lord helped me; the Lord is my strength and my might; he has become my salvation” (vv.13–14).
“Save us” is a prayer offered in other psalms (Ps 54:1; 80:2; 106:47); the petition appears more often in the singular, “save me” (Ps 7:1; 22:21; 31:16; 54:1; 55:16; 59:2; 69:1; 71:2; 109:26; 119:94, 146; 142:6; 143:9). “Save us” when faced with danger is the prayer of the elders of Israel as they faced the Philistine army (1 Sam 4:3) and the all the people a little later (1 Sam 7:8), David when the ark was put in place in Jerusalem (1 Chron 16:35), Hezekiah when Judah was being threatened by the Assyrians (2 Ki 19:19), as well as the prophet Isaiah at the same time (Isa 25:9; 33:22; 37:20).
This prayer in the context of festive celebrations—the context for which Psalm 118 appears to have been written—expresses the firm confidence of the people, trusting in the power of their God. That viewpoint is perfectly applicable to the Palm Sunday story (and even more so to the Easter Sunday narrative!).
But this psalm is not only a prayer of celebration; it is also a strong statement about the resilience and trust of the people, expressing their belief that God will give them redemption, even in the face of their Roman overlords, who had held political and military power for many decades. If this is what the crowd intended with their cry as Jesus enters the city—and I have no reason to see otherwise—then this is a striking, courageous political cry embedded in the story! It is a cry that affirms that salvation is at hand.
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Salvation is what is in the mind of the people as they cry, “save us” (v.25) and the earlier affirmation, “I thank you that you have answered me and have become my salvation” (v.21). As we have noted, “save us” was a recurring cry amongst the Israelites. In the song sung after the Exodus, the people acclaim God, singing “the Lord is my strength and my might, and he has become my salvation” (Exod 15:2). In his song of thanksgiving after battles with the Philistines, David praises God as “my rock, my shield and the horn of my salvation” (2 Sam 22:3; also vv.36, 47, 51; and 1 Chron 16:23, 35).
The same language, of salvation, appears in the psalms (Ps 13:5; 18:2, 35, 46; 24:5; 25:5; and another 40 times) and the prophets (Isa 12:2–3; 25:9; 33:2, 6; 45:8, 17; 46:13; 51:5–6; 52:7, 10; 56:1; 59:11; 61:10; 62:11; Mer 3:23; Mic 7:7; Hab 3:18). From the psalms, we remember “the Lord is my light and my salvation” (Ps 27:1); from Isaiah, “I will give you as a light to the nations, that my salvation may reach to the end of the earth” (Is 49:6).
There are a dozen occasions in Hebrew Scripture when God is identified as Saviour (2 Sam 22:3; Ps 17:7; 106:21; Isa 43:3, 11; 45:15, 21; 49:26; 60:16; 63:8; Jer 14:8); as the Lord God declares through Hosea, “I have been the Lord your God ever since the land of Egypt; you know no God but me, and besides me there is no Saviour” (Hos 14:4).
Salvation is linked with righteousness; “the salvation of the righteous is from the Lord … he rescues them from the wicked and saves them” (Ps 37:39–40). Being righteous is a quality of the Lord God (Ps 11:7; 35:28; 50:6; 71:16; 85:10; 89:16; 97:2, 6; 103:17; 111:3; 116:5; 119:137, 152; 129:4; Isa 45:21; Jer 23:6; 33:16; Dan 9:16; Zeph 3:5) which is thus desired of those in covenant with God (Gen 18:19; 1 Sam 26:23; 2 Sam 22:21, 25; 1 Ki 10:9; 2 Chron 9:8; Job 29:14; Ps 5:8; 9:8; 11:7; 33:5; Prov 1:3; Isa 1:27; 5:7; 28:17; 42:6; 61:11; Jer 22:3; Ezek 18:5–9; Hos 10:12; Amos 5:24; Zeph 2:3; Mal 3:3).
It is no surprise, then, that this psalm celebrates that “[God] has become my salvation” (Ps 118:21) by holding a “festal procession with branches” (v.27), entering through “the gates of righteousness” (v.19) and proceeding all the way “up to the horns of the altar” (v.27), singing “save us, Lord” (v.25) and “blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord” (v.26). This is a high celebratory moment!
So the closing verses take us back to the opening refrain, “O give thanks to the Lord, for he is good, for his steadfast love endures forever” (v.29; see also vv.1–4). The celebration is lifted to the highest level, with praise and thanksgiving abounding. And that makes this a perfect psalm for Palm Sunday!
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On the indications of the political nature of the Palm Sunday scene, see
Another step in the story of evangelical fundamentalism in the Uniting Church has come to a close. The Assembly of Confessing Congregations (ACC) has recently decided to close. It brings to an end a long process of various evangelical organisations within the life of the Uniting Church which have attempted to “correct” the theology and practice of the Uniting Church, since it was established in 1977. They said they were evangelical; I heard little of the Gospel in their words and saw only dogmatic fundamentalism in what they did.
The ACC has existed as an entity within the UCA since 2006. It took its name from the Confessing Church that formed in Nazi Germany in the 1930s—a name that has also been adopted by other conservative groups around the world, staking their claim for “the true Gospel”. Of course, looking back to the 1930s and 1940s, we can see that the German Confessing Church in Hitler’s Germany did, indeed, hold fast to the principles of the Gospel. For other movements that later took that name, making their stand over other issues does not appear to be as clear cut. At least, that is my take on them.
The ACC is the child of the Reforming Alliance (RA), which had been formed in 2003—the RA was a relatively short-lived entity, as it soon morphed into the ACC in 2006. RA itself was a child of the Evangelical Members of the Uniting Church (EMU), making the ACC the grandchild of EMU. EMU had been formed early in the life of the Uniting Church.
Each of these conservative splinter groups sought to enforce their narrow and retrograde understanding of matters pertaining particularly to sexuality on the whole UCA—with persistent, and increasing, failure. They each, in turn, failed in that enterprise.
The proponents of the conservative theological perspective articulated by these splinter organisations buttressed their claims with a particular way of reading scripture, and with a particular mode of theological argumentation that slots well into the field called Apologetics. That’s the name given to a way of arguing that sets out a collection of beliefs that are held by a certain group and advocates that this cluster of beliefs represents “right doctrine”, “the true faith”, “what Bible-believing Christians hold to”, or some other catchphrase that revolves around being right.
Apologetics at its best the craft of arguing your case, putting forward your point of view, in a way that engages constructively with the listener. It can be done in an irenic and reasoned way. But the way the ACC and its precursors argued was anything but irenic and reasoned. The implication from much of what they said has been that those who hold different viewpoints to the one they are proposing are just plain wrong. It’s a style of speaking and writing that often, in these kinds of situations, takes on a hard edge—moving from assertions about beliefs, to a much more aggressive manner of apologetic argumentation. We can see that throughout the years that these groups were in existence.
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Evangelical Members of the Uniting Church started as Evangelical Ministers of the Uniting Church, formed in South Australia out of a concern about the so-called “liberal” tendencies dominant in the newly-formed Uniting Church. Over time, the SA group grew with branches formed in other Synods, and then a national organisation emerged.
In the early years of the church, various evangelical members and ministers had opposed the church’s commitment to equality and mutuality, specifically arguing against female ministers. In my first parish, for instance, in 1981–1983, I worked hard to engage with members of my own parish, as well as members of other nearby UCA congregations, who held to that retrograde view and argued that the UCA was doing the wrong thing by ordaining women. They argued apologetically against me, and others. I think their apologetics were misguided.
I was a member of a Synod working group later in the 1980s that produced resources addressing the issue of mutuality in ministry, and the ordination of women, in direct response to evangelical members pushing the counter position. I know that women in ministry in the UCA have continued to experience discrimination and marginalisation into the 21st century. I have both heard from others, and witnessed for myself, some horror stories, unfortunately.
EMU was strongly focused on the issue of biblical authority. (This stance has been used to undergird the claim that the Bible does not support the ordination of women). The doctrinal statement crafted by EMU had strong resonances with the general conservative evangelical assertion that the Bible was inerrant, infallible, and completely authoritative, even though the founding documents of the UCA had explicitly not included such terminology. It’s almost fundamentalist, I think.
The Reforming Alliance was established in response to the 10th Assembly’s decision in 2003, not to make a statement opposing the ordination of people who are in a same-gender relationship.
RA had fought against the reasoned articulation of “an informed faith” in relation to scripture and sexuality. Its apologetic line was to advocate a conservative, perhaps even fundamentalist, approach to scripture, which although it had been the dominant paradigm in some denominations, had never been the way that the UCA had approached biblical interpretation.
The push by RA to have a ban placed on ordaining candidates who expressed an attraction to people of the same gender, whether or not they were in an active relationship of not, has failed spectacularly—there are now scores of ordained people who live in same gender relationships and, since 2019, have been married to a person of the same gender.
After the decision of the Assembly in 2003, there was a resurgence in rhetoric warning that the church would die, that this latest decision would mark the end of the Uniting Church. The rhetoric was steadily inflated. The apologetic took on an angry, aggressive tone. The strategy seemed to be to induce guilt about the future of the church, with the hope that this would result in an overturning of the decision. It did not. Some people left the UCA. Some congregations split. Ministry and Mission continued apace. The UCA continued on.
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After the 11th Assembly in 2006, a special summit of the remnants of EMU and the relatively new Reforming Alliance met, to establish a new organisation, the Assembly of Confessing Congregations (ACC) within the Uniting Church. The marriage was purely on the basis of sex—or, at least, on a common negative view of sexuality and a shared desire to combat anything that was perceived to be accepting of same-gender attracted people in ministry, and accepting also of same-gender relationships.
The battle waged by the ACC has continued into the present time. The appologetic rhetoric has continued, and intensified, as the obvious lack of impact in the strategy became more evident. The focus became narrower and narrower; more discriminatory, more homophobic. The furious attempts to generate guilt and build opposition was magnified, but to no avail. The move,ent began to dwindle. Meanwhile, the Uniting Church has continued on the path it has set years ago: a path of welcome and inclusion, and the valuing of all people.
So, what we have seen in recent years is playing out the four decades of the UCA where disenchanted conservative evangelical pietistic fundamentalists have resisted the moves towards “an informed faith” which thinking Methodists, Congregationalists, and Presbyterians all saw as a key commitment within the Uniting Church. The ACC has been waging an ongoing battle against this position for 15 years, but the majority of the UCA has always been engaged with the processes of critical thinking and fresh words and deeds which the Basis of Union holds as a key value.
In the last few years, the ACC has swerved even more to the hard right; it spoke in tones even harsher and unflinching, compared to RA and EMU. The extremes of the theological position of the ACC can be seen on their webpage at
It has only been in recent days that the ACC has “seen the light” and realised that continuing this battle is futile. An attempt earlier this year (2023) to negotiate a way for ACC congregations to leave the Uniting Church, but maintain the use of the property they inhabited and continue to use the funds they had accumulated, got nowhere.
Because the Uniting Church was set up with a structure in which the property is legally owned by the legal entity, the UCA Property Trust, established by law in each state and territory, no local congregation has legal ownership of their property. Each congregation enjoys “beneficial stewardship” of the property—they can use it, and look after it, but they do not own it in the strict legal sense. That has been the case for all of the 46 years during which the Uniting Church has been in existence.
So, after the ACC pitch for an amenable parting of the ways got nowhere—and after some key leaders of the ACC had their recognition as Uniting Church Ministers removed—the ACC national executive saw the writing on the wall, prepared a proposal to close the organisation, and then last week the national membership of the ACC voted to close.
A recent group of ACC leaders
It has been a sad and sorry saga; not because we have come to a sad end result (on the contrary!), but because of the turmoil caused and the damage inflicted by rabid members of the ACC and their predecessors over the last four decades. The constant badgering of councils of the church to address matters which they saw as of primary importance—but which did not figure in most people’s view as warranting that amount of attention—has been frustrating, annoying, and counter-productive. The Gospel has actually been hindered by these tactics.
The regular antagonism, the growing negativity in rhetoric, and the incidences of specific vitriolic attacks on individuals within the church—undertaken by members of the ACC and their predecessors, and targeted largely at gay, lesbian, and transgender people—has been utterly shameful. I don’t know how many times I have heard people from within the LGBTIQA+ community recount how terribly they have been treated within church circles—including, but not limited to, the Uniting Church. And as far as I can tell, any ACC leader who was called to account for such behaviour failed to acknowledge any remorse, or show any compassion over such behaviour.
The regular response I have heard and read is that they are “standing up for the Gospel”, “declaring the truth to an apostate church”, and suchlike. There is no compassion, no empathy, no understanding—simply an aggressive prosecution of a rigid dogmatic line. I know this to be the case across the board; I know it especially since Elizabeth and I have each been targeted by a rogue ACC member, who is completely without understanding and completely without compassion in the way he goes about things. I don’t think he is an exception; I have heard and seen other instances of the same behaviour.
It is a well-known fact that members of the LGBTIQA+ community are much more likely to have suicidal ideation and at times to act on that, and also to develop other negative coping mechanisms that impinge upon their mental and physical health—simply because of the way that they are treated, the terrible negative comments and brutal attacks that they have to endure, simply because of who they are. That is completely unacceptable. The words and deeds of the ACC have fed into this dynamic; ACC leaders have fostered this negativity, persecution, and even irrational hatred. It is completely unChristian.
So that is why this has been a sad and sorry saga. I rejoice at the conclusion of the ACC. I lament that it did not come years early. I am sad that there was ever felt a need to create EMU, or RA, or ACC. I rejoice that the Uniting Church is committed to providing safe spaces for members of the LGBTIQA+ community, just as much as for straight people. We are all welcome, all included, all valued, and all honoured for being faithful followers of Jesus, across a wonderfully varied spectrum of identities.
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Today is a good day to reflect on these matters. Today is the Trans Day of Visibility—an annual international celebration of trans pride and awareness, recognising trans- and gender-diverse experiences and achievements. Gender diverse people right around Australia gather on this day to share stories, engaged in conversations, and attend trans-focusses events.
Trans Day of Visibility was started by activist Rachel Crandall in 2009 as a reaction to the lack of recognition of trans people, noting that the only well known gender-diversity centered day at that time was the Trans Day of Mourning, a day of mourning, on 20 November. So the j was created as a counterpoint to this; a day to acknowledge and celebrate living members of the transgender community. International Transgender Day of Visibility has been held on March 31 ever since.
In our current context in society, when trans people are the object of vitriolic verbal abuse as well as physical assault—simply for identifying as transgender—it is important for people of goodwill to speak out in support of trans people. Undergoing that journey in your life is a significant and challenging process; adding verbal and physical negativity on top of the challenges of the process is most unfair.
I have been blessed in recent years to get to know a number of trans people personally. In each case, they are people of integrity, who have quite a story to tell, who are committed to expressing in public “who they feel they really are, deep down”. It’s a journey and a commitment that I feel I have no right to criticise—I feel I should only be honouring them for their chosen pathway in life. Indeed, being true to yourself has been a virtue since the classical period of Greece and Rome, millennia ago.
We should honour and value those people in our midst who, facing a large challenge, knowing that they are walking into the active dislike and fear that other people have, still choose to walk the way of absolute inner integrity and complete honesty. That’s what this day offers us: we see trans people, we hear them, we honour them. They are valued.
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My previous posts on the various evangelical/fundamentalist groups in the UCA are at
“Go into the village ahead of you, and immediately you will find a donkey tied, and a colt with her; untie them and bring them to me. If anyone says anything to you, just say this, ‘The Lord needs them.’ And he will send them immediately.” So reports the Gospel of Matthew, in the Gospel offered by the lectionary for this coming Sunday (Matt 21:1–11). The same story is told at Mark 11 and Luke 19.
John’s account is much more succinct; that Gospel simply notes, “Jesus found a young donkey and sat on it” (John 12:14), before explaining that this fulfils what was written in a scripture passage, “Do not be afraid, daughter of Zion. Look, your king is coming, sitting on a donkey’s colt!” (John 12:15, quoting Zech 9:9).
The narrator in Matthew’s Gospel explains that “this took place to fulfill what had been spoken through the prophet, saying, ‘Tell the daughter of Zion, Look, your king is coming to you, humble, and mounted on a donkey, and on a colt, the foal of a donkey’” (Matt 21:15). The prophet who is referred to in both John and Matthew is Zechariah, a post-exilic figure whose work is found as the eleventh of the twelve Minor Prophets in Hebrew Scripture.
Zechariah was active in the period when the exiles in Babylon were returned to Judah late in the 6th century BCE, by a decree of the Persian King, Cyrus (whom Second Isaiah described as God’s “Messiah”; see Isa 45:1). We are told that in his decree, Cyrus acknowledges “the Lord, the God of heaven” and states that “any of those among you who are of his people … are now permitted to go up to Jerusalem in Judah, and rebuild the house of the Lord, the God of Israel” (Ezra 1:2–4).
Under Nehemiah as Governor, worship had been reinstituted in Jerusalem (Ezra 3:1–7), the walls around the city of Jerusalem were rebuilt (Neh 2—6, 12), and the Temple was rebuilt and rededicated (Ezra 5–6). After this, the Law was read in the city under the guidance of Ezra, a priest who is also described as a scribe (Neh 8) and the covenant with the Lord is renewed (Neh 9–10).
Initially, there was opposition to the rebuilding works from “the enemies of Judah and Benjamin” (Ezra 4:1–16), and with intervention from King Artaxerxes, work on the temple ceased (Ezra 4:17–24). The narrative in Ezra reports that “the prophets, Haggai and Zechariah son of Iddo, prophesied to the Jews who were in Judah and Jerusalem, in the name of the God of Israel who was over them” (Ezra 5:1), and then work on restoring the temple recommenced (Ezra 5:2).
Further opposition emerged (Ezra 5:3–17), resulting in intervention from King Darius that decreed “let the house be rebuilt … let the Governor of the Jews and the elders of the Jews rebuild this house of God on its site … let it be done with all diligence” (Ezra 6:1–12).
The end result is that the prophets of the Lord and the rulers of the Persian Empire collaborated together to ensure that the temple would be restored: “So the elders of the Jews built and prospered, through the prophesying of the prophet Haggai and Zechariah son of Iddo. They finished their building by command of the God of Israel and by decree of Cyrus, Darius, and King Artaxerxes of Persia” (Ezra 6:14).
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Zechariah dates his opening prophecy to “the eighth month, in the second year of Darius” (Zech 1:1), which places him as a contemporary of Haggai and perhaps around the same time that the anonymous prophet whose words are known as Third Isaiah (Isaiah 56—66). Zechariah begins witha familiar prophetic refrain: “return to me, says the Lord of hosts, and I will return to you, says the Lord of hosts” (1:3), noting that when this message was presented to earlier Israelites, “they repented and said, ‘the Lord of hosts has dealt with us according to our ways and deeds, just as he planned to do’” (1:6).
What follows this opening salvo is a report of eight visions (1:7—6:8). They are dated to “the twenty-fourth day of the eleventh month, the month of Shebat, in the second year of Darius” (2:7), two months after the final prophecy of Haggai. The visions combine glimpses of hope with reminders of the need to remain faithful to the covenant: “if you will walk in my ways and keep my requirements, then you shall rule my house and have charge of my courts” (3:7). The fourth vision (3:1–10) includes the figure of “the accuser” (ha-satan in Hebrew) standing at the right hand of Joshua, to accuse him (3:1).
At the conclusion of the eighth vision there follows words of condemnation (7:1–7) and punishment (7:8–14), citing classic prophetic notes: “render true judgments, show kindness and mercy to one another; do not oppress the widow, the orphan, the alien, or the poor; and do not devise evil in your hearts against one another” (7:9–10).
Then come words of promise (8:1–23): “I will return to Zion, and will dwell in the midst of Jerusalem; Jerusalem shall be called the faithful city, and the mountain of the Lord of hosts shall be called the holy mountain” (8:3). Once again, prophetic injections are offered: “speak the truth to one another, render in your gates judgments that are true and make for peace, do not devise evil in your hearts against one another, and love no false oath” (8:16–17).
An oracle pronouncing judgement on other nations then follows (9:1–8), followed by a joyful celebration of the restoration of Judah (9:9–11:3), introduced by a rousing shout of joy: “rejoice greatly, O daughter Zion!Shout aloud, O daughter Jerusalem! Lo, your king comes to you; triumphant and victorious is he, humble and riding on a donkey, on a colt, the foal of a donkey.” (Zech 9:9). This verse is well-known, of course, from its quotation in the story of Jesus’s entry into the city of Jerusalem, which we will hear this Sunday (Matt 21:5).
A quirky feature is that some interpreters have taken the words of Zechariah so literally, that they imagine Jesus actually had two animals with him as he entered the city. Of course, the original oracle was formed in typical Hebraic parallelism, a pattern whereby an idea is expressed one way, then immediately repeated using other words. Thus, “riding on a donkey” was the first expression of the idea, followed immediately by “on a colt, the foal of a donkey”. One animal, two ways of expressing that.
The remaining chapters of Zechariah continue the note of exultation about the future, reworking the motif of “the day of the Lord” so that it signals joy for Jerusalem and terror for other nations (12:3, 4, 6, 8, 9, 11; 13:1, 2, 4; 14:1, 4, 6, 8, 9, 13, 20, 21). A triumphant note of universalism is sounded: “on that day “the Lord will become king over all the earth” (14:9) and “all who survive of the nations that have come against Jerusalem shall go up year after year to worship the King, the Lord of hosts, and to keep the festival of booths” (14:16).
The quotation from Zechariah in the story is a reminder that there is always hope; in the difficult situation of rebuilding the beloved ruins, reconstituting the fractured society, reconstituting the religious practices and customs that had lapsed, hope remains strong. Little did those travelling with Jesus into the city know what lay ahead of him, and them, in the coming days. Their hopes were high, very high, on this day. Joy came easily to them.
It was a day for celebration. This could well be the time when “the Lord will become king over all the earth”—even over the mighty Romans, they may well have felt. Joy was the dominant emotion, as the singing, waving of branches, and celebration demonstrated.
It’s a good guess that you, like me, would have heard it said, on more than one occasion, that “Jesus rode a donkey into Jerusalem to protest against the Jews, to tell them that he would not be the military king that they desired”. According to this view, Jesus chose to ride into Jerusalem on a donkey, rather than a horse, to signal that he was a man of peace, and also that he would not be acting in the way that the Jews were expecting the Messiah to act.
I’ve discussed this claim quite a lot with my wife, Elizabeth Raine, whose knowledge of classical and Jewish texts has been most helpful in informing this blogpost. In what follows, I want to demolish that claim. Jesus never did, and never would, ride a horse. Nor would the Messiah, in Jewish thinking, be expected to ride a horse, a mighty weapon of war.
Horses were highly valued in the Roman Empire, which was the dominant power in the region at the time when Jesus lived. Horses were valuable both in warfare and in domestic life. They provide efficient and (relatively) quick means of communication along the extensive road system that the Romans built to link all the parts of their Empire, both for the upper classes who could afford them, and within the imperial communications system operating from Rome.
Horses were used for entertainment, in chariot races. And they were important animals in the military strategy that the Romans had developed, as a second line of attack behind the infantry. The foot-and-horseback nstrategies developed by the Romans enabled them to conquer far-flung regions and add them to their burgeoning Empire.
Within Israelite society, we encounter a different approach to horses. The hilly, rocky terrain of Israel must have contributed to this; but there are more factors at work. The Psalmist sets out the basic problem: “Do not be like a horse or a mule, without understanding, whose temper must be curbed with bit and bridle, else it will not stay near you” (Ps 32:9). The horse is wild, unruly, unstable. Indeed, in the foundational story of Israel, the horse is enmeshed with the enemy, Egypt; “I will sing to the Lord, for he has triumphed gloriously; horse and rider he has thrown into the sea” is the song of both the prophet Miriam (Exod 15:21) and her brother Moses (Exod 15:1).
Accordingly, the Psalmist sings, “Some take pride in chariots and some in horses, but our pride is in the name of the Lord our God” (Ps 20:7), and indicates that “a king is not saved by his great army; a warrior is not delivered by his great strength; the war horse is a vain hope for victory, and by its great might it cannot save” (Ps 33:16–17). The story of the Exodus hovers not far away from each of these assertions. And it begs the question: with this heritage and tradition, why would Jesus even consider riding on a horse to enter Jerusalem?
In the long historical saga of Israel, the great King Solomon is praised for his wisdom; the Lord God grants him “a wise and discerning mind; no one like you has been before you and no one like you shall arise after you” (1 Ki 3:12). However, in that same speech by God, we hear also that “I give you also what you have not asked, both riches and honour all your life; no other king shall compare with you” (1 Ki 3:13). So as the story continues, Solomon is revealed as a man who appointed a large administrate infrastructure, accrued immense wealth, raised a huge army, and built a lavish Temple for the Lord God, as well as a grand Palace for himself (1 Ki 4—7).
To support this grandeur, Solomon, we are told, “had forty thousand stalls of horses for his chariots, and twelve thousand horsemen” (1 Ki 4:26). In a later story, it was noted that “King Solomon excelled all the kings of the earth in riches and in wisdom”, that “the whole earth sought the presence of Solomon to hear his wisdom”, and that “every one of them brought a present”, including horses and mules (1 Ki 10:23–25).
The effect of this was that Solomon had accumulated “fourteen hundred chariots and twelve thousand horses” (1 Ki 10:26), and a note is made that “Solomon’s import of horses was from Egypt and Kure”, at a price of 600 shekels of silver for a chariot and 150 shekels for a horse (1 Ki 10:29; also 2 Chron 1:17). As the work of a labourer was paid with between two and ten shekels per month, both chariots and horses were very expensive commodities.
These descriptions of Solomon demonstrate the grandeur of his court and the profligate nature of his spending. Horses were integral to his means of gaining and holding power, even though a word of the Lord commands that the one set as king over the people “must not acquire many horses for himself, or return the people to Egypt to acquire more horses” (Deut 17:16). Solomon, in his wisdom, disobeyed this word of the Lord—although we recognise, of course, that whilst the speeches in Deuteronomy are placed on the lips of Moses, the actual scroll dates from a much later time—perhaps the time of Josiah (Solomon’s 13th great-grandson!).
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Horses were obviously crucial in Solomon’s grand expansionary venture, enlarging the extent of Israel through his military and political nous. The value of horses in warfare is clear from the way that the Lord God describes them in his “speech from the whirlwind” in Job (chapters 38–39). The horse is known for its might; it leaps “like the locust” and snorts majestically; “it paws violently, exults mightily, and goes out to meet the weapons”, all the while being fearless, raging fiercely, as it smells the battle and hears “the thunder of the captains” (Job 39:19–25).
When the trumpet sounds, calling the army into battle, the horse exclaims heach, a Hebrew word regularly translated simply as “aha!” (Job 39:25). Brown, Driver and Briggs note that this word is an “interjection (onomatopoetic) expressing joy”. Perhaps the horse thrives on the battle! But this a somewhat ironic use of the term, which generally has a pejorative sense. When the word appears in psalms, it clearly expresses ridicule, being used as a taunt of derision (Ps 35:21; 40:15; 70:3).
Nahum describes with poetic vigour “the crack of whip and rumble of wheel, galloping horse and bounding chariot, horsemen charging, flashing sword and glittering spear, piles of dead, heaps of corpses, dead bodies without end” (Nah 3:2–3). However, to the Psalmist, “the horse is without understanding”, for “its temper must be curbed with bit and bridle” (Ps 32:9), and the rider must always be ready with a whip (Prov 26:3). A later writer noted wistfully that, just as an “unbroken horse turns out stubborn, [so] an unchecked son turns out headstrong” (Sir 30:8).
As we have noted, in Israelite piety, “the war horse is a vain hope for victory” (Ps 33:17); although “the horse is made ready for the day of battle, the victory belongs to the Lord” (Prov 21:31) and the delight of the Lord “is not in the strength of the horse” (Ps 147:10). The horse exemplifies the folly of sinful Israel—those who “turn away in perpetual backsliding … do not speak honestly … no one repents of wickedness … all turn to their own course, like a horse plunging headlong into battle” (Jer 8:5–6). Such behaviour clearly undergirds the divine lament that “my people do not know the ordinance of the Lord” (Jer 8:7).
Indeed, a story told of the time when the people were in Exile in Persia, the scroll of Esther, has a scene in which a Jew, Mordecai, is clothed with royal robes and a royal crown and, seated on a horse from the royal stables, is led through the open square of the city, with a proclamation that he is to be obeyed (Esther 6:6–11).
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Earlier in the saga of Israel, recounting how the people of Israel came to take control of the land of Canaan, the “very many horses and chariots” of King Jabin of Hazor and the alliance of kings which he had gathered to stand against Joshua (Josh 11:1–5) proved not to be a barrier to the forces assembled by Joshua. The instructions to “hamstring their horses and burn their chariots with fire” are, it is said, executed precisely by Joshua and his “fighting force”, as he takes Hazor, “the head of all those kingdoms” (Josh 11:6–15)—a strategic victory in the conquest of the land.
Nevertheless, prophets employ references to horses both to indicate the power of the Lord (Isa 43:16–17; Jer 51:20–23). It is a horse bearing a rider “of frightening mien” who vanquished Heliopolis as he prepares to sack the Temple (2 Mac 3:25–28), thereby demonstrating “the sovereign power of God (2 Mac 3:28). Much later, in a Christian apocalypse, a series of horses appear to deliver vivid messages: a white horse “to conquer”; a red horse with “a great sword”, to wage war; a black horse, whose rider “held a pair of scales in his hand”; and a pale green horse “whose rider’s name was Death, and Hades followed with him” (Rev 6:1–8).
Later still, another white horse appears, whose rider leads an army to do battle with “the beast and the kings of the earth with their armies” (Rev 19:19). This climactic battle ends with “the beast” and “the false prophet” thrown into “the lackey of fire that burns with sulfur” and the others slaughtered to provide carrion for the hovering birds (Rev 19:20–21). The imagery is potent; the account is not, of course, intended to be either literal history or specific predictive prophecy.
It is a prophecy of Zechariah, writing during the period of return to the land of Israel after Exile in Babylon, that is then applied to Jesus by the writer of two of the Gospels, as he enters Jerusalem. In this prophecy, the victorious ruler does not ride a horse; he comes riding on a donkey. Zechariah, centuries earlier than Jesus, had informed the exiles returning to Judah that a ruler would soon come to usher in universal peace; “his dominion shall be from sea to sea, and from the River to the ends of the earth” (Zech 9:10). This ruler arrives, “triumphant and victorious … humble and riding on a donkey, on a colt, the foal of a donkey” (Zech 9:9).
Indeed, the prophet declares that the king riding on a donkey “will cut off the chariot from Ephraim and the war-horse from Jerusalem” (Zech 9:10). The peaceful ruler will use force to rebut and destroy the weapons of warfare—chariots and horses. Thus the prophecy is seen to be particularly applicable to Jesus; it is cited at Matt 21:4–5 and John 12:14. So under no circumstances would Jesus, wishing to fulfil this prophecy, intending to place himself as the one chosen by God to bring in the kingdom, give consideration to riding on a horse. That would send all the wrong signals.
So we should not think that he considered this as an option. Nor would his followers, or the faithful people of Israel in the crowd that welcomed him as he enters the city, have thought that Jesus would appear riding on a horse. Not at all!!! So I hope this speculative idea doesn’t find its way into any sermons, this Palm Sunday!
At a meeting of the Canberra Region Presbytery of the Uniting Church, held at North Belconnen Uniting Church on Saturday 25 March 2023, Nathan Tyson was invited to address the Presbytery on issues relating to the upcoming referendum proposal to establish a Voice to advise the Federal Parliament and the Executive Government. There was a full house as Nathan spoke and then responded to questions from those present.
The Rev. Ivan Roberts introduced Nathan Tyson. Ivan has worked with Nathan in Synod roles since 2017. Nathan is currently the Manager, First Peoples Strategy and Engagement with the Uniting Church in Australia’s Synod of NSW and the ACT. He is an Aboriginal man of Anaiwon/Gomeroi descent, who has lived most of his life in Sydney.
Nathan Tyson addressing the Presbytery
Nathan is a lawyer and long time advocate for the rights of Aboriginal peoples, having worked for organisations such as the NSW Ombudsman, the ICAC, the Australian Securities and Investments Commission, Western Sydney University, and Uniting, before commencing his role with the Synod in May this year. Nathan is currently undertaking a Graduate Diploma in Theology.
Nathan spoke to the Presbytery about the Statement from the Heart, and matters promoted in that Statement, namely, Truth, Treaty, and Voice.
The Statement from the Heart, 2017
The Statement emerged after twelve regional dialogues, relating particularly to constitutional recognition, had occurred. The process drew together many conversations that had taken place amongst First Peoples in the previous decade. The Statement was crafted during a gathering at Yulara, close to Uluṟu in the heart of the continent of Australia. There was a diversity of views at the gathering, including a group that left the gathering before the Statement was finalised. This diversity reflects the reality of society in Australia, and of Aboriginal and Islander peoples.
Truth, Treaty, Voice
The Statement calls for a Makarrata Commission, following a model used in Canada. There needs to be a recognition of the terrible things that did take place in Australia in the past; Truth means acknowledging that history, and the impact that it has had on our society. There is no need for personal guilt amongst those of us living today; rather, it is simply acknowledging the Truth about that history.
The Statement asks for the Commission to oversee a process of forming Treaties with the First Peoples. (There would need to be multiple treaties, as there are multiple First Nations in Australia.) Such treaties exist in all the other Commonwealth countries; Australia is the only nation without such a Treaty. Having a Treaty—or Treaties—in place would enable constructive ways of addressing the past and its impacts into the present.
The Synod has supported Truth, Treaty, and Voice. (See the link below.) All three are equally important; they each need to be implemented, they each need to be in place. (The Assembly is likewise strongly supportive, have agreed to the repudiation of the Doctrine of Discovery in 2015 and recognised the prior sovereignty of First Nations in 2018. Again, see the links below.)
The Presbytery discussing the presentation by Nathan Tyson
The Voice
The question for the referendum has been made public. It is a straightforward proposition. There are key principles underpinning the proposal. There are also key criticisms that have been made in recent times.
Opponents to “Voice before Treaty” claim that this will cede the sovereignty of First Peoples. This is not the case. As a lawyer, Nathan recognises that any ceding of sovereignty would need to involve the free, prior, and informed consent of the First Nations people. Sovereignty will be addressed through the process relating to Treaty.
A second criticism relates to the order of things. “Treaty should come before Voice” is the claim. Applying the doctrine of terra nullius in 1788 meant that a Treaty was not required. Now that the Mabo decision has declared terra nullius null and void, a Treaty process is required. Nathan compared the situation in Australia with what is the case in New Zealand. There was never, here, any opportunity to cede sovereignty, as there has been in New Zealand.
A third area of criticism is, quite simply, “we don’t trust government”. The Stolen Generations feeds this, and there are legitimate concerns here. However, the present government does want to move things forward. It is a once in a lifetime opportunity. This is an opening we need to take. If not now, how long will we have to wait?
Solidarity through tshirts!!
The process is a legislative process—the politicians will be responsible for creating the detail of this matter as it is prepared, debated, and decided upon in the Federal Parliament. To say “we don’t have enough detail” is disingenuous, as those critics will be sitting in Parliament, deciding those details!
Nathan quoted from the documents already released which explain how The Voice will work. It will make representations to Parliament and the Executive Government; it can research, propose, and advocate through these representations. Membership will be by elected members, representative, and with fixed term limitations. Membership will rely on the three-part test that has been applied since 1983 (a person identifies as Aboriginal, is recognised by their community, and is Aboriginal by descent). It will have gender, age, and geographical diversity. Members will reflect the wishes of their communities.
A key task for the Voice will be to address the current situation of inequity experienced in Aboriginal communities, with direct access to advise and advocate. It will be accountable and transparent, subject to the usual processes of all governmental bodies. It will work alongside existing First Peoples organisations. It will not deliver services; it is only advisory. It will not be a third body in the parliamentary structures, despite what a former Prime Minister (mistakenly) claimed.
What is the point of a body that does not make decisions? Is that not creating a body with no power? Article 19 of the UN’s Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples provides that Indigenous peoples have the right not to consent to decisions that may impact on them. That is not reflected in the Voice. However, the advice provided to the Voice will be made public, for all to see. If the advice is counter to proposed legislation, that will be public. There is a level of public accountability, and the Voice will certainly have power within the current system. It will not be a powerless body.
Nathan suggested that it may be helpful to see the new Voice as an Indigenous lobby group, akin to the ACTU, the Business Council of Australia, the Farmers Federation, and other lobby groups. He then responded to a series of questions which sought further clarifications, and comments which expressed support for the case he had put.
In making a proposal to thank Nathan Tyson for his presentation, Presbytery Secretary Robbie Tulip noted that the UCA Assembly and the UAICC National body has supported a YES vote, as has the Board of Uniting and five of the six Synods of the UCA.
In response to the substantive matters in Robbie’s proposal, the Presbytery agreed by consensus that it would support advocacy for a YES vote in the referendum in the coming months; encourage Church Councils to consider the issues involved in the Voice and to facilitate local conversations about this issue; and to encourage all members of the church to give serious consideration to the way that they vote in that referendum.
(In the Uniting Church way of doing things, a consensus decision means that all who took part in the deliberation and decision process agreed to the proposal, and nobody participating in that indicated that they were unsure of, or opposed to, the decision.)
An Informed Faith 