theology – Page 40 – An Informed Faith

Christmas: not actual history, but powerful myth

As I have written in two earlier posts, the biblical accounts of the birth of Jesus are not actual history. They are stories told to indicate the special nature of Jesus. Which means, we shouldn’t read them as history (ἱστορία). The Christmas story isn’t history. The Christmas story is myth (μῦθος).

See

https://johntsquires.com/2022/12/21/why-the-christmas-story-is-not-history-1-the-nativity-scene/

and

https://johntsquires.com/2022/12/22/why-the-christmas-story-is-not-history-2-luke-1-2-and-matthew-1-2/

As myth, the story points to important truths. It orients us to the claim that God is involved in human history. It sets the foundations for hearing the narratives about Jesus as accounts which resonate with God’s intentions for humanity.

The stories told at Christmas are located in specific human situations, and point to specific human needs. Outsiders and outcasts are included in the story told by Luke. Shepherds, despised for their work and marginalised from society, appear front and centre in his story. Strangers travel from distant foreign lands in Matthew’s narrative, bearing gifts to pay homage to the infant Jesus.

Women, not men, play central roles in the opening chapters of Luke’s story. Elizabeth, cursed as barren, blossoms into pregnancy, and speaks where her husband is struck dumb. Mary, young and virginal, receives startling news from an angel; she holds her own stands up to the angel, commits to the task, and then sings powerful words of justice, signalling in advance the revolutionary message that will be spoken by the child whom she is bearing.

Both Luke and Matthew include the gritty reality of the refugee situation in their accounts. Luke has a pregnant Mary undertake an enforced journey with Joseph, from Nazareth to Bethlehem, the hometown of his family line, only to be forced to give birth in precarious circumstances. There is no historical evidence for the census that occasioned this journey, but the story provides a compelling vision of what refugees faced then, and still face today.

Matthew has Mary and Joseph, with Jesus now a two-year-old toddler, making an even longer forced trek, from Bethlehem into Egypt, because of the excessive reaction of the king of the time. There is also no historical evidence for the slaughter of all boys aged two and under in Bethlehem at that time, but the story in Matthew’s Gospel again highlights the tenuous situations faced by refugees, then as now.

Matthew’s Moses typology leads him to place the slaughter of the Innocents right at the heart of his narrative. He grounds the story of Jesus in the historical, political, and cultural life of the day, when a tyrant could exercise immense power, when the sensibilities we have about human life seem absent. It provides a dreadful realism to a story which, all too often in the developing Christian Tradition, became etherealised, spiritualised, and romanticised.

We need to remember the Christmas story as an important pointer to the counter-cultural, alternative-narrative impact of the person of Jesus. It is not history, but it offers a powerful myth. It grounds our faith in a revolutionary understanding of reality, and in actions that establish an alternative reality. The story is not to be domesticated and coated in syrup; its stark reality and honest grappling with life needs to be grasped and valued.

As we sing songs of this story, let us not reify the story (that is, turn the narrative into “a thing”, like history) … let us not collapse the story into a surface “real history”, but let us allow the story to speak in a deep way of who we are as humans, and of the reality of our lives today. That is how the story functions, as myth (μῦθος) — not in the sense of myth being “not true”, but rather, in the sense of myth plumbing the depths of human existence.

Myths are the stories we tell that convey deep-seated and fundamental insights about life. Whether they “actually happened” is not the point. More fundamental is that they help us to make sense of our lives. They draw us out of our comfort and preoccupations, and challenge us to see a different reality, to live a different life.

Bernard F. Batto (Professor Emeritus of Religious Studies at DePauw University, Indiana), writes: “In everyday usage today, myth carries a meaning of something untrue, a fable, a fiction, or an illusion. Anthropologists and historians of religion, however, use the term ‘myth’ with a quite different meaning. For them myth refers to a traditional story, usually associated with the time of origins, that has paradigmatic significance for the society in which the story is operative.”

So, this Christmas, let’s rejoice that we have this foundational and paradigmatic story which is not history (ἱστορία), but which functions as myth (μῦθος). And as myth, this story stirs our imaginings and challenges our presuppositions, giving us a different perspective on the realities of life in this world, indicating to us how God engages with us and interacts with our world.

Why the Christmas story is not history (1): the “nativity scene” and the Gospels

Every Christmas, we are surrounded by images of the much-loved nativity scene: the infant Jesus, in a cradle, with his mother Mary sitting and his father Joseph standing nearby, surrounded by animals (cows, most often), with a group of shepherds (perhaps with their sheep) to one side, whilst on the other side three colourfully-dressed men stand with presents in hand: gold, frankincense, and myrrh.

We see this image everywhere. But it is not an accurate portrayal of what was happening at the time when Jesus was born. For one thing, it is not a photograph of an actual event. Far from it. It is not even based on a written report from the first century, telling that this was what happened.

The traditional scene that we see today did not come into being until it was invented by the medieval friar, Francis of Assisi. Before that, it did not exist. And no Gospel account actually tells of cows mooing beside the newborn child, or of the newborn infant making no crying sounds, or of the sheep baaing alongside the cows, that we see in the traditional nativity scene.

Francis is the most popular Catholic saint in the world. He is the one who preached to the birds; blessed fish that had been caught, releasing them back into the water; and communicated with wolves, brokering an agreement between one famous ferocious wolf and the citizens of a town that were terrified of it. There is no surprise, then, that Francis used real animals when he created the very first, live, Christmas nativity scene. As a result of all these stories, Francis is the patron saint of animals and the environment. And he is the inventor of the familiar nativity scene.

Actually, this scene is a compilation of two quite discrete stories, told decades later, offering very different perspectives on the event, providing two somewhat different emphases in the story of the birth of this child. The nativity scene merges and blends the story found in the orderly account constructed by Luke, and the book of origins compiled by Matthew. Wise men and shepherds sit on each side of the family group, at the same time, in the same place, in this traditional scene. But not in our biblical accounts.

In the opening chapters of Matthew, we encounter the pregnant Mary, the newborn infant Jesus, his father Joseph, a bright star in the sky, visitors from the east, the tyrannical rule of Herod, and slaughtered infant boys. In this story, Matthew is working hard to place Jesus alongside the great prophet of Israel, Moses. The early years of Jesus unfold in striking parallel to the early years of Moses. The parallel patterns are striking.

Luke tells a more irenic version of the story than what is found in Matthew’s Gospel. The story told by Luke (usually represented through idyllic pastoral scenes and sweetly-singing angels), actually tells of a widespread movement of the population that meant a pregnant Mary, accompanied by Joseph, had to travel afar and find lodging in a crowded town just as the most inconvenient time.

There are historical problems with this story: identifying the census as an actual historical event, and locating it accurately in time, both present challenges; the fact that Herod, ruling in Matthew’s account, died in 4BCE, but Quirinius, who ordered the census noted in Luke’s account, began as Governor in 6 CE. However, the combined story has entered the popular mindset as a real event and provides a clear and compelling picture of the holy family as refugees, because of decisions made by political authorities, whether Herod or Quirinius.

We overlook, perhaps, that the shepherds who came in from the fields to pay homage to the newborn child would have been despised for carrying out a lowly and unworthy occupation. They were outcasts, considered impure and unclean, placed outside the circle of holiness within which good Jews were expected to live. In the Mishnah, a third century work which collects and discusses traditional Jewish laws, shepherds are classified amongst those who practice “the craft of robbers”. These are not highly valued guests!

Even though this is not an historical story, it is important for theological reasons. It is part of the foundational myth of the Christian faith. The writer of Matthew’s Gospel wants to make strong correlations between Jesus and Moses, not only in the mythological account found in the opening chapters, but also throughout the following chapters of the Gospel. The writer of Luke’s Gospel hints at his key themes in the opening chapter, and the develops a strong political and economic message throughout his Gospel: God reached out to the poor and powerless, and harshly judges the wealthy and powerful.

As myth, the tradition points to important truths. Matthew’s account of “the Slaughter of the Innocents”, for instance, although generated by his Moses typology, still grounds the story of Jesus in the historical, political, and cultural life of the day, when tyrants exercised immense power. Even though we recognise Matthew is not reporting an actual historical event, his narrative provides a dreadful realism to a story which, all too often in the developing Christian Tradition, became etherealised, spiritualised, and romanticised.

By the same token, Luke’s recounting of the visit of the outcast shepherds to the infant child and his family indicates that those on the edge were welcomed by Jesus throughout his ministry. He grounds the message of the Gospel in the heart of the needs of the people of his day.

So even as we recognise that the Christmas story is not history, we can appreciate the insights that it offers us as a mythological narrative. It is worth celebrating: not as an actual historical event, in the way it is traditionally portrayed, but as the foundation of the faith that we hold: in Jesus, God has come to be with us.

God, who midwifes life, who mothers her children (Luke 2, Matthew 2; Christmas Year A)

This week, the daily Bible study resource With Love to the World (which I edit) is currently using readings from the Womens’ Lectionary for the Whole Church, devised by Prof. Wilda Gafney, of the USA, alongside readings from the Revised Common Lectionary. A number of the readings (including the familiar Gospel from Luke 2) refer to childbirth. The cover image, by Australian artist the Rev. Dr Geraldine Wheeler, depicts the newborn child and his young mother, wonderfully contextualised for the Australian location.

Associate Professor Monica Jyotsna Melanchthon, the Academic Dean of Pilgrim Theological College in the University of Divinity, writes about Isaiah 26:16–19, that “The prophet Isaiah, familiar with the pain and the agony of a woman in labor, uses this uniquely female experience as metaphor to describe the suffering and distress of the people, here personified as the pregnant woman, ready to give birth. The labor of pregnant woman Judah is futile (vv.17–18) … But pregnant Judah is assured by God who midwifes life, that this time of pain will cease … the dead will rise and the slain will be restored to life. Relationships between humanity and nature, and between nations, ruptured and shredded by enmity and war, will be healed and transformed.”

On the familiar Gospel,count of the birth of Jesus, Luke 2:1–20, Prof. Melanchthon writes, “Mary was one of the ‘anawim’, a young, lower class working Jewish woman betrothed to Joseph, a local carpenter, living in occupied territory. She becomes an active agent, cooperating with God to become the bearer of God’s child. The invisible God is made present and available in the visible, the finite, the historical, the concrete, the tangible, and the fleshly. The baby is born and laid in a feeding trough. The first people, divinely notified of this birth, are not princes and powers, but another marginal category of people—shepherds, symbols of subalternity (referring to lower social classes and other social groups who are displaced to the margins of a society) … Their initial fear turned into amazement, joy and praise and they spread the good news.”

Later in the week, Prof. Melanchthon reflects on the alternative account of the early years of Jesus, Matt 2:13–23, noting that “Rachel the mother figure, weeping and inconsolable, draws us to the figure of Mother God; Rachel’s tears and lament stirs the inner parts (the womb) of the Divine which trembles (yearns) for the child. The human mother refuses consolation; the Jeremiah text quoted here assures that the divine mother changes grief into consolation.” She notes also that, “In the context of male tyranny and power politics, Joseph paves the way for a different or new understanding of masculinity, which is kenotic (self-emptying). He gives up his own power for a positive and mutually transformative masculinity, reminiscent of fathers who risk their lives for their children.”

This week of readings forms part of a full 13 weeks of commentaries by female writers on scripture passages that are fitting for the season. You can read more about this whole issue at https://johntsquires.com/2022/10/20/womens-voices-speaking-with-love-to-the-world-this-christmas/

With Love to the World can accessed immediately on phones and iPads via an App, for a subscription of $24.49 per year (go to the App Store or Google Play). Printed issues are available (after 9 January) at just $24 for a year’s subscription (see http://www.withlovetotheworld.org.au/wp-content/uploads/2020/07/Ordering-and-paying-for-Website-7.vii_.2020.pdf).

*Mother and Child with Australian Native Flowers,*
gouache stencil painting on black paper,
by the Revd Dr Geraldine Wheeler

Excerpts from With Love to the World are copyright and are reproduced here with the permission of the publisher.

For more on the Christmas readings in the Revised Common Lectionary, see https://johntsquires.com/2022/12/18/three-options-for-christmas-celebrations-the-nativity-of-the-lord/

Voices of the Exiles (Isa 52; Christmas)

Voices from the edge, or beyond—exiles from their own community—are important for us to hear, to recall us to the core of what we believe and what we know is right and good for all. Scripture offers consistent testimony about the importance of valuing the voices of exiles. It is a word for the church today, not to dismiss those who think, act, speak, behave differently. It is a word for the church today, not to force out those who do not conform to assumed norms. The value of each and every person underlies the motif of “exile” that appears in scripture.

Every year, at Christmas time, as we remember the story of Jesus, we can feel the moments when he might be classed as being “in exile”, even amongst his own people. Luke reports that he was born to parents who were forced to be on the move, uncomfortably displaced (albeit temporarily) from their home town of Nazareth at the critical moment of his birth (Luke 2:4–6). He was born in a manger, as no room was available in the kataluma, the guest chamber in what we might presume to have been a house of Joseph’s relatives (Luke 2:7).

He was born to parents facing potential disgrace—it is said that they were betrothed, but not yet formally married (Matt 1:18), and the putative father was preparing to “dismiss quietly” the mother of Jesus (Matt 1:19). In Matthew’s account, Jesus was born into a situation of some danger, as King Herod so feared that “the child who has been born king of the Jews” (Matt 2:2) that he arranged for a savage pogrom, having “all the children in and around Bethlehem who were two years old or under” put to death (Matt 2:16).

In the Matthean version of the origins of Jesus, the family became refugees, fleeing Israel for the safety of (ironically) Egypt (Matt 2:13–15). When it was safe, they would return, not to their home town of Bethlehem in Judea (as Matthew has it), but to the less-known village of Nazareth in Galilee (Matt 2:19–23).

The moments of exile in this story—disturbed, displaced, under threat, in fear of life—resonate strongly with the experience of millions of people in the contemporary world. Perhaps these elements in the story also resonate with people of faith, who have found themselves “in exile” from their community of faith, for various reasons?

Deep in the experience of physical and cultural exile that the people of Israel had been immersed some six centuries before Jesus, Joseph, and Mary were themselves thrust into exile, a prophetic voice declared that good news still held firm, despite the unfamiliar surroundings and the uncomfortable, even disturbing, dislocation which that experience brought.

“How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of the messenger who announces peace”, this prophet-in-exile proclaims, praising the one “who brings good news, who announces salvation, who says to Zion, ‘Your God reigns’” (Isa 52:7). Looking back with longing on his ruined homeland, he exhorts “the ruins of Jerusalem” to “break forth together into singing … for the Lord has comforted his people, he has redeemed Jerusalem” (Isa 52:9).

It’s only a few verses later that the prophet begins a song that expresses the depths of despair in exile, and yet looks beyond that immediate experience to a time of restoration and joyous salvation—a song that we know as the fourth “Servant Song” (Isa 52:13–53:12). That’s the song that Christians interpret as applying to Jesus: “my servant shall prosper; he shall be exalted and lifted up, and shall be very high … he was despised and rejected by others; a man of suffering and acquainted with infirmity … he has borne our infirmities and carried our diseases … out of his anguish he shall see light; he shall find satisfaction through his knowledge … the righteous one, my servant, shall make many righteous, and he shall bear their iniquities”.

Read through the lens of the story of Jesus, this song describes him, the servant, chosen by God for this task. Read in the context of exile, and identifying the servant with Israel (see Isa 41:8, 9; 44:21; 49:3), the song points to a redemption that must mean return to the land and restoration of the city. It is, in the end, a song of hope for the exiles.

The prophet has a strong and clear faith, which may not have sounded so clearly to those holding him captive in exile; he can see that “all the ends of the earth shall see the salvation of our God” (Isa 52:10). This stands as a word of hope that would echo through the later pages of history, in songs sung by the people (Ps 22:27; 65:5–8; 67:7; 98:3), in the advice given by the sage (Prov 30:4), in the prayer offered by Tobit (Tob 13:11), and on into the story of the one born in exile, chosen by God to be “light of the world” (Matt 5:14; John 8:12; 9:5) such that the good news that he brings will be known “to the ends of the earth” (Acts 1:8; 13:47).

The value of holding firmly to this faith, despite the oppositions and sufferings of the time of exile, is what the prophet offers to his people. It is a living-out in advance of what Jesus teaches and models in his own life. In keeping with this motif of “exile” in the Christmas story, here is a poem written by a self-styled exile, my friend and colleague Janet Dawson, which I share with you today (with the permission of Janet).

A Prayer for the Exiles

Holy One, have mercy on your exiles,

those of us who no longer fit

within the traditional teachings of the church.

Those whose voice falters in the songs,

who cannot say “Amen”,

who desperately think of something else during the sermon.

Those who think the greatest heresy of all

is to say that You require suffering and death

in order to forgive.

Those who have given up on going to church at all.

Have mercy on us, Holy God,

those exiles who cling to faith

and yearn for a bigger, wider story,

a bigger, wider community.

A story that embraces the vast expanses of time and space,

and the enormous complexity of the cosmos.

A community in which everything and everyone is connected

and embraced.

Holy God, as we approach the Feast of Incarnation,

be born again in us, your exiles,

Tell your story in words that we can understand.

Create from us a new community.

Amen

Three options for Christmas celebrations (The Nativity of The Lord)

Earlier this year, I downloaded a new calendar into my online calendar app. It is a calendar that identifies each Sunday in the church’s liturgical year (First Sunday in Advent, Second Sunday in Epiphany, Ninth Sunday after Pentecost, and so on), as well as other significant days (Ash Wednesday, Good Friday, Ascension Day, and others).

It also provides the four readings that the Revised Common Lectionary provides for each Sunday, as well as for those additional liturgical days. It is a useful resource to have on hand! The calendar identifies each Sunday with a light blue band across the name, and sits alongside other calendars (with other colour-codings) that identify Public Holidays, Birthdays, Work commitments, and other specialised matters.

But look what it has done for December 24, which we all know is Christmas Eve: it has provided no less than three entries for the one day!

Why are there three different sets of readings for the “Nativity of the Lord” (aka Christmas)? I hunted through some church web sites, and found that it is because of developments way back before the so-called Middle Ages … back in the days when Christianity was still developing and evolving and finding its place in society.

What follows is asked on what I found at https://www.catholicculture.org/culture/library/view.cfm?recnum=7399 … I am assuming that this is accurate!

The simple explanation is that three different services of worship relating to “the nativity of the Lord” developed over time within Rome, and, rather than one replacing another, each was added, each having its own focus and also being held at a different location.

Catholic Culture says that “the first Mass originally was connected with the vigil service at the chapel of the manger in the church of St. Mary Major in Rome”; it was a small service at midnight which Pope Sixtus III began in 440CE. This has continued as the first service, Proper I in the Revised Common Lectionary.

The second Mass, we are advised, was “the public and official celebration of the feast, held on Christmas Day at the church of St. Peter, where immense crowds attended the pope’s Mass and received Communion”. That continues to this day, when the Pope appears on a balcony overlooking the packed square outside St Peter’s.

Catholic Culture advises, however, that “under Pope Gregory VII (1085) the place of this Mass was changed from St. Peter’s to St. Mary Major, because that church was nearer to the Lateran Palace (where the popes lived). It forms Proper III in the Revised Common Lectionary.

The third service to develop is actually the “middle service”, or Proper II in the Revised Common Lectionary. Catholic Culture explains: “In the fifth century, the popes started the custom of visiting at dawn, between these two services, the palace church of the Byzantine governor. There they conducted a service in honor of Saint Anastasia, a highly venerated martyr whose body had been transferred from Constantinople about 465 and rested in this church which bore her name.”

This was a popular service, because Saint Anastasia was widely venerated in the Roman Empire; in later centuries, as the empire dissolved and Anastasia receded in significance, this middle service was still retained, and another Mass of the Nativity was held. This became the second of the three Masses on Christmas Day.

The Roman Missal has shaped the liturgy for each of these services to highlight different elements of the Christmas story. Thus, “the first Mass honors the eternal generation of the Son from the Father, the second celebrates His incarnation and birth into the world, the third His birth, through love and grace, in the hearts of men [sic.]”.

The Gospel passage set for each Mass—reflected in the Gospel passages proposed by the Revised Common Lectionary—has led to the popular name for each service. Proper I offers Luke 2:1–14, which tells of the birth of Jesus and the angelic announcement to the shepherds in the fields; thus, people came to call the first Mass Angels’ Mass. Proper II proposes Luke 2:8–20, when the shepherds visit the newborn child and his parents; accordingly, it became known as the Shepherds’ Mass.

Proper III takes us to the majestic prologue to John’s Gospel, John 1:1–14, which tells in beautiful poetry of the coming of The Word, who takes on human flesh to live amongst us; this then characterises this service as the Mass of the Divine Word.

The three readings from the Epistles contain excerpts with short credal-like affirmations: “the manifestation of the glory of our great God and Saviour” (Titus 2:11–14), “when the goodness and lovingkindness of God our Saviour appeared” (Titus 3:4–7), and the statement that “in these last days [God] has spoken to us by a Son”, whose nature is explicated by a string of Hebrew Scripture citations (Heb 1:1–12). Each of these fits well for Christmas celebrations.

Likewise, the three Hebrew Scripture passages themselves orient us towards God’s actions within human history. For Proper I, First Isaiah speaks about the child to be born, to be named “Wonderful Counsellor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace” (Isaiah 9:2–7). For Proper II, Third Isaiah declares, “the Lord has proclaimed to the ends of the earth, ‘see, your salvation comes’” (Isaiah 62:6–12). And for Proper III, Second Isaiah rejoices in “the messenger who brings good news, who announces salvation”, through whom “all the ends of the earth shall see the salvation of our God” (Isaiah 52:7–10).

Each prophetic passage, seen through the eyes of Christian faith, reflects the divine intention, made clear through Jesus, to offer salvation to every person on earth—prefiguring the good news of Jesus out of the different contexts of pre-exiling Israel (Isa 9), the hard years of Exile (Isa 52), and the time of rebuilding after that exile experience (Isa 62).

Finally, the psalms selected for these three services (Psalms 96, 97, and 98) contribute strongly to the joyful ethos of the Christmas celebrations, with the injunction to “sing to the Lord a new song” (96:1, 98:1) and “worship the Lord in the splendour of holiness” (96:9), singing praises (98:4–6) and rejoicing (96:11–12; 97:8, 12; 98:8), celebrating that “the Lord is king” (97:1) and “exalted overall gods” (97:9) and rejoicing that “the Lord, he is coming, coming to judge the earth … with righteousness, and with truth” (96:13; 97:2; 98:9). These are notes that are entirely appropriate and fitting for the joyful celebrations of Christmas!

In the loving example of Joseph (Matt 1; Advent 4A)

A Sermon –preached by James Ellis for Advent 4A – Sunday 18 December 2022 – at Tuggeranong Uniting Church, on the occasion of his commissioning into the specified ministry of Lay Preacher within the Uniting Church in Australia

Readings: Matthew 1: 18-25 (with reference to Isaiah 7: 10-16).

Christmas is coming – or so we have been saying over the past four Sundays! Our lighting of the fourth candle on our advent wreath this morning – the candle of ‘love’ – marks the final days of advent. Christmas is ever closer, but it is not quite here yet.

Some liturgical fusspots can get in a flap about crossing the Christmas threshold “too early” – that is before Christmas Eve, and I admit – not to great surprise I am sure – that I am usually one of these fusspots – especially when it comes to Lent and Advent.

Well, it seems that the lectionary is not so fussy and frequently prepares us for what lies ahead with a spoiler. That is the case today where our Gospel reading: Matthew’s account of the birth of Jesus. This account, a week before Christmas for us this year, invites us to start pondering the great marvel that is Jesus coming among us in anticipation of Christmas.

Matthew’s story of Jesus’ birth is very much from the point of view of Joseph. This is quite unique. We usually focus on Mary – and rightly so! We don’t know much about Joseph. We can guess, make assumptions, follow the ‘tradition’ attributed to him – but we simply don’t know. He seems to disappear from the story following the birth. Even when later in Matthew’s Gospel, when Jesus is lost in Jerusalem as a boy, it is his mother Mary who finds (and scolds) him, not Joseph. At the Cross, Mary is there, but Joseph is not. Perhaps, as tradition assumes, Mary is a widow and Joseph has died.

So, where Luke is very much focussed on Mary’s story and journey, Matthew gives us some insight into Joseph and the situation he found himself in. In this we see the human side of this story…

Joseph is betrothed (NRSV – engaged) to Mary. At the time, this was not like how we view engagement today where it can be called off rather informally. But contracted to marry and considered bound by the laws of marriage, just not living together yet. Scholar Brendan Byrne makes this point in his commentary on this passage when he details the practice of the time to be betrothed young and not live together until much later. The “before they lived together” in verse 18 is to emphasise they had not had any kind of relations together.

It is during this waiting that Joseph becomes aware that Mary is pregnant. We can imagine the dilemma Joseph found himself in – the ambiguity; the lack of certainty; the confusion. He needs reassurance, but also society requires from him a posture of honour and respect. The initial assumption here – for Joseph and anyone who knew – is that Mary has committed adultery. An act which could get her stoned to death under the Deuteronomic laws.

Joseph, as the man ‘wronged’, would be expected at a minimum to divorce (dismiss) her in public and have her attract the shame and humiliation of many other women who have been in a similar situation. We read however that Joseph was a righteous man – and unwilling to expose Mary to such public disgrace (v19). So, he plans to dismiss her ‘quietly’. Still somewhat harsh in our context, but compassionate in his. This reveals to us something of Joseph’s character that he doesn’t want to bring Mary public shame but instead wants to protect her. He cares about her. He loves her.

This is attitude and plan before the truth is revealed to him in a dream – where an angel tells him that Mary is in fact pregnant by the Holy Spirit and not because she has been up to no good. Compared to other Angel appearances, Joseph listens and acts. He doesn’t argue or dismiss or come up with excuses. It is almost as though this was what he wanted to hear or needed to hear.

While we could argue around the who, where, how of a virgin birth, that isn’t the point here today. The Focus here is instead to consider the mysterious and the miraculous as the way that God deals with humanity. Whether it is Abraham and Sarah, Moses (particularly his survival as an infant), Samson, Samuel, Elizabeth and Zechariah … this is the way God deals with the humanly impossible and brings in the new – with impossible births. This is powerful, very powerful, and is the story that speaks through this story.

Matthew understands this of this story also and we see this by the way he links this event with those contained in Isaiah, also read this morning. “Look, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall name him Emmanuel”, which means God with us (v23). Isaiah 7 speaks of the birth of a child, who will be named “Emmanuel”. His birth is a “sign” of God’s promise to deliver and bless King Ahaz and the Judean people with abundance, but also of devastating judgment if the sign is refused. When the son born of the “virgin,” or young woman, is rejected, he becomes a sign of judgment rather than deliverance. Matthew uses the citation of Isaiah 7:14 to indicate that Jesus’ person and mission compel people to make choices, resulting in both redemption and judgment.

The use of “God with us” in Matthew 1:23 and 28:20 thus frames the whole Gospel, which serves as a comprehensive narrative that defines what it means for Jesus to be God with us. The culmination of Jesus’ mission in his death and resurrection means that God’s work of redemption has reached its climactic moment, when Israel is gathered and restored, the mission to the nations has begun, and the whole creation—heaven and earth—will be restored and renewed as God’s dwelling place.

What role might disciples—all of us—play in the continuing realization of this story?

How is this story still our story in a world ever more filled with greed, exploitation, violence, and death?

The birth narrative ends with an act of love and commitment from Joseph – where it is he that names Jesus. They become a family, a family of choice. Because of this choice of Joseph’s, Jesus becomes part of the line of David. This family is far from the typical family at the time, but perhaps speaks well into our context.

Rev Dr Jo Inkpin, in her lectionary reflections for the latest issue of Insights, says this about the example of Joseph and the Holy family: “It is an extraordinary family, and as such should give courage to all other families that do not fit neatly into what society says they should. For those who do live within typical expectations this family may also give strength to acknowledge hidden differences and to support those who face other hurts and condemnations. Without the courage of both Joseph and Mary in choosing to step outside conventional boundaries, exercising compassion and common sense, the Christian story could not have begun”.

I have often heard it said: you don’t know true love until you become a parent. And while the love I experienced when my daughter was born truly made me experience love I never had before – to say I didn’t really know love until then feels … shallow? diminutive?

It seems to me, then, that there are all kinds of love we don’t know until we know it. The love of true, deep friendship. The love of finding a vocation that fills you with purpose. The love of a place that becomes home, perhaps unexpectedly. The love of children birthed or adopted, fostered or through partnership. The love of a community that is a family – like here at Tuggeranong.

Advent is a journey of God’s unfolding love for us, with us, and before us; it is a time of living in the “here” of a world where Christ came as an infant 2,000 years ago and a time of “not yet” as we live in the midst of sin and sorrow and despair. Advent challenges us to live in this paradox without resolving it.

And Advent is a time where we are pushed to trust that the love God has for us is going to carry us through – perhaps through unknown paths, or along a winding highway, and almost definitely not where we thought we would go. But the love of God will never, never fade or tire. For God’s love for us is greater than the love parents have for their children, and greater than the love friends have for each other, and greater than the love Joseph showed to Mary and Jesus.

May we journey together in love this last week of Advent.

The Lord be with you.

*****

Source material: By the Well podcast and Working Preacher podcast, Brendan Byrne, Lifting the Burden: Reading Matthew’s Gospel in the Church Today (Liturgical Press, 2004)

Restore us, O God; let your face shine, that we may be saved (Psalm 80; Advent 4)

“Restore us, O God; let your face shine, that we may be saved.” So pleads the psalmist, in a psalm that is offered by the lectionary this coming Sunday, Advent 4. The verses chosen (Psalm 80:1–7, 17–19) contain a plea to God, to act in defence of Israel at a time of deep distress. Perhaps this psalm is chosen for this particular Sunday, a week before Christmas, because it refers to “the one at your right hand, the one whom you made strong for yourself” (80:17).

The section of the psalm that is omitted by the lectionary recounts the story of Israel, using the familiar image of a vine (80:8–10) which grew and spread (80:11), but now is ravaged by passers-by (80:12–13), before lamenting the destruction that has taken place amongst the people (80:14–16). The setting seems clearly to reflect the experience of exile in Babylon, after the devastation of the city of Jerusalem by the Babylonian army.

In this psalm, the writer prays for God to act. However, this is not just a single prayer; rather, the writer pleads with God to restore Israel to her former glory. “Restore us” is the persistent plea (80:3, 7, 19), along with calls to “give ear” (80:1), “stir up your might” (80:2), “turn again” (80:14), “come to save us” (80:2), and “give us life” (80:18).

This recurring refrain of petitions is accompanied by the request for God to “let your face shine” (80:3, 7, 19); the prayers accumulate in intensity, reflected in the wording that builds throughout the psalm: “restore us, O God” (80:3); “restore us, O God of hosts” (80:7); “turn again, O God of hosts” (80:14); “restore us, O LORD God of hosts” (80:19).

The request for God to let God’s face shine reflects the ancient priestly blessing recorded in Num 6:24–26: “The LORD bless you and keep you; the LORD make his face to shine upon you, and be gracious to you; the LORD lift up his countenance upon you, and give you peace.”

In this three-line prayer, the second line includes the phrase, “the LORD make his face to shine upon you”. The simple parallelism in this blessing indicates that for God to “make his face shine” (v.25) is equivalent to blessing (v.24) and lifting up his countenance (v.26). The second verb in each phrase is, likewise, in parallel: the psalmist asks God to keep (v.24), be gracious (v.25), and grant peace (v.26). These words offer a prayer seeking God’s gracious presence for the people of Israel.

The face of God was a matter of some significance in the ancestral story of Jacob, who becomes Israel. Estranged for decades from his twin, Esau, when they meet up again, Jacob has just spent the night wrestling with a man (Gen 32:22–32). Jacob’s hip is struck, and he walks with a limp; yet he describes the place where this happened as Peniel, “the face of God”, and characterises the encounter as a time when “I have seen God face to face, and yet my life is preserved” (32:30). To see God face-to-face was a rare and intense experience. Jacob was, indeed, blessed.

When Esau then appears and informs Jacob that he now accepts that the birthright which Jacob stole years ago from Esau should rightly remain with him (33:9), Jacob marvels at the favour which Esau shows him, saying, “truly to see your face is like seeing the face of God—since you have received me with such favour” (33:10). God’s face, evident in Esau, is a face that bestows grace and favour.

So the Psalmist sings, “My soul thirsts for God, for the living God. When shall I come and behold the face of God?” (Ps 42:2). And after the incident involving the idolatry of the golden bull (Exod 32:1–35), Moses yearns to know that he has found favour with God: “if I have found favour in your sight”, he prays, “show me your ways, so that I may know you and find favour in your sight” (33:13). God promises that “my presence will go with you, and I will give you rest” (33:14), but Moses presses his case: “show me your glory, I pray” (33:18).

God holds fast, saying that “I will make all my goodness pass before you, and will proclaim before you the name, ‘The LORD’; and I will be gracious to whom I will be gracious, and will show mercy on whom I will show mercy” (33:19), but then stops short of full self-revelation, declaring, “you cannot see my face; for no one shall see me and live” (33:20). Moses is granted a view of God’s “back”, but is not able to see the face of God (33:23).

(The Hebrew word here translated as “back” refers to the “hindquarters”—a polite way of saying that Moses saw only God’s exposed buttocks, rather than his smiling face. Almost every translation chooses the polite wording, “my back”. The King James Version comes closest to an honest translation with “my back parts”.)

Yet the request for God’s face to shine upon people is pressed in a number of other psalms. “There are many”, says the psalmist, “who say, ‘O that we might see some good! Let the light of your face shine on us, O LORD!’” (Ps 4:6). In Psalm 31, the psalmist sings, “Let your face shine upon your servant; save me in your steadfast love” (Ps 31:16). Again in Psalm 67, the psalmist echoes more,explicitly the Aaronic Blessing, praying, “May God be gracious to us and bless us and make his face to shine upon us—Selah—that your way may be known upon earth, your saving power among all nations” (Ps 67:1–3).

In the seventeenth section of the longest of all psalms, Psalm 119, a prayer asking for God to help the psalmist keep the Law culminates with the request for God’s face to shine: “Turn to me and be gracious to me, as is your custom toward those who love your name. Keep my steps steady according to your promise, and never let iniquity have dominion over me. Redeem me from human oppression, that I may keep your precepts. Make your face shine upon your servant, and teach me your statutes.” (Ps 119:132–135).

Another psalm indicates that human faces can shine: “you [God] cause the grass to grow for the cattle, and plants for people to use, to bring forth food from the earth, and wine to gladden the human heart, oil to make the face shine, and bread to strengthen the human heart” (Ps 104:14–15). The Preacher, Qohelet, links a shining human face with Sophia, Wisdom. In response to the question, “who is like the wise man? and who knows the interpretation of a thing?”, the Preacher proposes: “Wisdom makes one’s face shine, and the hardness of one’s countenance is changed” (Eccles 8:1). A shining face is a sign of being imbued with Wisdom!

This idea is then picked up in apocalyptic writings, such as 2 Esdras, writing about “the sixth order, when it is shown them how their face is to shine like the sun, and how they are to be made like the light of the stars, being incorruptible from then on” (2 Esd 7:97). In a later chapter, as Ezra encounters a weeping woman, he reports, “While I was talking to her, her face suddenly began to shine exceedingly; her countenance flashed like lightning, so that I was too frightened to approach her, and my heart was terrified” (2 Esd 10:25).

The trajectory flows on into the New Testament, as Paul in writes to the believers in Corinth, applying the language of a shining face to Jesus: “it is the God who said, “Let light shine out of darkness,” who has shone in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ” (2 Cor 4:6).

The culmination of this trajectory is reached in the accounts of the Transfiguration of Jesus, on a mountain, when Jesus was transfigured (Mark 9:2), “the appearance of his face changed” (Luke 9:29), and “his face shone like the sun” (Matt 17:2). And so, the brightly shining face of Jesus, God’s chosen one, points to the enduring steadfast love and covenant faithfulness of God, which is what is remembered and celebrated with such clarity each Christmas.

And so it is that these verses from Psalm 80 stand on the fourth Sunday in Advent as a pointer to the coming Christmas celebrations. (And the divine glow, of course, is there to see in so many of the classic Christmas images that adorn Christmas cards and shop windows!)

Mary and her Magnificat (Luke 1; Advent 3A)

A sermon preached by the Rev. Elizabeth Raine at Tuggeranong Uniting Church on Sunday 11 December, the third Sunday in the season of Advent.

Which images most readily come to mind, for you, when you think of Mary, the mother of Jesus?

The words most Christians use when asked to describe Mary are words like: humble, obedient, meek, mild, submissive, virgin. Mary is frequently depicted as a most faithful and obedient role model, indeed Mary is set forth as an impossible role model as both virgin and mother.

She has been used by the church over the years to emphasise feminine obedience to male leaders of the church, to fathers, to husbands and indeed, to men generally. Mary was particularly useful in the early church centuries as a way ofinsisting that women should be submissive.

The church tradition of Mary of the pale faced, blue veiled, blue eyed portraits tame her fierceness, and domesticate her passion. Are these the characteristics that really portray someone obedient to the will of God? Or do we see something different emerging from the portrait of Mary and the Magnificat?

Consider the context of this song: Mary’s pregnancy dispenses with theneed for a man. In a patriarchal world, this must have been considered profoundly unsettling news, even if God is named as responsible. From the start of her story, Mary simply isn’t going to be following the acceptedsocial norms. From the beginning, the character of Mary in Luke’s gospelis dangerously full of the Spirit and impregnated with the impossible.

Consider the content of this song: Mary prophesises the overturning of the entire social order, proclaiming that the lowly will be lifted up, the powerfulwill be brought down from their thrones, the rich turned away empty while the hungry are filled. Mary, this teenage mother, has just stepped into an unprecedented and dangerous arena. She has established herself as seditious in her intent, for any talk of a new Davidic line would have been considered treasonable in the then Roman-occupied Palestine.

Consider the tradition of this song:

Firstly, Mary stands in the tradition of the courageous and somewhat unusual women we find in Matthew’s genealogy, all who survived hardship, oppression or violence.

Tamar, when denied a marriage under the Levirate law, tried to make the best of a bad situation by getting herself pregnant by her father in law, who then threatened to burn her.

Rahab, the prostitute, who helped Israel at great risk to ensure their victory and her escape from Jericho.

Naomi, who used Ruth to preserve her own life and security by telling her to, ‘Sleep at Boaz’s feet’, i.e. have sex with him, thereby risking Ruth to exposure and shame and possible violence.

Bathsheba, the unhappy victim of David’s voyeurism, has her husband murdered by David, who she is then forced to marry. She also loses her baby.

Secondly, Mary has just established herself as a radical prophet, and stands firmly in the prophetic tradition of her culture known for its uncompromising fierceness. She echoes the scriptures which speak of God acting to uphold the people of Israel: Moses and Miriam’s song (Exodus 15), Hannah’s song (Samuel 2), and many of the psalms. It would appear that Mary’s early education was not focused on just keeping a proper Jewish home, but rather on radical study of scripture. Mary sings her own anthem of revolution, and in doing so, sings the whole world upside down.

How then does this, and should this, relate to us?

Mary’s words still have great resonance in our time, when dictatorships are again realities, when countries compete in new ways as grapple withthe coronavirus pandemic and the war in Ukraine, when the rich are being given permission by their leaders to tramp, literally and metaphorically, on the poor; when we ignore the safety of others by refusing to wear a maskand when national economic plans are put in place, rather than globalones to combat poverty, disease and climate change.

How many among us in these difficult times, times where fear and anxiety stalk our streets and our computers, ipads and smart phones, where racism, sexism and various types of assault are increasing in number, are moved to concentrate our attention on the abandoned and oppressed? Are we really become more selfish and mean-spirited and inwardlyfocused? If we are, then the Magnificat is the wake up call. It calls us toaffirm the hidden ones of the earth, propelling us all to emerge from ourfour walls and walk in solidarity and love with those in the shadows. It is an invitation to rediscover the kind of people God favours and who God is constantly inviting to the heavenly banquets.

Unless we do something, the meek will not inherit the world we have created, which clearly belongs to the powerful. In our consumerist society, people can even shop around churches now, and choose their own tailor-made religious beliefs. We rationalize our own sins away. We prefer to be self-made men and women, rather than surrendering ourselves and our will and our lives to God.

Mary’s obedience to God isn’t about individualism or herself, and the blessing that she asks for isn’t the kind of blessing most of us might ask for when we pray. She has said ‘yes’ to God without knowing what God will do. She is potentially submitting to humiliation, physical pain, dislocation, terror, and loss. She is prepared to lose herself to become the bearer of the one who brings salvation and justice.

Mary’s submission to God isn’t passive, and it is not without doubt. Shehas chosen a perilous path – that of someone who dares, who questions the status quo, who is prepared to step out and take risks. To do the will of God means to live dangerously, to put community before individual, to choose justice rather than what is easy and comfortable.

Furthermore, there is a risk in accepting the blessing of God. Mary just states she will be called blessed, but this blessing presumably is not one she would choose. The blessing Mary receives will be agonizing, as it means seeing her child tortured and killed on the cross. Could we bear such a blessing as this?

Whatever our answers might be to these questions, like Mary, we should not be passive in this process of obedience to God’s will. We need to work and to pray and to dream and to prophesy and to act as bravely and intelligently and faithfully as she did. And we must also be prepared to risk and step into the unknown, and like Mary, say yes to God’s plan withoutnecessarily knowing what will happen next.

Spill the Beans recounts how “this song of Mary has upset and annoyed governments, who have refused to let it be spoken, and people of faith who would rather surrender to the Victorian romance of Christmas, interrupts all of that with the core theme of incarnation.”

It annoys governments because it is a powerful message of liberation, of freedom, of equality. It is a powerful message because it is a message of hope and hope is powerful when it disrupts the ways of the rich and the mighty. It is a different vision of how the world might be organized. It confronts those who have relied on oppression and injustice.

And Mary’s song also points to the very heart of Christianity, the passion of Jesus. It is the closest we get in Advent to the darkest, most frightening, most transcendent moment found in all of the Gospels – the moment on the cross, when Jesus surrenders his will, his hope, his very life, and puts everything in God’s hands. Like his mother Mary, Jesus’ actions did notcome from passive obedience but are a passionate surrender to the will of God.

And so, God interrupts Mary’s life with this promise of a mixed blessing, and in doing so, challenges a nation, the powerful, the politicians and the theologians. Even today, these words should still challenge the church, the Christmas season and the entire world with a reminder of what is possible.

Mary, blessed, revolutionary, and believer in the impossible, wild and liberated, and committed to the cause: Inspire us with your courage and wisdom and faith, that we may also say yes to life in the face of death; that we too may give birth to a miracle.

Joyfully hoping and waiting (Isa 35, Ps 146, and Matt 11; Advent 3C)

The readings for this coming Sunday really do go hand-in-hand. It is not always this way; for more than half the year, the First Reading, Epistle, and Gospel each go their own way, following their own independent sequential pathway of readings with little or no explicit acknowledgement of each other. Sometimes, hopefully, the Psalm will resonate with one or more of these readings. Not so, however, this Sunday—as, indeed, on each Sunday in Advent (and in Lent)—for the four readings for today were deliberately yoked together by the creators of the lectionary for this third Sunday in Advent.

The lines of connection are clear. “The wilderness and the dry land shall be glad, the desert shall rejoice and blossom; like the crocus it shall blossom abundantly, and rejoice with joy and singing”, declares the prophet (Isa 35:1–2). “The farmer waits for the precious crop from the earth, being patient with it until it receives the early and the late rains. You also must be patient”, advises the letter-writer (James 5:7–8). And Jesus hears the question of the disciples sent by John, “are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?” (Matt 11:1–2). Waiting, with patience, for the long-desired coming.

The revolutionary impact of what is being waited for is also evident. “The eyes of the blind shall be opened, and the ears of the deaf unstopped; the lame shall leap like a deer, and the tongue of the speechless sing for joy”, the prophet sings exultantly (Isa 35:5–6). The Psalmist sounds, too, this song of sheer joy, praising “the God of Jacob … who executes justice for the oppressed; who gives food to the hungry … [who] sets the prisoners free, [who] opens the eyes of the blind, [who] lifts up those who are bowed down [and] loves the righteous, [who] watches over the strangers [and] upholds the orphan and the widow” (Ps 146:5, 7–9).

And Jesus himself informs the messengers sent by John that, yes, indeed, in what he is doing “the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them” (Matt 11:5). In the alternate psalm offered by the lectionary, the young, pregnant, trusting Mary sings out loud that “the Mighty One … has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts [and] has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly; he has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty” (Luke 1:49, 51–53).

Indeed, this recitation of how God acts for the good in the lives of God’s people forms the foundational claim and then a recurring leitmotif in the Lukan account of the activities of Jesus throughout Galilee (Luke 4:18–19; 6:20–26; 7:22; 9:1–2; 10:8–9; 13:30; 14:11, 13–14, 21–24; 18:14, 22–25). An exact parallel to the declaration made by Jesus at Luke 7:22 forms the central claim in the passage from Matthew (11:2–11) that the lectionary offers us this coming Sunday. This upside-down kingdom, to be brought about by the righteous-justice of God (Matt 6:33), is at the heart of what we wait for, what we hope for, what we work towards.

So the prophetic word this Sunday looks to a time when “waters shall break forth in the wilderness, and streams in the desert; the burning sand shall become a pool, and the thirsty ground springs of water; the haunt of jackals shall become a swamp, the grass shall become reeds and rushes” (Isa 35:6–7). This is possible because it is the Lord “who made heaven and earth, the sea, and all that is in them; who keeps faith forever” (Ps 146:6).

The prophet envisages a highway, to be called “the Holy Way”, on which God’s people shall travel and not go astray, for all the familiar elements of danger will be absent. Safety is assured, for “no lion shall be there, nor shall any ravenous beast come up on it; they shall not be found there, but the redeemed shall walk there” (Isa 35:8–9). Joy and gladness will replace sorrow and sighing (Isa 35:10). An attitude of confident hope is called for as such a time is awaited, for “as an example of suffering and patience, beloved, take the prophets who spoke in the name of the Lord” (James 5:10).

There is a parallel to this eruption of joy during Lent, when in traditional practice the fourth Sunday in Lent was known as Laetere Sunday—from another Latin word meaning “rejoice”, which forms the opening of the introit for that day in the Latin Mass: Laetare Jerusalem et conventum facite omnes qui diligitis eam (“Rejoice with Jerusalem and be glad for her, all you that delight in her”, Isa 66:10).

These readings are intentionally clustered together for this coming Sunday, since it is, by tradition, known as Gaudate Sunday—from the Latin word meaning “rejoice”, the opening word of the introit to the Latin Mass for this day: Gaudete in Domino semper: iterum dico, gaudete (“rejoice in the Lord always; again I say, rejoice”, Phil 4:4). It is also known as Rose Sunday, and a rose colour can replace the purple of Advent for this day.

The note of rejoicing is clear in the Psalm, as “those whose help is the God of Jacob, whose hope is in the Lord their God” celebrate that “the Lord will reign forever” (Ps 146:5, 10). There is rejoicing envisaged by the prophet, as “the ransomed of the Lord return, and come to Zion with singing; everlasting joy shall be upon their heads” (Isa 35:10).

It is rejoicing which permeates every phrase of the young Mary’s insightful song, as her “soul magnifies the Lord” and her “spirit rejoices in God [her] Saviour” (Luke 1:46–47). And there was joy, surely, amongst the disciples of Jesus, as they heard the powerful words that he speaks in response to the request of John’s disciples, “are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?” (Matt 11:3). They had been privileged to be there, alongside him, as these events transpired.

In Advent, our waiting with patient hope for the coming of Jesus transforms into proleptic joy—that is, joy which is expressed in advance of the actual event, in firm confidence that what is anticipated will, indeed, come to pass. In that sense, then, this coming Sunday is already a celebration-in-advance of the joy that overcame the wise ones (Matt 2:10) and, in another account, the shepherds (Luke 2:10, 20). It is a prefiguring of the joyous celebrations of the season Christmas. Enjoy!

Doing mission locally: an imperative for discipleship in the 2020s

In many Congregations around the country—in rural towns, in city suburbs, in regional centres, in inner city areas—members of the church are also members of local community groups. In many cases these relationships have a long history; it has always been seen to be important for people of faith to be active in their local communities, engaging alongside people of other faiths or no faith with those community groups—CWA, service groups like Lions and Rotary, Masonic groups, climate groups, organisations to feed the homeless or the lonely, refugee justice groups, craft groups, hobby groups, playgroups, and so many more.

In many cases, however, there is no clear understanding of how these relationships can provide a base for deepening the discipleship of these people and extending the mission of their local Congregation. The missional understanding or commitment within such Congregations was often shaped by an ethos of a past era in which the local church was the de facto “community hub”; and perhaps with a sense that mission is really about inviting people to “come and be with us”. Open the door, advertise the event, and folks will come; that was certainly the experience of a (now, rather distant) past.

Today, by contrast, there has been a significant development in our understanding of mission—that it is more, now, about “go and be with others” rather than “come and join us”. Mission, after all, is about “being sent”, rather than about “bringing in”. Indeed, the very word missio comes from a Latin word which means “sent”.

In my Presbytery, the Canberra Region Presbytery, there has been a year-long process of developing a mission plan for the next few years. It has been driven by my colleague, Andrew Smith, who has offered the following insightful reflection on how mission might be understood and expressed in such contexts, in ways that give expression to the developing understanding of mission that has been underway for some time now. He writes:

From “come and join us” to “go and be with others”

The references to a change from “come and join us” to “go and be with others” aim to describe a shift in mission focus for the church over time. Previously church mission could largely rely on a “come and join us” approach. This was a time when churches were highly respected and were at the centre of the wider community life, and being a good citizen entailed church attendance. That era was some of the heydays for the church when the church could expect people would come and join us. All we really needed to do was put on a church service, and people would come. The patterns of conventional church life (with its worship styles and times and models of discipleship) were well accepted, and people willingly obliged.

However, with changes in society, the church no longer enjoys the respect it once had, and people are less likely to be interested in making the changes needed for them to assimilate into the patterns of conventional church life. This means that the “come and join us” approach to mission no longer serves us as well as it once did for calling and forming disciples.

Now, our approach to mission needs to be more along the lines of “go and be with others”. We can no longer expect the wider community to come to us and assimilate into conventional church life to become and grow as disciples of Jesus Christ. Rather, the church needs to change to accommodate to the wider society to find fresh ways of calling people to discipleship. We need to be accommodating. We need to “go and be with others” to build trusting relationships on their turf and on their terms, and look for how the Holy Spirit is working in their lives, and respond appropriately to create fresh pathways aligning with the Spirit’s work toward discipleship.

Example from playgroups

Perhaps an example, growing out of the life of the congregations, might be helpful to illustrate the above intended meaning of mission being more, now, about “go and be with others” rather than “come and join us”.

Playgroups are often very well received acts of loving service by congregations, and a lovely and much appreciated community grows among the families who attend. However, it is not unusual for some individuals in congregations with playgroups to view their playgroup as a something like a funnel that would channel playgroup families to the church’s existing Sunday morning worship service. Such an attitude fits neatly with the “come and join us” approach to mission where the families are expected to assimilate into the patterns of conventional church for their growth as disciples.

However, “a go and be with others” approach to mission would take a very different journey with the families. A congregation with a playgroup has already listened to the needs of the young families in the wider community and has sought to be accommodating by setting up and running the playgroup. This is an act of loving service in which folk from the church are with folk from the wider community, and it is part of the mission of God. We hope and trust that the Holy Spirit is at work in the lives of the families, and we are aware of folk from the congregation praying for the families along these lines. A next key step in discerning the work of the Spirit could be to tell the families that folk from the congregation do indeed pray for them, and to ask the families for any matters that they would like the church folk to include in their prayers.

Such an initiative around prayer is likely to be well received as generally people do not find an offer of prayer to be confronting, rather they find it comforting. Such praying will also build the community among the group as people share what is important to be prayed about, and will also offer some clues about how God is working in their lives.

This is a fresh pathway into discipleship. It may even be that down the track one or two of the parents or grandparents find themselves drawn by the Spirit even more toward the God of this prayer, and may give off signs of seeking more about faith. Then one of the church folk involved in the play group might be able to meet up with them in a local café at a time that suits them to hear and respond to what they are seeking. If others have a similar interest, perhaps a small group could form.

Who knows where all this might lead, but one of the important points is that it is all based around being accommodating to the parents or grandparents – going and being with them on their terms, rather than them being required to come and join us by assimilating into the patterns of conventional church.

Presbytery Mission Plan

The account in Scripture of Philip and the Ethiopian Eunuch in Acts 8 is inspirational in this approach to mission. Read the passage to see how much is on the turf and terms, and at the initiative, of the Eunuch – Philip comes to the chariot where the Eunuch is; Philip gets into the chariot and sits beside the Eunuch at his invitation; Philip starts with the passage that the Eunuch is reading; Philip responds to Eunuch’s request for baptism. Notice as well how the angel of the Lord and the Spirit are at work.

The draft Presbytery Mission Plan gives expression to this approach to mission. It affirms:

God is always present, preparing the way and calling us into mission
God is doing new things in us and through us in unexpected, surprising, and amazing ways
God is calling us outward to be present and engaged in our communities.
God’s faithfulness leads us to share and grow our faith, calling and forming new disciples.

Perhaps the example above about playgroups could be the beginning of discerning and creating a new community of faith that fits with some of the playgroup families.

It is this fullness of God’s mission, and this approach to mission, that we are called to explore and implement.

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