St Michael & All Angels

Lectionary readings: Genesis 28:10-17 and John 1:47-51

When John wrote his Gospel, he was an elderly man, bishop of Ephesus. The other Gospels were already in circulation, and he wrote because, reliable though they were, the full story hadn’t been told. To be fair, John himself ends saying that the world isn’t big enough to hold all the books that would be needed if the full story was told, but there were nonetheless some things he needed to add. One of the things this twinkly old gentleman adds is a great deal of playfulness on Jesus’ part. Another is that, whereas Mark and Matthew and Luke focus on scribes and Pharisees who essentially troll Jesus, John presents us with several characters who can hold their own in conversation with Jesus, something Jesus seems to really appreciate.

One such encounter is that between Jesus and Nathanael. Now, Nathanael has just been told by Philip that he, and Andrew, and Peter, think they have found the promised Messiah, Jesus, from Nazareth. And Nathanael responds, ‘Can anything good come from Nazareth?’ to which Philip replies, ‘Come and see.’

Nathanael does; and as he approaches, Jesus turns to those with him and says, of Nathanael, ‘Here is truly an Israelite in whom there is no deceit’ to which Nathanael responds, ‘Err, have we met?’

Jesus answers him, ‘I saw you under the fig tree before Philip called you.’ And this is where the playfulness starts. You see, Jesus is throwing out an image that would be familiar to Nathanael. To sit under your own fig tree is, in the Hebrew scriptures, a symbol of living in peace. Of its various references, the key ones are from the prophets Micah—‘but they shall all sit under their own vines and under their own fig trees, and no one shall make them afraid; for the mouth of the Lord of hosts has spoken’—and Zechariah—‘you shall invite each other to come under your vine and fig tree’.

In Micah chapter 4, a vision is presented of the peoples going up the mountain of the Lord to be taught by him his ways and to walk in his paths, and of instruction going forth from the Lord from Jerusalem to the surrounding nations. It is, in other words, a vision of ascending to and descending from God. A divine staircase.

Moreover, this leads on to chapter 5, in which we find first a promise of a ruler over Israel, from Bethlehem (a playful nod by John to Jesus’ birth, that addresses Nathanael’s misgivings about Nazareth), whose origin is from ancient days; and then a vision concerning the remnant of Jacob, through whom God will judge the nations, removing the means of violence, and idolatry.

Then, in Zechariah chapter 3, we have a vision of Joshua the high priest (in the second temple, the one built after the return from exile; it was later desecrated by the Greeks; the temple in Jesus’ time was the third temple, which was, in turn, destroyed by the Romans). Joshua is accused by Satan, but vindicated by the Lord, rescued as from death, restored, dressed in bright apparel. He is promised that he will rule the Lord’s house; and is given the promise that the Lord will send a servant, imagined as ‘the Branch,’ through whom God will remove the guilt of the nation in a single day, on which ‘you shall invite each other to come under your vine and fig tree’. In chapter 6, the Branch is revealed to be Joshua, and is crowned as royal ruler placed by the Lord on his throne.  (Joshua and Jesus are the same name, in Hebrew and in Greek; and Joshua the high priest is a ‘type’ who pre-figures Jesus.)

When Jesus says, ‘I saw you under the fig tree before Philip called you’ and Nathanael responds, ‘Rabbi, you are the Son of God! You are the King of Israel!’ Jesus is saying, ‘Micah chapter 4! Zechariah chapter 3!’ and Nathanael is responding, ‘Micah chapter 5! Zechariah chapter 6!’ (It may even be that, prompted by the branches overhead, Nathanael had been contemplating this very passage of scripture as he sat under the fig tree.)

Jesus goes on, this is only the beginning. ‘Very truly, I tell you, you will see heaven opened and the angels of God ascending and descending upon the Son of Man.’ The playfulness continues. Jesus is clearly referencing Jacob’s dream, in Genesis 28:10-17, in which the house of God is identified, and God promises to bless all the families of the earth in Jacob and his offspring. But he is also still in Micah. Moreover, the Son of Man is a term Jesus takes from two other prophets, Daniel and Ezekiel where (especially in Daniel chapter 7) it refers to a faithful and restored community. That is, ‘Son of Man’ is coterminous with ‘remnant of Jacob’...but—yet more playfulness—whereas Jacob (whose name means ‘to seize by the heal) was a trickster, Nathaniel (whose name means, ‘God has given’) is ‘truly an Israelite in whom there is no deceit’.

In short, in this playful and personalised exchange, Jesus is inviting Nathanael to be part of the remnant, constituted around Jesus himself, in whom both Jacob’s dream and Micah’s vision will be (at least partially) fulfilled. Inviting him to be an ‘angel’—a messenger for God, a go-between between the nations of earth and the house of the God of Jacob.

But what has any of this to say to us?

Firstly, be like Jesus, and Nathanael. Get to know the Old Testament. Meditate on it. Soak your bones in it. Familiarise yourself with the promises of God you find there, and especially any promises that speak to your spirit in such a way that you respond, ‘Yes, I want to be part of the people who see those days!’ Find Jesus in those pages, the Word hidden in the word, waiting to become flesh.

Then pray them, hold on to them; even when, especially when, the gap between what we see in the world around us and what God wills to be done is a gulf. When, like Jacob, we are running away. Pray for that day when all will sit under their own fig trees, and no one shall make them afraid. Intercede for justice, for cessation of hostility, for the flourishing of dignity in a society where each has as each needs; pray against fear, against fear of the other, of scarcity, of whatever makes us afraid and causes people to act from a place of fear rather than a place of security.

And then, share, invite others into the story. Philip invited Nathanael to ‘Come and see,’ and then Jesus invited Nathanael to ‘see greater things than these,’ to ‘see heaven opened...’ It is an ongoing thing, an unfolding reality we inhabit together. In those ‘putting the world to rights’ conversations everyone seems to love so much, take opportunities to share God’s wisdom, to be an angel carrying concerns to God and messages from God.

And when you have done all that, keep doing it. Don’t give up. We meet Nathanael in the very first chapter of John’s Gospel, and he is there in the last chapter also (John 21:2), still witnessing to an open heaven.

Fourteenth Sunday after Trinity, 22 September 2019

Lectionary readings: Amos 8:4-7 and 1 Timothy 2:1-7 and Luke 16:1-13

Once upon a time there was a king, who was famed throughout the world for both his wisdom and his riches. No-one had ever seen anything like the days of Solomon before. But the king died, and his son came to the throne, and the people sent a delegation complaining that, for all his great reputation, the old king had exploited his people harshly. They hoped to see a different kind of wisdom, a more equitable sharing of blessing. But their hopes were dashed. The nation was torn in two. Surely, now, at least in the north with its new capital, Samaria, a fairer society would be built out of the rubble.

Sadly, it wasn’t to be. In Samaria, just as in Jerusalem, the rich turned their back on the LORD and exploited the poor. And so, the LORD sent prophets to call them to repent. One such prophet was Amos, sent to Samaria, to speak out against the complacency and self-centredness of the elite, who devoured the poor to fill their own bellies, and discarded whatever was left like so much chaff. Unless they repented, they themselves would be swept away. They refused to repent. Enter, Assyria.

Or take Haggai, whom we have been reading over recent days at Morning Prayer. Through Haggai, the word of the LORD came to those who had returned to Jerusalem from exile. But even that shaking had not taught them the lesson. The wealthy elite were back, had re-established themselves in panelled houses, while the house of the LORD lay in ruins. And so, the LORD censures them. When they come to their inventories, they expect to find twenty measures, but find only ten; they expect to draw fifty measures, but draw only twenty. Moreover, the LORD is about to shake the heavens and the earth; and will establish Zerubbabel, the governor, as his signet ring.

Generations later, Jesus stands in this same prophetic tradition, sent by God to call the people to repentance and to establish an equitable society that shines like a light to the surrounding nations.

In today’s Gospel, Jesus tells a parable, a story that is meant to disturb us, to make us question everything we think we know. The backdrop to this parable is a heightened confrontation with a group of Pharisees, who saw themselves as righteous before God and neighbour; and as wise interpreters of Torah, of the instruction given through Moses for the good society; and who enjoyed the material benefits befitting such persons.

In the parable, we meet a rich man and the manager of his household. And I want to suggest to you that we see the rich man as representing the nation and in particular the wealthy elite. For those of us who have been around church for a long time, it is tempting to assume that when we come across a rich man in parables, it must refer to God; but I want to suggest that that is problematic, especially given that in this parable Jesus repeatedly underlines that the wealth in question is the wealth of injustice, and draws an explicit incompatibility between such wealth and God.

Moreover, I want to suggest that we see Jesus as speaking of himself as the manager over the household. That is, as the one appointed manager over the household of Israel.

Now, charges were brought against the manager that he was squandering his master’s property. He has been subverting the rich man’s practice of hoarding for himself, at the expense of the poor. And the rich man demands that the manager gives an account of his actions.

The manager knows that he has been rejected. And so, he goes about the intention of being welcomed as manager over another household. He does so by writing-down the debts owed to the rich man. When he will go through the records, he will expect to find that he is owed a hundred jugs of oil, but will find that he is owed only fifty; he will expect to find that he is owed a hundred containers of wheat, but will find that he is only owed eighty. His ill-gotten gain is disappearing before his eyes.

Now, you need to imagine that Jesus is seated between his disciples and the Pharisees, and, in the hearing of the Pharisees, is instructing his disciples that they are not to be like them. But he is also pleading for any Pharisee who has ears to hear, to hear and repent. So, in the parable, the rich man does just that. He sees that the manager has acted against exploitation, and he praises him. Instead of a public dismissal, he is publicly commended.

Jesus continues, saying that those who claim to be the sons of light, a term that was in circulation with some currency as a way of claiming to be righteous in an unjust world, were not as wise as they made out. And so, it proves, when, far from repenting, the Pharisees ridicule him. Jesus, however, instructs his disciples to be like the manager, who subverts wealth, who subverts the injustice of wealth, to make friends with the poor, with those who will welcome us into what he calls the age-long tabernacle. That is, the enduring symbol of God’s presence in the midst of God’s people—whether the temple stands or not.

And then Jesus says that our attitude towards money reveals our attitude towards true riches.

The currency of maturity is forgiveness. Those who welcome Jesus into their lives as the manager of their household, over all their affairs, financial and otherwise, are those who know that their debts have been written-down, and written-down again, until they are written-off. But they also know that the debts they hold against others will be written-down and written-off: for that is the modus operandi of this manager. The one who taught his disciples to pray: ‘And forgive us our sins, for we ourselves forgive everyone indebted to us’ (Luke 11:4a). If you would be forgiven, you must also forgive.

Some thirty years after the elite conspired with the authorities to have Jesus executed, Paul wrote to Timothy urging that the new household of God, the church, ought to pray, for everyone, and for kings and all those in high positions. As in the times of Amos, and Haggai, and Jesus, and Paul, so in every age (and whether we remain in the EU or leave the EU) the rich exploit the poor, and those who have much exploit those who have little. And we are to subvert this, even though it cost us our reputation, even though we are ridiculed. But we are to do so, not as revolutionaries; but, rather, in the hope that all might be saved. The rich and the poor. The elite and the commoner. In hope, despite all evidence to the contrary, of the possibility of a more just world.

Where do our prayers begin? Praying with Jesus, the one mediator between God and humankind, who gave himself a ransom for all: Father, forgive. Father, forgive them.

Thirteenth Sunday after Trinity 2019

Lectionary readings: 1 Timothy 1:12-17 and Luke 15:1-10

[a sermon that I wrote but did not deliver]

The other day, I was having a coffee with my friend Steve, who was visiting Durham from New Zealand. I wanted to ask him about some research he had been doing on craftivism. Craftivism is the act of making craft, that is traditional domestic manufacturing, with the purpose of making the world a better place. One example would be knitting circles making hats for premature babies. In particular, Steve had been looking at the impact of Christmas Angels. You might have heard of Christmas Angels, or even come across one. They are knitted angels, that are left around the neighbourhood to be found, in an act sometimes called ‘yarn bombing.’ They have a tag, with a little message of blessing, an invitation to participate in the process, and social media tag to allow people to share their experience. People have responded with messages like, “I found this angel on my street, and took it to a friend who is going through a hard time. Thank you!”

Analysing hundreds of messages, Steve had noted four themes: [1] the significance of finding and being found; [2] a joy associated with that, and the need to share that joy with others; [3] a precise sense of place, where this happened; and [4] layers of creative interaction between makers and finders.

There is something of this going on in our Gospel reading today. Tax-collectors and sinners were finding Jesus, were finding a welcome in Jesus. They couldn’t keep it to themselves. One would bring a friend, until they were all coming. All those trying to get by. All those who had been made to feel unworthy by their neighbours. All coming to the table for a joyful celebration.

When the respectable people expressed their disapproval, Jesus told them stories. Of a man who lost one sheep in a hundred. Of a woman who lost one coin, of ten. Of a person who had become acutely aware that, for all they had, something was missing, life was incomplete. And so, they went searching, until they found what they were looking for, and when they did, they threw a party.

The first thing we might note is the significance of finding and being found. As Paul writes to Timothy, ‘Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners.’ But he came, for the most part, hiding in plain sight, out in the neighbourhood, waiting to be found. And when people found Jesus—the lost sheep, the lost coin—and called all their friends to join in their rejoicing, they came to discover that they were the ones who had been found; and in inviting Jesus to their table, they found themselves invited by Jesus to God’s table.

The next thing we might note is the joy associated with being found, and the need to share that joy with others. We hear that joy as we listen-in on Paul writing to his young friend Timothy. He can’t keep it to himself. Neither could the tax-collectors and the sinners, and the angels in heaven!

We might note, too, a precise sense of place. For Paul, it is about an encounter with Jesus on the road to Damascus, an event in which he received mercy, and the grace of our Lord overflowed for him with the faith and love that are in Christ Jesus. For the tax-collectors and the sinners, Luke tells us that they were coming near to listen to Jesus. We can imagine one asking another, ‘Where were you when you first heard, when you first saw for yourself, when you first met Jesus?’ The irony is that Jesus also welcomed and ate with Pharisees and scribes, but instead of joy they responded with grumbling. You can be there, and miss it.

And, lastly, we might note the layers of creative interaction going on. Yes, as Paul puts it, ‘Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners.’ But, again and again, it is the people who find Jesus who call their friends and neighbours to be found. Jesus is the lost sheep…and the shepherd; the coin…and the woman. The tax-collectors and sinners—and, potentially, the Pharisees and scribes—are the searching shepherd who becomes a found sheep; the woman, frantic and relieved, who becomes a found coin. And round and round it goes, in an ever-expanding cycle. Paul receives mercy, and all that overflows to him overflows through him.

The day before yesterday was the eightieth anniversary of this church [St Nicholas’ Bishopwearmouth]. Today, we celebrate eighty years of men and women, girls and boys, who have found Jesus and found themselves found by Jesus, in this neighbourhood; caught up in a joy they can’t help but share. Perhaps you have never known that for yourself. Perhaps today is the day you do.