The Consecration of Alison Taylor

On April 6^th 2013, I had the great honour and privilege of serving as deacon at the consecration to Bishop in the Anglican Communion of Alison Taylor. Not only was it my first time serving in this capacity at the 'mothership' (aka Cathedral), but it was also the first time a woman has been consecrated to this position in Brisbane, the 4^th in Australia and only the 34^th worldwide. This experience has touched me deeply, pulling me into the potential of the future as well as pushing me back into my own past.

I was never a particularly 'girly girl'. Growing up in the 80's,, my mum would sew me the most beautiful skirts, delicate tops, flouncy dresses. And we would have screaming, tearful arguments about why I should wear them to my friends party rather than the jeans and t shirt I had planned. I was an early female member of my local cub scout group, forcing my father to become a scout leader for three years so I could go on camps as the only girl. I remember lying in the bath at around 10 years old bitterly wondering why God had made me a girl when boys seemed to be able to run faster, climb higher, punch harder. Don't get me wrong, I was never confused as to my gender identity for a minute, but really, boys seemed to get the better deal.

Then puberty hit, and as an early bloomer I became very attractive to the boys. This changed things!I still preferred pants to skirts and would rather DO something than WATCH it, but there seemed to be some compensations for being a girl that I hadn't come across till now. And I showed some ability in science, maths and literature that helped me to see I could 'compete' with the boys on a more even footing – suddenly being a girl didn't seem so bad.

I grew up surrounded by strong women – my mother, my grandmothers and my God-mother have always been huge influences in my life. So in 1992, at 11 years old, it was a given that I would go (in a dress!) and see my beloved godmother be ordained as an Anglican priest.

To be honest I don't have many memories of this time. I remember a crowded cathedral. I remember lots of people in long white dresses, men and women, looking very formal and a bit nervous. I remember the sound of a huge organ filling all available space. And I remember a crowd of dirty, hairy old men striding down the cathedral in the middle of the ceremony, yelling and pointing at the ordinands waiting to fulfil their calling as priests in the Anglican Church. I don't remember much about what happened next, but my god-mother and her colleagues were duly ordained and took their place in the ordained ministry of the Anglican church.

Maybe I was sheltered, maybe naïve, maybe I was just a typical self centred pre teen, but I never understood the fuss over whether or not women could be priests. My parents were both teachers, so surely (in my mind) men and women could do the same job without any differentiation? I had no understanding of the exclusive 'maleship' of God or of Christ – indeed, if God and through God Jesus Christ and the Holy Spirit were as integral to my being as my very breath, how could they be male? It was a no brainer – to restrict the gender of priests was to restrict God, and that can only be wrong. Until I left school however it was really a moot point – I knew female priests existed, I even knew some, but this issue was not particularly relevant to me.

Until I felt the call. It began when I was finishing grade 12, set on going to university to study music, sure that this was my path. But there was always that small voice, pushed to the side with exasperation - “what about being a priest?”.

Later, as a finished my Bachelor of Music degree, the voice got more insistent. I started talking about the idea of priests in general with those around me, testing out the thought in my brain, on my tongue. Performing in a Church one day with a group of friends, I tentatively ventured the idea that I may be back one day in a different calling. My friend collapsed in laughter - “You're a woman! Women can't be priests!”. I didn't ask why not.

My journey continued as I started studying theology, applied for discernment (which begins the process leading to ordination), was knocked back, kept studying, had a baby, applied and got into the formation program, got cancer, kept studying, had another baby, kept studying and finally was ordained as a Deacon in the Anglican Church last year.

Did being a woman hold me back? Does it still? Truthfully, I don't know. Sometimes, it was probably an advantage. Certainly as a mother with a young family I have an automatic bond with other parents. Probably some people feel more comfortable talking to me exactly BECAUSE I don't look or act like a 'typical' minister. But the kind of people I work with, minister to and are surrounded by are not the kind of people who have a problem with my ministry as an ordained woman anyway, so I wouldn't know. I know that some of the kids I teach Christian Religious Education to have never been exposed to an ordained woman before, but certainly it doesn't seem to bother them. I know that there will be times that I am not going to be the most appropriate minister for a particular circumstance, and some of that will probably be down to my gender. If someone is so uncomfortable with my position and gender that it becomes a barrier between them and God, and there is not enough time to show them how God is at work in and through me, then I hope I will be graceful in my acceptance of this. If by God's will I am ordained as a priest it breaks my heart that my ordination will not be recognised in some parts of the Anglican Church, even here in Australia. But my hope is that as women become more visible members of the body of Christ, as we minister to God's people with our special gifts as women and priests in God's Church, we can start to break through these barriers and see the Christ in all of us.

So this, this is why it was such an incredible, Spirit-full occasion to be a part of the service that tied Bishop Alison to us with bonds that can't be broken. Because in affirming her vocation we affirm that God is not limited by human boundaries or understandings, that Christ is not found exclusively in those with male genitalia, that the Spirit fills us in ways that are beyond any of our limited human understanding. And my children now have the opportunity to grow up knowing that nothing can separate them from God. Nothing.

Forgiveness

I've been very slack about posting my sermons up here, and I will (probably) get around to it at some point, really I will! But the sermon I preached on Sunday has stuck with me a little, so I think I need to explore it a little more.

The main text was taken from John, and it was based around John 20:23, If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained. Forgiveness. Peace. Reconciliation. All words meaning the same base concept, that the love of God casts out all that is evil in our hearts and replaces it with light, but what does this look like in our lives and the life of the world?

My point in my sermon... oh, stuff it, I'll chuck the whole thing in here.

There is a particular group of people in the world, many of whom are sitting in this Church today. They have experienced new life. They are filled with the joy and celebration that comes from a world of possibility. Their lives are overflowing with love, and they proclaim the good news... to the point when it sometimes seems like it is all they can speak of. We are happy for them, of course, but sometimes we worry that their new found obsession is taking over their lives, and wonder if we will ever be able to have a normal conversation with them again... of course, I am talking about Grandparents.

New life is an amazing thing. It is hard for anyone to see a new born infant sleeping with their scrunched up little faces and not feel something stir deep within. So I think the first Apostles can be forgiven for being so excited by the resurrection of Christ, so filled with the potential of the life that is to come, that despite the limits placed on them by law and society they could not help but spread the good news. Not only did they speak the words, but they felt honoured that they were able to do so, privileged to be given such a task, even when death and dishonour was to come.

We have been honoured with the charge given to us by Jesus, as described in the Gospel today - “Receive the Holy Spirit. If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained”. Jesus came to the disciples, and his first and most repeated words are 'Peace be with you”. I think we can understand that they would have been quite agitated at the first appearance of the risen Christ, but why does he repeat this again and again? What is this peace he is granting? Could it be that the peace he offers has most to do with forgiveness? That playing on their minds, even as they rejoiced in his appearance of new life, was the sin and betrayal that had preceded and followed his death?

The ensuing Pentecostal commissioning would seem to support this. As God the Father has sent Jesus with the power of forgiveness, so Jesus now sends them with the power of the Holy Spirit - “If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained”. A serious charge – is Jesus now saying they have the ability to send people to heaven or to hell?

I think not. How could these humans, having participated in the betrayal and death of the son of God, possibly retain the sins of any after experiencing themselves the utterly gracious presence of Jesus among them as forgiveness? Had they done anything to deserve forgiveness? They had not – and yet Jesus did not for a moment seem to retain any of their sin.

Then there's the second part of that calling. His disciples, those who had been closest to him and yet denied and betrayed him at the very end, grief stricken, frightened, and surely feeling guilty as sin...not only does he not try for retribution or revenge, not only does he share peace, grace and forgiveness, but he charges them to share his message of forgiveness in the world! Later, when Christ is looking for someone to spread this forgiveness to the ends of the world, he chooses none other but Saul, persecutor and murderer of Christ's first messengers. Is Jesus absolutely insane?

No, of course not. Jesus is the Son of God, and so he definitely does things differently than how we would do them. Who better to preach the good news of forgiveness than those who have been forgiven so much themselves? Jesus calls those, not who appear blameless or somehow worthy, but those who truly know that they have been forgiven.

You and I are called as disciples of Christ. Not because we are somehow better than others, but because we know how wrong we are, and we know how much we have been forgiven. We have experienced the life affirming gift of the resurrection, and the joy that is found in forgiveness. Our risen Lord comes to us in the Sacrament of the Eucharist, says “Peace be with you”, accepts our confession and grants us forgiveness. He calls us to spread the news, to share this healing, life changing love with all those around us. But what does this look like to those of us who don't have a captive audience every week?

Let me tell you a story about a friend of mine. Julee-anne teaches singing, and she has a new student who is a member of her church and wants to sing. At his first lesson he told her that he really wanted to glorify God through music, but that he was worried that he couldn't really sing. Now, at this first lesson Julee-anne admitted to me that he wasn't particularly tuneful, but at his second lesson the next week the change was remarkable! Not quite Australian Idol stuff, but the quality and substance of his voice had grown beyond what she thought would be possible. She asked him what the difference was, and this is what he said.

“Julee-anne, last week when I said I wanted to sing for God in Church but that I was afraid I wasn't good enough, you reminded me of the psalm “make a joyful noise unto the Lord” and that all that was required was joy, not perfection. You told me that I can sing, and so all week I just kept singing to God.” And he is singing still.

Julee-anne is one of the priesthood of believers. She risked, not death, but shame or misunderstanding by sharing her faith with her student. She let the joy of music in God bubble up out of her life into his, and what a difference it made! She treated her student with love and peace, with forgiveness. And she heard the fruits of her ministry in his voice.

We are not always fortunate enough to see the results of our ministry as quickly or as clearly. But we have been charged to get out there and share the good news, to get busy forgiving people's sins as best we can, because unless people feel the power of forgiveness in their own lives, they won't be able to extend it to others. Peace begets peace, love begets love, and forgiveness begets forgiveness. Thanks be to God. 

Anyway, the point I was making was that retaining sin, both of ourselves and others, harms no one but ourselves It is in forgiveness that we allow ourselves to grow closer to God and to each other. The thing is, this is easy for me because I've had a remarkably charmed life. I've never experienced any kind of lasting abuse, never been personally involved in anything that would make forgiveness difficult. How does forgiveness look for people who have more to forgive than I can even imagine?

So I did what any good curate should do and spoke with my rector. What does forgiveness look like, I asked, for someone who has been abused? Who IS being abused? What does it look like for the parent of an abused child? For the women who died waiting for ordination? For the man in a wheelchair because of a drunken brawl? It is clear that there are two paths after trauma - to forgive or retain the sin. But what does this look like? It can't mean putting yourself or your children back in harm's way. It can't mean ignoring the crime and letting the perpetrator be unaccountable and free to abuse again. What does it mean to forgive?

Of course there is no short and easy answer to this question. Forgiveness will express itself in different ways to different people in different circumstances. But ultimately, to forgive means not allowing the sin, or the sinner, to have any power over you. It means acknowledging the past, learning from it, but not allowing it to separate you from living the fullest life possible in the power of the Spirit. And it is important not only for those who need to forgive others, but for those who need to forgive themselves.

Pastorally, this can taken many different forms. Sacraments ("an outward and visible sign of an inner reality", for those non theologians out there: basically, a ritual or ceremony) can be written in conjunction with the person involved to allow them to acknowledge the pain and then to allow it to go - fire, burial, water are all elements that can be used to heal. Sometimes a conversation with the sinner and the sinned against can be helpful, a recognition of the suffering can take place on both parts, but repentance is not necessary for forgiveness. Retaining a sin does not hurt the sinner, only the one who can not forgive.

I think the hardest thing for me is seeing those out there, those who I love, being continually hurt by the sins they can not forgive. But forgiveness is a journey. And it's one that we must initiate for ourselves, not alone, but in the company of the God who has and always will forgiven all of out sins.

Amen.

 

Baptism: sermon base for Sunday

Who remembers their baptism? No, me neither. Who remembers their children's, or grandchildren's, or godchildren's, or other baptism? Who remembers William's baptism? Good, extra points for you. Ok, more tricky now. Who has ever thought, seeing a family in the weeks before a baptism and then at the service, “I wonder if we'll ever see them again?”. Or even, treacherously, “why are we baptising this child when we know full well they will never set foot in a church again?”. Who has ever looked at a tiny little baby and thought – what sin has she ever committed? What forgiveness could he possibly require? In our tradition we baptise infants, but why?

All very good questions. And coincidentally I wrote a 3000 word essay on this very topic a few years ago which I will now read... only joking. But if baptism is indeed fundamental to our faith, then I feel it is a topic that is worth examining.

Let's start with Jesus, like a good little reformed Catholic churchgoers. We hear today that Jesus was baptised, although Luke does not specify by whom. But if Jesus was without sin, why was his baptism necessary? I think our trouble here is with our language. We say baptism is for forgiveness of sin, but perhaps we need to say he was baptised for repentance.

We think of repentance as a sorrow, an acknowledgement of wrongdoing, but in it's purest form repentance is a turning away, setting oneself towards a new path. By all accounts, his baptism marks the beginning of Jesus adult ministry and his journey towards Jerusalem. It is mentioned as such in all 4 Gospels. Baptism is the beginning of Jesus life as an acknowledged child of God.

Baptism, for Jesus, is about identity. You are my son, the beloved; with you I am well pleased. Baptism teaches us who we are, as children of God. In a world which seems to be going through an identity crisis, once baptised we know who we are. When fractured families seem to be more common, when mid life crises are looming and career shifts are the norm, we have an identity that can not be changed. We are acknowledged children of God. We belong to a family that transcends

time and space, that can never be fractured or broken no matter how hard we try.

But does Baptism “make” us part of God’s family or does it “announce” to us that God includes us in God’s family? I think how you answer this one greatly shapes your sense of why we baptize in the first place. If it’s the former – Baptism makes us part of God’s family – then Baptism becomes a requirement of life with God now and in the life to come. At its best, this greatly stresses Baptism’s importance, but at it’s worst, it devolves into a “ticket to heaven” mentality where parents want their children “done” just to be on the safe side. I still remember lying in bed at night as a child worrying about those little children in Africa who were destined to burn in hell because they hadn't been baptised – I don't know where I got this idea, I blame the internet. If, on the other hand, it’s the latter – Baptism announces God’s inclusion of us into God’s family – then perhaps we can feel some urgency to keep reminding ourselves and each other of that tremendous gift and be willing to imagine how God might also reach out to those who have never been baptized.

But does this take away the specialness, the uniqueness of being baptised? I don't think it does. We are not better or more loved because we have been baptised, but we are different. Maybe God doesn't need the sacraments, but us humans sure do. A sacrament is defined as “as outward sign of an inner reality”, basically something tangible to show something of God's grace. The second element of the sacraments – in addition to being tangible signs for tangible people – is the reminder that God works through means. That God always comes to us in ways that are accessible to us. That is why we baptise our children in front of the congregation. That is why we promise to support and love these families, whether or not we see them again, whether or not they do what we think they should. We promise to show them God's love, that has no limits and no boundaries.

That is part of why we baptise infants. It is part of why my babies were baptised when they were far too small to remember any of it. But part of the reason too is that I think there’s something about not waiting until someone understands or can choose or participate actively that’s powerful, too. It demonstrates that God didn’t wait, that God not only loved us in general but wants us to know about it, that God actually wants us to grow up surrounded by this profession of love way before we can understand or even attempt to understand it. Could we just tell each other that and hold off on baptism. Perhaps. But there’s something about the sheer physicality of drenching a child in the waters of baptism that makes it three-dimensional. There are lots of rituals, I suspect, that we do with our children that they don’t understand and won’t remember but we do them to establish a foundation with them. First birthday parties (or second or third for that matter); celebrations over first steps, first words, first successful potty training ; huge bear hugs and more. Why wait?

If we were longing to adopt a child and that child was available to us to love even as an infant, would we wait until they were old enough to understand. I mean, we could foster the child, tell her over and over how much we love her, and then when she’s old enough to consent and remember it all better then have the formal adoption ceremony. But I’m guessing we’d want too badly to include him into our family as fully and completely as soon as possible rather than hold off.

Today we will celebrate our own baptism. Because baptism is a sacrament like all sacraments that is not limited to time and space. When we participate in the Eucharist, I believe that we are somehow joined and joining all people throughout history who have done the same. Baptism is a one off event but also a continual renewal. Knowledge of our baptism calls us to repentance each and every day, to turn away from sin and set our faces towards a new life. We live in the knowledge that we are in a relationship that can never be broken. We are the family of God. The Lord be with you.

Happy (belated) New Year!

Ok, so this is a little late but it's the first time I've had the time, the energy and the solitude to actually sit down and write in peace (or a piece of quiet as Abby used to say). I've written this post a million times in my head... I wonder how much will make it onto paper?

It is apparently popular at this time of year for bloggers to do a round up of what's been going on throughout 2012 - a kind of highlights reel, is it were. So I'm going to chuck some random memories in here, some good and some not, as a permanent reminder of 2012.

The year that was...

In January we farewelled Mick, Jason's father and Poppa to our children. It was a hard time, but made easier in a lot of ways because we had said goodbye to Grandad just a few months before. We knew the routine - lots of visits, lots of hugs, and every time you say goodbye say it is if it is the last. He died peacefully in his sleep, thank God, with Ruth there and Jason soon afterwards.

In the time leading up to his death we had a few discussions about what comes next. I think we helped each other not be afraid, although there were times he grew very frustrated because he wanted ANSWERS and I couldn't give any. But he was able to meet his grandson, William Mick, and see his story written before he died.

Mick never stopped searching, and he was always looking for the next big thing. He always threw himself whole heartedly into whatever he was doing and never let the bad times get him down. We miss him.

Abby started school this year, my precious little girl off by herself into this strange new world. She took to it with gusto, the first day she came home and said "Mummy, we played all day, we didn't have to learn ANYTHING!". We were blessed with her teacher and her teacher aide, who loved our children and devoted so much time and energy into helping them find their learnings. THey commented on Abby's compassion and lovely manners, which I take immense satisfaction from. Abby is the child who will always stop to comfort somone who is lost or crying, and she speaks confidently and articulately in front of her year level. She can even read and write! She is quite advanced with mathematical concepts (skipped a generation here I think!) and while she isn't 'gifted' (thank goodness) she is bright enough and social enough that she should never struggle too much at school.

Two things I've really noticed with Abby is that she can now swing herself on a swing and throw and catch a ball. Abd she is a confident and safe swimmer, which is a relief! Her bestest friend is a little girl called Venus, who is Thai. Venus is very bossy and likes to tell stories to make herself important, but Abby is learning how to stand up to her now. That's my girl!

Abby's favourite Christmas present is her skateboard and she is very excited about her violin - Julee-Anne asked her what she wanted for her birthday and Abby said "Well, I'm already getting the thing I want more than anything else in the world so I don't really know!" She asked Santa for a rainbow talking unicorn that could fly (her imaginary friend) but Santa brought her a letter from the unicorn's mummy saying that Rainbow was too little just yet. Abby was sad, but she is coping.

William is no longer my baby. Well, he really is, but he thinks he's a big boy! We made it to one year, although everything before his birthday is a bit of a blur, and my goodness we love that child. He has more words than Abby did: Mummy, Daddy, Abby, dog (doog), please (pizz), thank you, bic (biccie), more, and of course boob. He uis just starting to walk this week, and my heart just melts to see him. He adores his big sister and she loves him just as much, too much sometimes when we are trying to settle him down and she is making him laugh. He is at the point when giving things to people is much fun and he loves to carry around the toilet roll holder. He also loves to sing along and do anything that makes noise. Just after his 1st birthday he started sleeping through regularly. That was a happy happy day. He enjoys all the kids at kindy and has been very happy there - no seperation anxiety here!

We have put a lot of work into our children but it is a pleasure and a priviledge to watch them grow and change. I just hope they can spell better than me.

Hmm. So far I've only discussed the family. Well, stay tuned for more after these short notices...

Last sremon of Advent

Mary:

I was almost 14 when I became betrothed. I had never met this man, Joseph, whom I would spend the rest of my life with, but I knew that he was of a suitable age, about 30, and that he was a carpenter, so would have the means to look after me and my children. I was excited that I would finally be counted as a woman, no longer a child, but of course I was also a little scared – it is no mean thing to leave your family to live with someone you don't know.

When I found I was pregnant I was terrified. I knew, KNEW that this was a unique child, a blessing from God, one who would change the world now and forever, but it would be assumed that I was adulterous – and the penalty was death. So I made haste and fled to Judea some one hundred miles away when you bypass Samaria, which I had to do. If a Samarian had caught me, an Israelite, travelling through their territory they would have killed me without a second thought. The journey was dangerous – there were wild animals, bandits, and extremes of weather that a young girl travelling alone had to be brave and a little foolhardy to survive.

I was running for my life.

I needed Elizabeth’s protection.  This was no social visit.  This was not happenstance.  Elizabeth was the wife of a priest, a descendant of Aaron, and the matriarch of our clan.  She was distantly related to me, a girl from a related clan. I fled to see a distant cousin who she hoped would save her life. Had Elizabeth not blessed my pregnancy, and had the religious authorities condemned me as an adulterer, I might be put to death. It was a journey of faith, that would be made again so many times over my life – faith that God was, is and always will be with me, that God's purposes are ultimately fulfilled.

Elizabeth:

Had Zechariah been able to speak, he would have condemned Mary.  As a priest, he would follow the law.  He was known for following the law. As a man in a patriarchal culture with a patriarchal religion and institutions, there would be pressure to enforce the law.  The Law demanded death.

The law protected male interests.  Girls were property. For example, if a man rapes a girl, he was required under the law to pay the girl’s father fifty shekels and to then marry her. Having lost her virginity, the girl could not be married and no dowry could be collected, so the rapist has to marry the girl, and the girl had to marry her rapist. Conversely, a husband’s infidelity is punished only if he takes another man’s wife. But a wife who commits adultery commits a “great sin”. She would be severely punished. Her husband could forgive her, but he could then divorce her leaving her penniless and disgraced. It was a risk for me to accept an unmarried young woman with child into my house. Unlike for Mary, my pregnancy carried with it a rise in status – as a barren woman unable to produce a son for my husband, I was useless, less than a woman and of little value. Now I was able to stand proud and tall, knowing that I was fulfilling my duty not only to my family but to my God.

When I greeted Mary, I knew that she too carried a special baby. She carried the Messiah, the one for which we have been waiting for so many long years. I was filled with the Holy Spirit and cried “Blessed are you among women and blessed is the fruit of your womb.”

Then Mary begins her song. It’s full of joy and praise for reversing the power struggle between the lowly and the powerful. God fulfilled his promise to rise up the poor and scatter the proud. Mary’s escape from the limits of her situation and culture symbolizes the fulfilment of these promises.

Josie:

Obviously, this is a reconstruction of a possible encounter. We can't know what was going through Mary and Elizabeth’s heads as they carried. Brought up and eventually farewelled their children, those children that were, despite and within everything that was done in and through them, human and loved.

I have been struggling this advent season. Normally it is my favourite time of the year – a time to celebrate and prepare for Jesus, human and yet divine. A time to remember his beginnings, as a humble, illegitimate child with no claim to glory or status, unique and special in his mother's eyes but to the world, just another man. I think of my own children, feel a bond to Mary as a feed and love them, imagine what it was like for her, watching her oldest child grow and develop. I wonder what she wished for him, how she thought his story would be carried out, if she watched him when he was asleep and was overwhelmed with love and protection. I wonder if she prayed to take his burden, to carry his pain, to give him what he had not chosen for himself – a normal life.

But this advent has been changed for me. I can not rejoice the way I want to. I can't look forward with unbridled joy to the time when Jesus will come in every heart, because this Christmas there are hearts that will be forever empty. This Christmas there are 20 children, children the age of my little girl, and 6 adults, teachers who gave their lives in fear and heartbreak, who are not celebrating the way they should be – with their families, with their friends, with nothing on their mind but the lead up to Christmas.

I live in the faith that, as Mary sung, God has fulfilled God's promises. That the weak are made strong, the poor fulfilled in every way. I have to have faith in this because right now, I find it hard to believe. Once again, children have been torn from their mothers, their fathers, their families and communities. Once again parents who would do anything, suffer anything for the happiness and well being of their children are never going to have that opportunity again. Evil is at work in the world, and the darkness seems to be free. There are plenty of people who seem to know what God is thinking and planning in the wake of this tragedy – I wish I was one of them! But I turn to the Bible to try and help me make sense of this senseless act.

Mary’s words in Luke’s Gospel are probably not the speech of an unmarried girl contemplating her pregnancy. More likely, the author of the Gospel composed them as an interpretation of Mary’s situation. This is not to diminish Mary’s value or faithfulness; but it is a reminder that the author was looking retrospectively at Mary’s pregnancy, viewing it through a post-Easter lens to express a confident hope that God’s Messiah would yet complete the task of upending the world’s oppressive ways.

I am very suspicious, then, of theological statements that promise too much insight into the present. Theology that tells us what God is doing right now, and that definitively claims to understand tomorrow, usually is manipulative theology.

It’s not that we have no confidence in contemplating God’s future, or ours. But God’s future will be informed by who God has been in the past. Our talk about God should begin there, then.

In the end, Mary’s song remains outrageous. When the Gospel of Luke ends, the powerful remain on their thrones, and the rich have not been left empty. No historical event unambiguously confirms her claims; they remain statements of faith.

Advent is like this for Christians. It’s a season of standing up against “the way things are.” Advent rejects the assumption that humanity remains trapped in never-ending decline.

We light candles during advent “against” the night. Our tiny, vulnerable flames pose no threat to the darkness of the night. But we light them anyway, because they declare a different reality to come.

“Joy to the World” will not sound the same this year, not after funerals for twenty beautiful children and their adult defenders in Newtown. The carol, in declaring the “wonders of [Jesus’] love,” will sound fake to some. Ignorant to others. And in some places, hopeful. But I plan on singing it a little defiantly -- not in naïve, Pollyannaish hope, but in confidence that Mary, the author of Luke, and those before them who dared to speak about God saw with a perspective I can learn from.

On your marks...

We are lined up at the starting post. I cast surreptitious glances at the other competitors, checking their postures and assessing who to beat. I feel sick to my stomach, my extremeties are tingling, and the starter gun fires.

I watch my beautiful 5 year old girl trot down the field.

I am a sports mum. The worst kind. The kind that desperately wants her child to win, the kind that seriously considers pulling grotesque faces at the other kids to put them off, the kind that anaylses every race and competition in retrospect to try and improve for the next time.

Luckily, my daughter has no idea.

I think I do a pretty good job of hiding it. When she manages to run a whole race without looking behind her, I cheer and high five. When she slows down at the finish line to let the person behind her catch up, I say what a good friend she is. When she runs into the high jump rope instead of over it, I... ok, I ask her to please please try and jump next time, and she gives me puppy dog eyes and says "but mummy, I did!".

It's not easy being a sports mum to a kid who has no interest or desire to win. She really doesn't care. She quite likes the games, she loves playing with the other kids when she's waiting in line and she seems to have a talent for shot put. But suggest that she may like to beat someone and she'll look at you (ok, at me) like you're crazy. She just doesn't have that killer instinct. Which is just as well really, because she doesn't have any particular talent for it either.

But that's ok. My daughter is extremely gifted in areas that are hard to measure. She is incredibly kind and really cares about other people. She shares her love and possesions equally freely. She has a finely tuned sense of social justice and is beginning to stand up for people who can't stand up for themselves. She happily asked her friends to bring presents for puppies and kittens that don't have any home instead of presents for herself - how many 5 year olds could do that? She loves her baby brother with all her heart and happily (and sometimes unhappily) helps look after him as much as she can. In this mix, does it matter that she can't run or jump as well as the other kids?

No. It doesn't. But I'm still getting Jason to take her to competitions from now on. My blood pressure can't handle it.

Sermon 18-11-12

I strongly suggest you go here
 http://www.textweek.com/yearb/properb28.htm
before reading this one! It makes more sense that way.



We all know by now how much I like stories. I'm a reader. I'm a talker. I like to think I'm a listener. And I believe that every person's story has something to teach us about God and the way God works through peoples lives.
Just as every person has a story, so every person has a family. Not necessarily the incompetent father, happy home-maker mother and 2.3 or 1.8 or however many kids that people like to hold up as an ideal when they are trying to sell us a product or an idea, but a family of origin and often a family of choice. Sometimes these are the same. Sometimes they are not. I realise that my family is an advertisers dream – we have a male and female parent (who are even married!), a male and female child and we are very close to our extended family as well. Of course, our ideality may start to crack a little when people who would like to hold us up as some kind of standard realise that my husband doesn't go to Church, my daughter is a 5 year old feminist, my son wears pink and we are all actively gay friendly.
We are one form of a family, one form that works for us. But not all people have a family that looks like ours. We know functional families who are estranged from their biological parents and dysfunctional ones who should be. We know families with 2 mothers, or one mother, or no father, or 3 fathers. We know families with no children by choice, or many children by accident, or, tragically, no children by circumstances beyond their control. And it was these people who were at the top of my mind and my heart when we read Hannah's story.
It’s curious to see how often in even the Bible (dare one say, in especially the Bible?) the purposes of God somehow move forward not just despite familial dysfunction but sometimes even through it. We’ve got a load of dysfunction coming up in the Samuel story through the shenanigans of Hophni and Phineas—and Eli’s hand-wringing inability to do a blessed thing about it all. But we’ve got nettlesome family issues right in this opening chapter, too.



Hannah was desperate for a child. Many of us will have felt that longing, that feeling that our lives, our hearts, our stories are as of yet incomplete. Added to that yearning was the cruel fact that in ancient Israel a woman's worth lay in her virginity or her motherhood. Without a son, when Hannah's husband died she would be at the mercy of Peninnah, and I'm sure we can well imagine how that mercy would play out. Elkanah also seemed to miss the point – “how could you possibly want a child”, he asks, “when you've got me?”. The Bible doesn't record Hannah's reaction, but I like to think it may have involved violence. Elkanah also seems oblivious to his other wife's constant taunting. Or maybe he thought it shouldn't matter what Peninnah said, after all, Hannah must know she was his favourite!



At first glance, God seems as cruel as Peninnah. Peninnah is obviously cruel with her taunts, yet God seems equally cruel to shut Hannah’s womb. Is God the cause of every barren womb? If we say yes, then it is an easy jump to say God is the cause of every barren and hopeless situation, of every disease and disaster.
I do not believe this. I believe we live in a broken world with several causes of trouble. Some are tied to God’s gift of free will, the consequences of our own choices and/or the consequences of other people’s choices. Some situations are the work of the evil one and some come from the general state of brokenness found in living between Eden and Heaven. It’s consistent with God’s character to bring birth out of barrenness, hope out of hopelessness, but I’m having trouble with the idea of God causing the barrenness to begin with. Was the closing of her womb a special case because God had a special plan? Was it merely a misunderstanding of God’s timing? Did Hannah have to pray in order to nudge God’s memory and resulting action?
This leads to the second difficult question. Why does God answer Hannah’s prayer with a child while so many other prayers for children receive a “no” answer? Is it because she is more faithful? (as seen in her fervent prayers) She doesn’t doubt? (as seen in her attitude change after her encounter with Eli) Is it because of the bargain she makes with God to give the child over to God’s service? In fact the bargain might not be a bargain at all, but rather an illustration of Hannah’s faithfulness since all first born are to be the Lord’s. God does not request anything of her, yet Hannah makes the vow and sees it through. She brings her precious toddler to Eli, a man who has failed miserably in raising his own children.
I know God is not genie awaiting magic words, nor is God’s favor bought with promises or acts of great sacrifice. Yet, I am left with many questions. And I struggle to find a way to make sense of what I read, to bring it in line with my understanding of a life giving God, a Spirit which connects us all and our friend and companion Jesus Christ.
But when we look to Hannah's response, to both her heart wringing trouble and joyous conclusion, maybe this is where we find our God. When Hannah is in need, she doesn't hide from God, or take refuge behind easy platitudes. She doesn't waste time finding the perfect words or making sure she has the right posture to talk to God. She doesn't wait for the Priest to help her or let him regard her as less. She speaks from her heart to the God of her heart, without artifice or posturing. Her words of praise ring out today just as they did thousands of years ago, the praise of a woman's deepest joy being found in the depths of God's compassion.
How often do we remember to give thanks to God? How often do we celebrate the everyday miracles of our lives?
Today, of course, is one of those celebrations. Today we have the privilege of welcoming into God's Church a very special child. Levi's family have heard God calling them to bring Levi to be a part of our family, and we are blessed for it. Like Hannah, this family is praising God in the best way they know how – with joy and thanksgiving, adding an essential chapter in Levi's story, the one that starts with God.
Hanna's story is paired today in the Gospel with Mark 13:1-8 and Jesus’ words about how even the tragedies of life in this world (like wars, rumors of war, and earthquakes) somehow manage to be—in God’s sovereign hands—things that portend the birth of something new and good and not merely the death of all that we have ever known.
That’s good news for all of us who are able to fess up that our own lives are hardly straight lines that always move in the direction of the godly and the good and the pious. Of course, this is no excuse for sloppy living or behaving like a witch such as Peninnah (or for being as foggy as Eli) but it does provide a light of hope that our lives can still be vehicles for good, for the constant working of God.

Let me finish with a story. Morgan Wooten was a basketball coach. He coached at DeMatha High School in the DC area. His teams won 1274 games while losing only 192 times. He was considered by everyone who knew him to be one of the great ones. Well, everyone except his grandson.

Wooten is one of only three high school coaches in the Basketball Hall of Fame. At his induction, he told a story about his grandson's first day of school. The teacher asked Nick, “What's your favorite sport?” “Baseball,” he said.
The teacher knew who Nick's grandfather was. She was surprised, “Not basketball?” Nick said, “Nope. I don't know anybody who knows anything about basketball.”

The teacher was even more surprised, “But Nick, a lot of people think your Grandfather Wooten knows a lot about basketball. Nick snorted and laughed, “Oh no! He doesn’t know anything about basketball. I go to all his games and he never gets to play.”

Sometimes we see God the way Nick saw his grandfather. Because we see the game of life going on and have a hard time seeing the hand of God anywhere in it, we think, “God knows nothing about it,” or, “God cares nothing about it,” or, “God can't do anything about it,” because, after all, we never see God get in the game.

The Scripture readings today talk about the art of having faith in a world gone mad, of seeing God's hand in the wild whirlwind of life around us. They are intended to bring us reassurance of God's love when we go through hard times and God seems to be very far away. So let us pray.

Lord of Hosts, there are so many things we do not understand. Our lack of understanding does not diminish your goodness or your power. Help us to follow you even when the situation is desperate and the way unclear. Build in us a faith that seeks you boldly and honestly, that will persevere in the midst of disrespect and ridicule. Teach us to stand and to defend our faith when others question and misunderstand. You are our only hope and salvation. We need you near. Amen.