For or Against Pentecost 18, Mark 9:38-50 Seems like the ones who were closest to him wanted to claim rights to his name. Keep him exclusive to their chosen few: came to complain, sought to restrain someone unlicensed who heals in his name: not been approved should be removed. Maverick exorcist they wanted stopped! Jesus said, “No! Let his work flow! Power in my name is connected to me, for not against. Don’t keep me fenced! Acts of compassion all represent God, bringing reward. No need to hoard!” “Those who abuse any little one’s trust – better to be thrown in the sea; better to choose to be maimed, lame or blind: salt that tastes bland tossed on the sand.” Do not attempt to raise walls that divide! Grace is unchecked, boxes are wrecked. Labels are useless and barriers breached. Jesus the Word makes himself heard in every language and through every faith. Love is the test God applies best. Think you know who should be in and who’s out? All who are for come through Christ’s door.
Last of All and Servant of All
Last of All and Servant of All Pentecost 17, Mark 9:30-37 He taught them that the Son of Man would be betrayed by human hand. It seems he might have saved his breath: they could not bear his talk of death; they would not ask or understand. Instead they argued on the way, competing to be seen as great. They might have known that he would ask, and strip away each ego mask to leave them all in humbled state. “Such hopes of greatness are a farce! God’s choice of first will be the last, content to serve with simple grace, not battling for some higher place. The time for posturing has past.” He called a little child to show the open face of one not grown to seek ambition’s fleeting prize, or study to be worldly wise. He held the child as if his own. “A welcome shown to such a one will also welcome God’s own Son, the Suffering Servant sent to be the promise of a world set free, where greed and power will come undone.”
Lose and Find
Lose and Find (Song Lyrics to the Welsh tune Ar hyd y nos: All through the night) Pentecost 16, Proverbs 1:20-33, Mark 8:27-38) 1. Lose the life that makes you smaller, scrambling for gain. Find the life that stretches taller, learning from pain. Take your cross and pray to bear it: God will find a way to share it. Life renews and you will dare it, rising again. 2. Lose the cramping expectations: find who you are. Lose your self-blame desolations: lower the bar. There’s no need to climb the ladder; lonely heights can make you sadder. Walk a path that’s humbler, gladder - no spite can mar. 3. Lose your worldly aspiration judged by success. Find the source of inspiration doubt can’t repress. Wisdom waits when failures shake us – waits to see if loss will wake us, offers insights to re-make us more whole, not less.
From Anxiety to Wisdom
From Anxiety to Wisdom Pentecost 16, Proverbs 1:20-33; Mark 8:27-38 I have heard them describing this time as an Age of Anxiety. It would take a conversion of soul to become Wisdom’s Century. There are plenty alive who display technological mastery. Do you know of some sages revered for insightful integrity? Yet the manifest perils we face which induce such anxiety on occasions are known to call forth a serene equanimity. Can we find a philosopher’s stone, making gold from base substances? Could it be that we need to accept that as creatures we’re vulnerable, and it’s futile to try to defend or disguise our fragility? So though Jesus knew suffering and death awaited his ministry, Simon Peter refused to accept such a harsh ignominity. Thus already one chosen as rock, and aware of divinity, thinks refusal might somehow avert the Messiah’s dark destiny. It’s no wonder he later says “No!” when accused of relationship! In his fear he can’t come to accept what his courage demands of him: to dispense with his daydreams of power trampling over the enemy. So he had to be broken and weep at the lapse in his faithfulness, and forgiven, surrender to love, face an ultimate helplessness. Peter learnt how to carry his cross when he saw that through tragedy all must walk at the last, even God come to share our humanity. So if weakness accepted might stand with no need to retaliate, and the pain of the cheek that we turn shames the violence of tyranny, then perhaps we find meaning that brings us close to divinity. Our humility grows as we come to the source of self-emptying, who is also the way to fulfil our authentic identity, as we let ourselves grow into truth universal and merciful. Then at last though we suffer and die we emerge into joyfulness, and God’s wisdom is fully revealed, displacing anxiety.
The Syrophoenician Woman
The Syrophoenician Woman Pentecost 15, Mark 7:24-37 Celebrate with me this woman, this bold Syrophoenician woman, facing prejudice and limits, walking out alone in public, daring to accost this stranger who was hiding in seclusion. Those offended sneered and muttered slurs that mocked her race and gender, called her “prostitute”, rejecting such impertinent intrusion. Courtesan perhaps she might be, scholars say now who examine her sophisticated language and the skill of her rebuttal, begging with undaunted purpose for the sake of her own daughter, and the daughter generations held in thrall by unclean spirits – paralyzed by race and gender stereotypes and baseless slander. What to make of one we cherish, Son of God and Son of Mary, choosing images so hurtful, adding insult to rejection? Could he think one race entitled, others fit to be belittled? Was it neediness turned hurtful from the depths of his depletion? Was he pushed beyond his limits by importunate demanding and the bitter strains of conflict? Did he grasp at ethnic branding, human in acculturation, pressured by his incarnation and his aching need for refuge? Some excuse his words as testing power of faith to rise to challenge. Or was this a test of women to reveal their wit and courage and the truth of their potential, once unshackled from supression? We still claim from her responses proof of women’s faith and reason long denied by patriarchy. Were the words of their encounter parable of liberation overturning expectation? “Even dogs eat crumbs from children!” Deft rebuke in humble answer! We are wrong to use her image in a claim we are unworthy! Jesus gave rare affirmation to her intellect and power: “You speak Logos; you bring healing!” She had healed more than her daughter. Women generations after are empowered by her example. Did the Lord himself find healing in enacting new creation?
My Song of Songs
My Song of Songs Pentecost 14, Song of Songs 2:8-13 What if God who loves is also lover and I and every living thing and even rocks and suns are the Beloved and longing and belonging is our song. And what if Eros and “I AM” are one and I-Thou runs deep in every atom and relationship is all there is and the sacred craving to come into relationship is the stuff of body and soul of gravity and magnetism of one dark woman with one shepherd-king of I myself with (my god!) My God. And what if a community struggling for unity and a mystic embracing emptiness and a lover desiring consummation and an ascetic straining for chastity and a people wrestling with covenant and a carpenter facing crucifixion are truly all united in the one metaphor show forth their meanings in the one parable: the Kingdom of Heaven is like this: the knowing that embraces all the singing of a song of love the Song of Songs.
Temples Come Temples Go
Temples Come, Temples Go Pentecost 13, 1 Kings 8:1,6,10-11,22-30,41-43; John 6:56-69 King David imagined a house for the Lord: it would have been visible gift and reward. The prophet came back with God’s word of delay: “Let Solomon take up this dream in his day!” Stone walls lined with cedar encrusted with gold would stand as four centuries’ stories unfold. The beauty created for that time and place was broken by Babylon, leaving no trace. When Jesus predicted their temple would fall, those leaders decided to silence his call, but forty years later, a litter of stones was all that remained, like some dinosaur’s bones. So let us imagine, and when time is right it may be a dream will take flesh in our sight, but can we let go of the forms of the past when God calls us on to a new age at last? Wise Solomon knew that the house they had made with all of its beauty and meaning displayed could never contain and define the divine – God’s Spirit might take flesh in bread and in wine, or come to fruition in one precious life laid down as a gift when oppression was rife, to rise like a temple rebuilt in three days, the one who gives form to all meaning and praise. Barbara Messner 18/08/2021
Two Sonnets, one new, one old
Two Sonnets – one new, one old Pentecost 12, John 6: 51-58 Flesh to Eat How can this man give us his flesh to eat? Not cannibals, communicants are we! To give his flesh as bread subverts defeat, forgiving our betrayals yet to be. So often he disturbs our literal sense, upsets convention, challenges what’s right, and then must bear the brunt of our offence, flesh broken, blood poured out, the looming night. His body swallowed whole by death and tomb is by his rising free for all to share: to eat this bread will make in us the room for flesh to mate with Spirit if we dare. Then we will bear the Christ. Our hands and feet will do his work, creation made complete. Barbara Messner 11/08/2021 I am, you are I am, you are – such insight wisdom seeks, and being meets with knowing in this Word. Polemic, fact or fiction, vision, myth – beyond these masks the Word of truth is heard: I AM – beyond all matter’s bland disguise. We see God’s face through Christ’s unflinching eyes, and Christ through those that give his Spirit room to breathe that vision, lit with Love’s surprise. “I am the light,” – our darkness lightens there. “I am the way,” and life becomes that walk. “I am the bread,” and so our hungry hearts are fed abundance far beyond the talk. “I AM,” he says, and at the end, “I thirst!” Out of the rock of death, life’s waters burst! Barbara Messner circa 2000
Living Bread
Living Bread Pentecost 11, John 6:35;41-51 O bread of life, teach me to wait and rise, for I am flat beneath these leaden skies. The words I write are stodgy from the start – no Spirit effervescence of true art. I come to you, but hunger has grown dull; I write of you, but know not what to cull. My thoughts I judge parochial at best – but you they thought too local to be blessed, and what has come from heaven must find flesh that looks like someone’s offspring, not made fresh. Though we are drawn to God, we may not see a splendour more complete than we can be, and though you nurture us to live, not die, we know not what that means, or how or why.
Praying My Age
When shadows lengthen, and things that hide in shadows lurk, be to me the shaft of light that gilds me in surprise. Colour my sky. When evening darkens, and landmarks blur within the murk, be to me the eyes of owl, that guide a seeking glide. Charm me to fly. When fog confuses, and every move is heavy work, be to me a well-known voice that clearly calls my name. Let me know why.
Barb, poet priest 