January 4th 2026

Epiphany Sunday

Our reflection on Epiphany is taken from an article by David Lose.

“One way into the reading Matthew 2 vs.1-12, would be to focus on the magi. It is ironic that Herod is first alerted to Jesus’ birth, not by the Jewish chief priests and scribes, but by foreign “magi”.

The tradition that these magi were kings has grown out of interpretation of Scripture. Isaiah 60 speaks of Gentile nations being drawn to the light of Israel, and kings to the brightness of its dawn, with gifts of gold and frankincense. Psalm 72 also speaks of Gentile kings bringing gifts and bowing down before the king of Israel. The tradition that there were three kings likely comes from the detail in Matthew’s story that the magi brought three gifts – gold, frankincense, and myrrh.

Despite these traditions, the fact remains that Matthew never says they were kings and never tells us how many there were.                                                                         

The magi were most likely astrologers, perhaps even Zoroastrian priests from Persia.

They are certainly Gentiles; they come from outside of Israel, and they do not know the Scriptures. But they do know how to read the stars.

God reaches out to them and leads them through what they already know. In the ancient world, stars and other signs in the heavens were thought to signal important events. In this case, a bright star rising leads them to discern that a royal birth has occurred in Judea. So they come bringing gifts fit for royalty – gold and frankincense and myrrh.

The humble piety of these foreigners in searching out the infant Judean king to pay him homage stands in stark contrast to the machinations of King Herod. Herod calls together the chief priests and scribes and asks them where the Messiah is to be born. Then he calls for the magi and asks them the exact time that the star appeared. He tells them that when they have found the child, they should come back and tell him, so that he also “may go and pay him homage” (2:8). We know, of course, that he has a much more sinister intent.

The gifts that the magi bring also offer material for reflection. The gift of gold for a king is not hard to understand, but frankincense and myrrh are not so well known in certain contexts and may require some explanation. 

Both frankincense and myrrh come from the fragrant resins of trees, and both have long been used in perfumes and in the making of incense for worship. Myrrh has some very distinctive properties. The name itself means “bitter” in Arabic. Its yellowish-white resin seeps from the trunk of a small desert tree when wounded and hardens into teardrop shapes, as though the tree itself were weeping. Once exposed to the air, its colour deepens into gold, then amber, and then scarlet—like drops of blood against the bark of the trees. The resin is bitter to taste, but when ground into a powder or burned as incense, it releases an extraordinary fragrance.

Myrrh has long been used for its medicinal qualities as an antiseptic or analgesic agent. According to Mark, Jesus was offered wine mixed with myrrh at his crucifixion (Mark 15:23). In the ancient world, myrrh was also a common agent used for embalming the dead, and according to John’s Gospel, it was used at Jesus’ burial (John 19:39). As such, myrrh seems a strange gift to bring to an infant, a gift more suited for the end of life than its beginning. 

Yet it seems that the magi were indeed wise in their gift-giving. Their gift foreshadows what is to come. Myrrh is a bittersweet gift, but it is a fitting gift for King Jesus born into the world of King Herod, for an infant king born into a world where evil tyrants plot the deaths of innocents. It is a fitting gift for this humble king who will be put to death as a threat against the empire. It is a fitting gift for the shepherd-king who comes to lay down his life for the sheep. The fourth verse of the Christmas carol “We Three Kings” brings out this significance of myrrh very well:                                                                                       

Myrrh is mine; its bitter perfume
breathes a life of gathering gloom,
sorrowing, sighing, bleeding, dying,
sealed in a stone cold tomb.                                                                                         

This is not a very cheery verse for a Christmas or Epiphany carol, but it is deep and profound. Even if we would rather not be reminded, the gift of myrrh reminds us that Jesus’ birth, like every birth, begins a journey toward death. This infant king is born to die, and it is for our sake. At the same time, the healing properties of myrrh remind us that in Jesus’ death and victory over the grave, there is healing for all our ills.

January 11th                                                                                                           

The Baptism of Christ

This week`s reflection on the Gospel (Matthew 3 13-end) is by Rev David F. Sellery, St. John’s Episcopal Church in Salisbury, Connecticut, USA.

“In this week’s gospel, John tells Jesus: I need to be baptized by you.

Jesus tells John: No, I need to be baptized by you.

From a cynical 21stCentury perch this could be seen as just so much polite posturing between preachers… “After you…” “No, after you.”

Today we could be tempted to say why not just skip the whole baptism business and register on-line at the church of your choice. Just leave your credit card number for those annoying collections and I’ll see you next Christmas.

An absurd suggestion; of course it is. But hopefully it illustrates a point. We must come to the water. We need to be baptized in water and the Spirit . There is no virtual reality, computer generated substitute. We must be physically and spiritually cleansed in the waters that flow over and unite the entire community of believers. Whether as consenting adults or as consecrated children we must come to the waters to be claimed for Christ.

Again the cynic’s rebuttal: What’s the big deal? A little water – a dunk or a splash—a couple of prayers, what difference does it make? You’re wasting a whole Sunday afternoon that could be spent watching a playoff game. But infinitely long after Super Bowl 10,000 is forgotten, the waters and the prayers of baptism will still be written on our hearts. The grace of God will remain… perhaps ignored, even profaned, but undiminished as a source of strength and inspiration.

In this gospel we see that the tremendous power of baptism is evident right from the start. It is the first occasion in the Bible that unites the Trinity in full view and in celebration of God’s love. In the form of a dove we see The Holy Spirit come upon Jesus to fortify him for his mission of redemption. We hear the voice of the Father acknowledging Jesus as his beloved Son and endorsing his ministry. And then there is Jesus. He arrives at the Jordan as a humble candidate for baptism and departs as the heaven-proclaimed Son of God. It is a brief plunge into a river, but a giant step closer to realizing the entire purpose of creation. As both God and man, Jesus initiates his public life, setting a humble, loving tone that will mark his ministry from miracles to parables, from Cana to Calvary. In these four brief verses, Matthew proclaims that nothing in human history will ever be the same. The Son of God is among us. And he would bind us to him in the water of baptism.

That is where our own baptism comes in. In John 3, Jesus tells us plainly: Except a man be born again of water and of the Spirit, he cannot enter into the kingdom of God. It doesn’t get any more imperative than that. Baptism is not a suggestion. Christ clearly calls us to the water. Baptism is not an optional initiation ritual.         

It is God’s own medium of saving grace. The Trinity, which was present at the Jordan, blesses each baptism; welcoming infants and adults, children and deathbed converts to the family of the faithful, washing them in the love of Christ.

The simple beauty and the awesome transformational power of baptism have been captured in song by another Matthew, contemporary composer Matt Maher.

O let all who thirst
Let them come to the water
And let all who have nothing
Let them come to the Lord
Without money, without price
Why should you pay the price
Except for the Lord?

And let all who seek
Let them come to the water
And let all who have nothing
Let them come to the Lord
Without money, without strife
Why should you spend your life
Except for the Lord?

And let all who toil
Let them come to the water
And let all who are weary
Let them come to the Lord
All who labour without rest
How can your soul find rest
Except for the Lord?

And let all the poor
Let them come to the water
And let the ones who are laden
Let them come to the Lord
Bring the children without might
Easy the load and light
Come to the Lord

January 18th

Second Sunday of Epiphany

Our reflection on this week`s Gospel, John 1:29-42, is by Karoline Lewis.

“It was about four o’clock in the afternoon.”

I have always been curious about this detail, but have never quite known what to do with it.

I have also frequently been asked about the meaning of this time designation and have responded with my vast Johannine knowledge by saying, “well, I think it means the time of day.” Brilliant. I have changed my mind. You can do that, you know, when it comes to interpreting Scripture. If you can’t, then the Word ceases to be living.

All of a sudden, because of your time and place and space, you see something you overlooked. A word once buried in a passage rises to the surface and calls out to you.

A verse resonates with something deep inside you that you simply cannot explain.             

“It was about four o’clock in the afternoon.”

What is up with that? This is a tough one if you know anything about John. The importance of light and darkness, what light and dark represent. But four o’clock in the afternoon? Is it still light? Getting dark? What time of the year is this again? If the meaning isn’t something about being in the light or being in the dark, believing or not believing, why mention the time of day when these first disciples get to hang out with Jesus?

Here is where we have to think incarnationally. Since the incarnation is at the heart of John’s Gospel, that the Word became flesh, time matters and marking time matters.

Life happens in time and we remember life with time. Important events are not general references — we don’t say, “our wedding was in the evening sometime” or “our baby was born sometime in the morning” or “grandpa died sometime in the afternoon.”

No, we remember these moments with particularity. It was a Tuesday. It was 5:01.

The event started at 4:00.

I remember the specific moment he said that he loved me.

I remember the exact moment she walked across the stage to accept her diploma.

I remember the particular moment when I heard my diagnosis.

I remember the precise moment when I heard about…”

No wonder the time of the first encounter with Jesus had to be recorded.

There’s no way you can forget that kind of moment, right? When did you first meet Jesus? “Well, it was about four o’clock in the afternoon….”

There are events in your life that time has to acknowledge.

What are your personal events?

What are your communal events?

What are our national events?

What are our global events? That `then time` helps us remember. Helps us feel.

Helps us know that it mattered. Time anchors the event.                                                 

Can you name the time when you first met Jesus? Name the time you first realized how much Jesus loves you? Name the time when you knew that a life of ministry, officially or voluntarily, ordained or lay, was how you needed to be in the world?

Time matters in this story, not just to mark time, but to remind us of God’s time.

That God entered into time when God didn’t have to.

That God chose to be limited by time when God didn’t need to.

That God decided time matters when omnipresence could give God a very easy out.             

For these first disciples, about four o’clock in the afternoon was their first time, by invitation from Jesus, to abide. Not just to come and see, but to come and be. Outside of Jesus’ baptism in John 1:32-33 in reference to the Spirit, 1:39 is the first occurrence of the verb meno in John. You all know the meaning of meno — abide.

Used no less than forty-plus times in John it is the primary word to describe the intimate relationship into which Jesus invites us.                                                                             To abide is to belong.

To abide is to be saved (John 4:42).

To abide is to be assured of a future with God (John 14:2).

To abide is to feel a real and committed relationship (John 15:1-17).

No wonder you remember four o’clock in the afternoon.

Your first abiding with the Word of God can’t be some generic memory.

And presence in time is the promise of Epiphany.

Epiphanic moments need timely demarcation.

The incarnation anticipates and even demands timely matters.

Why?

Because time matters to God and our times matter deeply to God.”

January 25th

Third Sunday of Epiphany

Our reflection on the Gospel, Matthew 4:12-24, is taken from an article by David Lose.

“I want to focus on: The Call. Except not just our call, but instead the call,

God’s call, God’s call to each and every one of us.                                   

First, a brief look at this compressed and rather eventful passage. It starts out rather ominously, as John’s imprisonment sparks Jesus to withdrawal to what might be considered the backwaters of Capernaum in Galilee. But lest some think that Jesus’ move to Galilee is prompted by his need to put some distance between himself and Herod, Matthew makes clear that all of these events move in tune with God’s redemptive activity. And, indeed, from that place off the beaten path, Jesus proclaims the coming kingdom of God and invites those listening to turn around (repent) to receive this kingdom. He then begins gathering disciples and finally manifests the nature of the kingdom he’s been proclaiming by teaching, preaching, and healing.

A lot is going on here, and I realize one could go in a variety of directions. But what strikes me is the sense of calling that permeates this passage. The call to John the Baptist, even though it leads to imprisonment. Jesus’ withdrawal, which in Matthew is not about retreating but rather an intentional time to listen and respond to God’s call. Then Jesus’ own call to the crowds to perceive and become a part of God’s in-breaking kingdom, followed by his call to a few specific fishermen, those he has called as his disciples to catch up all kinds of people in the net of God’s grace.

There are different kinds of callings, yet each is from God. And I think our people need to hear that.

Some years ago, a research team I worked with discovered that while most of the graduates of our seminaries identified “vocation” and “calling” as important theological concepts that were at the centre of their preaching and teaching, very few of their parishioners actually felt called. Very few of them, that is, believed that what they did with most of their time mattered to God and the church or made a particular difference in the world.

In some religious traditions “the call” is reserved for ordained ministry. Many of our people, however, have a hard time seeing a direct a connection between what they do and what they believe, which is why they don’t feel called.

Maybe, that is, calling is less about what we do than who we are. Think about it for a moment: God’s call isn’t simply to do something, but rather to be something, a child of God. Maybe being comes before doing. Maybe being even makes doing possible. Is that what made it possible for John to proclaim the coming Messiah and challenge the powers that be, even when it meant his imprisonment? That he knew God had called him to be the forerunner? Is that what summoned such an immediate response from Peter and Andrew, James and John, that they felt called to be more than they had imagined? They probably have no idea what being “fishers of people” even means at this point in the story, but they do know that Jesus sees something in them, something of value and worth. They have no idea where they will go, or what they will do, but they do know that Jesus is calling them to be his disciples, and they trust that the rest will become clear in time.

Perhaps we need to be reminded that we are called to be children of God. Even if we don’t quite know what being a child of God exactly means, we can tell know that God values, honours and loves us. It’s important to remember that before God calls us to do anything God first calls us to be something: God’s own beloved children. And knowing this, we can trust that the rest will follow.

And don’t let it stop there. Because this calling isn’t only for individuals, it’s also for our congregations. Perhaps before figuring out what we are called to do as a congregation, we can remind each other what we are called to be. Because God is calling our congregations to be the gathering of God’s beloved children. God is calling our congregations to be places of welcome and acceptance. God is calling our congregations to be sanctuaries where God’s word is taught, the good news of the kingdom is proclaimed, and all find healing.

Focus first on being – just being – God’s beloved children and let that grace-filled identify seep into the deepest parts of ourselves, I have little doubt that those things we are called to do will become clear in time. You are called to be something, for you are called to be those through whom God offers words of mercy, grace, and hope.”

February 1st

Candlemas

February 2^nd is observed as Candlemas in the liturgical calendar and we will be reflecting on its meaning in worship this Sunday. Below are some thoughts on Candlemas (and the Irish saint Brigid) by Jan Richardson, an artist, writer and ordained minister in the United Methodist Church in the USA.

“The beginning of February offers us another lovely feast day on the heels of today’s Feast of St. Brigid. In the rhythm of the Christian liturgical year, tomorrow marks the Feast of the Presentation of Jesus, also called the Feast of the Purification of Mary.

This day bids us remember Mary and Joseph’s visit to the Temple to present their child Jesus on the fortieth day following his birth, as Jewish law required, and for Mary to undergo the postpartum rites of cleansing.

Luke’s Gospel tells us that a resident prophet named Anna and a man named Simeon immediately recognize and welcome Jesus. Taking the child into his arms, Simeon turns his voice toward God and offers praise for the “light for revelation” that has come into the world.                                                                                                        

Taking a cue from Simeon, some churches began, in time, to mark this day with a celebration of light: the Candle Mass, during which priests would bless the candles to be used in the year to come. Coinciding with the turn toward spring and lengthening of light in the Northern Hemisphere, Candlemas offers a liturgical celebration of the renewing of light and life that comes to us in the natural world at this time of year, as well as in the story of Jesus.

As we emerge from the deep of winter, the feast reminds us of the perpetual presence of Christ our Light in every season.                                                                                        With her feast day just next door, and with the abundance of fire in the stories of her life, it’s no surprise that St. Brigid makes an appearance among the Candlemas legends.

The stories and prayers of Ireland and its neighbours often refer to Brigid as the midwife to Mary and the foster mother of Christ. Chronologically, this would have been a real stretch seeing as how Brigid was born in 454 AD!  

However, the legend says that Brigid walked before Mary with a lighted candle in each hand when she went up to the Temple for purification. The winds were strong on the Temple heights, and the tapers were unprotected, yet they did not flicker nor fail.  

On this Candlemas, where do we find ourselves in this story?

Are we Mary, graced by the light that another sheds on our path?

Or are we Brigid, carrying the light for another in need?”

February 8th

Second Sunday before Lent

Our reflection on the Gospel Matthew 6 vs. 25-34, is taken from a longer article on the reading by Richard Beaton, Principal of De Pree Leadership Centre and Associate Professor of New Testament, Fuller Theological Seminary, Pasadena.

“Jesus is not calling us all to abandon our lives and move to the desert to join a monastery or to empty our savings accounts. Rather, he is addressing the basis for excessive worry and anxiety that can result from a life separated from God.

The text calls us to a different set of values, different priorities. The Gentiles, those who are outside the community of faith, both seek after these things and worry about their life, their physical possessions and the accompanying social status. A life devoted to God, lived under the reign of God, is lived according to the values of the Kingdom of God.

But what does all this mean? In this text, vv. 31-33 provide the interpretive clue for what precedes. The emphasis of the text is upon excessive worrying or anxiety about our needs in life. The paragraph that precedes this text (6.19-24) poses the ultimate question. Is our allegiance solely to God or is our loyalty divided in some way? True discipleship, by which we mean anyone who desires to be a follower of Jesus and thus Christian, involves being resolute in a wholehearted devotion to God. One cannot serve two masters. Matt. 6.25-34 then answers the potential objections to this notion of thoroughgoing devotion to God as it pertains to our physical needs. Jesus places the discussion within the context of anxiety and faith and trust. Do we trust in ourselves, our power, our ability to get things done? Are we excessively anxious about our physical needs?

The text is balanced in three sections.

The first opens with an admonition and has the feel of a fairly strong command. We are not to worry about our lives, namely, what we eat, drink or how we clothe ourselves. In a world much more familiar with abject poverty than what most of us currently experience in the West, these are basic but very real worries. Jesus’ list, however, is only illustrative; anything pertaining to life could be included on it. Two challenges, each illustrated by a scene from nature, follow, and a conclusion balances the passage.

The first admonishment is not to worry about food or drink. Inspiration for it was derived from observing the habits of birds. Birds do not worry, nor do they store up for the winter, yet they are cared for by their heavenly father. The image of God is particularly instructive at this point. God is the compassionate, good father caring for his birds, feeding them as they have need. In the same way, the life of the disciple is not lived in isolation but under the watchful care of a father who attends to their needs. In a harsh world that does not seem to care, this comes as good news.

The second admonishment is to not worry about what they will wear. Now for most of us this is not a problem. I suspect the text is not referring to a bulging wardrobe and the high-anxiety moment faced each morning when trying to decide appropriate attire for the day in colours that actually match. Rather, it is the basic need of clothing, which for many in the culture of first-century Palestine was a concern. Jesus’ response is that the flowers of the field grow and bloom with ease and astonishing beauty. If this is true for mere flowers under the care of God, how much more will God take care of his people.

This paragraph closes with a summary and concluding statement. The life of discipleship is characterized by a life that is singular in its pursuit of God. It does not mean that we will not (or should not) acquire possessions, wealth, or need food, clothing and other necessities.      Rather, once one is devoted to God, one adopts the values, behaviours and priorities that God affirms.

To live in accordance with God’s reign–the Kingdom of God–means that as Christians we are a community within broader society that is aligned with a different values system.

We do not strive or worry endlessly about our needs. Rather, in entrusting our life to God, we look to our good heavenly father to provide them for us, as he does for all of his creation.”

February 15th

Sunday next before Lent

Transfiguration Sunday

This coming Sunday is the last Sunday before the Season of Lent and is also Transfiguration Sunday. For many churches who do not follow the Lectionary, I wonder if their clergy ever actually choose to preach on the Transfiguration. I doubt if it`s in any preacher`s top ten topics for a sermon! This is why I am glad that at college, we were introduced to the Lectionary, as it is a great discipline for both ministers and congregations alike to guide them through the scriptures in an orderly fashion. I have always liked Saint Paul`s call for things in the church to be done “decently and in order”!

So, having set myself up for a fall, what do I make of the biblical story of the transfiguration of Christ?

Those who take a fundamentalist view of scripture, will say that the story speaks for itself, namely, “...the appearance of his (Jesus`) face literally changed and his clothes became dazzling white. Suddenly they saw two men, Moses and Elijah, talking to him. They appeared in glory and were speaking of his departure, which he was about to accomplish at Jerusalem."

Those who take a more nuanced view of scripture might say, using a phrase that is familiar, that the disciples began to see Jesus `in a new light`. Perhaps that is what the gospel writer is trying to convey through this highly symbolic language. Not only is Jesus face and clothing transformed and dazzling, an indication of something otherworldly, even heavenly, but he is joined by two highly important characters from what we call the Old Testament, Moses and Elijah. These are revered figures in Judaism and even the mere mention of them in the same breath as Jesus, helps to confer a special significance on him, an endorsement if you like, in the same way that a politician of today would value the endorsement of revered figures from the party`s past.

Luke combines these two supernatural aspects, Jesus dazzling appearance and historical visitors, to confirm that Jesus is not only special in his own right but is part of the ongoing revelation of God dating back to the beginning of salvation history.

Either way, scripture assures us that Jesus is  not to be ignored and that who he is and what he has to say, is of immense significance for our lives and for the world.

It is my prayer as we stand on the threshold of Lent, that we too might see Jesus afresh in a new way and that having seen him in a new light, will never be the same again, for we too will have been transfigured and transformed.

I leave you with this hymn by Alan Gaunt.

Transfigured Christ, none comprehends
your majesty, whose splendour stuns
all waking souls; whose light transcends
the brightness of a thousand suns!

You stand with Moses on the hill,
you speak of your new exodus:
the way through death, you will fulfil
by dying helpless on the cross.

You stand here with Elijah too,
by whom the still small voice was heard:
and you, yourself, will prove God true,
made mute in death, Incarnate Word.

If we could bear your brightness here
and stay forever in your light,
then we would conquer grief and fear,
and scorn the terrors of the night.

But, from the heights, you bring us down,
to share earth’s agonies with you,
where piercing thorns are made your crown
and death, accepted, proves love true.

Majestic Christ, God’s well-loved Son,

if we must share your grief and loss,
transfigure us, when all is done,
with glory shining from your cross.

February 22nd

First Sunday of Lent

Our reflection this week, the First Sunday of Lent is by Peter Woods, who describes himself as, `a retired Methodist preacher, counsellor, thinker, and forest-dwelling writer.”  

For ten years, he wrote “That’s the Spirit” in the Weekend Post, and a preacher resource blog on Textweek.com.

"Until re-reading this passage in my sermon preparation this week it had never registered with me that there is a sequence in the temptation of Jesus other than the sequence of the three temptations.

Sometimes as a preacher I lock on to any three point passage and away I go with my sermon without reading around the passage to see perhaps the greater structure of the whole.

I am so glad I did the “reading around” this week as it has been revealing.

Apart from, stones to bread, pinnacle of the temple, and the promise of world domination; there is the larger sequence in the passage of:

1. Led to the wilderness by the Spirit
2. Forty days of ritual fasting
3. Profound physical hunger
4. The temptation (nested in this larger sequence)
   1. Stones to Bread
   2. Pinnacle of the temple
   3. World domination
5. The ministrations of angels

It has been the contemplation of this larger structure that has prompted the following thoughts.

The first aspect of the story that impacts me is the fact that Jesus, up to the moment where the Tempter manifests, has been very obedient to his calling and his mission. He has been baptised by John, he has been affirmed by the voice of his heavenly Parent, he has followed the Spirit’s leading to go away into the wilderness and he has been diligent in fasting.

It is at the point of discipline and due diligence that Jesus renders himself most vulnerable. Isn’t it true that we are often most vulnerable to the darkness when we are doing everything correctly and are wearied and worn out from the doing of it all so correctly. Please don’t hear me dismissing discipline and diligence. Not at all. They are the framework of any meaningful spiritual practice. I do however recall a time in my ministry when, totally over-extended by pastoral and community service work, I unlocked the front door one night and thought to myself, “I am really at the top of my game!”. One week later I was in a psych ward undergoing sleep therapy for burnout! It happens that quickly.

There is a false doctrine that wafts around the church as it wafted around the temple in Jesus’ time. It says, “If you are diligent and dutiful and if you keep all the rules, then only good and pleasant things will happen to you.” The life of Job, Jesus and your life and mine attest to the fact that this is not true. Every great spiritual tradition on the planet attests to the fact that shadows are darkest around those that burn brightest. The presence of these shadows doesn’t diminish the devotion and diligence of the devotee, they are the realistic counterpoint to the music of their beautiful lives. The joyless secret journals of Mother Theresa are recent evidence of this reality.

Secondly, I need to confess that I prefer to speak of the singular temptation of Jesus rather than the temptations of Jesus. My reasoning is that I don’t think that the struggle which Our Lord had in the wilderness was merely confined to: the avoidance of suffering (Stones to bread), the lure of cheap sensational showmanship (Pinnacle base jumping sans parachute), and world domination at the cost of Godly obedience (Bow down and worship me).

I speculate that these are merely illustrations of the torment he faced as, filled with power and blessing, he had to submit his ego to the will of God for his life.

Carl Jung said most powerfully, “Any form of neurosis is always a substitute for legitimate suffering”. Are we perhaps, the neurotic society we are, because we recoil from legitimate suffering either as discipline or as duty? The temptation of Jesus is essentially Jesus’ costly choice for mental, spiritual and physical health over the soft and cheap neurotic options he could have embraced for his ministry. I wonder how much healthier I would be if I could do the same?

The third and most striking discovery I have made in this passage for the first Sunday of Lent, lies in the final verses. “Jesus said to him[tempter, ego, false self], “Away with you, Satan! for it is written, ‘Worship the Lord your God, and serve only him.’” Then the devil left him, and suddenly angels came and waited on him.”

The way Matthew tells the story suggests that despite the temptation struggle of the faithful, fasting and thus famished Jesus, this battle does not happen in a place where God is absent. We, as pilgrims of the cross, know that no such Godless place exists! God is. The Israelites regarded the wilderness as a place of demons and devils. For them it was the destination of centuries of scapegoats, those symbolic bearers of the nation’s sin. But the wilderness was also the place where the fledgling Israel, fresh out of Egypt, learnt devotion and dependence to what Daniel Erlander calls their "Manna and Mercy" God.

Jesus learns in the wilderness temptation, as every faithful servant of God has come to learn, that once we put our self-centred, selfish, false-self Satan in its place,

the runway is clear for the hovering angels of God’s grace to land.

Desert Tower to Angel Flight, self is contained, you are cleared to land."

March 1st

Second Sunday of Lent

This week`s reflection on the gospel passage for the Second Sunday of Lent, John 3:1-17 is by Bruce Maples, who has served as a Minister of Music and Minister of Education in various churches in the USA.

“My wife and I have two grown sons. We have experienced many special, wondrous moments with each of them. I have to say, though, that one of the most amazing moments I have ever experienced was the moment when each of them was born. Words like life-filled, miracle, connection, extra-alive, and heart-burst all come to mind — but none are adequate to fully capture the moment. And yet…                                                                                          That moment was the culmination of one long process, and the starting point of another long process. Each boy was able to be born because some months earlier my wife and I conceived them.                                                                                                                       

And THAT act happened because years before that, we met, dated, got engaged, and got married. And all along the journey of our lives, there were events and decisions and influences that affected each of us, and us as a couple, and eventually our two sons.

In other words, “being born” is an event, a point in time — but it is also the result of a process, a process with tendrils that reach sometimes far into the past, but that certainly reach to a matching moment of conception.

So, I think we need a new word; a word that captures both the point in time and the process that got us there. There is “carried,” as in “she carried that baby for nine months.” There’s also “bore” which is where we got “birth.”                                                                     

But just for this Reflection, let’s go with “born-ed” and “born-ing”

to show both the process and the event.

Why make the distinction? Because I think that Jesus’s words in John 3 are sometimes at risk of being too closely associated with that single-point-in-time meaning of “born,” 

and if we do that, we miss something important.

Make no mistake — Jesus is plain about the need for spirit-birth. Without being born from above, of the Spirit, you cannot see nor enter the kingdom of God. Without having your eyes opened by the Spirit, your heart touched by the Spirit, your understanding of the world illumined by the Spirit, you can’t see the kingdom all around you, nor can you enter it.

That much is clear.

But I think we have taken that profound truth and twisted it, cheapened it, by focusing only on the birth event and not on the process of being born-ed. We have reduced that amazing moment that was the culmination of so many other moments and turned it into a question, a question answered in just that single moment and assumed we would get the same result. It’s as if we asked someone “do you want to have a child” and if they answered Yes, then Snap and there’s a newborn in their arms.

What does it change of our understanding of John 3 if we recast “you must be born again” into “you must allow the seeds of the Spirit to enter your soul, germinate there, grow there, until finally they come forth in an amazing and God-filled way, and your very nature and your relationship to all around you is changed forever”?

How does it affect our relationship to others, if we know that the way we deal with them might be part of the process of born-ing?

And finally, are we okay with trusting the process of born-ing as God’s timing and the Spirit moving as it will, rather than us trying to force a new birth through spiritual inducing?

Being born culminates one process of germination and growth and transformation and begins another.

Let’s make our churches and our lives into supporters of both the born-ing process and the be-ing process, and not just delivery rooms.”

March 8th                                                                                         

Third Sunday of Lent

Our reflection on the Gospel passage this Sunday, John 4:4-52, is from an article by Karoline Lewis

“This story is overwhelming. So much going on. So many places to land. Of course, this is the challenge with any text, but somehow with a story of this size and a character with this complexity, it seems like more.

What is frequently overlooked is that frequently overlooked is that this interaction is a conversation. Jesus suggests that conversation matters for theology. That conversation is essential for faith. Lest we assume such claims, observe how religious dialogue happens today — “I’m right. You’re wrong. So there.”

We are living in a time when conversation needs to be cultivated and valued. Practiced and pursued. Longed for and lived. Without real conversation, we lack intimacy and understanding, connection and empathy. Without real conversation, we risk detachment and distance.

No wonder Jesus engages in and insists on conversation when it comes to believing, since believing in John’s Gospel is synonymous with relationship.       

It matters that Jesus’ revelation of who he is to her and her realization of who he can be for her happens in conversation. Their conversation is emblematic of what true relationship looks like — mutuality, reciprocity, and regard.

The church can be the place that shows society what theological conversation can sound like. The church can be the place that demonstrates how dialogue about faith and the Bible might result in religious respect and tolerance. With this mandate, what does faithful conversation, theological conversation look like? The dialogue between the Samaritan woman at the well and Jesus provides an outline that not only offers features so as to model conversive speech but also points to the very nature of God.

First, note that the conversation begins with mutual vulnerability. Jesus is thirsty and she needs the water that only Jesus can provide. That is where truthful conversations must start — from a place of reciprocal vulnerability, from a space that recognizes that each party risks being known and being seen. I suspect that very few conversations begin with the expectation of vulnerability, yet theological conversations have to start there because this is a fundamental characteristic of God.

Second, questions are critical to conversation. Not questions that have already decided on the right answers. Not questions that are asked only to feign manners. No, questions that communicate curiosity, an interest in the other, a longing for information and understanding. The woman at the well is full of questions, thoughtful questions, questions that matter and lead Jesus to reveal to her who he really is. Jesus affirms questions, even invites them. God wants us to ask questions because it is questions that strengthen relationship.

Third, conversations for the sake of intentional and genuine interest in the other take time. They take time because there will likely be moments of misunderstanding. The Samaritan woman is first confused by Jesus’ offer, but unlike Nicodemus, she does not let that halt the conversation. This means that reading this text on Sunday cannot happen as a monologue. Orchestrate a dialogue, a reader’s theatre perhaps, so that your congregation can experience its length. It seems that God is willing to hang in there. To keep on listening. To keep on exposing God’s heart so that it can be seen for the abundant love it holds.

Fourth, when it comes to having a conversation with Jesus or about Jesus, expect to be surprised. Expect God to reveal something about God’s self that you have never seen before. The unnamed woman at the well is the first one to whom Jesus reveals his true identity — I AM, the first absolute I AM in the Gospel of John — not to the Jewish leaders or to the disciples, but to her, a religious, social, political outsider. This is whom God is for because God loves the world.

The final characteristic of theological conversation is to anticipate being changed in the process. The woman at the well goes from shamed to witness. From dismissed to disciple. From alone to being a sheep of Jesus’ own fold.

Let’s start talking!”

March 15th

Fourth Sunday of Lent Mothering Sunday

Mothering Sunday

This coming Sunday is the Fourth Sunday of Lent and it is also Mothering Sunday, not to be confused with Mother`s Day, which is an American invention. 

Mothering Sunday has its roots in medieval Christianity when the Latin texts of the Mass on Laetare Sunday referenced mothers and metaphors for mothers. These included a verse from Galatians where Saint Paul refers to Jerusalem as “the mother of us all.”

After the Reformation, the Book of Common Prayer continued to assign the same readings.

During the 16^th century people would return on this Sunday in Lent to their `Mother Church`, which could be the church where they had been baptised or the nearest cathedral, the Mother Church of the diocese.                                                                                            For those who worked and lived away, this meant travelling back to their hometown or village and anyone who did this was commonly said to have “gone mothering,” a term first recorded in 1644.

Sadly, the modern observance of the day has taken on the American title of Mother’s Day and has lost any religious significance. Some of us however, still seek to retain the Christian ethos of the day and honour not only our earthly mothers but the Church, which even the Protestant Reformers regarded as “the mother of us all.”                  

So, as we come to worship and to pay tribute to our mothers, both living and departed, we also remind ourselves of the motherly and nurturing role of the Church in our lives, as it seeks to remind us of the love of God who is our heavenly Parent.

Minister ~ Rev Alan Kennedy 07733153203 01612703296 alanrk1690@gmail.com