1 Samuel 3:1-10 - A 7 minute sermon for a 9:30 service on Sunday.

Hannah was unable to become pregnant. And she was troubled by this, she carried a deep hurt in her heart, like a scar. In one of her dark moments Hannah visited the temple of the Lord and in her bitterness of soul, she prayed to God, “Lord, hear my sadness, feel my pain, remember me, be merciful to me. Give me a son and I will give him back to you.”

As she prayed, she prayed silently and her lips moved. A priest called Eli wandered past her and said, “stop your drinking”, thinking she was drunk. And Hannah explained that she wasn’t drunk and she shared her story.

The priest, Eli, blessed Hannah and Hannah left.

In due time she conceived and gave birth to a boy, whom she called Samuel, because Samuel sounds like “heard of God”.

When Samuel had grown up a few years she took him to the temple and saw Eli. And she said, “Remember me, here’s the son that God has given me, and so I’m giving him back to God.”

And Hannah prayed a beautiful prayer about God’s faithfulness. And she left Samuel in Eli’s care. And Samuel learnt to minister before the Lord under Eli’s guidance.

Samuel grew up, and Eli grew older and older until he was very old and going blind.

And so we reach our reading.

In a situation where the word of God was rare, where there were few visions.

Where the people of God had got into a rut, and were not expecting God to speak.

Or perhaps.

Perhaps, rather than not expecting God to speak,

Perhaps, they just weren’t giving God any room to speak.

We have Eli, who has become a living, embodiment, a metaphor for the people’s relationship with God.

People weren’t paying much attention to the word of God.

And Eli was going blind, so he couldn’t read it.

And so there is this perpetual situation of trying to learn how to live when God’s word seems rare.

And one evening Eli is lying down resting, with the temple’s light source, the symbolic, lamp of God slowly burning down. Sometime in the night, the light would go out, and a new lamp would be prepared to be lit the next day.

And again, symbolism is powerful here, as the lamp starts to fade physically, it becomes a metaphor for the light of God. God’s public presence in the world.

The light is fading in the temple and soon it will be left in darkness.

And THEN.

Then, into this context, this background of shadows and a growing sense of rising darkness, God speaks.

But God doesn’t move a mountain, or send a firestorm or a flood.

God speaks, and to Samuel’s young ears, it sounds just like Eli.

This amazing sign from God, and it sounds like a voice in the night.

And it sounds like the voice of Eli.

Or maybe it doesn’t, maybe it does sound like God, a real “God” sounding voice, but Samuel is just too humble to imagine that God would speak to him.

Samuel, who sleeps in the temple of the Lord, near the Ark of God.

The voice, calls Samuel by name. “Samuel”.

And Samuel responds, he speaks into the silence and stillness, with the light flickering down.

“Here I am”

And Samuel goes to see Eli, who says, “it wasn’t me.”

And the same thing happens again. And again. But the third time.

When Samuel speaks to Eli and says to him, “Here I am; you called me.” Something changes for Eli.

It’s like scales falling off his nearly blind eyes.

It’s like the booming voice of God in the near silence of the temple.

Eli remembers, he remembers that he used to know what it was like to hear God talk to him. To read God’s word.

To actually experience God as a reality for himself.

But not just to hear God’s voice, but to be called, as if by name.

And Eli tells this to Samuel. It’s the Lord speaking to you.

Eli, the priest of countless years, tells this young man Samuel, who we are told in verse 7, doesn’t even know God yet. And did not understand the word of God.

And Eli, knowing Samuel, and knowing how innocent and humble Samuel is to all that God might be saying to him. Tells him what to do.

And I wonder whether as Eli was giving this advice to Samuel, whether he was thinking that perhaps he should take some of his own medicine.

And so Samuel, the humble, the diligent, the quiet, goes back to his blankets and lies down.

And the Lord came and stood next to him and said, “Samuel! Samuel!”

The Lord made himself known to Samuel in a profound way. Are we prepared to get that close to God, or rather, to let God get that close to us?

The Lord came and stood next to Samuel.

And Samuel answered, “Speak, for your servant is listening.”

Could we say that?

“Speak Lord, I am listening.”

Or even before this, could we even say that we are listening in expectation of hearing God’s voice.

Bishop Stephen Cottrell, asks the same questions in a wonderful little book called, Do Nothing To Change Your Life. And I want to recommend it to you.

But I also don’t want to recommend any other voices, or inputs to add to the collection that clog up our lives already.

TV, telephones, newspapers, Twitter, the BBC website, long distance phone calls, BBM’s, iPods, iPlayer, Sky TV, or maybe even UCB Christian radio.

I used to have an amazing spiritual breakfast every morning, four chapters of the Bible, and a time of prayer.

And then we had a baby! And that pattern has continued in times and seasons, but the daily spiritual diet has become more sporadic, piece meal, no more morning Bible binges, but snacks of scripture throughout the day.

And in the busy-ness of life, whether you have children or not, the pressures on our time and on our senses mount up.

And the only answer, is to actively, deliberately make space.

And that is hard.

To find silence.

And so as I finish jabbering at you, we are going to pause for a minute.

Before we sing a marvellous hymn, all about listening for that still small voice.

And in this silence, I want to encourage you to offer yourselves to God once more, as Hannah offered Samuel.

and silently say the words that Samuel said, “Here I am.”

And then listen.

ONE MINUTE PAUSE

Father God, be to us the still small voice that whispers in the dark. Be to us the loud crash of cymbals that drown out the noise of the world. Be to us, the physical presence that draws close and calls us each by name. AMEN.

Travel With Me. My latest poem/post.

Luke 2:4-7 TARGUM

So many people had journeys to make. And Mary and Joseph also had a journey to make. They travelled from Nazareth a town in Galilee, upwards to the village of Bethlehem in the hills of Judea. Whether or on a donkey, or by foot, the journey passed through lush olive groves and dry desert climes. Bethlehem was widely known as the “town of David” and Mary and Joseph travelled to Bethlehem, secure in the knowledge that Joseph belonged to the house of David, for Joseph was a descendent of King David himself. Joseph went with Mary to the village of Bethlehem, to register for Caesar Augustus’ census.

Mary was Joseph’s betrothed, his fiancé who he was to marry. She was pregnant with a child to be born of God. They arrived in Bethlehem in the midst of busyness, people coming and going, travelling from far and wide to register for Caesar Augustus’ census. They found hospitality with Joseph’s distant family. The family already had guests in the guest room and so Joseph and the heavily pregnant Mary found themselves sharing the family room with the cousins of a previous generation.

While they were staying with Joseph’s distant family Mary’s labour began. As her contractions grew more regular, women from the neighbourhood started to arrive at the house, they made their way through the stable and up the few steps into the family room with its assorted mangers. As the women arrived, the men of the household offered Mary encouragement and then left to await the news in a neighbour’s house. Then the nearest the village had to a midwife arrived and with the women from the community helped to deliver the baby. Mary’s first child, her son was born and swaddled in cloths and placed into a sheep’s manger. The women from the neighbourhood dispersed and the men returned. And so it was that the boy slept his first night in a room with Mary and Joseph, and some distant relatives as well.

Falling For Mary (an advent poem)

Mary, I am sorry, for the way I’ve acted towards you.


For the silent disdain I’ve held in my tradition, without ever really knowing it.

Ten years ago those words and prayers about you confused me and I just couldn’t understand,

Your place and role in God’s Father plan.

I never quite got what it was you did, but have a kid,

A kid who was God, but there was much more to it than I gave you credit for.

And then three years ago I re-read those words you said.

Recorded in that book.

And I read them again and again nearly every day.

Words about how God sends the rich away without what they came for.

Those things you said about the humility of a servant.

And how God is merciful, forever.

And I grew to appreciate you more.

Found something in you like a revolution.

And realised that your words held a power that was beyond who you were.

That the song you sang in all its magnificence,

Was itself a miraculous event.

Last year I saw your face, painted with oils deep and rich.

On an island off the coast of Scotland.

You were dressed in blue, your head covered, your eyes deep and penetrating.

And I couldn’t look away.

From that gaze, that,

Felt like it held time together.

And then this Spring I spent so many days with other pictures of you.

Brush strokes trying to tell the story of that moment.

When the messenger of God visited you.

And I wondered.

How you felt.

Whether you were scared?

Or pious?

Or submissive?

Or strong?

Or both.

And I think I started to fall in love with you.

When I realised that,

Beyond the pictures in their gilded frames.

And white lilies.

And red needlework.

And doves.

And prayer books.

Was you.

Humble.

Brave.

And resilient.

So resilient.

And I realised that those words you sang in that song,

Were sung from your experience.

And that the eyes with which you looked.

Upon the messenger of God.

Were eyes, just like, the eyes of every other.

And before it all,

I began to see you, for who I’d never let you be.

And since July, I’ve seen those eyes again, nearly every single day,

Eyes shaped out of coloured glass and penetrating in power.

And another gilded frame, with its golds and reds and blues.

And the boy on your lap.

The boy, held close to your heart,

The very same heart to be pierced,

As Simeon said.

And in the darkness of this growing winter,

In the midst of this season of waiting.

I am slowly understanding.

Just what advent means.

And I’m slowly understanding,

Just who you were called to be.

And I’m slowly getting a grip on,

What that is supposed to mean to me.

occupy the Anglican five marks of mission

The more news reportage we get about the UK capital focused media preferred OccupyLSX the more intriguing the reporting becomes.

First off, we had the simplistic (and frankly expected) anti-capitalist label being thrown about the place, with no time given to actually thinking thoroughly about whether the label fits. Sure, there is a banner about capitalism, but one that really points to capitalism being broken. While many in the camp may advocate the end of capitalism, there are many other voices.

The second was the media reportage about the goals of the protest. An absolutely fantastic example of polarising media miss-focusing.

There must always be a right and wrong.
A yes and no.
A left and right.
A good and bad.

A BINARY.

The binary-esque focus of the reporting was intriguing as the media tried to grasp what of this or that, the protesters wanted - wrong approach. - Not that kind of protest.

I think this was epitomised by the Bishop of London's invitation for the protesters to pack up and have a place at a debate in the cathedral. Not that kind of protest - not those rules - not that discussion.

So there has been a struggle to understand the point of the protest, who the protesters are, what they want as a resolution and what they stand for - not that kind of protest.

As my old hermeneutics tutor used to say, "the Bible isn't interested in answering those questions" - read that for the protest "the protest isn't interested in answering those questions".

So while the cathedral and media and politicians all implode in a bounty of  hyperbole and the protesters chat Gramsci and Christ we are reaching an interesting moment.

A moment when it seems even the beeb website has recognised that the goals of the protesters and the church .... might actually be the same thing.....

In fact everyone seems to have recognised this...... maybe.

Last year I wrote a presentation about the Bible and Adbusters.

Adbusters is a magazine/website/movement that has really been a key player in the occupy movement, with its issues from earlier in the year encouraging/preparing folk for this November's action.

The Bible is a book that is full of words and prayers about the poor and the broken and injustice and love and hope and resurrection and salvation.

I'm hoping that two pictures will appear on this blog.

The first is the five marks of mission as seen by the Anglican church, the ppt slide suggests which of these marks of mission adbusters might well be achieving, and the same goes with occupy movement, though it may come to be that, "responding by loving service" is being met by the protest too.

Just a question: how many of those marks does an "average" parish church meet. hopefully all of them to some extent, but from my own observations, there's usually a leaning towards marks 1 and 2.

Bishop Graham Cray is a huge advocate of the concept of integral mission. You can't have the great commission without the great commandment (and vice versa). I'm with him, read some Rene Padilla and get your brain involved.

The second picture is a scan of the very first Adbusters I bought, back in Winter 2000 in Ontario Canada, in a Border's, with a Starbucks in my hand.

But the cover picture is fantastic, Christian friends at the time weren't keen, but I think it says something about the current occupy protests, and in particular about the current St. Paul's fiasco.

If we're not careful, we end up chucking Jesus out with all the rubbish of consumption.


How about we stand the cross up in the middle of that rubbish dump.

How about we recognise mission is wide and amazing.


And how about we recognise that people we might not expect are fulfilling parts of the mission of God. (and vice-versa-maybe).

a theology of post-place

I'm aware that what I'm about to write, may say more about my age and stage of life than other things. And they're half written thoughts, or is that, half thought writes? Years ago when someone left a place: they left. Went. And they'd still be able to be contacted, phone, mail, visits. Think particularly of school friends. As sixteen year olds, hanging out, going through the whole "exam experience". A connection that is built and promises to last. But then school turns into three or four colleges, or numerous employers, and suddenly that connection is shut down (or maybe just paused). After 6th form with a whole new set of friends, experiences, moments, another layer of potential life connections arise: and then: and then: and then: shut down, or maybe just paused, again. Then off to uni, or employment,.... And then postgrad.... And then jobs elsewhere... etc etc etc etc etc. Maybe all the above apply, or maybe only some, or maybe none. But the theme seems to be same. But sometimes something changes. As an undergraduate in approximately 1999 Friends Reunited appeared on my radar and suddenly, a connection could be remade - or at least a one way connection (unless you wanted to pay a fiver for two way communication). You could read what those old connections were up to. See from their point of view, who they were. A few years later, along came a certain book of faces. It became easier to keep in touch with those old friends you'd made such a connection with. It was possible for two way communication and to not only see how those "friends" saw themselves but how other saw them, which others saw them, and where and when they saw them (even to the point of them being able to log which shoe shop they were now at!). It also, it became easier to connect with the kids with the long face who sat three rows back in French in year 9. The conecpt of "friend" changed (and a whole host of other things........) From pre-internet, to Friends Reunited to Facebook the leaps have got bigger. Communication, digital and all that. But these leaps. Huge. Communication. Place. With each step the change in nostalgia, in memory, in experience, in choice jumped too. And with the ever expanding opportunities to return to past places via live streaming - a new leap has occurred. Obviously a change has taken place in what I'm writing about: people of connection, or places of connection. Sometimes both occur simultaneously , for a time at least. It is now possible to not only know what stage of life someone is at as in where they are and connect that way. But also to communicate two way. And to know someone through others. Or to know a place through others experiences of it. It now becomes possible to know a place or experience in a way that is distant, but also somewhat more closely connected. And I'm left wondering about nostalgia and connection and place and all sorts. The field has changed, perhaps its time for an update to John Inge's A Christian Theology of Place, to A Christian Theology of Post Place.

Matthew 20:1-16

A sermon I shared this morning at a 9:30 congregation.
The first half of the service is all-age.
The second half lasts about 20 minutes, with 5-8 minutes for the WORD section. Aimed at adults.
Not modelling this as 'good' sermon, but one I enjoyed writing and preaching.
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PRAYER: Lord God, let my words be your words and our thoughts your thoughts. AMEN.

Page 987 in pew Bibles. Matthew 20:1-16

The Parable of the Workers in the Vineyard. That’s what my Bible calls this parable, a name that wasn’t given by Jesus as he was talking to his disciples, a later added name for the parable: but this parable could so easily be called,

The parable of the grumpy, whinging, grumbling workers.

Or the parable of the really, overtly generous landowner.

But my preferred title would be, “the parable of the two kingdoms”.

Because really, that is what this parable is about.

A choice.

A decision.

There are two kingdoms: which one will you align yourself with?

God’s Kingdom in all its unexpected, confusing, grace-filled, extravagant and yet humble glory.

Or.

Humanity’s kingdom in all its predictable mundanity.

Our reading opens with the words of Jesus.

“For the Kingdom of heaven is like....”

That’s a pretty big clue,

A big clue that what Jesus is going to talk about isn’t just about a particular situation relating to employment contracts and workers rights and the ethics of agricultural labour.

As it happens, it is about those things: but it’s also about so much more.

From the outset we the reader, and the disciples, the original hearers are given a choice.

“What is it going to be, God’s way, or another way?”

‘The kingdom of heaven is like a landowner who went out....’

The choice is really simple for us. Jesus makes it clear.

The kingdom of heaven is like a landowner.

Whatever the landowner is about to do.

That’s what the kingdom of heaven is like.

As it happens the landowner acts generously,

Not just to the people he hired at 5pm, an hour before work finished at 6pm.

But to ALL the workers.

The landowner is generous to the folk who have worked all day because he pays them that same day, something that didn’t always happen – often people had to wait until the next morning.

And the landowner is generous to the folk who have worked all day because he pays them what he promised to pay them, again, something that didn’t always happen.

The landowner pays them their one denarius – not a huge amount, but critically, enough to get by on.

Not enough to get rich.

But enough to live that day.

Our Father in heaven, hallowed be your name, your kingdom come, your will be done, on earth as in heaven, give us today our daily bread....

Is that generous?

To earn just enough to live on?

Is this parable saying pay people the bare minimum?

No!

It’s saying pay what is agreed and what is recognised as fair.

Because in Jesus’ times,

Just as now,

Day labouring is pretty tough.

Lines of people still queue up in Tanzania to work on farms for the day.

Or in South America, to mine for precious metals for a day.

Whether we get it or not,

In Jesus’ day, day labourers were worse off than slaves.

If you owned a slave you wanted to make sure they were fed and watered, that they stayed healthy.

But day labourers?

If they can’t afford food, or medicine, or shelter... and they get sick, or hungry,

You hired someone else.

So the landowner is generous to the folk who’ve worked all day.

And.

And the landowner is generous to the folk who have worked part of the day.

And.

And the landowner is generous to the folk who have only worked an hour.

And not just because they get paid a days wages.

But because they get paid at all.

The landowner is generous to these people in three ways.

The first way the landowner is generous is that he hires them at all. Typically the landowner hires the people he needs early in the morning. If he needs 30 labourers, he hires thirty labourers in the morning.

But this landowner keeps coming back to hire more.

And not because his vineyard has suddenly grown during the day.

Or because his work force weren’t coping.

But because he is generous.

The second way the landowner is generous is that he hires these people at all.

Who is normally left un-hired? Those who are unable to work.

The sick, the elderly.

In other words, the desperate.

And how can we know they were desperate?

Because they were still there waiting for work at five pm.

You have to be pretty desperate and seriously lacking in options to still be waiting for work when the vineyard is pretty much ready to shut down for the night.

Why are the workers who worked all day so annoyed that these late-comers get the same pay?

Because they didn’t do the same amount of work.

But more importantly, because the landowner treated these newcomers as the equals of those who worked all day.

Their equals.

These people.

The sick.

The elderly.

‘For the kingdom of heaven is like...’

The third way the landowner is generous is that the landowner goes to the market place to hire his own staff.

The landowner does this.

I’m pretty sure that when Richard Branson wants to hire some more train cleaners he doesn’t go down to the job centre himself.

And it’s the same principle 2000 years ago.

The landowner would normally have sent a servant down to the marketplace.

But the landowner himself goes down to the marketplace.

‘For the kingdom of heaven is like a landowner who...’

Where have we heard that before?

Of someone being so concerned about what is going on, that they go themselves.

Or perhaps they send their son.

And the Holy Spirit.

The Holy Spirit that remains with us, even now.

‘For the kingdom of heaven is like a landowner who...’

And so we’re left with a stark choice.

The kingdom of humanity.

Or.

Or the kingdom of God.

The kingdom of humanity where we really want to grumble at all the perceived injustices we encounter.

Where people around us seem to be treated the same.

Even late comers.

Even the broken. (mock shock)

How easily do we do this?

Or.

Or we chose the kingdom of God.

God is generous.

God always leans towards generosity.

Always.

It’s who God is.

So how will we respond when we see God’s generosity.

Will we grumble and be envious.

Or will we celebrate God’s generosity, in all its splendour?

‘For the kingdom of heaven is like a landowner who...’

Let’s Pray: Lord, let your generosity reign in our hearts, let us learn to love like you love, let us learn to give like you give. Let us learn to live as your son Jesus Christ lived. AMEN.