Sunday 29 April 2018

Sermon, Sun 29 April: 'A funny thing happened on the way to Ethiopia'

READINGS: 1 John 4:7-21; John 15:1-8; Acts 8:26-40

SERMON
Let’s pray:
May the words of my mouth and the thoughts of all our hearts, be acceptable in your sight,
O Lord, our strength and our redeemer. Amen.

Have you ever found yourself on an entirely unexpected journey?
When I was growing up, there were no trains.
No. I’m not quite that old.
It’s not because trains hadn’t been invented,
it’s just that, at that at some point back in the 60’s, the local council, in its wisdom,
had pulled up all the train tracks.
It was the ‘age of the automobile’:
who would want to catch the train when you could travel in the comfort of your car?
Well, turns out, quite a few folk.
In the late 90’s, new train tracks were put in, and so, trains now grace the Gold Coast once more.
But basically, until I was 20, I had never travelled by train:
didn’t really know the way of all things train.
Which is why, on one fateful day, with a couple of friends in tow on a day trip to Brisbane –
which did have trains, well...we thought we’d go for a train trip.
Our first, ever.
Cheerfully, we bought our tickets.
Happily, we daundered to the platform.
Delightedly, we watched trains doing what trains do.
And we waited for the train that would take us to Toowong.
We didn’t have the greatest grasp on the geography of the city,
but we vaguely knew we wanted to travel in a westerly direction.
We watched, as a train glided along the track by our platform.
‘What’s that?’ one friend asked, looking at a sign on the front of the train.
‘Oh, I guess it’s the name of the train,’ said I, blithely.
‘Redfern – interesting name.’
We hopped on board.
It was all a little bit exciting.
It was made even more exciting when we suddenly realised that we were going
not to the hills, but to the seaside – the completely opposite direction,
and that, no, trains didn’t have nice names...
they had the names of destinations on them.
Turned out that ‘Redfern’ was a suburb of Brisbane. Who knew?
Truly, we were that clueless.
It was a most unexpected journey, however, a kindly conductor put us right.
We eventually landed up at our intended destination.
Mostly, these days, I’ve got a bit of a better understanding of trains and other modes of transport.
But then again, given I’d intended travelling to, and living in, the South Pacific,
I’m still wondering what I’m doing in Scotland.

Have you ever found yourself on an entirely unexpected journey?
Well, in our reading from the Book of Acts, that’s exactly what happens to Philip,
a follower of Jesus;
a different chap to Philip, the Apostle.
Let’s set the scene a little:
Philip was one of seven men chosen by the disciples of Jesus to be a deacon – 
basically to ensure that the Greek speaking widows of the growing young church
were not overlooked when it came to the daily distribution of food.
The community cared for, and looked after, its most vulnerable.
He’s mentioned several times in the Book of Acts,
and is described as one filled with the Spirit and with wisdom.
Later, he’ll provide hospitality to the Apostle Paul,
and we discover that he's also father to four daughters who prophesy.
In the meantime, he’s there, in those very early days of the church,
before Christians even had that name.
And Philip is also there, at the beginning of troubled times –
times of persecution by the Romans and the religious authorities.

Our reading occurs just after Stephen, another of the seven deacons,
has been stoned to death, after which a great persecution happens
in Jerusalem, which causes the followers of Jesus to scatter.
Philip, along with others, ends up in Samaria –
effectively ‘enemy’ territory:
the relationship between Jews and Samaritans was strained.
Remember the Parable of the Good Samaritan?
The sting in the tale is that Jesus’ listeners could never imagine such a thing
as a ‘good’ Samaritan – they were different, they were the enemy, they were to be feared.
Nevertheless, there, among those very Samaritans,
Philip shares the story of the resurrected rabbi:
the one who told stories about God –
of being connected to God as branches are to a vine...
of that connection being one of love...
of God’s love dwelling within us,
and of us, dwelling in God’s love.

At some point, as we heard in the reading, God instructs Philip to head south, and so he does.
Traveling along, he meets an Ethiopian –
high-powered, important:
this man is the Queen’s treasurer.
These days, perhaps we’re so used to thinking of Ethiopia in terms of
drought, and hunger, and aid programmes,
that it might be hard to imagine that at the time our story takes place,
Ethiopia is an ancient, powerful, and wealthy kingdom.
We don’t learn the name of this Ethiopian official,
but we do know that he’s riding along in his chariot, attempting to read scripture,
and struggling to get to grips with it.
Here’s a man who’s on a journey in more ways than one –
sure, he’s physically moving around,
but he’s on a spiritual search.
Many people, from many nations,
had gathered in Jerusalem at the time of what we now refer to as Pentecost.
They’d gathered to celebrate Shavuoth, a major Jewish festival –
and our man from Ethiopia was returning home from this feast in his chariot...
And God tells Philip to head for the chariot and to stay near it:
so I’ve got this picture in my head of wee Philip jogging alongside the chariot
while the man reads on.
Clearly the chap is puzzling over the meaning of what he’s reading
and ever-jogging Philip asks him if he can help.
The man is more than happy with the offer,
which is possibly good news for Philip as it means no more jogging.
Philip’s now invited on to the chariot and they have a big conversation –
‘Let me tell you about Jesus’ he says as they explore scripture together.
And, having heard the story of Jesus, and travelling past water, the Ethiopian says:
‘So, what’s to stop me being baptised?’
And the answer: nothing.
There, and then, both are open to God at work in their lives.
Philip and the Ethiopian head to the water and another follower of Jesus
is added to the growing numbers of the church on that very day.
And just like that, mysteriously, Philip is whisked away by the Spirit and
lands up in Azotus about 30km away,
leaving the Ethiopian to head on his way rejoicing.

Connected to God in love,
open to sharing that love with others,
Philip has a most unexpected journey – is fruitful.
In love, he sees the Samaritans, not as enemies, but as friends he’s not yet met;
in love, he sees the Ethiopian, not as unclean, but as someone beloved of God.
Connected and living within the perfect love of God –
Philip trusts in God enough to have no fear.

As 1st John says: ‘Perfect love casts out fear.’
Let’s flip that around for a moment:
if love casts out fear,
then, fear casts out love.
There’s that old song from the 70’s ‘The things we do for love’
what about the things we do for fear?
Fear builds walls.
Fear withdraws – barricades itself in.
Fear scapegoats anyone who might be different –
‘it’s their fault we don’t have jobs.’
It judges unjustly;
it sees enemies where there are none;
it dehumanises in order to justify shocking behaviour:
‘they’re animals, they deserve to be treated like that.’
Fear...disconnects.
It loses sight of God.
It loses sight of those created in the image of God.
It sees only the bad.
It loses sight ...of hope.

Perfect love...casts out fear.
Then what of the things we do for love?
Love builds bridges, not walls;
love builds people up, not brings them down;
love celebrates difference and looks for points of connection;
love looks outwards,
is open-handed and open-hearted –
is open to unexpected journeys and surprising conversations.
Love is welcoming and finds a way forward –
sometimes on old pathways,
and sometimes on new.
Love sees God’s image in the other,
for, love sees God,
for love is of God...
for God is love.
And, ‘we love, because God loved us first.’

If we take away one thing today from this story in Acts, let it be this:
live into the possibility of love –
let love continue to build within you
a sense of wonder,
a sense of possibility,
a sense that we are not withered dying branches separated from the vine –
but rather, that we are connected to the vine, to God,
who, if we’re open to hearing what he’d have us do,
might just take us down some unexpected paths,
where there’s hope, and where there’s life.

Quite serendipitously, yesterday I came across this poem by Sheenagh Pugh –
and it just really resonated.
I leave it with you. It’s called ‘Sometimes’:
Sometimes
Sometimes things don't go, after all,
from bad to worse.  Some years, muscadel
faces down frost; green thrives; the crops don't fail,
sometimes a man aims high, and all goes well.

A people sometimes will step back from war;
elect an honest man, decide they care
enough, that they can't leave some stranger poor.
Some men become what they were born for.

Sometimes our best efforts do not go
amiss, sometimes we do as we meant to.
The sun will sometimes melt a field of sorrow
that seemed hard frozen:  may it happen for you.

We live in uncertain times.
So did Philip and the early followers of Jesus.
Choose this day, as the 21st century followers of Jesus,
whether to cast out love,
or cast out fear...
And, should you do this last,
prepare for unexpected journeys and surprising conversations. Amen.

Monday 9 April 2018

News, events, contacts...Mon 9-Mon 23 April



Due to annual leave, the minister will be unavailable from: 
Mon 9th - Mon 23rd April inclusive
  

During this time, urgent pastoral/funeral cover will be provided by the Rev. George Shand of the Tinto Parishes 01899 309400.
For any ongoing parish queries, please contact Heather Watt, our Session Clerk on 01899 850211




.

Sun 15 and 22 April, 10.30am: Morning worship will be conducted by the Rev. Sandy Strachan, making a return visit while the Minister is on leave.

Thurs 12 April, 7pm: Writing group meets at the Colebrooke Arms in Crawfordjohn. All welcome to come along and share a short piece of your own writing, or bring along something from a favourite writer.

Sun 22 April, 6.30: Evening worship: Wanlockhead Village Hall. We re-join the Apostle Paul on his travels. This month, thoughts from Corinth. Worship will be lead by Moira White. All welcome to join us for this more informal style of worship. Tea/coffee and baking will be available after worship.

Thur 26 April, 7pm: Kirk Session meets in the Church Hall

Fri 11 May, 7.30pm: Caledonian Fiddlers' Orchestra return to Crawfordjohn hall. This is a fundraiser for the church, so it would be great to see a good crowd. Tickets are £10 can be purchased from: Janet T, Isobel T, Anne B, Mary H. Molly W, Jeanette W.  Offers of help, by way of: baking, furniture moving etc would be very much appreciated. Please contact one the above members of the Social Committee.

Sunday 8 April 2018

Sermon, Sunday 8 April: 'Every day is Easter'

READINGS: 1 John 1:1-2:2; John 20.19-31

This morning, it was a case of a sermon in two parts. The initial section commented on Thomas' reputation, making use of the cartoon further below, and upon the ups and downs of faith - and that faith was something that was always in motion. It ended with the following reflection written by Roddy Hamilton:

Every day is Easter
When Thomas touched the wounds
and set himself free
it was Easter day

When Peter’s three “yes’s” to Jesus
finished his three denials
it was Easter day

When Mary ready to embalm the dead
ran in fear from the empty tomb
it was Easter day

When the disciples looked from afar
at a breakfast of fish on the beach
it was Easter day

When Emmaus became synonymous
with welcome, and the breaking of bread
with strangers
it was Easter day

When Paul was blinded by the light
and recognised the voice niggling in his head
it was Easter day

When the hungry are fed at the table
the same table as the rich
it is Easter day

When weapons are beaten to ploughshares
and peace is a word to be shouted
it is Easter day

When the stranger is welcomed in community
and the lonely are restored to relationship
it is Easter day
                      Roddy Hamilton

SERMON pt 2/

Happy Easter: Christ has risen –
he has risen indeed, alleluia!
Earlier, I said that every day is Easter.
And certainly, although we celebrated Easter Sunday last week,
in a pretty all-singing and all-dancing way,
we’re still very much in the season of Easter.
So, at least for the next few weeks,
you’ll be hearing some of the stories of people who met with,
who experienced first-hand, the resurrected Jesus.
And this week, we meet the disciples –
and particularly, Thomas, in a story that moves from Easter day,
through to the following Sunday.

It must have been disconcerting that first Easter Sunday.
Early in the morning, the women had gone to the garden,
where Jesus’ tomb was –
where Jesus’ body was...
or, so they thought.
Distress, fear, and then, wonder,
as they discover
the stone rolled away,
the empty tomb,
and messengers proclaiming:
‘He is not here: he has risen.’
Mary Magdalene races back to tell the strange news to the other followers.
Peter and John race to see for themselves,
then head back to the upper room where the disciples have all gathered.
Meanwhile, Mary has also gone back to the garden
and meets the gardener, who turns out to be the risen Lord.
He tells her to go and tell the others.
Essentially, the first person to preach the gospel is a woman.

That first Easter Sunday morning has been a busy, unsettling one.
Dare the disciples hope, as they sit in their locked room,
that the impossible news is ... possible?
Dare they think, behind the firmly shut door,
that the unbelievable...can be believed?
Morning turns to afternoon, turns to evening.
And still the disciples are there, in that room –
with that closed, and firmly bolted, door.
Apart from our friend, Thomas,
the rest of Jesus’ friends are clearly going nowhere any time soon.
Perhaps as they’ve talked and talked of the morning’s news.
Perhaps as they’ve pondered every tiny detail, they’ve fallen into the paralysis of analysis.
The sit, they talk, and they don't go anywhere.
So, Jesus comes to them.
Jesus walks into that locked room and begins to open their minds –
if not totally blow their minds.
And, in the process,
somehow, picking over the little bitty details don’t seem as important,
as they encounter the light of the One
who is the Light of the World,
and who bids them to follow him,
to walk in the light,
to walk the way of peace,
to walk the way of forgiveness,
to walk the way of faith –
with all its ups and downs.

We know the other part to that first Easter evening.
At some point, Thomas comes back, and finds his friends suddenly alive, transformed.
They talk of having seen Jesus.
And he, ever the realist, won’t accept the impossible possibility of resurrection.
As they have seen it for themselves, so too, not unreasonably, Thomas refuses to believe until he has seen Jesus.

A week passes.
And there they are:
still in that upper room,
still with the door firmly closed,
the lock securely bolted.
What have they been doing all that time?
Seriously?
All, apart from Thomas, have now seen Jesus;
have been amazed;
have felt the flutterings of the Spirit
as Jesus breathed upon them
and spoke words of peace.
Yet, they seem stuck.
Maybe they’re still so stunned, they can do nothing else.
Or, maybe they’re wondering just what it is that they’re supposed to do.
Will Jesus come back with instructions?
We don’t know what keeps them there behind closed doors.
But, again, if they won’t go out, Jesus will come in:
locked and bolted doors are child’s play
to the One who overcame death,
and opened the door of the tomb.

Jesus seeks out Thomas,
and that pragmatic, practical realist
now has to broaden his ways of thinking,
widen his understanding –
open his mind to the radical reality of the resurrection.
It’s not long until these followers of Jesus
will fling open the doors of that locked room
and go out seeking to transform the world
with the message of God’s love,
with the message of the good news of life.
And Thomas ends up travelling far.
According to legend, he travels to India, telling the story of Jesus along the way,
and eventually settles in Kerala, planting churches from about the year 50.
He reputedly dies there around 72AD.
No longer stuck in particular ways of thinking,
no longer stuck behind closed doors,
Thomas’ faith transforms him,
moves him, halfway across the world,
to witness to the resurrection:
to tell the story of the impossible,
made possible.

Sometimes, we get stuck:
sometimes we’re like the disciples in that securely locked room:
for whatever reason, we find ourselves not really going anywhere fast.
Sometimes, we add into that mix, an added dash of Thomas’ pragmatic, practical realism,
forgetting that his particular story ends with the transformation to an opened mind and heart:
faith in motion.

Like Thomas,
like the other friends and followers of Jesus,
we are called to be a people in motion,
for faith is not static,
hey, faith can even move mountains.
Faith works best when it’s not kept locked in a room behind a bolted door...
And, as we see in the gospel reading,
if closed doors can be opened by Jesus,
even locked hearts and bolted minds can be opened by him.
Faith moves us from being locked into death and being open to life –
to entertaining possibilities of the resurrection:
of new life,
of a full life,
of a life lived authentically in the here and now;
and faith opens up the possibility of  life and hope to others around us,
and around the world.

As Jesus breathed his peace upon his disciples,
so he is the One who breathes his peace into us;
who gives us strength, and courage,
and dares us to move towards hope;
who bids us follow him;
who sends us out into the world;
who calls us to be his witnesses
to life in all its fulness;
to love in all its transforming glory;
and to tell the story of the impossible,
made possible,
for, with God, all things are possible.

Happy Easter: Christ has risen –
he has risen indeed, alleluia!
For now, every day is Easter.

Let’s pray:
God of life, in the wake of Easter,
may we ride a wave of irrepressible hope
rising from the deep,
following the trajectory of love over
the turbulences of our living and
through its currents.
May we be open to joy,
and may we sense Your presence
hovering ever with us—
ever speaking new creation—
ever calling us into possibility. Amen.

Wednesday 4 April 2018

Easter 2018: Of halleluias and hot air balloons


Happy Easter!
Christ has risen, he has risen indeed! Alleluia!

After a busy, and very full service, with stories told by friends of Jesus about that first Easter morning, and resurrecting the Alleluias that had been 'buried' through the season of Lent, the short clip above is a wee walk through the worship space in the quietness after the morning service...