The Gift of Advent

12 12 2009

In a world of hunger and thirst,
In a world of droughts and flooding rains,
In a world of terror and climate change,
What can I do to make a difference this Christmas?

In the darkness of fear, hope is there to be found.
Will we dare to receive the gift of hope?

In a world of wars, and a world of greed,
In a world of violence on our streets,
In a world where I matters more than us,
What can I do to make a difference this Christmas?

In the darkness of fear, peace is waiting to be freed.
Will we dare to receive the gift of peace?

In a world of loneliness and depression
In a world of sickness and grief.
In a world of sadness and tragic loss,
What can I do to make a difference this Christmas?

In the darkness of fear, joy is there to be experienced.
Will we dare to receive the gift of joy?

In a world of religious hatred and racism,
In a world that sees white as nicer than black,
In a world in which rich has power over poverty.
What can I do to make a difference this Christmas?

In a darkness of fear, love is screaming to be shared.
Will we dare to receive the gift of love?

In a world which seems as imperfect as it can be
In a world where the problems seem so big,
In a world which cries out ‘What does it matter?’
What can I give to make a difference this Christmas?

In the darkness of fear, a light begins to shine
Will we dare to receive the gifts that we can also give?

So which gift of God’s will you receive this Christmas?
And which gift will you give?
A gift of hope? A gift of peace? A gift of joy? A gift of love?
There seems so much to choose from. Can I choose only one?

In the brightness of Christ, life shines anew.
Will we dare to give the gifts we have received this Christmas?

Celebrate the new life within you!
Celebrate God’s presence in your midst!
Rejoice people of God and give Christ this Christmas.


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An Emmaus Journey

14 10 2009

My wife and I were on our way from Jerusalem to Emmaus. I think it was the Sunday after Jesus had died. He’d been crucified on the Friday. We were feeling pretty low, and we’d decided that there was nothing else to be done now that Jesus was gone, so we’d left the others and started on our journey home.

The days before Jesus had died were really quite incredible. They had an unreal inevitability about them. And it all happened so quickly – it was like a runaway camel in the market place – no way of stopping it. But at the same time, it was all happening so slowly. It was like when the kids are running around inside the house and one of them runs into the water jar and knocks it over. You can see the jar falling, its all happening so fast that you know there’s nothing you can do about it, but it also seems to happen so slowly – it takes for ever to hit the floor and smash into a million pieces, and then when it does there’s an incredible sinking feeling as you see all the water flowing across the floor – water that you spent two hours carrying up from the well before the sun came up – and now there’s no water for the rest of the day. The few weeks before Jesus died was just like that. We sort of knew what was going to happen, but at the same time we didn’t know. And now the bottom had fallen out of our world.

Well, this particular Sunday afternoon, we were talking about these sorts of things as we made our way to Emmaus, when we both suddenly became aware of someone walking beside us.

Gidday, he said. What are you talking about.

We stopped walking and looked at him. He didn’t look like anyone that we had ever seen before.

Are you the only traveller, who’s been in Jerusalem in recent days who doesn’t know what’s happened, I said

The stranger simply said, Tell me about it.

So we told him all about how Jesus of Nazareth had been this great prophet who we thought was going to be the Messiah; the one to save us from the dominance of the Romans. How he’d been betrayed and handed over to authorities and how he’d been crucified.

A few of the women had gone to the tomb early on that very morning to anoint the body as was the custom, but when they got there the tomb was empty. Later on in the morning, Peter and some of the others went to the tomb and they found it empty as well. The women had even said something about seeing angels and that the angels had said that Jesus wasn’t dead but was risen. We didn’t really believe them. You know what women are like in these situations!

Anyway, the stranger started talking to us about who the Messiah really was. He went through the laws of Moses and the writings of the prophets and he showed us all the places where it talked about the Messiah, and how the Messiah wasn’t going to be a powerful king that would destroy the Romans, but rather he would be one who would live and suffer and even die so that we would know how much God loved us and to show us how God wanted us to live. The Messiah would come not so much to do the work, but to show us how to do the work, so we would understand how God had given us the law to live in harmony, and the words of the prophets to help us understand that it was the spirit of the law that mattered rather than the law itself, how God wanted us to show mercy and sacrifice even if it meant that we didn’t follow the very letter of the law.

So if we saw an injured man on the side of the road, and it was the Sabbath, we shouldn’t walk by on the other side of the road and leave him there, but we should go over to him and pick him up and help him and take him to the inn and make the necessary arrangements to care for him. And if we saw a person travelling on their own or maybe someone who was lonely and miserable outside our gate, then we don’t just ignore them and we don’t just throw them a few coins and send them on their way. Rather we should invite them in, share a meal with them, give them a bed for the night. Make them feel that they are worthwhile people to have around. Make them feel part of the community, part of the family. It was certainly an interesting way of looking at things, and it all had that ring of familiarity about it. A bit of de-ja-vu perhaps. I’d heard all this somewhere before.

Well, by this time, we had reached Emmaus, and were outside our house, because we lived on the main road. The stranger said Goodbye and started to walk on.

My wife turned to me and said, Don’t let him go. Ask him in for dinner. Its getting late.

I said, But he’s a stranger. We don’t really know him.

She said – Don’t you understand. That’s exactly what he’s been talking about.

Hmmmmm. She was right of course. Funny, that. Well, you know how women are in these situations…..

So I called after the stranger, and invited him in.

We didn’t have much in the house because we’d been away for a few days, but we had bought some bread and fish on the way, so we set that out on the table. And we had some wine in the cupboard. I was just about to give thanks, because I was the host, when the stranger picked up the bread and started the blessing, which went something like this:

Almighty and most wonderful God, we praise you and give you thanks for the laws of Moses and for the words of the prophets through which you have shown us your great love. Help us to understand how to allow that love to flow through us and into the wider community around us. Bless o Lord, this bread and this wine to our bodies that it might strengthen us both physically and spiritually, that through it you will empower us to meet the stranger and to know when we do, how to care for them and to help them to feel part of our community. We praise you our God and we thank you for friendship. We thank you for fellowship and we thank you, as we break this bread again, for your love for us that allows us to be part of the ongoing community of people who belong to you.

Just as he said Amen, and as we joined him in saying Amen, he broke the bread, and at that very instant we turned and looked at each other, and were filled with a feeling of great joy. This was no stranger at our table. And both of us at the same instant looked back to where the stranger had been, and sure enough. The stranger was gone.

The stranger was gone.


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Down to Preside and all I can hear are the Sounds of Silence

8 05 2009

Well here it is – Saturday afternoon. I sit at my computer, staring at the screen, wondering “what can I say?” I’ve got the rest of the service organised, but the introduction to Communion – what can I say? The silence is deafening. But in the silence I realise that the sound of silence is not really silence at all. Rather the silence is filled by the background noises that continually invade our silent personal space.

I can hear the traffic on the road outside; the sound of cheers from the oval across the road; the sound of neighbours opening their back door and putting rubbish in their bin; the sound of the washing machine churning back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, in an almost hypnotic silence; the sound of the kids doing…whatever it is they are doing – what are they doing? The sounds of life, the sounds of the world doing what it does – the sounds of silence. If I let it, the sounds of silence would overtake my desire to get something down for tomorrow’s communion talk. Focus! I have to focus.

The sounds of silence I think to myself. Paul Simon and Art Garfunkel sang a song about the sounds of silence. How did it go? I think I remember some of the words…

‘Hello darkness my old friend. I’ve come to talk with you again. Because a vision softly creeping, left its seeds while I was sleeping. And the vision that was planted in my brain, still remains, within the sounds of silence.’

My mind is empty. But as I sit and think amidst the sounds of silence, images begin to form; thoughts begin to germinate. A vision, perhaps planted while I was sleeping, begins to invade my sounds of silence.

I remembered that Wendy was arranging some displays which promote the protection of the environment, and which encourage us to do our bit in saving the planet, our home. So the wandering through the dark recesses of my mind takes an uncontrollable environmental turn.

And as the vision of the environment softly creeps into my brain, I become, as I am wont to do every now and then, all gee-d up about reducing green house gases and saving the Orang-utan, and protecting the sharks whose fins are so callously cut from their writhing bodies, by illegal fishermen. I think of the forests that are mercilessly cut from the ground, so large coffee plantations can grow and become ever-more profitable. And what about the destruction of the Amazon rain forest and the never-ending debate about logging in our own Australian forests. And climate change…don’t talk to me about climate change!

And suddenly the sounds of silence are replaced by the noisy gongs of protest. “Death to the whalers” I cry in the silence of my mind! My empty mind becomes filled with the noise of shouts and cries – But what can I do? What can I do? I want to save the planet – but what can I, one single person, do? No, wait! I can’t think of that now. I’ve got a service to prepare for tomorrow. I’ve got more important things to focus on for the moment.

And slowly the noisy gongs stop their clanging and settle into the sounds of silence once more.

I stare at the screen. No words magically appeared. The page on the computer screen, like my mind, remains blank.

And my sounds of silence continue their endless journey to every recess of my mind, every now and then invaded by that song.

“In restless dreams I walked alone narrow streets of cobblestone.” Hmmm…Paul Simon – where is that CD? Wait – I’ve got that song right here on my computer, no need to get up… Ah yes, here it is. “‘Neath the halo of a street lamp, I turned my collar to the cold and damp when…”

As the beautiful sound of Art Garfunkel’s voice and the melodic twang of Simon’s acoustic guitar washed over my empty brain, I found myself peering at one of the many news sites on the internet. Headline – “And the Oscar goes to Heath Ledger’s daughter”. Boring! Another boring article about illegal fishing and Ooo! An earthquake in Melbourne – that’s interesting. Oh, and here’s an article about the Salvation Army and their tireless work in feeding rescue workers and fire-fighters after the recent bushfires in Victoria…hmmm…bush fires…rescue workers, fire-fighters …victims!!

“…my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light that split the night and touched the sounds of silence”.

Suddenly, somehow, the sounds of silence dissipated and were replaced by thoughts of the poor fishermen who live in the impoverished villages in Indonesia, and even the fishermen who live in our own city. Every day it seems they lose part of their fishing grounds because of environmental concerns. What about their right to work? What about their right to bring home food for their family and their right to earn money to buy clothes and school equipment and toys for their kids? What about the poor villagers who struggle to grow a crop of Palm trees or to work a small plantation producing coffee beans? What about the rights of the poor in the cities to have clean water to drink? We have to build dams to provide water for the cities, but then the rivers dry up and the poor who live out from the cities are forced to walk miles just to get a jug of water for their kids. What about them? And if we close the polluting factories – what about all those jobs. All those people losing their jobs will have mortgages and they’ll lose their houses.

Wow!…Saving the environment has consequences. Make a note – I need to think about this a bit more…but not now. Communion – focus!

And once again, the sounds of silence over take me. My fingers tap the keys without writing anything. What am I going to say? What can I say?

There is a screech of tyres right outside. I wait for the crash. Doh! Missed! The washing machine goes ballistic – sounds like it’s about to explode – unbalanced I thought. Linda will get it. Artie and Paul sing on…

“And in the naked light I saw ten thousand people, maybe more – people talking without speaking; people hearing without listening; people writing songs that voices never share, and no one dared disturb the sounds of silence.”

I stared at the screen and thought to myself “so this is what an empty mind is like”. Coffee – I need coffee. I walked to the kitchen and turned on the kettle and waited by the kitchen bench. You know, those sounds of silence go everywhere; only now we have the added sound of water heating up. I stared out the kitchen window.

I don’t know, I thought, blocking out the sound of the kettle. What did that Psalm say? Ah yes, that was it – “For he did not despise or abhor the affliction of the afflicted; he did not hide his face from me, but heard when I cried to him.”

Well, maybe I could say something like this, I thought.

“While ever there is suffering and pain; while ever there is greed and poverty, while ever there is injustice, God will be there, his arms draped around those hurting, feeling the pain with them. God stands alongside the marginalised; God swings in the trees with the Orang-utan in its ever decreasing habitat. God swims in the oceans with the ever decreasing number of fish and sharks and turtles. God waits for us to come.”

I consider this for a second – God waits. All the while, God waits for us to come…waits for us to come and help…but what can I do? How can I help?

Well at least I’ve got something to work with now. But as I pour the water into the cup, the sounds of silence again invade my brief moment of brilliance. The kids are arguing. “Shut up!” I think to myself. I’m trying to think!

“Fools” said I, “You do not know silence like a cancer grows.” The words of Paul Simon again feed into the other sounds of silence. “Hear my words that I might teach you; take my arms that I might reach you.” Almost sounds like words you might hear from Jesus, I think to myself. “But my words like silent raindrops fell and echoed in the wells of silence.”

Having got my coffee I’m back sitting in front of the computer with my fingers poised expectantly over the keyboard. C’mon fingers. Do your stuff. What was that thought I had before? I take a sip of coffee. Damn! That’s hot. Oh yes that was it. God waits. God waits. And then out of the blue, I think to myself – I could add this too.

“God also stands with the impoverished palm-oil farmer and coffee-bean grower. God sits on the boats and wanders the villages of the poor fishermen. God walks with the woman on her 10km trek to the well to get water. God is already tending to the sick and the suffering, the hungry and the burnt. God waits for us to come.”

There it is again. That thought. God waits. And all the while God waits for us to come…waits for us to come and help. But what can I do? How can I help?

For the briefest of moments I have the seeds of an argument forming in my brain.

If we rush out to help the poor and the marginalised without considering the consequences for the environment, then we, like Peter, are no more than Satan. If we rush out to save the environment without considering the consequences for the poor and the marginalised we, like Peter, are no more than Satan. We need to get behind Jesus and follow. We need to constantly consider the consequences of our actions and ensure we are following the Lord.

Hmmm…that could be worth working on. But heck, this is supposed to be an introduction to communion, not a rambling sermon. Dennis can ramble later, I chuckle to myself. And Paul and Art sing their final verse.

‘And the people bowed and prayed to the neon god they made. And the sign flashed out its warning, in the words that it was forming. And the sign said, “The words of the prophets are written on the subway walls and tenement halls.” And they’re whispered in the sounds of silence.’

Hmmm…I know what I can do. Short and sweet – to the point. That’s what we need. Not some great treatise on the environment or theology or ecology, but something that says what this bread and wine are really about. I’ll just say this – that will be enough. And it fits nicely straight after the second hymn. Just let me get this down…yeah, I like it. Yeah this is good. I like it.

————

As we share together in this symbol of bread and wine, may it not be a silent witness to a distant memory. Rather may it be a noisy gong that invades the sounds of silence of our lives, driving us to recognise God everywhere and in everything and in everyone and may it lead us to come behind Jesus of Nazareth, following him where ever he leads.

————

© 2009 Steve Mellor

Lyrics of Sounds of Silence © Paul Simon


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Who do you say that I am?

20 04 2009

Who do you say that I am?

 

When I was hungry, you gave me food

When I was thirsty, you gave me water,

When I was cold, you gave me warmth,

When I was naked, you gave me clothes.

 

Who do you say that I am?

 

When you were sick, I comforted you.

When you were afraid, I gave you support.

When you were unsure, I encouraged you.

When you grieved, I grieved with you.

 

Who do you say that I am?

 

When I was a stranger, you welcomed me.

When I was blind, you helped me to see.

When I was deaf, you helped me to hear.

When I was injured, you cared for me.

 

Who do you say that I am?

 

When you were in prison, I was there too.

When you were insulted I felt the pain.

When you were laughed at I stood by your side.

When they threw stones I was your shield.

 

Who do you say that I am?

 

When I was tired, you gave me rest.

When I was lonely, you were with me.

When I was angry, you listened to me.

When I was lost, you looked for me.

 

Who do you say that I am?

 

When you were wrong, I told you.

When you saw pain and did nothing, I reached out to you.

When you saw me lying by the road and you walked by on the other side, I cried for you.

When you were guilty, I died for you.

 

Who do you say that I am?

Who do you say that I am?

 

Our response to that question will help us decide whether we take up the cross and follow Jesus, and it will influence the way in which we become the blood and body of Christ in the world around us.

© Steve Mellor 2009


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