Faith, love and patient hope

Sunday 19th October 2014.  Trinity 18.  

Last Sunday I went to Mass at a church in Pretoria. As people arrived and the music group tuned up, I prayed for you in the services that you were celebrating in each of the Living Brook churches. The parish priest, Fr Bogdan, was celebrating his first Sunday masses after returning from a holiday visiting family in Poland, and spoke of how he had prayed for his church in his absence too. And during the service he baptised a little girl - while he was baptising baby Kesia, I was thinking and praying about Aidan, who I have the privilege of baptising on my first Sunday back from holiday too. I prayed for Aidan, and for all of Living Brook, that you will grow in faith and love and hope.

Fr Bogdan and I, in praying for our people when we are away from them, followed the example of St Paul. In our reading from Paul's letter to the Thessalonians this morning, Paul (who was probably writing form Corinth), wrote that he was praying for the people there, and his prayer was 'constantly remembering before our God and Father your work of faith and labour of love and steadfastness of hope in our Lord Jesus Christ'.

For the Thessalonians, the work of faith and love and steadfast, or patient, hope, was lived out in a society that didn't support a life following Jesus Christ. In the Roman Empire many gods were venerated, and the message of Paul that there was one God and Jesus is his son was subversive. Giving up all the other gods was going way against the grain. It was like asking a businessman to give up his car and his laptop, or a teenager to give up snapchat. And there was an even bigger problem. Among the gods was Augustus, predecessor to emperor Tiberius. The emperor was revered as the son of god, and effectively worshipped as a god in his own right. Jesus was being put in the divine place of the emperor - a very dangerous thing to own up to in public. This new Jewish God, and his son Jesus were claiming to be senior to the gods of Rome. Jesus himself had established that he was senior to the emperor when he was asked in the temple about taxes. Give to the emperor what is the emperors, he had said, and to God what is Gods. If we believe that God really is the creator of all, then what is Gods includes what is the emperors! The emperor himself, as a human being, belongs to God, and anything paid to him is owed in turn to God. This message was dangerous in Jerusalem, and even more so in Greece. No wonder Paul needed to pray for the faithful people of Thessalonica. There was a lot of pressure not to follow Jesus.

The same is true for us. Following Jesus is hard. Our society does not support the way of faith, love and hope. Britain hasn't always been a Christian country, and sometimes it seems that the priorities of our culture more reflect its pagan roots than Christian ones. In the northern Kingdom of Bernicia, where Northumbria is now, the faith was first proclaimed by an Irish monk from the Iona monastery called Aidan. The King, Oswald, made Aidan bishop and abbot of Lindisfarne - the founder of a new monastery there. Aidan, like Paul had in Greece, travelled and proclaimed a controversial message: one God, whose son died to bring us hope and eternal life. Aidan founded churches. He freed Anglo-Saxon slave boys and educated them for the church. He taught ordinary people how to pray, fast, and meditate on the scriptures. St Bede tells us that he was respected for his love of prayer, study, peace, purity and humility, and for his care for the sick and the poor. On one famous occasion, Aidan was riding home on a horse given to him by King Oswin of Deira, when he met a poor man - and gave the man his horse. To imagine what a gift that was, compare it to this: if you had a really lovely car, an expensive 4x4, say, would you be willing to hand over the keys to a poor person you saw at the side of the road? It would be the equivalent action. Aidan lived without riches (apart from his brief horse ownership), though he could easily have had them, because he wanted to live the way of Jesus. It wasn't the way society did things then, and it isn't now. Praying, living in faith, loving God and neighbour, persevering in patient hope, these qualities go against those of our power hungry, wealth dependant society.

My prayer today for our Aidan, and for everyone in Living Brook remains the same: that you will be strong in faith in God our Father, and his Son Jesus Christ in the power of the Holy Spirit; that your love for God and for each other will grow and be a sign to others of the truth of the gospel; and that you will always persevere in patient hope, no matter what opposition you have to face.

Of one mind.

I'd like to read again the opening of today's reading from Philippians, using the translation by Tom Wright.
'So if our shared life in the king brings you any comfort; if love still has the power to make you cheerful; if we really do have a partnership in the spirit; if your hearts are at all moved with affection and sympathy - then make my joy complete! Bring your thinking into line with each other.'

I think that sometimes when we hear the titles of Paul's letters, we imagine a very large audience for them. In one sense there has been, because millions have read them over two thousand years. But Paul wasn't expecting that to happen. Although he knew that the letters might be passed around between local churches so that more people could hear what he had to say, he was still addressing one particular church. And those churches were small. They were probably about the size of Piddington or Hardingstone church on a Sunday at 11. They met in private houses, gatherings of a number of families within a town which did not share the faith.

So let's imagine that it is a church of forty people or so that Paul is addressing. And let's imagine that it is one of our churches, rather than one in first century Philippi. Paul is telling us, our little group of people, that what he really wants for us is to bring our thinking into line with one another.

Now he is not saying that we should all mindlessly share the same opinion. He is not saying we should stop thinking for ourselves, that we all have to like bananas and vote for the same political party. He is not saying we should share the same views on whether Scotland was right to vote no, or whether parliament was right to vote yes when it met on Friday. We are likely to differ, even if only on detail. That's not the point. So let me offer an analogy.

Many of us in Living Brook support, or at least take an interest in, our local sports teams. We don't for a moment imagine that when the fans gather at St James or Sixfields to watch the Saints or the Cobblers, that every fan shares the same politics or even the same preference for filling in the interval pie. But what we can expect is that the fans will share one common focus. Every Cobblers fan wants to see Northampton Town putting away more goals than the other side; every Cobblers fan's mood today is affected by the result against Morecambe yesterday, while every Saints fan is interested only in the result against Bath. At the stadium, whatever the shape of the ball - and forgive me if you prefer the Ryder cup, or the tennis or the cricket, hopefully you can transfer the analogy - every fan has one focus. My team to win. My team to keep the ball at the other end of the pitch. My team to score more than the other team. One focus that turns this great crowd of people into a community. No matter what else they might think, no matter what they do, what their families are like, what colour their skin, what level their income, what length of time they spent in education, that community of people is bound together by a single interest, something that transcends the differences between them.

This is what St Paul looks for in us. Whatever our differences, we should be bound together in a joyful unity because we have one common focus that transcends all else. And that common focus is Jesus. Jesus Christ, our Lord, the presence of God in the world, who lived a human life and died a human death in humiliation and pain because of his love for us. Our bond should be as strong as the bond between sports fans when their team is leading in a cup final match. All the time.

It doesn't matter, Paul reminds us, whether there are small things that could come between us. Whether the brand of coffee drunk after services isn't a personal favourite, or someone made a mistake which affected you adversely - well, we're all human, and things happen, but this should not affect our unity as Christians. We don't always manage to be perfect for each other. And we certainly don't always agree about things. But on this we do agree. Jesus Christ is our Lord and our Saviour, and not only ours but the whole world's, and that is something everyone should know. And everyone is much more likely to believe it if they look at us and see a group of people strongly united, joyfully and delightedly united, behind the common cause of following and proclaiming Jesus Christ.

That is what Paul wanted for the Philippians, and I believe it is what he wants for every church that has come together ever since. Living Brook included. And it is what I want too.

So if you want to make my joy complete, bring your thinking into line with one another. And make that thinking in line be thinking about Jesus, who is at work among you and who will give you the energy and the will to follow him and to do what pleases him, with one heart and mind, if only you ask.

I waited for the Lord

This morning the choir sang a lovely anthem by Felix Mendelssohn for us, which is a setting of two verses of psalm 40. I don't talk about the psalms anything like as often as I should, so I'm taking this opportunity. The psalms are a wealth of poetic song passed down through so many generations. When we sing psalm 40 (or any psalm), I find it really marvellous to think of Jesus singing the same song - albeit in a different language and a very different musical style. The psalms show us how to praise and how to express sorrow and desperation. Psalm 40 is one of the psalms that reminds us exactly where our priorities are - or should be - and where God is in them.

In this psalm, as with many of the psalms written by David, the author has been in a place of danger or trouble, and recounts how God helped him out. In the first verse, which the choir sang, David has been praying repeatedly and waiting for God to answer. The choir sang 'I waited for The Lord, he inclined unto me, he heard my complaint.' This is a translation of a translation of a translation, since the psalm was written in Hebrew and Mendelssohn set a German version to music. Some of you, especially those who, like me, grew up attending BCP Matins and Evensong with a regular chance to sing the psalms, will remember the Authorised Version: 'I waited patiently for the Lord; and he inclined unto me, and heard my cry.' The Hebrew word translated as waited is a strong word, suggesting a long wait - hence the patiently here, or the New Jerusalem Bible offering this: 'I waited, I waited for The Lord, then he stopped to me and heard my cry for help.' In another modern version,  The Message, translator Eugene Peterson picks up this even more strongly: 'I waited and waited and waited for God. At last he looked; finally he listened.'

We live in a culture where we have come to expect instant results. Governments are rejected if they don't solve economic problems or bring peace between warring parties within days. We decide we want a product and can order it online and have it on the doorstep the next day. Increasingly, people look for instant gratification, instant action and don't take time to think about what is really best. And we've come to expect God to fit in with that way of behaving too. If a person prays in the morning and does not receive and instant answer then God is he accused of abandonment, not caring or not existing at all. But people of faith know that this is not how it is with God. God's timing is not the same as ours. God exists beyond our sense of clock time, and God sees what we cannot. So while sometimes God might respond instantly, even miraculously, to prayer, equally sometimes God keeps us waiting.

I knew in my heart that God had called me to be a priest in the Church of England at the age of fifteen. I prayed about this every day, wanting to be sure that I really was understanding the calling correctly. At the age of 22 I tested this vocation, and for reasons that would embarrass the C of E now, I was told to go away and do something else, and never to consider the priesthood again. But I knew in my heart what God was calling me to do, and in the hurt and confusion I kept praying, I knew that if something is Gods will, then God will bring it about even despite the desk ions of those who represent Him here. At the age of 29 I went back and tried again - God had made it impossible to avoid the issue. I was 34 when I was finally ordained. It was a long wait, and for much of that time I had no idea whether God would ever answer my prayer, for some of that time I really hoped that he wouldn't. When I finally had the meeting with a bishop that set the date and confirmed my future, the sense of being touched by God was strong.

Those who wait patiently for God will receive God's blessing. That is the message of the first verse of psalm 1. David writes that God inclined to him, or stooped down to him. That action, the stooping, is an action of blessing. When I bless a congregation I make the sign of the cross, but I'd be more accurately representing the full giving involved in blessing if I stooped to the ground. That's impractical of course - you wouldn't hear or see what I was doing if I started bending over like that, and I don't think my dodgy knees would cope with it either. But can you for a moment imagine that action? When. God responds to our prayers, and especially those we pray for years and years in hope, he is stooping down to us and listening. If you spend years praying for a relative to come to know and love The Lord, the day will come. If you spend years praying for a solution to any kind of problem, it will come. David's life was threatened from many quarters - by King Saul, by the Philistine enemy army, by the competition for power that came from his own sons - on more than one occasion he was forced into hiding to save his life. Sometimes he was on the run for months. But God heard his prayers and brought him to safety, in God's own time.

Mendelssohn chose one other verse from psalm 40 to include in this anthem: the fits half of verse four. The choir sang: o blessed are they that hope and trust in The Lord. The full verse, in the AV is: 'blessed is that man that maketh The Lord his trust, and respecteth not the proud, nor such as turn aside to lies.' Eugene Peterson's contemporary translation offers us: 'blessed are you who give yourselves over to God, turn your backs on the word's "sure thing", ignore what the world worships'. This beatitude shows us that God will bless, or stoop down to help, those people who consistently trust in Him. If we keep on trusting in God, He will answer our prayers. Maybe not in a way that we understand - the ways we understand are so often the ways of the works we inhabit and not the ways of God. But God will hear and help us in the way that is best for us, in away that really blesses us.

Through the years when I prayed as I went to sleep, 'Lord, if it is your will, please let me be your priest', I could have pursued other things. I could have found much better paying work, or an option that gave me much more personal freedom. I could have planned and led my life in a way that my wider family would understand and accept. I could have stopped clinging on to a hope that had been rejected and 'got on with my life'. In other words, I could have done things in a way that contemporary society would understand. I could have lived a 21st century life, and I could have admitted what some around me said was right: that if there was a God, He didn't answer prayers and He wasn't interested in me. But that didn't fit with what my heart and the scriptures told me. When I was eventually ordained, I had a lot more experiences under my belt than I could possibly have had if I'd been ordained in my early twenties. Those experiences make me a much better priest than I would otherwise have been. God knew what He was doing when he made me wait.

Psalm 40 tells all of us that often we have to wait, a very long time, for God's blessing, but that that blessing is given to those who trust in God and do not get distracted away from God by the precepts of the society they live in. For me, singing psalm 40 is singing a personal story, and not only the story of my call to ordination: that's just the one I've chosen to share with you today.
Perhaps you too have stories of times when you have patiently prayed for a long time and have been blessed by God when the time was right. I encourage you to share those stories, if they can be shared, with each other - over coffee after the service perhaps. Those of you who are praying for something, who perhaps have been praying for a long time and are still waiting and wondering, hear those stories and be encouraged; encouraged to keep on trusting God above all else, because God will bless you when the time is right.

And do read the psalms, or sing them, just as Jesus did. They helped Jesus, and they still help is today. You could do a lot worse than looking up psalm 40 when you get home, and joining with the psalmist's prayer. Psalm 40 ends with a verse that we all so often find ourselves praying in our own words. These are the New Jerusalem Bible's words: 'Poor and needy as I am, The Lord has me in mind. You, my helper, my Saviour, my God, do not delay.'

Why so many sermons?

Those who look at this blog will have noticed a number of sermons appearing recently. There will be more of that, as part of an experiment led by one of my parishes to explore more ways of connecting the housebound, hard of hearing and visually impaired to the church community. Blogging my sermons makes it accessible to the internet savvy, and puts the sermons in a place where certain internet savvy church members can copy them, increase the type size, and print them for those who find it easier to read than to hear. We are going to be experimenting with audio versions too, recording sermons and other service sections so that housebound members can hear what they've missed at home.

Writing sermons in this form, and typing them, is a discipline I'm having to adapt to. Until now, I've preferred to write my sermons longhand (still do, to be honest - I think better with a pen than a keyboard). Often I write mere bullet points, or even nothing at all, keeping it in my head. That's no good for those not present and able to easily follow though, so a new discipline is required, and the blog seemed to be a useful tool as I try to change the habits of a lifetime.

So please bear with the sermons. You may even enjoy some of them!

In the meantime, follow up from a recent sermon, #WeAreN. Canon Andrew White is unwell with Hepatitis B. Please keep him in your prayers.

WeAreN

Sunday 24^th August 2014

Sometimes the title or name you give to a person has major implications, for that person and for you. For example, from the day I called Paul husband, our relationship changed  and became more committed, more intimate and more public – that new name or title was given in front of a church full of people, after all. The day I was called deacon, the day I was called priest, the day I was called priest in charge, each of those days changed the way others saw me and the way I saw myself. Responsibilities attached themselves to me, the expectations  others had of me changed. It’s happened to all of us, whether the ‘who are you’ is answered by the word ‘Dad’ or ‘Lance-Corporal’ or ‘Assistant Manager’ or ‘Class 2 teacher’ or ‘barista’ or ‘new sixthformer’ or ‘Grandma’… you get the idea – when these names are given to us, we take on the tasks, responsibilities, authority and dignity (or not) of the role.

The one title I can be sure that every one of us shares today is perhaps the most important one that we have. Christian. The word was a first century invention in Syria to describe the people who followed a man with a title: Christ, or Messiah. Simon Peter gave Jesus that title first, and was rewarded with a title of his own – Peter, the rock. The Christ is a title for the son of God, the one sent by God to save humanity. There is no greater title, and thus no greater responsibility, authority or dignity – it is greater than any King or Emperor. Christians are the followers of Christ, and to them comes the responsibility of living in the way that Christ taught and sharing His teaching with others. It is no small calling, no ordinary title. Every one of us who is privileged to call ourself Christian lives with the great promise and joy that knowing Jesus gives, but also lives with the knowledge that others may look down on us and condemn us for our faith.

You’ll be aware, I am sure, of the effect that the title of a follower of Christ has for fellow followers in other parts of the world. In some parts of the Middle East followers are referred to as Nasrani – or Nazarenes, a reference to Jesus being a Nazarene, a man from Nazareth. In the way that we generally use the cross as a symbol to identify ourselves by, Nasrani followers of Jesus also use the Arabic letter N to identify themselves. Right at the moment, to be Nasrani in Iraq is to be persecuted. Following Jesus in the way of persecution is one of the things that can happen to all followers of Christ, but for most of us in the West, we don’t experience it beyond comments at the water cooler or the verbal rejection of others who say they don’t do God. In Iraq, the Islamic State movement, ISIS, is actively persecuting those who don’t follow their brand of Sunni Islam. Nasrani followers of Jesus have come home to find the N painted on their houses as a marker to ISIS troops – this is a house where you can enter and offer a choice to the inhabitants: pay a high tax and convert to Islam, or die. Nasrani’s have been forced to flee their homes with nothing but the clothes on their backs. They have seen relatives murdered – children and women as well as men – and they are seeing the vulnerable, elderly and children, die of thirst and exhaustion in the desert where they are seeking refuge. Those people are being persecuted for wearing the same title that we do – they have the same priorities as we do, the same devotion to God and commitment to living in the way of Christ. They are Christians, we are Nasrani.

So for us here, in a place where we are safe, the responsibility that comes with the title Christian includes a responsibility to our Nasrani sisters and brothers feeling persecution in Iraq. Some of you might be thinking that there is nothing you can do. We aren’t all wealthy, and the Middle East is far away – a matter for governments, not for us. But the wonderful thing about following the Messiah of the world is that there really is always something we can do.

The Church of England has a website about the situation in Iraq and what we can do about it with some very helpful links. If you are internet savvy, look at it: https://www.churchofengland.org/our-views/international-affairs/north-africa-and-the-middle-east/iraq.aspx. The Church has also produced potters to remind us what we can do, and I’ve got posters today for each of our churches. It has three words at the top: Pray. Act. Give. These things we can do to support the Nasrani’s and all who are persecuted for their faith.

Firstly, pray. We can all do that. Ask our Lord to protect and help all who are persecuted for bearing the title of Nasrani, of Christian. Pray that food and other supplies will get through. This week one of the doctors working with refugees sent a message about a young boy called Fahad who is very anxious because school should be starting again soon and he does not know where, if at all, he will be able to go to get his lessons. It’s something we can take for granted for our children. So let’s pray for Fahad and the other children who don’t have access to their schools any more. Follow the news and pray for the situation as you understand it, in Iraq and wherever people are persecuted for their faith or beliefs.

Secondly, act. Churches and individuals are being encouraged to write to their local MPs urging them to press the Government to increase Britain's humanitarian efforts for all those affected by the crisis and to ask for asylum to be granted to a fair number of those who will be unable to return to their homes. Our MP, Andrea Leadsom, is more likely to press for helping refugees if she hears from lots of us. And we can also act by showing publicly that we share the same title that those who are being persecuted have. We say Christian, they say Nasrani, but it amounts to the same thing in the way that the titles Christ and Messiah amount to the same thing. They are being persecuted for being Nasrani, and that is why the Church of England urges its members to say with them, we are Nasrani. We share the same name, the same calling, the same Lord.

Thirdly, give. I know that not everyone has money to spare, but even a tiny bit helps – and those of us who do have a bit more can give a bit more. It is often difficult to know who to give to. How do we get money to the right people in this sort of situation? That’s where being Anglican can be a real help, because within the Anglican communion there are ways of doing things that get straight to people in need. Last week I was able to give directly to a hospital in Gaza by doing it through a fund administered by the Diocese of Jerusalem. When it comes to supporting our sisters and brothers in Iraq, the Diocese of Cyprus and the Gulf directs us to an organisation run through St George’s church in Baghdad, http://frrme.org/ - the foundation for relief and reconciliation in the Middle East. Canon Andrew White – often referred to as the vicar of Baghdad – set this foundation up, and at the moment they are directing funds to relief operations in the north. Those of you who use social media could ‘like’ Andrew White on facebook in order to follow what he and the foundation are doing to help. (It was from Canon White’s facebook status’s that I got the news and image of Fahad, for example). Christian Aid have an Iraq crisis appeal, so if you prefer to use a locally based aid charity, give to them.

Jesus said, who do you say I am? The title made a difference. So does ours. We are Christian, we are Nasrani. Let’s make sure that it makes a difference to us and to those in need today because they follow Jesus, the Christ. 

Wild dogs, pet dogs and sheep.

Matthew 15: 21-28

Around the edges of Jerusalem there used to be many wild dogs. They lived off the scraps and carcasses thrown onto the rubbish heaps, especially around Golgotha. They engaged in desultory hunting, usually going for easy prey: in the shepherd’s fields between Jerusalem and Bethlehem the weaker sheep and young lambs were easy pickings if the dogs could get past the shepherds. Not surprisingly, the Jewish people had a low opinion of dogs. These curs were flea ridden, vicious and unpleasant scavengers. People the Jews saw as enemies to their faith or their way of living came to be referred to as dogs. Gentiles, especially the likes of the Canaanite neighbours in the north of Galilee and Lebanon, were often called dogs. Some still worshipped Baal, the god whose followers had committed genocide against the Jews in Elijah’s day, and other Gentiles worshipped multiple Greek or Roman gods, which was just as bad. The opponents of Israel were dogs, unwanted, to be kept out of God’s holy places.

Gentiles didn’t necessarily see dogs in the same way. They knew that the Jews despised them and the ones who had dealings with the less polite members of the Jewish race would have heard the nickname. But for some Gentiles, especially the ones influenced by the fashions of the Greeks, dogs were not all bad. There were guard dogs, especially around Roman owned farms. And pet dogs were becoming popular, especially among the ladies. Lap dogs were company during the long hours when husbands were off in the Forum or enjoying the company of their friends. Pet dogs were beginning, in some homes, to be seen as part of the family. In Greek, people distinguished between unpleasant wild dogs – the ones scavenging in the city rubbish – and pet dogs by using a diminutive form of the word. Pet dogs were effectively referred to as puppies. They were not the same as the wild dogs that no-one really liked.

I’m telling you this because it helps us understand the difficult conversation between Jesus and the Canaanite woman in today’s gospel. Jesus was trying to get a holiday break, and this woman was stopping him from getting the break he wanted with his friends. Remember that Jews saw Canaanites as no better than those wild dogs, a personal threat, and at that moment this woman was a threat to Jesus’ peace and was trying to get, if you like, entry to God’s holiest place – the presence of Jesus. Canaanite women were a reminder to Jews of Jezebel, Elijah’s great persecutor and the instigator of the genocide of the Jew. Her eventual fate was a fall to her death, and her body consumed by wild dogs. There is an example of a good Canaanite woman in the Old Testament too, but somehow people generally thought of Jezebel first. This woman probably pestered every healer who came by. The disciples just wanted her to go away. In Greek – as the common language it is possible that Greek was spoken at least by the woman – the conversation is almost rhythmic. She says ‘Kyrie Eleison’ and the disciples say ‘Apolyson’. Lord have mercy. Get rid of her.

Jesus assured the disciples that his job was to protect the sheep of Israel. As a shepherd, he was not about to allow any wild dog to attack or hurt the sheep – to damage his mission. But he still engaged her in conversation. It is not fair, he told her, to take the children’s bread and throw it to the dogs. But here’s the interesting thing in this very insulting comment. He used the diminutive. He didn’t suggest she was a wild dog, rejected by the Jews, but a pet dog – less important than the children of the family, but still part of the family. All the same, you feed your children first and you don’t give the dogs the children’s food. And – sharp as a knife – she replies, ‘yes Lord, even the pet dogs eat the crumbs that the children drop.’

She isn’t going to settle for rejection, even if she has been acknowledged as an adopted family member – a pet. Jesus may be testing her, or trying to tell her to go away, but she will not go away. She does want the same food as the children, not something else. Only what Jesus has to offer is good enough – but the leftover scraps will do. Leftover scraps will heal her daughter, and leftover scraps will allow her to taste of the living God.

Now, if you are following the gospel readings at home – or even if you aren’t, have a look at home at the wider context of this reading. Today’s passage, from Matthew 15, happens very soon after the story of the feeding of the 5000, and not long before the story of the feeding of the 4000. One of the remarkable things about both of these miraculous feeding stories is that there are a lot of scraps left over. Jesus ensures they are collected up- he doesn’t permit waste. Matthew is making a point, and he wants us to remember that point as we listen to the Canaanite woman’s story. God is generous. He feeds his children and there is always more – always plenty left over for others. Yes, Jesus came for the Jews, but there is far more of God’s love and generosity than the Jews need – the rest is for the Gentiles. Those who come in faith can receive and they are receiving the same bread, the same love, the same healing. The Jews may fear sharing God with others, may think that by doing so they are letting wild dogs in, risking another genocide, another Jezebel. But actually, most Gentiles are like this Canaanite woman – and the unnamed one who housed the prophet Elisha. They have as much faith and love as any Jew.

Indeed, Jesus told the persistent lady that she had great faith. He frequently told his disciples that they had little faith. This lady’s faith was so great that she didn’t need to see her daughter being healed or to bring her daughter with her – if Jesus said she was healed then she was healed. The only other time we see something like that happen it is another Gentile, also praised by Jesus for great faith, the centurion whose servant Jesus healed. When it came to faith, Jesus’ Jewish followers had a lot to learn from the Gentiles that they saw as dogs.

 Later in this service we will say the words Lord, have mercy – actually we sing them, Jesus lamb of God, have mercy on us. When we sing them, spare a thought for that Canaanite woman of such great faith, whose persistence and determination to share in God’s generous gift ensured healing and salvation for herself and her daughter. And then, as we share bread together, the children’s bread as Jesus called it, remember God’s generosity and perhaps spare a prayer for those who God would like to join us at the table; those perhaps who feel that they can’t come – that somehow they aren’t welcome – like the dogs unwelcome in the holy places. How can we – how can you - share the message that they are welcome, they are wanted, they are part of the family and that there is plenty enough bread for everyone to share? If people perceive that the churches message is ‘apolyson’- get rid of her – how can we change that perception and make sure that everyone knows that there is a place for them? Because that is the message of today’s gospel. All are welcome, and there is enough for all. 

The trust of an infant

I'm writing this on the third Sunday of Trinity in year A, when the gospel from Matthew 11 includes our Lord's beautiful invitation: 'Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.’ The temptation for readers and preachers alike is to concentrate on those words and to set aside the rest of what Jesus is saying in the passage. Especially because the rest of the passage is not exactly comfortable reading.

What do we make of these verses from earlier in chapter 11? 'At that time Jesus said, ‘I thank you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because you have hidden these things from the wise and the intelligent and have revealed them to infants; yes, Father, for such was your gracious will.'

Many of us like to think of ourselves as having some level of wisdom and intelligence. The experience of  life combined with education enables most of us to feel that we are equipped to deal with what life throws at us. So the potential implication of this passage becomes personal. We can't dismiss it - Jesus didn't mean me. Am I somehow an exception to this rule, even though there may be some small amount of wisdom and intelligence within me? And why exclude the wise anyway? Surely wisdom points us to God? Indeed, the Old Testament defines wisdom as coming from God. So what is going on here?

The trouble with being a bit grown up, a bit wise, a bit intelligent, is that we do tend to expect to manage things for ourselves. We expect to be able to deal with whatever life throws at us for ourselves, especially if we've done it before, or seen enough of life to feel we know how this or that scenario works. We expect to solve our own problems and to make our own decisions.

Compare that learned behaviour with an infant, one to whom God reveals the things of God. An infant is dependent on his or her parents. She does not make decisions deeper than which toy to play with now. Her life is built on trust, trust that the adults who care for her will make the best decisions for her,protect her, bring her always to a place of safety and of love. Thus is the model for our relationship with God. God asks us to trust Him completely, as an infant does. Proverbs 3:5 tells us to trust God with all our hearts and not to try and use our own wisdom to get through a situation. Jesus here is telling us the same thing.

The sad bit is that, since God reveals Godself to infants, this means that every one of us has been shown the way of God. We knew it as infants in the days when we lived in total trust and dependence. But as we grew up, and learned how to be grown ups in the world, we so often lose sight of the trusting relationship we once knew with God. We forget to rely on God and instead rely on ourselves. We even do it in church. We assume we know the best way to do things, that we know how it should be (how it has always been). When things get difficult we try to deal with them ourselves. Instead of crying out to God and trusting God, as a child does a parent, we expect to sort things out ourselves. 

The result is that some of the time we get things wrong. And even when we get them right, the way is harder than it needs to be, more stressful, more tiring. 

If only we relied on God more, saw things more often his way instead of our way! Then our lives would be calmer and more peaceful, our hearts stiller and centred on God instead of on our fears and stresses and worries. So the words of comfort Jesus offered make most sense when we read them in the context of the earlier words we'd prefer not to read. We must set aside our own wisdom and understanding, receive and trust God in the way that an infant does. If we can do that, if we can let go and really trust and rely on God, then we will be sharing the yoke of our work with Him. Instead of feeling stress and anxiety, we will be able to rest, knowing that Jesus carries the load and makes it easy for us.

So that's my challenge this week, to live less in my own wisdom and more in complete trust of God. Dare you risk not being a grown up, but joining me in the life of an infant?