Falling Trees

I’ve had writer’s block.  Did you notice?  No shortage of topic, more a weariness of style.  Sometimes I feel too positive in my offerings, too relentlessly uplifting.  I’ve grown negative about my positivity, pessimistic about my optimism, discouraged in my encouragement.  And dulled by lack of reader response.  Time for furlough, methinks.  Hunker down.  Take refuge in other writing.

Which seems appropriate, given that we’ve just skirted UN Refugee Day.  June 20th each year, for no obvious reason.  This year’s theme: ‘Hope Away From Home’.

The plight of the refugee is especially moving and deserves our attention.  Refugees, says the UN Commission for Refugees, are “forcibly displaced people worldwide as a result of persecution, conflict, violence, human rights violations or events seriously disturbing public order”.
There’s an unlimited variety of forms of injustice in the world, of course – from systemic to familial to domestic to political, and all shades besides.  But refugeeism must be one of the most unfair, miserable of all injustices.  Not just unjust in itself, but anteroom to other shades of injustice, like abuse, mistreatment, neglect, trafficking; and the strong possibility of dying in the desert, in the snow, or on the ocean.  Imagine living a relatively normal life – even if impoverished and lacking opportunity or material favour – but calmish, safe, even happy.  Then, for absolutely no fault of your own, whatever you do have is wiped out.  Everything is lost and you are on the street, on the run, exposed, unprotected by any exterior cover, left entirely to your own perhaps non-existent resources.  Probably having witnessed or experienced things no human being should ever experience or witness, so that even if things improve, you will permanently live with the memory or the imagery or the scars of utter loss.  Loved ones, home, security, education … hope. 

People – men and women like you and me – among the most aggrieved and abandoned souls on our sorry planet.

Yet there is so little anyone can do, eh.  Even the UN, and other dedicated agencies.  For manifold reasons.  The record 110 million refugees (struck last week by an upsurge in Sudanese refugees) are virtually on their own.
New Zealand, regrettably, doesn’t pull its weight in the global refugee crisis.  We’re supposed to welcome 1500 refugees per year here.  A paltry number in the scheme of things, when places in Europe and the Middle East are overwhelmed with them.

More than half of all refugees come from Syria, Afghanistan and Ukraine (and 90% of Ukrainian refugees are unaccompanied women and children).  38% of refugees are hosted in just five countries: Turkey, Iran, Columbia, Germany and Pakistan.  Turkey hosts 3.6 million.  Lebanon hosts the largest number of refugees per capita and per square kilometre in the world, with an estimated 1.5 million Syrian refugees on top of their own 5 million indigenous population.  Think of that – same population as Aotearoa New Zealand, in a much smaller land area, and they’ve got 1.5 million refugees.  We receive 1500!  There are nearly a million in Bangladesh – Rohingya people – and Bangladesh, half the size of New Zealand, has 160 million of its own citizens!

Such a blight on noble humankind.

Yet, still only a subset of the innocent at large.  The innocenti.  The innocent are the vast swathes of people – individuals and groups – who lack basic need or basic rights, freedom or health, warmth or comfort, sustenance or shelter, human love – or humanity itself.  People who, through no fault of their own, suffer without relief:

  • the child of an alcoholic father
  • the wife of a fallen Ukrainian soldier
  • the Afghan woman hiding in a hessian-walled outhouse
  • the teenager in an Iranian prison for not wearing a headscarf
  • the Gujarati woman unmarried because she has no dowry
  • the homeless veterans of futile wars
  • the father who’s just buried his son, dead of lymph sarcoma
  • the Filipino drug mule in a Singaporean prison cell
  • the American nurse in an ISIS cage
  • the Columbian family who’s lost everything in a mudslide, or a rebel raid
  • the Turkish man crushed and trapped under a pancaked apartment block
  • the newborn left on the church steps
  • the Yazidis, the Dalits, the Rohingya; or the rebels in Idlib or Chin State who just want a fair go
  • …..

This is a shameful list.  Shameful just because the list exists.  In our world.  And it goes on without end.
These are the arenas of injustice that don’t get enough attention in liberal conversations about injustice, much less resolution. It’s these innocenti who are the (barely) living evidence that we humans, we homo sapiens, are uncivilised Barbarians, and we all jointly bear the guilt, by our membership of the species.
My heart aches helplessly for them, wishfully, and my soul prays without ceasing … for the innocents of our world.

Join me?

So, the tree falls in the forest.  For a time.  Did you hear it?

“If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?” The answer, according to Dr. George Berkeley, Anglican Bishop and philosopher (1685–1753), is that, “Yes, it did make a sound, because God heard it.”

Welcoming Challenges

by Ken Francis

(Based on Matt 10:40-42; Ps 13)

Three puzzling verses.

You might have noticed that this is the third Sunday we’ve been working out of Matthew 10 – the account of Jesus sending out his disciples in pairs to spread the message that ‘the kingdom of heaven is at hand’.  Today, the last three verses, which, frankly, are hard to explain!  Because, at the end of Jesus’s instructions – throughout this chapter – to his disciples, he now seems to be giving instructions to those people the disciples are going to visit.  To whom he’s not even speaking at this moment, and … how can we relate to that? When are we ever likely to have his disciples visit us?  “Welcome them,” he says.  “If you welcome a prophet as a prophet, you will receive a prophet’s reward”!  What does that mean?  Especially to me, here, now, in 2023?  Maybe the bit about a righteous person could apply: “If you welcome a righteous person as a righteous person, you will receive a righteous person’s reward.”  But, do we know any righteous persons?  Let alone get a chance to welcome them?!  And it’s not as if we get any evangelists or healers or drivers-out-of-demons passing through Tairua, so how can we look out for them and welcome them?

Are you a righteous person?  If you are, I’m keen to welcome you, because if I welcome you as a righteous person, I’m promised a righteous person’s reward!  Huh. I’m sure that’s not even the right motivation for welcoming a righteous person.

So, I’m a bit puzzled!

But …
I do have a couple of loosely related thoughts.
For one, have you ever felt unwelcome yourself?  How did it feel?  Have you ever been staying at someone’s place and felt unwelcome?  It’s awkward, eh.  What did you do?  What can you do?
And, let’s be honest.  Have you ever had someone staying with you, and you wish they weren’t?!  What did you do?  What can you do?

I know a man who, when I invite him in, say for a meal or a cup of tea, he never leaves.  He stays on and on until I have to come up with some subterfuge to move him on.  Like, well, I really must go, I have a dental appointment, or, look, it’s nearly time for breakfast – would you like to join us?  Ha-ha!  How unwelcoming is that though?

And family invasions!  I like that one-liner written on the step at the Pepe Cafe – have you seen it?  It says, “Happiness is a large, loving, caring, close-knit family – in another city”! (Credit George Burns, I think.)

Jesus had a sort of a perspective on this, and we can sense it in these three verses.  “Anyone who welcomes you welcomes me, and anyone who welcomes me welcomes the one who sent me.”  Not really a family scenario here, in Matthew 10, I know, but could be a way to manage these awkward situations.  Welcome the visitor, no matter how tricky, in the spirit of welcoming Jesus into our home.

Does Scripture say anything else about welcoming others?  Absolutely.  Have you come across Hebrews 13:2?  It says, “Be not forgetful to entertain [or welcome] strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.”  How about that.
And there are plenty of others.  For example, in the little letter to Philemon, Paul is urging Philemon to take back his runaway slave Onesimus: “So if you consider me a partner,” he writes, “welcome him as you would welcome me.  If he has done you any wrong or owes you anything, charge it to me …”

Welcoming.  Yes.
It seems to me it’s a two-way transaction.  It melts down to the guest being a good guest; and the host being of the right disposition to being a good host.  A selfless, perhaps even self-sacrificing, host.  Personality comes into it.  Into both sides of the transaction, that is.  How personable, how likeable are you?  Is there anything you can do to be more likeable, without, of course going too far, becoming ingratiating or fawning or obsequious.  That’s a good word, eh.  Obsequious means “obedient or attentive to an excessive or servile degree”.
Try to be accommodating – even likeable – but not obsequious!  Try, but not too hard.  That’s my best advice – from someone who’s not a naturally warm welcomer himself.

Love is the key, isn’t it.  Love your guests.  Genuinely care for them and take an interest in them.  Or, love the people whose home you’re in.  Respect them and their home and take an interest in them.  Not superficially, like putting on an act.  But inwardly love them, and expect that love to manifest outwardly, naturally.
And if none of this works, “shake the dust off your feet” as the transaction comes to an end, and don’t worry about it any further.

Secondly, what might seem a rather obtuse link to today’s reading: did you note that we’ve just had Refugee Week?  A couple of weeks ago.  And in the Anglican lectionary, Refugee Sunday is meant to be the first Sunday in July.  Which is today.  Why it doesn’t coincide with the United Nations’s World Refugee Day, on June 20th, I can’t say.  But, anyway, in reflecting on the concept of welcoming, on Refugee Sunday, let’s spare a thought for refugees.

We don’t get much of a chance to welcome refugees in Tairua.  But New Zealand, regrettably, doesn’t pull its weight, in my opinion, in the global refugee crises.  We are supposed to accept – nay, welcome – 1500 refugees per year here.  A paltry number in the scheme of things, and a number that we usually don’t even achieve.  When places in Europe and the Middle East are overwhelmed with refugees.  The United Nations Commission for Refugees says there are 110 million “forcibly displaced people worldwide as a result of persecution, conflict, violence, human rights violations or events seriously disturbing public order”.  (A record number, incidentally, increased recently due to what’s happening in Sudan.)  More than half of all refugees come from Syria, Afghanistan and Ukraine.  90% of Ukrainian refugees, by the way, are women and children, unaccompanied.  More than a third of all refugees are hosted in just five countries: Turkey, Iran, Columbia, Germany and Pakistan.  Turkey hosts 3.6 million.  Lebanon hosts the largest number of refugees per capita and per square kilometre in the world, with an estimated 1.5 million Syrian refugees – on top of their own 5 million indigenous population.  Think of that – same population as New Zealand, in a much smaller land area, and they’ve got 1.5 million refugees.  We host 1500!

There are nearly a million refugees in Bangladesh – Rohingya people – and Bangladesh, also half the size of NZ, has 160 million of its own citizens!

I note that the theme for this year’s World Refugee Day was “Hope Away from Home.”

Not that there’s anything you or I can do about it.  But we should at least be aware.  We can pray for the global situation. Psalm 13 might well be the prayer of the refugee:
How long, Lord? Will you forget me forever?  How long will you hide your face from me? How long must I wrestle with my thoughts and day after day have sorrow in my heart? … Look on me and answer, Lord my God.  Give light to my eyes, or I will sleep in death, and my enemy will say, “I have overcome him,” and my foes will rejoice when I fall. 

Let us pray this prayer with them, and for them.  I’ve highlighted some statistics, but – these are individual human beings, with back stories and families, and have suffered great losses.  Are not two sparrows sold for a penny?  And these refugees are hugely loved by our Father.  And if anyone gives even a cup of cold water to one of these little ones, truly I tell you, that person will certainly not lose their reward.
Some of us might feel moved enough to take creative action of some sort.  Let us at least be welcoming in our hearts, and suspend any judgements or prejudice we might have against any strangers … aliens … any visitors we’re lucky enough to come across, especially awkward ones.

So, this is my reflection.  Me thinking out loud!  Be a good host or a good guest.  But don’t overdo it.  Love the other half of the transaction, and don’t be too precious yourself.  Get over yourself!  And I’m addressing myself here.  Jesus said, “welcome others as you would welcome me”.  So, let’s get better at it.  Be willing to sacrifice your own time, your own resources, your own rights – for the sake of your guest, or your host if you are the visitor.  And you too might experience “the reward of a righteous person”, whatever that is.

Are not two sparrows sold for a penny?

by Joan Fanshawe

(Based on Mat 10:24-39; Gen 21:8-21)

Are you feeling just a bit anxious after hearing today’s Gospel reading?
I have been rather fearful for the past week or so! Afraid that I won’t be able to stand here and say anything coherent about the litany of exhortations you’ve just heard me read from Matthew’s Gospel.

Let’s first consider the Genesis reading. (The Revised Common Lectionary that is used by the Anglican Church, among others, helps clergy and worship planners by providing a framework for preaching and teaching that was put together to ensure a diverse and balanced biblical message. There are choices within it, especially with the Old Testament/Hebrew scripture readings, and this week I want us to hear Abraham and Sarah’s story.) After hearing Sarah being admonished for quietly laughing at the thought of bearing a child in her old age, the promise was fulfilled when their son Isaac was born. Then more laughter – of joy this time.

Hagar, Sarah’s Egyptian slave, had earlier borne a son, fathered by Abraham – at Sarah’s request, because she herself was barren. Now, however, Sarah saw Hagar and that son as a threat, so banished them into the desert.
It’s another whole story within this unfolding age-old saga, told in the book of Genesis: this son Ishmael – the name means ‘God hears’ – is to father the Arab generations, cousins, if you like, to the Jewish nation (noting that Islam, Judaism and Christianity all trace their ancestry to Abraham).

God is infinite, but the story of Hagar and Ismael hearing God’s reassurance in the desert, “Do not be afraid”, and then hearing Jesus use the same encouragement in Matthew’s passage, remind us that God is also intimate: God is with us.

Matthew, writing for his small community of Jesus followers years later, recalls words Jesus would have used when preparing his own disciples for going out to “proclaim good news about God’s kingdom of justice and love, to cure the sick, cleanse the lepers and cast out demons” – as we heard last week. He’s telling them that they’re going to run into opposition; they could get a bad reception in some places, and even persecution like Jesus himself received. There are some pretty strong alerts about the dangers ahead and indeed Jesus’s followers would be persecuted, beaten, imprisoned, killed, and even used as lion bait, for many years.


Plenty to be afraid about

But three times in this passage we hear, “Be not afraid!”

Why does Jesus say that?
Tom Wright1 says it’s not the explanation we expect, which is that Jesus would say, “God will look after you” – although he does say that eventually. The first reason Wright gives is that, don’t worry, “a time will come when everything will be revealed … what is presently secret will be uncovered”. There will be vindication in that they were faithfully following the true Messiah.

As for dividing families (also brought up in Matt 10), we know that people seem to have set themselves against their mothers-in-law since time immemorial – without much aid from religion!
But, more seriously, for some, choosing a commitment to Christ might mean real divisions in their families. Back then the family dynasty was majorly important in society, and these days there is still pain when choices cause division. We have a very close example in our own church family: choosing to become a Christian has completely alienated our dear friend from her family in India.

The church, we might infer, as a body of Christians, might also run into conflict with authorities and other groups when speaking out on what it sees as issues. Less so these days, perhaps, when the church seems to be a diminished presence in society. But for those who would follow Christ, maybe the question isn’t, “Why do things go wrong for those of us who say we follow Jesus?” Perhaps the question should be, “Why are things going so well?” “Why aren’t we having more problems?” or “Why am I not being persecuted?” Perhaps our faith has not changed our life sufficiently for anyone else to notice.
Verna Dozier, a celebrated lay leader in the US Episcopalian Church and great champion of the ministry of all baptised persons, wrote, “Don’t tell me what you believe. Tell me what difference it makes that you believe.”

Despite the warnings that storms will besiege the faithful, and even in our own times there are many temptations and dangers along the way, Jesus promises that in the tempests of life, we are not to be fearful and to remember that we do not face these challenges alone. God is with us.

Therefore my friends, be not afraid. Hold fast to the faith that is in you, knowing that Jesus also says, “Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground apart from your Father noticing. And even the hairs of your head are all counted. So do not be afraid; you are of more value than many sparrows.”

There’s a song about that I’d like us to listen to.

But first,
sometimes when we are afraid, or feeling we’re alone, in hard moments – how do we know that God is with us? Here’s a prompt you can use any time, whether you’re feeling anxious – or happy as well:
Close your eyes and breathe in and out quietly. God is in your every breath, as close to you as the flow of life – Pneuma – the Holy Spirit – the breath of God within us.

While we breathe quietly let’s listen to an old favourite Gospel song His Eye is on the Sparrow, sung for us by Gospel minstrel Oceanessa Adaeze.

[Song can be heard here]
Lyrics are:
Why should I feel discouraged?
And why should the shadows fall?
And why should my heart be lonely
and long for heaven and home,
When Jesus is my portion?
A constant friend is he;
His eye is on the sparrow and I know he watches me.

I sing because I’m happy,
I sing because I am free,
His eye is on the sparrow and I know he watches me.

[Words by Civilla D Martin, tune by Charles H Gabriel, 1905]

1Tom Wright, on Matthew

Healed? No? Then …

by Strahan Coleman

(Based on Matt 9:35-10:23; Rom 5:1-8)

There is a difficult tension in today’s readings for me, and if I’m honest, I’ve dreaded speaking to it this week.
On one hand we have in Matthew Jesus’s command to his disciples to go out into all the villages of Judea and heal the sick, raise the dead, set the demonic free and proclaim that ‘the kingdom of heaven is near.’ A powerful story of Christ’s authority and power over all that ails us in this life.

When I read this passage it sounds to me that the church is an unstoppable force, fully equipped with spiritual power to rid the world of suffering and that our main priority is getting out there and simply doing it.
Something that’s been very difficult for me these last years due to the effects of constant illness.

On the other hand, we have the author of Romans exhorting us to “rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that it produces endurance, character and hope.”

One says to rid the world of suffering, another seems to embrace it.
How do I reconcile those two things?

When Katie and I first got married, she was unwell. In fact, she had very similar symptoms to what I’m experiencing now. Her body was hyper-sensitive to certain foods, she suffered after meals and spent nights curled up on the couch. Like me, she did elimination diets and the rest but no matter how hard we tried to stamp it out, it would never go away. We were getting desperate.
We were part of a pentecostal community at the time and she was up on every altar call for healing prayer at camps and events. She even went to the famous evangelist and healer Benny Hinn one night to cry out for three hours at Vector Arena with thousands of others to be healed. Nothing.

We were desperate for answers, for healing. Where was God?

One day we decided to visit a friend’s church. They told us that the pastor was a powerful pray-er and we should see him. After the service we were introduced and we told him about Katie’s illness. We didn’t say much before he began to share what he saw; turns out he had a prophetic gift. He described Katie’s upbringing, her family and her deepest longings and internal fears as if he’d known her his whole life. He didn’t lay hands on her. He didn’t pray for her. He just prophesied.
Katie said it was like God’s light broke through into the darkness within her. She felt in that moment she was healed. And she was.
On the drive home from church that day we got her a Wendy’s burger and she ate it without any pain or effects. She’s been 100 per cent healed ever since. Never a problem.

It was a miracle. It was the church continuing Christ’s command to clear the way for healing in Matthew. In that season of our lives, Jesus’s commandment to do the miracle stuff felt accessible and utterly plausible.

But less than ten years later, the same thing happened to me. I did the same, cried out to God, went to all the doctors, sought healing in the church. I’ve done numerous deliverance sessions, multiple repentance sessions, I’ve fasted, I’ve paid huge amounts of money on drugs and doctors, I’ve met with the priests at St Francis for healing prayers and had a small group praying for me every day for the last eight months.
No healing. Just suffering.
For ten years now my body has continued to become more sick amidst my prayers for healing, my desperation for freedom. That illness has taken its toll not only on me but on my children, who have experienced less than the best of their dad, and my wife, who has had to carry the extra weight.

Days and nights of fatigue, nausea, body pains, migraines and mental health wrestling, osteoporosis; and that’s to say nothing of the opportunities I’ve missed out on as a professional man. I’ve lost tours, albums, conference and travel opportunities. This has been a great cause of suffering in my life.
No Christ-sent evangelist has been able to heal me.
Matthew now feels far from my experience.

And yet, I’ve seen God heal the very same thing in my own wife in my own lifetime. What do I do with that?
How do I reconcile these things – my suffering, and Christ’s command to heal?

To look at that question another way, I want to turn to another profound story in the life of Jesus, in Luke 18:35-41. It reads…
As Jesus approached Jericho, a blind man was sitting by the roadside begging. When he heard the crowd going by, he asked what was happening. They told him, “Jesus of Nazareth is passing by.”
He called out, “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!”
Those who led the way rebuked him and told him to be quiet, but he shouted all the more, “Son of David, have mercy on me!”
Jesus stopped and ordered the man to be brought to him. When he came near, Jesus asked him, “What do you want me to do for you?”
“Lord, I want to see,” he replied.

Jesus asked him, “What do you want me to do for you?”

For years, this puzzled me. It seemed offensive. Jesus is talking to a blind beggar who is crying out to him for help. It seems harsh, offensive and unloving to ask this poor desperate man what he wants. It’s obvious to anyone looking!
But I’ve come to see something far deeper and more profound taking place. Jesus is searching for something, testing the waters, giving the blind man an opportunity to see in more ways than one.

I wonder if there were actually three ways the blind man could have responded:
Firstly, he can ask for the obvious, his most immediate needs, his sight. Which he does. This is crucial and God cares deeply about it. We should never spiritualise life to the point where the necessities don’t matter. This is exactly what Jesus sends his disciples out for and Christ longs to heal. This request is external and temporal though. The healing of his body heals one illness, not all. There’s a deeper invitation to be found …
Secondly, the blind man could ask for forgiveness. The disease beneath all our diseases is our broken connection with God. Christ came to heal not only the body but the soul, which is why at other times he says it’s one and the same thing to say you’re healed as you’re forgiven. This request of God is internal, it’s existential and has consequences for his entire life. It’s the healing beneath the healing and Christ longs for the world to seek him for it. But, maybe there’s a deeper invitation still in Christ’s question, ‘what do you want?’
And that’s for us to say, “you, Jesus, more than anything, I want you”. That he longs for us to want him and his presence, union and intimacy with the God who made us, more than physical healing and even beyond just making things right. This is a longing of desire, it’s personal, it’s about reconciliation. It’s love beyond brokenness, friendship with God, union. This is a much harder question because it’s eternal, it’s ongoing, it’s relational and often the way God answers this prayer is very different to the healing of the first response for physical healing.

It’s to this last response that I believe the writer of Romans is speaking when he says, “We rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame…“

Or as James also puts so succinctly in his letter to the church in exile, “Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking in anything.” (James 1:2-3)

Our suffering matures and completes us, says James. Suffering helps us in the long journey, the journey toward a faithful love and experience of Jesus not just now but through to the end. It’s not an obstacle, it’s a gift.
Note that James doesn’t say God causes it, and only verses later he encourages us to pray for and expect healing, and for God to answer our prayers. That’s the tension here between Matthew and Romans – we go out and pray for miracles while simultaneously embracing the suffering that comes when they don’t happen.

What we do find here is a place for suffering in the unifying of our souls with divine love. And it’s here that I find myself in today’s readings. Because, yes, I want to be healed, so badly. But when I sit with Jesus and he asks me, “what do you want”, my answer is almost never healing, but, “you, Lord, whatever it takes”. And I feel myself being invited to simply pray, “Not my will but yours be done.”

I’m not trying to construct a theology of suffering, just my response to my experience of it. I still don’t know how to reconcile Christ’s promise of healing with my ongoing unanswered prayer for it. What I can say is that my illness has drawn me into God’s presence and love in ways I know my wellness couldn’t have. It has built character, endurance and profound hope. It’s been a source of joy as it’s allowed me to suffer with Christ in a small way and to know his pain and the pain of the world. It’s limitations have humbled me, shown me God. I am deeper with Christ because of my suffering. He has become my total treasure. The world has dimmed in appeal and the longing for eternity has sharpened. If not for my suffering, I couldn’t grasp the depth of God’s compassion for me, and the pain of Christ’s life and death.

But we choose what outcome our suffering has. If we don’t rejoice in it as an experience that equips us with the character, hope and endurance we need … if we can’t see it serving us in profound ways for the long journey of full engulfment into Christ … it will break us. To that also, I can speak from experience..
But if we’re open enough to continue to pray for healing while at the same time relenting to God’s good love in saying, ‘not my will but yours be done’, we will overcome death and experience the profound joy of Christ, now.

I think, in not healing me, as painful as it’s been, God has answered the prayer beneath my prayer for healing. My prayer for union with him. I’ve come to feel I can say (and I think I’m with the writers of Romans, James, Hebrews and many others in this) that: It is a great and holy thing when God answers our prayer for healing. And it can be even greater when he doesn’t.

Friends, whatever your suffering, suffer with Christ. Hold fast, stay the course. You’re receiving eternal life.