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Prayer Humility

by Barry Pollard

(Based on Luke 18:9-14; Ps 65; 2 Tim 4:6-8,16-18)

Our readings this week come together to remind us where our eyes should be looking, what we should be doing and to whom we need to be grateful. Reading through the readings in preparation, the first verse of Psalm 65 stood out as a summary of what they all cue us into – giving God the glory!

I feel Psalm 65 sets a background for us, against which we can evaluate the other readings, and perhaps make better sense of them. The Psalm shows us God the giver. God, who forgives our sins, hears our prayers, and satisfies us with good things: the abundance of the earth, the order of creation, and the forgiveness of sins are all gifts from God. Our lives rest on God’s mercy and provision, not on our efforts. The Psalm is all about the things God does for us and gives to us.
Our response could be as simple as acknowledging all of these gifts, and whence they come. In doing so, we claim nothing for ourselves but rather give God the glory for all he is and does. “What mighty praise, O God, belongs to You.” These acknowledgements are reminders. They are reminders of the foundations of our faith.

And this is a theme Paul picks up on in his letter to Timothy. This letter is likely the last he ever wrote before his execution in Rome. As such, we tend to pay special attention to the words of a person close to his end. This letter is very personal. Timothy was like a son to Paul, so we can accept that Paul’s words would contain important pieces of wisdom, reflection and advice for Timothy.
Paul’s focus (in the selection from Chapter 4 read today) could be distilled into two parts:

A reflection on his life:

I have fought the good fight
I have finished the race
I have remained faithful
The prize awaits me

His relationship with God:

The Lord stood with me and gave me strength
The Lord rescued and delivered me from every evil attack
The Lord will bring me safely into his heavenly Kingdom

Note, the order of his thoughts: self-evaluation and then acknowledging God. It is God’s sustaining power that carried Paul through to the end. And God’s sustaining power can carry us through to our end. Paul, after everything was said and done, was acknowledging that all glory belongs to God.

Which brings us to the Gospel reading:

We are quite familiar with this parable. Luke writes that Jesus is speaking to a group “who had great confidence in their own righteousness and scorned everyone else”.
The Pharisee prays: “I thank you, God, that I am not like other people — cheaters, sinners, adulterers. I’m certainly not like that tax collector! I fast twice a week, and I give you a tenth of my income.”

I admit that when I hear this parable I immediately fall into the trap of behaving just like the Pharisee, feeling that his prayer is pompous, self-serving and not at all like mine!

He begins thankful to God. Then outlines what he sees the benchmarks of his faithful life to be. He claims he isn’t a cheat, sinner or adulterer. He fasts twice a week and tithes. Righteous or self-righteous? Where is his compassion for those he deems less than himself? His pursuit of justice? Is he really free of sin? Does any of what he claims as righteous, in fact, have to do with a God-focussed relationship?

I would sum up his prayer as a “See how good I am, God?” one. I don’t see any hint of personal relationship.

On the other hand the tax collector, despised and shunned of society, “stood at a distance and dared not even lift his eyes to heaven as he prayed. Instead, he beat his chest in sorrow, saying, ‘O God, be merciful to me, for I am a sinner.’”

His prayer I would sum up as a “See how broken I am, Lord; help me” one. It cries out for relationship with God.

Jesus declares the humble sinner “justified”, “for those who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted.” He’s teaching that we are not made right with God by pride or performance, but by humble repentance and trust in his mercy.

So, back to me (and maybe you).
Well, I would like to think I am not like the Pharisee. Reading his prayer though, as I said, I immediately phrased my own in my mind, “Thank you God that I am nothing like that pompous, self-serving Pharisee!” And no sooner had the thought been thought, I realised that I am in fact no better or different. I’m seeing my righteousness as linked to benchmarks, and comparison with others, just like he is. Where was my humility before God?

Which brings me to a wider issue – of prayer.
Prayer is simply communicating with God. It is a good thing. It can be productive and relationship building. We can acknowledge degrees of intensity, even response. But it is dependent ultimately on how we see God.
Scripture reveals for us the nature of God. His attributes are fatherly. Not confined by earthly limits, he is ever-loving and ever-caring. He wants to be in relationship with us. He wants to bring out the best in us. He wants our relationship to be unforced and natural. We are encouraged to be childlike in his presence.
Jesus freed us from the Law. He replaced it with his endless grace. We no longer have to reach benchmarks, and follow rituals to be acceptable. We are now “children of God”.

Understanding wherein our righteousness lies, we need to always remember that he is God Almighty, deserving of our praise and worship, in whose presence we should seek forgiveness for the things we have done and the things we have not done, our sins. These are our acts of humility. And if we are childlike with God, we should deal with the unpleasant before asking him for things. As a parent I was much more disposed to granting favours when my children were doing their best to behave, following the family rules, and so on. How much more so this would be with God. “Those who humble themselves will be exalted,” we are told.

When I first came back to faith, I was immersed in a home group, that taught me many things. Weekly, we engaged in Bible study, group discussions, shared life’s wisdom, and prayed together, all of which combined to open my eyes, and heart, to Jesus again and to ground me in faith. One of the early takeaways from the home group was to moderate prayer in a way that fostered humility. You may be familiar with the ACTS acronym – Adoration, Confession, Thanksgiving and Supplication. It means we worship God first, then confess our sins and seek forgiveness, give thanks for all God has done and is doing for us and those in our sphere of concern, and finally we ask for God’s help with the issues on our hearts.

Note, in the acronym the C is definitely for Confession. There is no Comparison in there!

I admit that despite knowing this approach, and trying to follow it, sometimes I cut straight to the asking, missing out on the worship, confession and thanksgiving! The Pharisee in Jesus’s parable, on the other hand, cut straight to the thanksgiving (of sorts). So what, if anything, could be the difference between what I do and what he did?

Boldly I would say, he didn’t actually pray. He couched his ‘thanksgiving’ in comparison. He wasn’t humble. One is left wondering why he was in the temple at all.

Remember the criticisms Jesus levelled at the Pharisees on many occasions. Hypocrites! Vipers! He said the Pharisees prayed to be seen by others, not to connect with God, and that their prayers were hypocritical and performed for public admiration. He condemned their practice of making long prayers for show while harming the vulnerable, and he criticised their desire for public respect and status!

So, I think the differences lie in our hearts. God knows us, intimately. He knows what is motivating us. He knows when we need him urgently. He knows when we are genuine. I’d like to think that, in prayer particularly, I am God-focussed. I try to synch my thoughts with his thoughts, so that the things I ask for are pleasing to him. If I am self-seeking in my prayer I know it is unlikely to be answered.

You will recall that Bishop Bruce [Bruce Gilberd – Ed] often explained that God responds to all of our prayer, but not always in the ways we expect. He will answer with “Yes,” “No,” or “Wait,” and these answers are often aligning us with God’s wisdom, perfect timing, and greater plan. Sometimes “Yes,” may come through miraculous intervention or in a way that was not expected. “No” is often God protecting us from something that would ultimately be harmful to us. And “Wait” is seen as a way to develop our patience, strengthen our faith, and prepare us for the right time.

A good way to keep track of the effectiveness of your prayer life is to document it. Keep a record of what you have prayed about and take time to reflect on how God has responded.

Today then, we have heard that God provides and forgives. We have heard that God justifies the humble and he strengthens and saves his followers. We need to understand that our hope is not in ourselves, but in God’s grace — from beginning to end.

Three life lessons that we could follow:
Be humble in prayer: Like the tax collector, we should approach God honestly, without pretence.
Be grateful in life: Like the psalmist, we should recognise God’s hand in both forgiveness and provision.
Persevere in faith: Like Paul, we should finish the race leaning on God’s strength, not our own.

In a commentary on the readings for today I came across this brilliant conclusion: The Christian life is not a display of our greatness, but of God’s mercy and power. We stand forgiven like the tax collector, sustained like Paul, and blessed like those in Psalm 65.

Closing Prayer

Gracious God,
You are the one who forgives our sins, hears our prayers, and fills our lives with good things.
Keep us from pride like the Pharisee, and teach us to come before you with the humility of the tax collector, trusting only in Your mercy.
Strengthen us, as you strengthened Paul, to fight the good fight and finish the race with our eyes fixed on Jesus.
May our lives be a witness that all glory belongs to you, who saves, sustains, and blesses your people.
Through Christ our Lord,
Amen.

Weep, then Work

by Pat Lee

(Based on Luke 16:1–13; Jeremiah 8:18–9:1)

Today is Storm Sunday in our Season of Creation. We all know about storms. Last weekend we experienced a violent wind storm, which was quite scary, causing some damage. We can name and honour the elemental forces that shape our world, as well as confronting the human responsibility for climate disruption. The storms we face are not only meteorological — they appear in our politics, economies, theologies, and in our everyday lives.

Storms are potent metaphors for transformation. Pressure builds, lightning strikes, and rain falls. There is fear and awe, destruction and renewal. After the storm passes, skies clear and the air is fresh.
Storms remind us of the wildness of creation — and the inevitability of change.

This week, our lectionary gives us two challenging texts: Jeremiah 8:18–9:1 is a raw lament, and Luke 16:1–13 a parable of a shrewd, even dishonest, manager. These readings pull us into the tension between grief and realism, sorrow and strategy. This is where we live. It’s the heart of discipleship in an age of storm.

In Jeremiah’s lament, he isn’t angry. He’s heartbroken. He sees the collapse of Judah looming — politically compromised, morally adrift — and he weeps: “Is there no balm in Gilead?”
His grief is love expressed in tears.

In our own age of climate crisis, economic inequality, and social fragmentation, what would it mean for the Church to weep like Jeremiah? To lament:

Coral reefs bleached white,
Families displaced by rising seas,
Tamariki [children – Ed] inheriting a wounded planet,
Systems of wealth, hoarding and poverty,
A church that whispers comfort when it should cry out for justice?

To lament is faithful worship. Jesus did it too: “Jesus wept.” Our sorrow clears space for hope.

Then comes Luke’s unsettling parable. A dishonest manager, knowing he’s about to be fired, secures his future by shrewdly altering debts. And Jesus praises his decisive action — not his ethics, but his urgency.

This isn’t a moral lesson, but a challenge: be wise, bold, real and timely in how you live out the Kingdom. Use what you have, use it for good, and use it now — because the storm is already here.

Together, Jeremiah and Luke give us a spiritual rhythm: Feel deeply. Act wisely.

Blues music teaches us to express sorrow while creating beauty. So too in faith — we must make space not just for praise, but for lament. To cry out injustice, name our pain, and invite transformation. The Spirit stirs us to lament for those things we know to be unjust, but also to act with courage and passion with love, mercy and justice.

Here in Aotearoa [New Zealand – Ed] , we know storms. But we also know kaitiakitanga — the Māori call to care and protect our creation. Today’s readings call us to hold grief and leadership together. To act with urgency and imagination. We need to live out our faith with our feet and our hands.

So, what can we do this week?

We can pray, learn something new about climate change, take a small action like reducing waste, give wisely to help empower changes, and join with others to help them through their storms.

Lament, then rise. Weep, then work. Cry, and then create.

Below the Surface

by Sharon Marr

(Based on Luke 14:25-33; Philemon 1-21)

My reflection this morning comes from Phillip Garside, a lay preacher, publisher and a member of Wesley Methodist Church in downtown Wellington, who created for us this series of worship resources celebrating Creation:

Today we stand at a swirling meeting place of currents from Scripture and ocean, of discipleship and ecology, of the personal and the planetary. It is Ocean Sunday, the first Sunday in the Season of Creation, and we are drawn together by the call to look deeper: into Scripture, into our own hearts, and into the ocean’s hidden depths.

Our two readings today come from Philemon and Luke. They seem quite different on the surface, but I believe they share a deep challenge. Both ask us to go beyond surface appearances. Both ask: What does it really mean to follow Jesus? And both call us to costly transformation.

Let’s start with Philemon.
This is one of Paul’s shortest letters, but also one of his most subversive. He’s writing from prison, with Timothy alongside him. It’s addressed to Philemon, a church leader, and to co-leaders of the church that met in his home. Notice that Apphia, a woman, is named as an equal partner in leadership. From the earliest gatherings of Jesus-followers, women were also leaders.

Paul is asking Philemon to do something really radical: free Onesimus, his slave. But it’s more than just a plea for releasing to freedom. Paul says, “Receive him no longer as a slave, but as more than a slave – as a beloved brother.” This is a relational revolution. In a society reliant on slavery, Paul doesn’t explicitly condemn the system, but he undermines it by reframing the relationship between Philemon and Onesimus. And the implications are seismic. Paul is saying, in effect, you cannot follow Jesus and treat another believer as property.

What would it mean for us to act on that same conviction today? We don’t operate slave economies, but we live in a world that tolerates exploitation in many forms. Are we prepared to disrupt the status quo, as Paul did, for the sake of love, equality, and justice? There’s a cost here. Philemon will lose the economic advantage of Onesimus’s labour. His community might question his choices. It’s messy. But love often is.

Now to Luke. Here, Jesus delivers a shocking line: “Whoever comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, yes, and even life itself, cannot be my disciple.”
Let’s be clear. I don’t believe Jesus is telling us to literally hate our families. This is rhetorical overstatement – hyperbole – a way to jolt us his listeners into paying attention. And we need this sometimes. The writer of Luke uses strong language here to underscore a real point: following Jesus isn’t just a lifestyle tweak. It requires reordering our values. It costs us something.

Jesus goes on to speak of taking up the cross, of counting the cost. Discipleship is not about comfort; it is about transformation.

And so today, Ocean Sunday, we turn to the ocean as both symbol and teacher.
The oceans cover three-quarters of the earth’s surface. From space, they dominate the planet and from New Zealand’s perspective, we know it intimately. We are an island nation – cradled, protected and challenged by the Pacific. Pasifika spirituality offers us a profound lens here. The Tongan concept of Va describes the sacred relational space between people, a space that must be honoured and tended. It reminds us that the ocean doesn’t divide the Pacific Islands. It connects them. The sea is the sacred space that links us, that carries our stories, that shapes our identities.

Siosifa Pole, a Tongan Methodist minister, in his book A Tongan Migrant’s Way, wrote of the ocean as a space of freedom and connection. Each island may be autonomous, but the ocean touches every shore. Likewise, each person is unique, but the Spirit of God connects us in a shared ocean of being. Tauhi-va – keeping the in-between space sacred – is how we live well together.

What might it mean to “count the cost”, not just as individuals, but collectively, for the sake of our shared oceans?
The ocean offers us food – kai moana. It sustains ecosystems. It shapes climate. It reflects the interconnectedness of all life. But it is also under threat. Rising temperatures, plastic pollution, overfishing: these are the modern equivalents of slavery and exploitation, this time not of people, but of creation.

As Christians, we cannot say we follow The Way of Jesus and ignore this. So we ask: What’s below the surface?
Beneath the calm blue, there are currents of crisis. But there are also currents of hope. I recommend David Attenborough’s film Ocean, which makes us aware of our many challenges; but at the end David leaves us with the thought that all is not lost, if … and that “if” is up to us.

As Paul challenges us to change how we relate to one another, the ocean calls us to change how we relate to the planet. If Jesus says discipleship must cost us something, our discipleship today must include climate action, ecological repentance, and learning to live more simply.
How do we, as followers of Christ, live out a transformed ethic of love? How do we treat the Onesimuses of our day with full dignity? How do we enter the va with creation itself – honouring our relational space with the ocean, the land, the creatures?

Let me offer two examples.
First: A small coastal community in Fiji has moved their whole village inland, to escape rising seas. They sing hymns as they go. They weep for the ground they leave behind. They pray for those who will one day follow.

Second: Here in this place, Tairua residents block access to their main wharf after seeing “wholesale slaughter” of an elusive and unprotected fish species, pink Maomao. This is still being followed up, and because of their action, there is hope.

Discipleship. Cost. Transformation.
Following Jesus doesn’t mean escaping the world’s problems. It means stepping into them with love. It means standing with Onesimus. It means seeing the sacredness of the ocean, not as something to cross or control, but as something to respect, protect, and learn from. This Ocean Sunday, may we take up the challenge of Paul and the warning of Jesus.

Let us:
– Release what binds others.
– Reorder our lives to reflect God’s deep values.
– Honour the sacred space between us and the earth.
– And listen to what lies beneath the surface.

For there, in the deep, the Spirit moves.

Refiner’s Fire

by Barry Pollard

(Based on Luke 12:49-56; Ps 80; Heb 11:29-12:2)

“I have come to set the world on fire!” said Jesus, and you could be forgiven for thinking that he has indeed returned to complete his work!
It seems that in recent years the world is on fire, physically and metaphorically. In the last couple of weeks I have read about wildfires in Greece, Turkey, North America, Portugal and Spain. Our weather is becoming more extreme. The world, it seems, is ravaged by wildfires these days – out of control, dangerous and often fatal.

So, is the world on fire?

In Scripture, fire analogies are often used, referring to punishment or refinement and improvement. Fire imagery is present in the Old Testament. Deuteronomy, for example, describes God’s anger as “a fire that burns to the depths of Sheol, the realm of the dead”. Some New Testament scriptures describe the “fires of hell” as a place of eternal punishment for the unrepentant. Matthew in Chapter 25 speaks of “everlasting fire prepared for the devil and his angels” and refers to “eternal punishment” for the wicked, contrasting it with eternal life for the righteous. Other verses use phrases like “unquenchable fire”. Such descriptions relate to fire used as punishment.

Imagery related to fire being used for refinement describes God’s refining process, which purifies and strengthens faith. Zechariah speaks of God refining a remnant of his people “as silver is refined”. In those days, silver was refined by fire using a process called cupellation, where silver-bearing ore was heated in a furnace with lead. The lead and other impurities oxidised and were absorbed into the porous material of the cupel (the vessel), leaving behind relatively pure silver.

Isaiah noted that God refines people “in the furnace of suffering”, highlighting that challenges and trials can serve a similar purpose to fire in purifying and strengthening believers.

You may know that ‘slash and burn’ is still a common yet crude agricultural method of fertilising the soil in some parts of the world. Farmers in many parts of the world regularly set fire to their land to produce ash which promotes plant regrowth. And we are all too familiar with our neighbours in Oz having to deal with their wildfires. In their case, a method of wildfire management is to have a controlled burn-off – setting alight the dry undergrowth during periods of settled weather to remove the fuel for future wildfires.
In both these examples of fire improving (and protecting) the landscape, the outcome following fire is lush regrowth.

So, how do we interpret Jesus’s reference to bringing fire to the world? Is he talking about punishment, or refinement and improvement?

Let’s look at a couple of the first verses again from today’s Gospel reading: “I have come to set the world on fire, and I wish it were already burning!
Do you think I have come to bring peace to the earth? No, I have come to divide people against each other!”

Jesus, the Prince of Peace, is challenging our position. Are we for him or against him? His urgency in this call is apparent. Hear his language! He wants us to choose the truth, and makes no bones about the fact that the truth will divide before it heals. His amplification of the division that is likely to occur as we decide where we stand, gives credence to the type of fire he is bringing. A wildfire, certainly, not punishing, more refining and improving. And like all wildfires, at a cost.
His coming forces a decision. We know his word reveals hearts. His call demands a response.
We can read the weather, Jesus says, but can we read the signs of the times? Can we see that now is the time to choose faithfulness, and to follow him wholeheartedly?

So, Jesus using the fire analogy to describe his work on Earth should resonate with us. Christ’s fire was about burning away our dross (our impurities). Remember why he came. Christ the Saviour came to save, restore us to God, to put things right. And while he gave warnings about how difficult the process would be, we have assurances that we will survive it.

“When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze. For I am the Lord your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Saviour.” (From Isaiah 43)

Jesus was dealing with people who had started out serving the Lord but had ended up serving themselves. Originally intent on bringing light into the world, they were now allowing darkness to rule. Outwardly ‘holy’, inwardly rotten! Jesus was pointing out that his mission was to turn that around; and it would not be easy. People would have to choose where they stood – status quo or transformation – and he couldn’t guarantee which way things would go. Division and unrest, without doubt. His way bringing restoration with God, sticking with the old way moving them even further away from him.

Now let’s see if I can link in the other readings.
The reading from Psalm 80 is a plea for restoration. The psalmist uses a vine to describe the plight of Israel, a vine that God had grafted in but which is feeling neglected and threatened. His plea is for God to return and tend to it, protecting it from harm. The vine is Israel, of course. He wants God to step in and turn its people back to him. It is a plea for justice and mercy.
The psalmist concludes that if God intercedes to save and restore Israel, the vine, then it would never abandon him again. “Revive us so we can call on your name once more!”
Their faith would be restored.

The Hebrews reading is a call to faith endurance. The author was encouraging the Hebrews to persevere, in faith, amid their trials. We heard about a variety of biblical heroes, whose stories we may know, who exhibited great faithfulness, laying God’s platform for our eventual restoration. The exploits of the Israelites under Moses and Joshua are mentioned. Rahab, the woman of ill-repute; Gideon, who (gave away Bibles?) led the Israelites to victory over the Midianites; Barak, who led the Israelites to victory over the Canaanites; Samson, the man with superhuman strength; Jephthah, who led the Israelites to victory over the Ammonites; David, King of Israel; and Samuel, a prophet and judge who managed to meld the tribes of Israel into a kingdom, are all named!

Each of these folk had periods of faithful obedience, despite their trials, that are recognised, celebrated and recommended to us as examples we should follow.

The story of Jephthah, one of the lesser known of those mentioned, is found in the Book of Judges. His story is a very tragic tale. In Chapter 11, the Israelites “again did what was evil in the sight of the Lord … they forsook the Lord and did not serve him. So the anger of the Lord was kindled against Israel, and he sold them into the hand of the Philistines and into the hand of the Ammonites”.
Jephthah was one of the ‘judges’ of Israel. He was also known as a mighty warrior who led the Israelites to victory against those Ammonites. However, he made a rash vow to sacrifice the first thing that came out of his house upon his victorious return from battle against them. The unfortunate consequence was that his precious daughter was the first to run out to greet him, leading to her eventual sacrifice …
[If there is an obvious lesson for us in this account it should be to consider thoroughly before making vows and promises, because to keep them could prove very costly indeed.]

So, the Hebrews excerpt celebrates those who endured suffering for the sake of God’s promises. They were faithful, despite adversity and tragedy.

But the pinnacle example for us, of course, is Jesus, who “because of the joy awaiting him, endured the cross”. It is his example that we look to as the ultimate encouragement to faith. It is his example that provides us with our present-day motivation and responsibility.

The fire that Jesus was talking about isn’t a fire he brings to hurt or harm us. It is a fire he brings to transform, restore and meld us. A fire that burns away the things that keep us from him, and others. A fire that ignites in us a passion for him, and others. A fire that we can take to the whole world …

Today’s ‘Collect’ provides us with an appropriate conclusion. Let this be our prayer today, for ourselves and each other:
Come, Holy Spirit, to all baptised in your name, that we may turn to good whatever lies ahead. Give us passion, give us fire; make us transform the world from what it is, to what you have created it to be. This we ask through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.