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SERMONS Sean Gilbert –10/5/09 Many moons ago when I was teaching lay theology at the then Parkin Wesley College, I was often struck by students initial assumptions, even presumptions about the nature and purpose of theology. In short, they had come to be told what it was by someone who had studied the form, so to speak; a teaching to be clearly laid down for them or to get right for the sake of later essays/papers. Maybe even an impressive sermon or two. And to be frank, it was and is, a reasonable assumption. Theology can be complex, intimidating even convoluted as I suggested to Margaret during the week. However, my response to the students was always to ask the meaning of the term itself; theology simply meaning words about God, making the task or art of theologizing a universal, common affair and not the domain of the so-called experts. Theology arises out of lived human experience, it doesn’t get delivered on a gold platter from above. And this important distinction is particularly true to the faith community to which the author of John’s Gospel is writing (pastorally so, I might add). However impressive or difficult is the text, it is not a grand theory being laid down so as to live up to. No, it is but a deep (and beautiful) reflection on what already is in place and alive within the community; that being, the heartfelt and transformative presence of God, experienced in the risen Christ and expressed through the friendship of the Holy Spirit. The very words of Christ then, recorded in St. John, are not so much a historical or literal record, as I said last week, but the community’s confession – through him - of who and what this Presence has been for them and will continue to be to them. In the case of last Sunday’s reading and this week’s, “I am the Good Shepherd…I am the True Vine,” these two of eight “I am” sayings could equally be phrased, “He is for us and will continue to be for us the Good Shepherd, the True Vine.” And whilst this may well give us an entirely new and perhaps liberating way into the text, it doesn’t lessen the claim of Christ’s life upon us at all. In fact, it may well be that the testimony of confessional experience then becomes more telling and convincing than yet more theoretical and clever prose. So, listen here not just for the words of Jesus, slightly detached from human context, but listen for the vital and compelling experience of a faith community alive to the presence of God, thus alive to the gift of life itself. John 15:1-8 It’s interesting, in the RSV and I suspect also the King James Bible, there is a wonderfully poetic line here: Every branch in me that beareth not fruit he taketh away; (“he” being the Vine Dresser or Husbandman), and every branch that beareth fruit, he purgeth it, that it may bring forth more fruit. It is a strong word, isn’t it? Stronger than prune, I’d suggest. Indeed, it is a strong and harsh action, initially feeling and looking just as bad as the whole being cast away into nothingness or fire. Purgatory, a closely related word and much misunderstood concept, being the very basis, not of ultimate destruction, but of reconstruction and even more fruit bearing. Well, I want to share one of a series of ‘window prayers’ I wrote on retreat last year, surprise, surprise, at Sevenhill in the Clare Valley: II (Before daybreak, 17 June) The joyful song In the next room, Cold air circulates around my feet. Morning views Only gradually can the night, Paths surprisingly appear, The prayer cell on the hill I spy majestic eucalypts And there is This is Emily’s window, panes of possibility O God, Nothing can be guaranteed, The “seasonal repose” I referred to, of course, was the recently pruned vines outside my window, stark and ugly in contrast to Spring / Summer flowerings, the Vintage and the Autumn afterglow. And yet, a very necessary part of the creative, long term, fruit-bearing process. Indeed, a life / faith principle not lost on the community that inspired and circulated these teachings of Jesus; a necessary shedding of opinion, of presumption, negative behaviours and attitudes, abilities even, all for the sake of being returned to the fecund and gracious Source, trusting it for continued life and not just our own capacities. So, in the one teaching, there is both gain and pain; a promise of fruitfulness but always by way of seasonal relinquishment, sharp pruning sheers included! In the words of Jesus elsewhere in this remarkable Gospel, “unless a grain of wheat falls into the ground and dies, it is unable to rise and bear fruit. This meaning, I think, for a faith community like ours, that this precious, strange time of worship is pivotal to that ongoing reconnection in and with God, as is the need to continually reinvent, reframe and revision just what it is that we are called to be; that same organisational dynamism of which Jesus often spoke, yet one that exists in sharp contrast to the religious propensity to shore up, shut down, maintain, conserve, protect, restrain, control, short circuit. Propensities, I might add, that are indicative of an open or subtle resistance to spiritual encounter or growth, and reflective of the fact, that because not much is changing within here, we don’t want the furniture moved out there. The two realities – resistance to an inner grace and the need to simply maintain the status quo, go hand in hand, and that is why many congregations are literally withering on the vine. Their lived experience of God has died along the way somehow, their memories now quite faded. And if we merely pretend, in good liberal and socially concerned ways, that following the example set by Jesus is good enough, and not actively open ourselves to the stirring presence of the Jesus Spirit, we will have no future in such a secular environment and milieu as ours. No one new will bother to come unless something is stirring and ripening here at the heart and soul of our faith practice. As David Tacey suggested last weekend, his undergraduate students keep reminding him that until the Christian Church lives and breathes out of a mystical or spirited experience in highly integrated, innovative and compassionate and just ways, they’ll just keep turning their heads toward the East and toward leaders like the Dali Lama, who speak not from an institutional base but from the first hand experience of mystery and renewed, albeit creative humanity. So it occurs to me that the words of Christ, I am the True Vine and you are the branches. Those who abide (literally meaning to remain in one place or in one sphere) in me and I in them bear much fruit, remains a truly pressing call (excuse the pun) and one we simply cannot afford to ignore or put off as but an optional extra so far as the real work and ministry of the Christian Church is concerned. This is the real and demanding work that bears good and lasting fruit; mission and outreach included. As we have seen in recent years, the spiritual growth and discoveries of just one person in our midst has enormous flow on effects. It is like a contagion (a glory vine gone mad); a bubbling over into new areas of life expression, new forms of community engagement; not simply making the faith relevant but making it invitingly real. The promise, the invitation lies ever before us: “That you may have life in Christ’s name and have it to the full.” Finally, in the helpful words of Sandra Schneiders: Christian spirituality is neither escape from real life or denial of pain but a way of living that is transfigured, even now, by the resurrection and the life which is Jesus (for us). May we ever find that deep within and dare to let it bloom and flourish, even run wild. Next week, John’s vision of a vital Community of Friends. Amen. |
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