Seen by Women (The Day of Resurrection)

This is the text of the message I prepared for KSSM for Easter Day 2019.

Luke 24:1-12; Acts 10:34-43

Hmm, “they”.  I am always dubious about they.  “They”.  You know “they”, don’t you; they of “they have been saying”, or they of “they wear their shirts untucked these days”, or they of “they think that it’s dangerous to eat those foods now”. They, phsh!  So when Luke 24:1 tells us that “they” came to the tomb I immediately want to close my ears: who cares about they?  Not me, because if “they” truly mattered then “they” would have had names and faces, and “they” would have come to tell me to my face rather than sending you to tell me what “they” think.

Sadly you don’t have to be a pastor or a leader to be suspicious of “they”.  Indeed the “they” that Luke wrote about have been ignored and shunned since the day that Luke wrote about, even before Luke wrote about the day, which is probably why they are “they”, and not…well not who they actually were with their real names and faces.  So who are they, this “they”?  In the Greek text we don’t find out until Luke 24:10 who they were, although in some English translations we at least get a pronoun in Luke 24:5.  So they are “the women”, specifically Mary Magdalene, Joanna the wife of Herod’s chief of staff, and Mary the mother of James.  Also with them were “the other women”, you know, “they”.  And what happens when “they” begin to tell the story of the empty tomb?  Well it’s pretty clear in Luke 24:11 what happens, they are accused of idle talk and the apostles do not believe them.  Fair enough because “they” are women and you know, women eh, idle talk: they are not apostles, they are not men; they are not to be trusted or believed without corroborating evidence from a man, a man who is not one of “they” but one of “us”.  And for two thousand years they have been written out of the story, except as minor characters who prompted Peter to go to the tomb where he was amazed.  And then Peter went home.

I don’t know about you, I hope you agree with me, but it really doesn’t matter if you don’t because I am going to say it anyway: praise God for they!  If it wasn’t for “they”, the women who went to the tomb then Peter (who did not go to the tomb initially) would not have known that Jesus was raised.  And if it wasn’t for “they”, the women, continuing to tell the obtuse ten after Peter went to the tomb that Jesus was raised then no one would have known because Peter, (who went to the tomb and found it abandoned), went home without telling anyone.  So it’s a blessing for us that “they” did tell!

It was “they” to whom the angels spoke, it was “they” who remembered what Jesus had told them while he was still alive, and it was “they” who first carried the news of the resurrection of Jesus to the weeping world.  So when that other “they”, they with their untucked shirts and their ingredients-free diets, and “they” in their constant state of “have been saying”; when they tell you that women have no place in Christian leadership or proclamation, you tell them that without women there would have been no Christian leadership or proclamation to begin with.

Without these women there would have been no Peter, beyond Good Friday at least.  And with no Peter beyond Good Friday there would have been no sermon in the house of Cornelius, and therefore no assurance that God does not show partiality based on race, no assurance that God accepts with gladness all that come to God with humility and openness, and no assurance of peace and rest.  It is not just the resurrection that brought shalom to the world, not just the resurrection that brought forgiveness through grace by faith, not just the resurrection that jumped the rollout of the kingdom of God into a higher gear; it was the news of the resurrection, the news proclaimed first by women, then by Galilean peasants and fishermen, which did that.  The news proclaimed to “us” by “they” is the news that in God through Christ there is no us and they, that all are “we”, and we are God’s own.

Without women, and without Peter and the apostles, there would have been no Paul.  With no Paul there would be no Church in Corinth, no Christians in Europe, and no Christians among the European people of the planet.  (So, no Christian whitefellas in Australia.)  There would have been no letters to the Church in Corinth, and no assurance that since Christ has been raised from the dead, and that his gospel was vindicated by God, that ha-satan is on the way out and that the ultimate victory of the Kingdom of God, and the God of the Kingdom, is assured.  No resurrection: no hope says Paul.  Resurrection but no news of the resurrection: also no hope says Paul.  Our job as Church is to proclaim the resurrection, and hope, to those who haven’t yet heard, and those haven’t heard properly.  But who told us the news?  And who told them, and them before them?  With no women there is no proclamation and no hope.  With no hope, there is no life.

So, who have you chosen not to listen to?  Through whom is God not allowed to speak to you?  “Yeah, I’ll listen to Joyce Meyer, but not the local bloke, because she’s anointed and he’s just appointed.”  Or “I’ll listen to Rick Warren, but not to Joyce Meyer, because women shouldn’t preach.”  Or “I’ll listen to anyone on a podcast but I’ll never read a book, because it’s 2019.”  Or “I’ll listen to Damien, but not to anyone from the Baptists, because Damien’s humour and scholarship are awesome.”  Who are you shutting out?  Well, you’re shutting out God, d’uh, but you know what I’m asking.

More important to me is, whom are you shutting off from God?  From whom are you withholding the gospel, whom are you not talking to?  I’m pretty sure that Joanna and the mob of Marys knew that the male apostles wouldn’t have a bar of what they were saying, but did it stop them saying it?  No, it did not!  Would it stop you saying it, has it stopped you saying it?  I’ll leave that with you to ponder.

We are each and all called to proclaim because first we were each and all chosen to receive: chosen by God (as all are, without partiality); and chosen by whomever told us (having first gathered herself around her bravery against our possible rejection of her as gospeller).  The message of the risen Jesus, the vindicated forth-teller of the Reign of Heaven, is that hope lives and that God is gracious and welcoming through God’s own invitation to come and be welcomed and to learn to trust.  Like the women who first told it, the gospel itself is resilient, resolute, and relentless; strong against resistant voices yet soothing for those who need to be enveloped by its embrace.  The women were not silenced by the disbelief of the eleven, but they continued to sing and dance the message of the abandoned sepulchre and the abundant celebration until at last the men were stirred to look, and were amazed.  Isn’t this the hope that stirs your heart, your guts, your grin this morning?  Is it not so that Jesus is Risen, and so can you be, and so can “they” out there be, because the One who can raise the dead can certainly restore the broken?  Is it not so?  Is our God, our King, our brother not dependable and true?  Is this not a faith worth keeping?

Keep the faith, but in the model of the Marys and Joanna do not keep it to yourself.  “They” out there need to hear it, so don’t stop telling out your soul until they do.

Amen.

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Palm Sunday

This is the text of the message I prepared for KSSM for Palm Sunday 2019.

Isaiah 50:4-9a; Psalm 31:9-16; Philippians 2:5-11; Luke 19:28-40

Palm Sunday is one of those days when you’d think the sermon, and the Bible readings, would be obvious.  Maybe that’s true, but then you all know me well enough now to know that the obvious sermon topic is very unlikely to appear when I am preaching, and even if it does appear it will be given a surprising slant.  So no, today we heard from Isaiah and Paul rather than Luke, but don’t worry, the donkey is on his way.

Today’s passage from the Hebrew Tradition, from Isaiah, is the third of four so called “servant songs”; in this song the servant is speaking directly to those Israelites who have strayed from God’s ways while they have been exiled.  The teacher in this case is not so much one person as he is a representation of the true Israel, the nation (and the group of people within it) who have stood their ground amidst abuse and disrespect from The Fallen because they know that The LORD is Israel’s companion and vindication.  The advice is to the straying people of Israel, but also to the Babylonians, and it is to say that God is faithful and dependable and so all hope is far from lost, even in this dire situation.  The teacher’s task, as it is in all four servant songs, is to take the word of God which God has spoken to him and to proclaim that word to the world, beginning with the fallen within Israel, the ones described as weary in Isaiah 50:4.  Conversely it is this mob of weary and disheartened who rise up and beat up the prophet with all the spitting and sneering and beard-pulling action; but even this has not disheartened the prophetic voice, since it shows to him how much his message of deliverance is required.  The servant says in Isaiah 50:8, he who vindicates me is near: who will contend with me.  In other words, God has my back, so bring it on, and let’s argue this thing out.  At the same time the teacher knows that scorners are gonna scorn, so he’s aware that even though God will vindicate him as a teacher and God will vindicate his message, he will still be beaten up and worn down in the work of teaching.

The same theme is seen in today’s Psalm, 31, which reads as a prayer for deliverance in the midst of distress.  Read, indeed hear how the psalmist complains to God how worn out with trying and with sorrowing he is.  This worshipper comes to God and tells The Father that he is mocked, shunned, abandoned, and shamed by his neighbours.  The psalmist has no friends except for God, but God is trustworthy and faithful, God is listening and compassionate, and God is his God who has eternity in sight.  No matter what other people say or do or think, the man or woman who remains faithful to God and to the calling of prophecy and teaching will be saved because God is steadfast in love.

Many of you know that I used to work as a schoolteacher.  I once might have said “I used to be a teacher”, but that’s not true: I still am a teacher, I just don’t work in schools any more.  So, as a teacher still, and one of God’s people set apart by God and the Church to bring the word from God to the people of God, I have some insights into this.

The first is that teaching can be physically dangerous.  Regardless of what we read in Isaiah, I can tell you that I have been assaulted at schools where I have taught.  I have been spat at and spat on, I have been kicked, punched, pushed, wrapped in sticky tape, had furniture thrown at me, had nuisance phone calls threatening me with arson, and I have been the subject of graffiti and emotional bullying.  (And that was just in the staffroom…)   And whilst no one has had a go at my physical person at church, yet, I have been emotionally beaten up in my teaching ministry in congregations through gossip, derision, and agendas pushed through councils of the church to have me banned from preaching because my words (which I  maintain were God’s) pricked somebody’s pimple.  I get why the Pharisees were angry at Jesus, and the exiles angry at Jeremiah and the suffering servant, I’ve been there on the receiving end and I’ve had my theology and my mental stability questioned by people who were offended by the gospel as I proclaimed it.  I know that I can also get shouty and sarcastic in my speech, and because of that I’m focussing today’s thoughts on those few times when I was not in the wrong.

The second is that teaching as an activity is useless if no one is learning.  For example, I could pause here for a moment and give you a twenty minute run down on how to add numbers across the tens barrier.  If you have enough fingers you can add three and five to make eight; but how do you add three more to eight when you run out of fingers.  I can teach you how to do that, I can teach you a number of ways how to do that, but you wouldn’t actually learn anything.  Why not?  Well because you all know, already, how to do that.  Even as I gave this example, of adding three to eight, many of you went, “yup, eleven”,  in your head, and none of you needed to remove a shoe to get enough digits.  What is the point of my teaching if you are not learning?  In fact if you are not learning then I would argue that whatever it is that I am doing up here, it isn’t actually teaching at all.  In the same way I could give you an excellent sociolinguistics lecture on Russian Formalism and the concept of ostranenie, as developed by Viktor Shklovksy.  You would all be amazed, no doubt, but would you be educated, would you actually learn anything?  Or would you be confused?  Even if I translated ostranenie into English as “defamiliarisation” would that help?  Even if I tell you that this is more of a narratological concept than a sociolinguistic one, and ask whether any of you noted the deliberate mistake three sentences ago, would that help?  Again, if you’re not learning, then I’m not teaching.

And perhaps putting points one and two together, if you don’t want to learn from me, then I’m not teaching you.  I cannot teach you if you don’t want to learn, and since this is church and not school I can’t force you to learn and keep you in your seat until you do.  In fact the last time I tried to force someone to stay in his seat until he learned something he stood up and threw the chair at me.  But, again, this is church and you can’t do that.  I hope I’ve made my point though, even if I am not in physical danger of immanent assault, and even if I pitch my sermons and Wednesday Bible studies at your level rather than at child or postgraduate speciality level, if you don’t want to learn then you won’t.  And if you don’t want to learn then I can’t teach you.  That’s okay, maybe you don’t need me to teach you, maybe you already know everything there is to know and so nothing that I say, even with eloquence and a sound pedagogical structure, will interest you in the slightest.  Maybe you don’t need to be here at all, or I don’t.  Maybe that’s what the exiles in Babylon and the Pharisees in Jerusalem thought about the bearers of God’s word.

Jesus wasn’t like that.  From Paul’s letter to the Christians at Philippi we read how the mindset of Christ Jesus, an attitude of humility and self-emptying, complete trust even in death lead to his exaltation and glory.  In a congregation where many of you hold the doctrinal position of “no creed but Christ”, here in Philippians 2:5-11 is a manifesto for us to proclaim, the complete words of scripture telling the life story of Jesus from incarnation to resurrection.  What it means to be like Christ, to be a Christian, is to be humble in humanity and obedient toward God.  We know this is the right way because the man who acted most fully in this way was exalted by God to the highest possible glory.  This is the attitude and the conduct that God rewards, because this is the human life by which God is most fully blessed.  Blessed are the teachable, for they will hear God most clearly and therefore obey God most fully.  The existence of Jesus, (more than his shape or his attitude) his very being is one not of grasping but of surrender.  More than what Christ does or even who Christ is, this is what Christ is as Christ, God the Son.  Christ is open-handedness, Christ is letting go, and Christ is unambiguous and unlimited trust in The Father, even as Christ is The LORD.  When all of that was accounted for in the incarnation and death of Jesus, at the resurrection the God-ness of Christ was restored.  Both are the real Christ, God the Son was no less God for being Jesus from Nazareth, the Son of Man.  Neither are we or anyone else any less the image and likeness of God (Genesis 1:26) for being alive as women and men today.  Godliness is not about how much of a spiritual presence you are, rather than flesh-and-bone, godliness is about how much like God you are when God was flesh-and-bone.  Are you humble, do you know who you are and who you are not?  Are you teachable, do you know what you need to learn, and are you willing to listen to whichever teacher God sends you, be that a preacher, a podcast, a book, a shared experience with a mate, or an epiphany at the end of your bed.  And if you want God to speak to you in a book or a podcast, and God speaks to you in a sermon or a song, will you listen, or not?

When Jesus entered Jerusalem on the Sunday before the Friday on which he died, Luke tells us that Jesus was riding a colt.  Previously two disciples had been sent ahead to find the colt and to inform anyone who asked that the Lord needed the colt and that they should be allowed to take it.  The fact that Jesus was actually riding the colt shows that the colt was allowed to be taken to Jesus, and for him to ride it.  Someone was listening to God at that point, even when God spoke in the accent of some random Galilean who was sprung in the middle of untying the beast.  When Jesus (and the colt) rode into Jerusalem the people cried out “blessed is the king who comes!” and “peace in heaven and glory!”  Again, they had been listening for God and were ready to hear the word of Heaven however it came.  The ordinary Judeans heard God speak, even in their own voices, and even when the highly educated and rigorously theological scholars could not.  How ambivalent do you need to be to the coming of the Word of God that you are dull to the sounds of worship, dull to the presence of the Word Incarnate (even in humble form) standing in front of you, so dull that even the singing or rocks would probably escape you?

Seriously, how dull?  Dull enough that within a week you’ll hang the King of Kings for treason, and the God of Gods for blasphemy?  Today is Palm Sunday, open your ears, open your eyes, open your hearts; let worship alone open your mouths.  And in the name of every teacher who has ever lived to help you learn, please, resist every urge to be dull.

Amen.

Kettle Day (Thanksgiving for a child)

This is the text of the message I prepared for a combined service of Kaniva & Serviceton Shared Ministry on the occasion of a service of thanksgiving for a child.  It was not a baptism (no water) and not an infant dedication (the child went home with her parents, no doves were destroyed).  For privacy reasons beyond the congregation I have made the child and her family anonymous in this post.

Revelation 3:14-22

Laodicea is probably not the first place you were expecting me to start the message from today; I dare suggest it probably wasn’t in your top five.  And seriously, it’s a day of infant dedication: who preaches from the book of Revelation on a day when we’re all about thanks and praise for children and families?  I mean, I mean where was Laodicea anyway? (Well actually it still is, in ruins at least, in Phrygia in Turkey, ten miles west of the ruins of Colossae.)  And why isn’t it pronounced Laodikeia?  (Well actually it is in modern Turkish.)  But you probably weren’t even asking those questions; meh, anyway, well done you’ve got those answers for free.

But I think the reading I have chosen today better suits this special celebration than any of the passages offered by the Revised Common Lectionary for the Fifth Sunday in Lent in Year C.  Today’s reading talks about how hot you are in the outworking of your faith, how passionate for the cause of Christ.

One of the go-to stories for any preacher looking at Revelation 3:14-22 is the background story of Laodicea and its plumbed running water.  Just north of Laodicea is the hot mineral spring at Hierapolis, and just east was Colossae where there was cold water springs, very refreshing.  The Laodiceans had neither of these, and their town water came from five miles away via an aqueduct in to their city.  Unfortunately with it being five miles, the water cooled down in the aqueduct, and what was hot in Hierapolis and cold in Colossae was lukewarm in Laodicea.  The water was still warm, but not warm enough to have any healing benefit, and it was nauseating to drink. Bleuch!

Another go-to story for background to Laodicea is my story.  I have actually been to the ruins of Laodicea; I was there with a Christian tour party in late September 1999.  We were heading for a major worship event in the ancient amphitheatre at Ephesus, which is about one hundred and fifty kilometres from Laodicea, and as prequel to that event we toured Asia Minor and visited the “seven churches of Revelation”.  On the day we went to Laodicea we’d also been to Hierapolis to see the hot springs, and we had stayed the night in the city of Izmir which is built on the ruins of what used to be Smyrna.  Anyway it was hot, not “Kaniva in January hot”, but hot enough, and it was dusty.  So by the time I’d had a bit of a walk around, and a scamper up and across the tops of the ruins (I was 27 years old then and much more able to climb than now), and we’d held our worship service (we worshipped in each of the seven ruined cities), I was ready for a drink.  Nice cold water, waiting on the bus for me, ahhh!  Except that the bus was hot, and my cold water got hot, heated to hot-tap-water-at-home hot.  That bottled water was distasteful and useless for purpose, I was not refreshed by drinking it, and in fact I almost upchucked.  Upchucking may have been a Biblical response in the light of Revelation 3:16, but it wasn’t one of the spiritual feels I was going for on a dusty and hot day.

So, not hot enough, or not cold enough: it seems that Christ was displeased with the Laodiceans for their tepid nature in life and faith, and I was certainly less than impressed by the local bottled refreshment.

How hot is your water right now?  Would the Christ who walks amongst the lamp stands call you lukewarm?

The building we are gathered in today is ninety years old, and the Shared Ministry is twenty years old this year.  My question is this, is that how much experience we have?  As a church, particularly Kaniva Church of Christ congregation, do you have ninety years of experience, or do you have one year of experience which you have repeated ninety times?  And you can say that our denominational presence actually dates back a good few years before that in Kaniva, but so does the question.  So, has it been 1889 for one hundred and thirty consecutive years here?  Have you grown?  Have you begun to cool down the further you’ve run along the channel and away from the source?  And what about each of us as individuals?  How long have you been active in your faith, is it 20, 30, maybe 70 years of service?  Or have you just the one year repeated endlessly (so far) for decades as a Christian?  Are you any bigger, or are you just older, and therefore less patient and more tired?

You are a Christian and you still hold water, but maybe you need to return to the kettle, or the fridge, and be set for purpose.  The water in my bottle on the day I went to Laodicea was too hot to be refreshing, but it wouldn’t have made a cup of tea either as it was not hot enough.  The water was still water, it was clean and theoretically drinkable, but it needed either a kettle or a fridge to make it useful.

Today is a kettle day for this child: her faith is boiling hot as she’s welcomed into this family as a gift from God, and God is gloried for her presence because God is glorified by her presence.  Your baptism was the same, and perhaps like this child’s father and mother today the baptism or celebration of your children was a spur to go again in God’s strength.

Again I ask you, the local people, as we add another member to our rolls has this church grown?  Is this church bigger now than it has ever been, regardless of its numbers?  Perhaps we have a solid core of 20 in Kaniva and another 20 in Serviceton, and only those 20 come, where once we had a solid core of 15 but with 50 hangers on?  Again, are we actually bigger now than we were then?  Are you bigger now?  Serviceton used to be almost as big as Kaniva is now, (at which time Kaniva was twice the size it is now, at least by population).  Now Serviceton is tiny, barely anyone left, and even some of those who live there now are actually new.  The town’s core families who are there now are the same families who have been the core for generations.  When the rail left the farmers remained, and these days it’s only farmers.  But there are still farmers there, and they are there because they are invested in that land.  Kaniva is the same, even if not quite so dramatic as there is still other stuff going on in Kaniva, but Kaniva has its families who have been here for generations as councillors and teachers and shopkeepers and mechanics.  And there are farmers here too of course.

The Church is the same.  It is true that people move between churches as they move between towns: I mean I have been here about six months now, and at best I’ll be here for another five years.  This is not because I’m wavering in my faith, but because my job, unlike farming, is transient.  If the metaphor for Kaniva and Serviceton is that you are farmers then I’m more like a season, here to help you grow for a bit, and then move over the horizon to help others grow for a bit while the next season follows me here.  But I am always in The Church, just not this one: and I am always in a church because I am invested in Christ just as much as generational farmers are invested in their land.

So Christian how invested are you in Church?  Are you hot on God’s behalf, constantly active, constantly nurturing, constantly maintaining and supporting growth?  Are you cold on God’s behalf, like an ice-pack constantly seeking to refresh, and shade, and restore the burnt and broken?  Or are you lukewarm in your ministry, “meh it can wait”, “meh I’ll just get another one”, “meh it’s just one sheep and I’ve got ninety-nine more”.

As Christians which of those conditions do we wish for this child?  What do you desire for your Sister-in-Christ as she grows from girl to adolescent to woman, perhaps wife and mother some day, perhaps even farmer in her own right on dad and grandpa’s land and therefore, hopefully, a member of this congregation?  And if we hope the best for this child, and her infant sisters, and her parents; and if we hope that this child’s father’s farming remains successful and that he and his family never needs to leave the district; and if we hope that we’ll see this child grow up her whole life in Kaniva and in Kaniva & Serviceton Shared Ministry, what sort of example and what sort of support do you hope to provide?  If you are barely lukewarm, then this child can never be boiling hot: but then if you are barely lukewarm you probably don’t care.  But then if you don’t care and are barely lukewarm why did you bother coming today?  Well, probably because you are lukewarm and there is enough heat left in you to care a little bit, and, well this child’s parents seem nice, and someone said there might be cake afterwards and…well you know…who doesn’t like cake?

Christ is the water which flows into you and through you to the world.  Are you a paper cup?  Are you a travel mug with insulated sides and a lid?  Are you an urn, with a thermostat?

Thinking back to my water bottle, my drinking water was not at all refreshing; in fact it was dangerous.  Hot water is only good when it’s supposed to be hot: drinking water at 50 C is not refreshing, actually its mouth burning.  Do people who know you’re a Christian come to you for soothing, and instead cop a face-full of hot water?

Today is kettle day for those who need to be hotter.  Today is refrigerator day for those who need to be refreshed.  Come to the source, this child needs you to.

Amen.

The best is yet to come (WWHS)

This is the text I prepared for WWHS Day Centre for Tuesday 2nd April 2019.  I had also worshipped with them the previous week.

Joshua 5:9-12

 Last week when I was here I spoke to you about trusting and obeying God even when you think you don’t need to.  That sounds a bit strange, I know, but the point is that we must never think ourselves too capable for God to care for us, as if we’re content to pray, “you know what God, we’re fine as we are, how about you go over there and help those poor people and leave us be because we’re fine on our own.” Never, ever do I want to be in a place where I don’t need God, and more than that I never want to be in a place where I can tell God to leave me be because I’m fine as I am.

The reading I brought to you today, which is the lectionary reading from the Hebrew Bible for last Sunday, says something like this too.  The Hebrews under Joshua have entered Canaan, their promised land, and they have rededicated themselves to God as God’s own people by circumcising all the men who were born in the Wilderness.  You might remember that God made the Hebrews wait forty years after the Exodus before they were allowed to enter Canaan because they had been rebellious in their early wanderings: no man who was of military age when the people left Egypt (except Joshua and Caleb) was allowed to enter the land and so the whole nation waited until the last of those men died.  Hence the need for circumcision, none of the boys born in the desert had been through that ritual and some of those boys were now forty years old.  So anyway, here they are, in Canaan, with lots of men feeling rather sore and God says to Joshua words to the effect of “okay, now that Egypt is out of your system, and you are Abrahamites once again, let’s get you settled in his country”.  The first thing they do is celebrate Passover, which of course is a reminder of their exit from Egypt a generation past.  The word “exodus” which we use in English to describe the activity, and the book of the Bible which tells the story, literally translates out of Greek as “the road out”, ex-hodos.  In effect the Hebrews have reached the end of that road out, now they are ready to embark upon the road in.  God calls them to remember where they have come from, (Egypt), and with their men still sore the whole nation celebrates their deliverance.

In Joshua 5:11 we are told that the next day, the day after the Passover, that very day, they ate some of the produce of the land, and in Joshua 5:12 we are told that the manna stopped the day they ate this food from the land.  In one sense God’s deliverance was complete, the people who had followed the cloud and the pillar of fire, (or had at least followed Moses who followed the cloud and the pillar of fire) and who had been fed with manna and quail and water from the rocks of the desert were now establishing themselves in Canaan, Abraham’s land of milk and honey.  They didn’t need hand-outs any more, they were freed and were free.

As Christians reading this story we are allowed to be excited, and we should think about what this story means for us.  I don’t know about you, but I’ve never eaten actual manna.  I have had God provide food for me, I told you a bit about that last week, but I don’t quite have the same story as Joshua.  When we consider the link to Passover, which is when Easter is for Christians, and for what Jesus went through and what he accomplished on the day of Passover or the day before Passover (depending which gospel story you read), it’s interesting I think to remember this event of another Passover meal.  The meal described by Joshua was eaten as a celebration of what God had already done in leading the Hebrews along that long road out (the ex-hodos) and it was also as a sign of faith in God for what God was about to do in guiding the Hebrews as they walked the many roads in to Canaan to take up the land of promise.  In Jesus, in communion, we celebrate what God has done for us through the cross and the resurrection, but we also get to look ahead with faith and confidence, with expectation and trust, at what God is about to do now and how God will still be active as many as three thousand years and more into our future as we are in the future from Joshua’s day.

Are you still excited for what God is going to do?  I have said before that there is a lot of living memory in this room, being what it is, but I have also said and you have agreed that the stories of the people in this room are not yet at an end.  The best is yet to come, not just because that’s a great phrase of faith and hope, but because when we think about Jesus on Thursday as he ate, and Friday as he died, the best really was yet to come.

Amen.