Getting to the politics of Easter with the Boss

In keeping with tradition (well, doing what I've done for the past few months...) here is the piece that  wrote for the church magazine's Easter edition. I shall blog at greater length about both the albums featured here.

When the papers are awash with stories about how the Christian faith is being driven to the side lines of our culture, it is heartening to switch on the radio and hear that God has taken up residence in the charts. From Katy Perry asking who she is living for and declaring that she will be taking the road less travelled in a song awash with the South Baptist imagery of her childhood to the boss, Bruce Springsteen, whose latest album, Wrecking Ball, is full of Christian imagery.

Now 63 Springsteen sings with a world weary wisdom born of drinking deeply at the well of American protest – especially Woodie Guthrie – and the Catholic faith of his New Jersey upbringing. He also sings with a passionate anger about what is happening to the world and in particular what is happening to the ordinary working people of his country in a time of recession and economic hardship. But his anger is shot through with a hope that can only be accounted for by the Christian story still firing his imagination.

So the track, We are Alive, which closes the record, begins with the line

There is a cross up yonder up on calvary hill

It alerts us to the fact that what follows might be linked to the suffering of Christ. And that is indeed the case. But the suffering he calls our attention to is that of people who have walked the way of the cross and paid the highest price for it – the dead of the civil rights movement, the unsung heroes in the struggle for justice. And the chorus, washed in the tones and rhythms of slave spirituals, declares

we are alive
oh, and though we lie alone here in the dark
our souls will rise to carry the fire and light the spark
to fight shoulder to shoulder and heart to heart

Here’s a lot missing from Bruce’s Easter meditation, but he alerts his listener to the fact that the struggle for justice and equity in our world is rooted in something deeper and richer than a merely political ideology. It is rooted in God. And we are reminded that even though we die, we will rise in Christ; there is a future and it’s radiant with God’s justice and love.

Earlier in the year, 77 year old Leonard Cohen (it’s true what they say, you know, that pop music is wasted on the young!) released a long anticipated and truly wonderful album called Old Ideas. And among the old ideas that Cohen was reviving and redrawing to our attention was that of the incarnation and cross of Christ

Show me the place, help me roll away the stone
Show me the place, I can’t move this thing alone
Show me the place where the word became a man
Show me the place where the suffering began

Four lines that nail the story of Jesus that are being played on tens of thousands of iPhones and CD players across the planet.

Easter is the rumour that God is committed to the world he made, so committed that he came to rescue it from the mess that we have made of it. Easter is the call of God for us to be caught up in the cross and resurrection of Jesus, to become part of the band of story tellers who declare that God has triumphed over evil and death, that new life is possible, that justice is coming, that all things will be made new.

And we need to be telling that story wherever we go, to our friends and work colleagues, to our neighbours and people we meet at the gym, to those we stand next to on the terraces and those who share our taste in music.

Cohen captures the hope that Jesus brings in the song that opens Old Ideas, Going Home. It’s a song that opens with the conceit that God might be using Cohen to get his message out to the world and then reminds us what that message is about

going home without my sorrow

going home sometime tomorrow

to where it’s better than before

going home without my burden

going home behind the curtain

going home without the costume that I wore

That’s the best exposition, in six lines of poetry, of 2 Corinthians 4-5, a glorious declaration of our hope, that is based on the events of the first Easter, the cross and resurrection of our Lord Jesus.

Across the charts – not to mention in fiction of all kinds and a range of movies – the rumour of God keeps breaking out. Let’s be alert to it so that when we’re talking with our friends and neighbours we are able to help them make the connections between the pop culture they consume and the God who is calling them to new life.

And if we listen carefully, we hear God calling us to get on board with his mission of working for justice and peace, of pointing to the future where there’ll be no pain or crying and seeking to bring as much of it into the present as we can.

Jesus is risen. The tomb is empty. Death, darkness and the devil are defeated. Creation is made new. And we have tasted that it’s real. So happy Easter – pass it on…

In the footsteps of Joanna the apostle

Happy Easter everyone. He is risen and the world is changed as a result. I thought I'd share with you what I'll be saying at church later thgis morning in our family Easter celebration. It focuses on one of the key witnesses of the events of that first Easter:

Joanna stuck to her guns. She had to. The men didn’t believe her.

She told the story again, even explaining it’s significance in the light of what they’d all been told a while back, when they were in Galilee.

Eventually Peter and John cottoned on and went to look for themselves.

No wonder Paul describes her as ‘outstanding among the apostles’. For she was one of the women who came with the news that the tomb of Jesus was empty on that first Easter Day and the first explanation of its significance.

Joanna had grown up with everything a little girl could dream of; she was rich and privileged, a proper Jewish princess. Then she married a wealthy and powerful man. She was part of the Judean elite, that small circle who enjoyed influence and power in Herod’s domain.

But one day her son became ill and desperate for him to get well, her husband had sought out Jesus, a wandering preacher who was gaining a reputation as a healer. The moment he spoke, her son recovered.

She had to find out more. So she joined the ramshackle band of disciples, became part of that group of women who met the financial needs of the group as they travelled proclaiming the good news, not caring that she was providing the lion’s share.

She heard Jesus’ parables, listened to his explanations over countless meals, watched him heal the sick, open the eyes of the blind, unstop deaf ears and even bring his dead friend Lazarus back to life.

And she watched as he was betrayed and deserted by his friends, denied by those closest to him, rejected by his own people, arrested, tried and crucified by the Romans.

Jesus had said to them that there would be those who’d not taste death until they saw his kingship in all its glory. Is this really what he’d meant – being enthroned on a cross of wood, under an angry sky?

Heart-broken, shattered but faithful to the last, she’d gone to the tomb on the day after the Sabbath to do what friends do for the dead, only to find the grave empty and Jesus gone.

Awe-struck and terrified in equal measure, she and the other women met two men who reminded them of what Jesus had said while they were on the road from Galilee to Jerusalem:

          That he’d be handed over and crucified and on the third day rise again.

She was entrusted with this message: he is not here; he is risen! Go, tell his friends (even Peter) that this has happened and that he is going to meet them.

It was a life changing moment.

Yes, she’d been amazed at Jesus’ teaching; yes, her eyes popped at some of the healings – not least that of her son; yes, she’d given her resources to help fund Jesus’ movement…

But here as the sun rose on that first Easter Day, and the angels’ words sank in, she knew the world had changed; that something old had been crumpled up like wrapping paper, torn away to reveal something new.

And later that evening, she saw for herself as Jesus came to them, spoke peace and opened the scriptures.

In rising from death, Joanna saw that Jesus was right when he said that she would see his kingship in glory. She had truly seen without fully realising it on Good Friday as he was enthroned over sin and death, as he embraced and absorbed all the pain and darkness of the world, so that on this bright new morning, he might burst from the grave and make all things new.

And if this amazing, wonderful, mind-blowing news was true, then everyone had to know – the disciples, her neighbours, people in the villages up the road, those who lived in Rome; everyone.

So, now with her husband, she leads a congregation of Jesus followers in the capital of the empire, a privileged Jewish princess, bringing the gospel to craft workers, dockers, slaves and the like in the back streets of Rome itself, watching the risen Jesus change despair to hope, darkness to light, death to life for all kinds of people – just as he had for her.

He did it when he healed her son, when he told his stories and drew her into his circle; he did it as he hung on the cross on Good Friday; and most emphatically, he did it when he met her in his risen glory on that first Easter evening.

And what Joanna wants more than anything else, is that he’ll do it for you. That’s why she’s travelled, suffered, even done time in jail with Paul. If Jesus is alive, then everyone needs to hear about it, everyone needs to be drawn into the new way of living she’s found in the life, death and resurrection of Jesus. Everyone. Including you and me.

[This story is reconstructed from Luke 8:1-3; 24:1-12; John 4:43-54 and Romans 16:7. It takes account of the fact that followers of Jesus were often only identified by one of their given names to protect their security and that Jewish people often had both Jewish and Roman names. For a full explanation see Richard Bauckham ‘Joanna the apostle’ in his Gospel Women: Studies of the Named Women in the Gospels (T&T Clark, 2002) Pp109-202]

May you all know the joy of the risen Lord this Easter

Seeing in the dark of Good Friday.

One service down five to go!

We had a really nice Thursday break this lunch time. Good number, great hymns and good atmosphere. I was reflecting on the fact that virtually everyone found the first Good Friday a bit of puzzle - Pilate, the priests, the disciples. Only Jesus knew what was happening and why - and he wasn't saying much on the day itself.

This lunch time I reflected particularly on the shock of the Centurion. We don't often talk about him except to lament the fact that he was once played by John Wayne in a Hollywood life of Christ (was it The Greatest Story Ever Told?)

This guy was a battle hardened Roman soldier, possibly at the end of his career, posted in the armpit of the empire and given this ghastly job to do in the foul weather of the first Good Friday. Nothing much had happened really. The prisoner on the middle cross had screamed for aid in the midst of the storm but in a language the Roman didn't speak. it's only what you'd expect; everyone breaks eventually and goes whimpering into the dark.

Imagine his shock then, when this same prisoner shouts out and meets death with a cry of triumph. Commenting on this verse in Mark (15:39a), Walter Wangerin says 'then suddenly he dies...That's what rivets the centurion. It is as if this man chose to go fully conscious straight to the wall of death and there to strike it with all his might and, in the striking, die. Aware of absolutely everything...One thing strikes the centurion: how can a crucified criminal act so convincingly like the victor.'

Little wonder that, open mouthed, this hardened servant of Caesar who no doubt often called his commander-in-chief son of god, looked up at the cross and says 'truly this man was the Son of God.' That is to say, this strangely victorious prisoner rather than Caesar rightly claims that title.

If he saw it, can we?

Planning for Easter

Had another good planning meeting earlier this week - obviously, the busiest week of the year is the best time to meet to plan events in the spring! - to talk about a joint U2charist with the local Methodists.

It's their initiative but I'm delighted to be involved as it gives me an opportunity to indulge my interest in exploring the spirituality of U2's music. The whole thing's been put together by the Methodist's visiting interim minister, a guy from New Zealand. He's done a number of these kinds of events over there, so I'm looking forward to being a part of one over here.

Apart from that, this week has been full of preparing for Easter - another of my favourite times of the year. I'm planning six services between today and Sunday evening, including our joint Good Friday event with local churches.

What I've really enjoyed about planning all our services this year - and involving lots of others in delivering them - is that I've been able to trace the arc of the story from Jesus' final meal to the aftermath of the resurrection.

Happy easter

Easter day! The tomb is still empty; Jesus is risen. Hallelujah!

Two Resurrection thoughts for you:

'The words 'it was credited to him' [Abraham] were written not for him alone; but also for us, to whom God is credit righteousness - for us who believe in him who raised Jesus our Lord from the dead. He was delivered over to death for our sins and was raised to life for our justification.' (Romans 4:22-25).

'Therefore, my dear brothers and sisters, stand firm. Let nothing move you. Always give yourselves fully to the work of the Lord, because you know that your labour in the Lord is not in vain.' (1 Corinthians 15:58)

Happy Easter everyone!

meeting Jesus

On the road to Emmaus this morning - a good place to be. We were definitely joined by Jesus who came to walk with us and share in our conversation as he did on that first Easter afternoon.

I was struck again by how gentle and unassuming Jesus was. I'd have bounced up behind Cleopas and his companion (almost certainly, I reckon, Mary his wife) and said 'ta! da! it's me!!' but Jesus didn't. He quietly joined them and listened in to their conversation.

Have you noticed the glorious irony in Luke 24:24 where they tell Jesus that though people have heard stories, no one has seen him alive!

I love the way Jesus handles this. He listens, allowing Cleopas and Mary to tell him how they feel and what they think the events of the past months and especially the past few days might mean. He doesn't leap in to correct but gives them space to tell him what they think is going on.

I wonder how we often we do this with people we're chatting to about faith. We evangelicals are so quick to get to the answers, we ride roughshod over the questions. People might 'get the gospel', but often they don't hear it because the people telling them obviously don't care enough about to listen to their concerns and struggles before leaping in with a spiritual band aid.

Jesus did.

When he'd heard, he shared his view of events. We know that his interpretation is the accurate one - but Cleopas and Mary would have had to weigh it up. Yes, some of it would have felt familiar; Jesus had indeed talked about death and resurrection - but they didn't really get what he was on about (we are all slow learners - patience is the key fruit evangelists need to manifest!).

Clearly, they wanted to hear more because they urged him to stay with them. It was at the meal table - so often in Luke the place of revelation - that Jesus completes his showing them the truth of what he's been sharing by showing them that it is Jesus - alive and eating - who is offering the explanations. Then he vanishes, leaving them to work out the implications and enormity of what's just happened.

That's why I love this story.

But I love it too because we're often on the Emmaus road, feeling unsure, battered, baffled by life, searching for the scraps of our hopes in the debris of our sins and failures. And Jesus joins us gently offering a listening ear and sharp observations about life, the world and everything. And our hearts begin to burn and we want him to stay. As he speaks, we know it's him - not just a vague presence, but the risen saviour and lord, come to our aid, come to show us his hands and side, come to point the way to the renewal of all things and invite us to be his partners in the adventure.

Easter thoughts

I love Easter; it gives us an opportunity to be creative in ways normal weekends don't. So over the next four days we're having a tanebrae, a reflective Good Friday gathering and two services on Sunday, one of which promises to be very different from anything we've done in previous years (though Jonathan is piloting that one...)

Thinking of fresh angles, looking for film clips and music helps one to appreciate the core Easter message in a new way.

Tomorrow at our lunch time service I'm reflecting on how much the gospels show us Jesus praying in the run up to his arrest and what a contrast that is with the disciples, especially Peter. Jesus is calm and focused, Peter is all over the place. Jesus is able to embrace the unfolding reality and achieve God's purpose in it; Peter is overwhelmed by events, taken by surprise and unable to get his act together. And it's all down to prayer. Simple and hugely difficult at the same time.

I've found some really good stuff in the Jonny Baker Doug Gay collection Alternative Worship and am using a great Vigilantes of Love Song - When you're blinded by the Light - as part of Good Friday's reflection. Having lamented how pear-shaped his love-life has gone, Bill Mallonee sings 'Lord, show to me your face/Lord, show to me your skin/Lord show to me the places/ where the nails went in/gonna crawl in there with all my fears/introduce them to my pretends/ introduce 'em to my sorrows/who've become the best of friends.' Wonderful.

I'm using Jars of Clay's Liquid as the call to worship and a Steve Stockman poem - so there's plenty to help people think about the cross from a variety of fresh angles. Let's hope they do.

I couldn't find a way of including anything from the new Arcade Fire album, however - maybe next year.