2 Kg 5.1-3, 7-15             Psalm 111                        2 T 2.8-15                         Luke 17.11-19

Throughout the chapters of the Gospel of Luke previous to today’s reading, the Evangelist again and again and again presents the Good News through telling stories. He illustrates a series of personal encounters between Jesus and others – sometimes with his followers, sometimes his opponents, sometimes strangers. There were crowds of the curious and hopeful and various individuals – a tax collector, a centurion, a grieving mother, a sinful woman, a man inflicted with demons. As Luke relates these stories, he shows Jesus responding with love and grace and using the occasions to teach the values of God, while challenging the contrasting and distorted ways of the world.

Now, having reached Chapter 17 in the liturgical calendar, we find Luke recalling an episode in which Jesus was engaged by 10 lepers begging for mercy. These unfortunates suffered from what we now call Hanson’s disease. This malady, known among humans for thousands of years, went untreated in biblical times and caused permanent damage to skin, nerves, limbs and eyes, compromised the immune system, and hastened death. Though it is now known to be only mildly infectious, the ancients considered it highly contagious and forced lepers to stay away from others, identifying their condition by announcing, “Unclean. Unclean,” when approached.

As a result, they were excluded from the general society and forced to make their own communities, not unlike leper colonies that still exist in some parts of the world. They became dead men walking – at the mercy of others, ostracised, alienated from the richness of family life and the comfort of communal religious practices.

Like others, the lepers in today’s gospel were outcasts who bound themselves to one another out of necessity and because no one else would touch them. All that mattered was their disease, as evidenced by the inclusion among them of a Samaritan who would have been a hated and shunned foreigner in mainline Jewish society.

This band of 10 had nothing to offer others; nothing to offer Jesus when they saw him coming. But they recognized him, perhaps by his reputation as a holy man, and approached within shouting distance the one they knew by name. They cried out: “Jesus, Master, have mercy on us!” Possessing enough inspiration, or maybe just a sense of desperation, they reached out to Jesus with an appeal for healing that went beyond all conventional expectations.

Jesus did not hesitate in his response. He did not back off or require the lepers to confess faith in God. He did not inquire about whether they were worthy. He did not ask anything of them. Jesus saw them and said simply, “Go and show yourselves to the priests.”

According to Jewish law, a cured leper had to appear before the priests, who would conduct a series of elaborate ritual actions in order to declare them cleansed. The lepers, who had hoped in Jesus, now displayed enough faith to obey him. They immediately left his presence to go to the priests as required and to begin the new lives Jesus made possible.

What Jesus did for them, of course, bore remarkable significance. Not only were they cured of a horrendous, disabling disease, but the cleansing also enabled them to overcome what was perhaps the greater affliction. Now they could return to the community, to become a part of the body that had cast them out. Now they could participate in life fully, restored physically and socially, and surely, experiencing the beginnings of emotional healing.

Yet, we might ask, did they gain everything Jesus hoped for? Did they achieve spiritual healing, as well? We will never know about all of them, but we have assurance that one did – the Samaritan who returned to give thanks. If we wonder what led to his distinguishing himself by praising God and falling at Jesus’ feet in gratitude, we might speculate that it was easier for him – as a double outcast – to see clearly the remarkable nature of what had happened. More likely, however, it was due to his greater maturity and deeper strength of character.

Whatever the reason, Jesus was saddened that he was the only one who turned back, and he used the one and the nine to teach his disciples another lesson about the values of God. He was clearly disappointed by the behavior of the nine, and in earshot of his followers, he said to the now-cleansed Samaritan leper, “Your faith has made you well.”

In place of the word “well,” some translations use “made whole” or “saved.” There is ambiguity about the Greek meaning, but its use by Jesus surely implies more than simply being cured from a disease. “Your faith has made you whole,” seems closer to the way Jesus used this episode to provide a new teaching. The Samaritan was not simply cured like the others, but experienced something more important.

His response to being cleansed demonstrated that his view of God was closer to what Jesus came to reveal. He acted not out of selfishness to gain certification of his cure, not rushing to the priests without reflection, but paused to put his cleansing in a wider perspective, seeing God as the centre of the personal miracle he was experiencing. Before anything else, the Samaritan gave thanks for the chance to renew his life. This was the beginning of his transformation, and it provided a fitting model for Jesus to honour. He was not only cured physically, but he also gained spiritual wholeness.

There are a number of “take aways” from today’s gospel – community, inclusivity and wholeness in the life of the world and in Christianity. Think about the Eucharist. The moment we experience among our fellow Christians, in prayer and at the altar rail, is unity in its purest form. Receiving the sacrament of bread and wine, the body and blood of Christ, all else is shut out but the holy context. We are at one with God and one another, in a sublime moment of grace.

In this moment we are made whole. Even if we lose this reality as we go back to our seats, we know it as a deep truth on which to draw on our journeys of faith. In that moment, we know that everyone is like the Samaritan, freed from alienation and separation from others in a realm of God that includes a circle of universal inclusion.

Luke’s story of this encounter between Jesus and the lepers allows him to teach us about the disappointment Jesus felt because the nine failed to give thanks and the joy he experienced in discovering that the Samaritan recognised the deeper truths of God. When Jesus reflects on the difference, he speaks no less to us than the disciples of old. Today we are reminded of the sadness of our Lord when we, like the nine, fail to follow him, but we also are led to emulate the Samaritan. We can take joy in committing ourselves anew to respond in love and gratitude to the grace, forgiveness and wholeness of God that we all can have simply by accepting this freely offered gift.

It was Harvest time at a small village church in rural Scotland and the priest was organising the annual harvest service where people would bring their home-grown plants and vegetables to the service.

But this year was a little bit different. The local village cricket team has just won their league and the village was in a celebratory mood so the priest decided to do something special – they would combine the normal harvest service with a cricket theme.

Now, the day of the service arrived and the church was filled with flowers. People were bringing in their offerings of vegetables, and in the middle of the display was a cricket wicket, a strip of turf with a set of wooden stumps at each end, and people were laying their offerings on the wicket. Everything was going fine until one lady went up to the front of the church and placed a bag of frozen peas among the other vegetables. She was stopped by the priest who quietly asked her to return to her seat still clutching her peas.

“What happened?” asked the lady she was sitting next to.

She shrugged her shoulders and said wearily, “There’s just no peas for the wicket.”

(No peace for the wicked – get it? – I can hear you groan from here)!

Celebrating harvest goes very deep in us – it seems to stir in us a sense of our country roots, memories of a land that lived by agriculture before the Industrial revolution turned most of us into townies. Some of us don’t have to go very far back to find our farming connections. Although very few of us have probably actually done it, we sing “We plough the fields and scatter the good seed on the land”, and it doesn’t seem in the least odd, even though farmers are much more efficient in their methods now. Harvest marks the end of a sequence in the church and country calendar. Plough Sunday in January, when the farm implements were blessed; Rogation days, just before Ascension Day in May, when prayers were made for favourable weather for the growing crops; Lammas Day at the beginning of August, when the first loaf made with flour from the new crop was offered in token thanks, and coming full circle (though it was introduced much later on the liturgical scene, in the nineteenth century) Harvest. Time for a pause before it all starts again. Time to be thankful, to remember God’s mercy and goodness, enjoying the sight of full storehouses and barns, pantry shelves and freezers. Time to feel secure against the coming winter. It is good to be thankful and we come gladly, enjoying the colour and smells, the readings and hymns that we have so long associated with this time of year.

But there’s something uncomfortable about Harvest too, especially now that we can see on our television screens that there are people who haven’t got a harvest to celebrate – in fact some who haven’t had a harvest for years, perhaps because the rains have failed, perhaps because war and conflict have made it impossible to cultivate the land.

Way back in time, God’s people faced the same situation on a smaller scale. Reading the instructions in Deuteronomy we are reminded that God’s people have always been told to be generous and help the poor to share our fortune. Deuteronomy speaks of very different farming methods than we use nowadays, but the message is clear: don’t keep it all to yourself.

And the New Testament warns us against taking things for granted, being pleased with out achievement. Remember that man who pulled down his barn and built a bigger one, who stuffed it full and sat back feeling pleased with himself – Remember that he got a sharp reminder – “You fool! This very night your life is being demanded of you. And the things you have prepared, whose will they be?” That ‘s the question that Harvest asks us too.

In the Bible, harvest and judgement often go together – the parable of the wheat and the tares puts the point very starkly (Matthew 13.24-30). So, it’s right and good to be thankful, but we have to ask ourselves how our thankfulness can find expression in making it possible for all humankind to be thankful. We can’t ever sit back and say we’ve done enough – not while there are still all those children stick thin limbs and swollen tummies looking at us hopelessly from our screens.

It we are going to be on the side of the angels, we have to work for the elimination of hunger, and the inhumanity which locks most of the world’s food away from those who need it most. We have to support the agencies who work to improve farming methods, but we also need to put our political will behind the removal of world debt, an issue which keeps on being pushed  down the agenda by scandals and atrocities across the world. We must keep asking the questions and seeking action. Harvest is the point where, far from sitting back and thinking how fortunate we are, we have to prepare to sow the seeds and encourage the growth for the harvest to come, when the will of God will be done on earth as it is in heaven.

Amos 6.1, 4-7 Psalm 146 1 Timothy 6.6-19 Luke 16.19-31

In our readings today, we heard one of Jesus’ famous parables, about a beggar named Lazarus and a rich man without a name.

Before we consider this parable, I want to set the stage for us. Too often, we read Jesus’ parables in isolation from their contexts. If we’re not careful, we might start imagining that Jesus was in the habit of rushing into places, telling some parables, and taking off again – leaving everyone either delighted, because it was such a nice story he told, or angry, because the story insulted them, or scratching their heads, because they had no idea what he was talking about.

That’s not how Jesus operated. His parables were always part of a larger discussion or controversy. And he usually told these stories to challenge people’s thinking. To try and broaden their horizons, to see things from a different angle, or maybe notice something they hadn’t before.

That’s what we saw a couple of weeks ago. Remember? The scribes and Pharisees complained—for the second time in Luke’s Gospel—that Jesus was eating with tax collectors and sinners. So Jesus told the Pharisees and scribes a few parables to justify his table ministry. The stories were about something that was lost being found.

A shepherd loses a sheep, and searches until he finds it.

A poor woman loses a coin, and frantically sweeps every nook and cranny of the house until she finds it.

In these stories, those who find what had been lost invite their friends and neighbours to celebrate with them.

Jesus wants the Pharisees and scribes to see him and his disciples eating with tax collectors and sinners differently. Jesus has been out seeking the lost sheep of Israel. The tax collectors and sinners are lost sons and daughters who have come back home. When he opens his fellowship to them, he’s celebrating their return—just as the shepherd and the poor woman celebrated when they found what had been lost.

Like any other story, parables do their best work when we find ourselves in them. When something in them resonates with our experience. Whenever, for good or bad, we see something about our own lives reflected in them. But the parables can only do this profound and powerful work in us when we understand who Jesus told them to, and why he told them.

So let’s talk about the context of this week’s reading. Who was Jesus telling this story to, and why was he telling it?

The parable about the rich man and Lazarus we heard today is part of the same conversation we heard last week. Jesus and the Pharisees have been going ‘round and ‘round for a few chapters now. There’s a three-way conversation that’s going on between Jesus, the Pharisees, and his disciples. Jesus is saying things to the Pharisees that he also wants his disciples to hear. And he’s saying things to his disciples that he wants the Pharisees to hear.

Jesus begins his story this morning: There was a certain rich man. This rich man is anonymous. Like the rich man in the parable in Luke 12, who had a bumper crop and wanted to build bigger barns. Jesus said this rich man clothed himself in purple and fine linen. These were very expensive clothes—the kind royalty might wear.

Not only did the rich man dress like a king, he lived like one, too. Jesus said he feasted luxuriously every day.

By contrast, Jesus tells us, at the rich man’s gate lay a certain poor man named Lazarus. A few details here. First, it’s not enough to say poor Lazarus laid at the gate. The verb suggests he was tossed there by someone – like rubbish.

Second, while Jesus refuses to name the rich man—indeed, he never names anyone in his other parables—he tells us the poor man’s name: Lazarus. The name Lazarus means: God is my helper.

It might not look right now like God is on this poor man’s side. But we must stay and listen for the rest of the story.

Third, the rich man’s home has a gate. So he doesn’t just have a house; he owns a gated compound. Keep that detail pinned to your mind. It will come up again.

While the rich man covered himself with the finest, whitest linen and a purple robe, Lazarus was covered with sores. Someone covered with open sores would have been considered ritually unclean by other Jews. Those who saw him may have believed he was being punished by God.

After all, Deut. 28.35 threatens the wicked with this judgment: The Lord will strike you … with grievous boils of which you cannot be healed, from the sole of your foot to the crown of your head. So people who passed by this poor, suffering man probably thought he deserved his suffering. Maybe the rich man even thought so. And we wouldn’t want to interfere with God’s justice, would we?

But then Jesus piles on even more pathetic details. While the rich man feasted every day; just outside his gate, Lazarus longed to eat the crumbs that fell from the rich man’s table.

Instead, Jesus says, dogs would come and lick his sores. This is not a sentimental scene of dogs trying to comfort this sick and suffering man. Dogs were not pets in those days. They were wild scavengers, like a jackal or hyena. And they were ritually unclean.

You’re supposed to imagine poor Lazarus trying to fight with dogs over table scraps. Meanwhile, they’re scavenging off his flesh.

Lazarus means, God is my helper. God better help him, because no one else is. Jesus dignified him with a name, because he represents all the poor outcasts—the homeless, the chronically ill, the refugees; and, in the eyes of the Pharisees, the tax collectors and sinners—tossed like rubbish outside the gate of polite society. All the wretched people we’d rather pretend don’t exist.

Maybe the rich man thought to himself sometimes: I’m so glad I’ve got this big wall to keep that Lazarus out! Perhaps even when he prayed, he thanked God for all the blessings God had given him, so he didn’t have to wallow with the dogs like poor Lazarus.

If he did, maybe God answered, You just wait! But the rich man was so deaf to anything outside his own thoughts, he never heard it.

Jesus continues his story: The poor man died and was carried by angels to Abraham’s side. The rich man also died and was buried. The rich man got a proper burial. Notice that Jesus doesn’t say the same for Lazarus. Even in death, that basic dignity was denied him. Just as someone had dumped him like rubbish in front of the rich man’s gate; his body was probably also tossed without ceremony in a hole somewhere.

But that’s where the story begins to turn. The rich man was buried, I’m sure with honours and mourning.

But Lazarus was carried by angels to Abraham’s side. Not only that, the rich man awakens to find himself tormented in Hades; meanwhile, in the distance, he can see Lazarus, being welcomed and comforted by father Abraham himself.

In life, the rich man had feasted in luxury every day, while Lazarus’ hungry belly was never filled. Now the rich man suffers awful thirst, and there’s not a drop of water to quench it. In life, the dogs had licked the sores on Lazarus’ body. Now, scorching tongues of flame lick at the rich man in the land of the dead.

He begs: Father Abraham, have mercy on me. Send Lazarus to dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue, because I’m suffering in this flame.

Obviously, he was used to being served during life; and still expects this in death.

But Abraham speaks up, telling the rich man: Child, remember that during your lifetime you received good things, whereas Lazarus received terrible things. Now Lazarus is being comforted and you are in great pain. Back in Luke 6.2, Jesus had warned:

Happy are you who are poor,

    because God’s kingdom is yours.

But how terrible for you who are rich,

    because you have already received your comfort.

And near the beginning of Luke’s Gospel, Jesus’ mother Mary sang that God:

He has pulled the powerful down from their thrones

        and lifted up the lowly.

He has filled the hungry with good things

    and sent the rich away empty-handed. (Luke 1.52-53)

That’s just what’s happened: the great reversal. Notice that Abraham doesn’t say: Lazarus was good and pious in life, so he’s in heaven; but you were wicked, so you’re in hell.

No—it’s that Lazarus never got justice in life, and so he gets justice, finally, in death. God helped him. Meanwhile, we aren’t told the rich man was particularly wicked. He was just so self-absorbed that he let Lazarus suffer and starve to death just outside his walls.

And he’s still self-absorbed. He doesn’t confess how blind his privilege made him to Lazarus’ suffering. He doesn’t ask Lazarus to forgive him. He’s consumed by his own discomfort, and trying to boss Lazarus around.

C. S. Lewis liked to say, “the doors of hell are locked on the inside.” And the rich man in Jesus’ parable shows that to be a fact.

As if to remind the rich man what led him to be tormented and thirsty in the flames of Hades, Abraham says: Moreover, a great chasm has been fixed between us and you. Those who wish to cross over from here to you cannot. Neither can anyone cross from there to us.

Remember, the rich man had lived in a gated compound. And Lazarus suffered just outside his gate. The rich man could see him, and he could see the rich man. But the rich man never crossed through that gate to comfort poor Lazarus. In death, they can still see each other, the rich man and Lazarus. It’s like Father Abraham is telling the rich man: Sorry, but Lazarus lives in a gated compound, now. You never invited him into your home before. And he certainly isn’t coming to your home now.

Only in the end does the rich man begin to think about anyone beside himself. He begs Father Abraham to send Lazarus to his five living brothers: He needs to warn them so that they don’t come to this place of agony. Even in the land of the dead, the rich man thinks he’s in a position to call the shots. He wants to order Lazarus away from the joy of Abraham’s side, to serve his five living brothers.

He’s still not moved by what Lazarus, and those like him, have suffered in life. The rich man is only concerned that his family, his friends, the people in his little circle, should not suffer.

Father Abraham puts him in his place. He will not send Lazarus to the rich man’s brothers: They have Moses and the Prophets, Abraham reminds him. They must listen to them.

Just before Jesus told this parable, he’d told the Pharisees: What is highly valued by people—wealth, status, influence—is deeply offensive to God. And then he reminded them: It’s easier for heaven and earth to pass away than for the smallest stroke of a pen in the Law to drop out (Luke 16.15, 17). Nearly every page of the Torah and Prophets commanded them to care for people like Lazarus—the poor, the sick, the vulnerable, the widows, orphans, and immigrants. If they listened to Moses and the Prophets, they would surely not let the Lazaruses of the world starve to death in front of their gate.

But the rich man—who I’m sure was used to getting his way—wouldn’t give up. No, Father Abraham!, he argued. But if someone from the dead goes to them, they will change their hearts and lives. Abraham said, “If they don’t listen to Moses and the Prophets, then neither will they be persuaded if someone rises from the dead.”

And that gives the story a new twist. Because we know Jesus, the one telling the story, would himself rise from the dead later. But even that wouldn’t convince a lot of people. When you invest yourself in getting more stuff, gaining more status, and winning at any cost—like the Pharisees—you become blind to many things.

Like actual human suffering just outside your gate.

And even a miracle may not change that.

Robert Frost’s famous poem, “Mending Wall,” challenges the popular proverb, “Good fences make good neighbours.”

Instead, Frost asks:

“Why do they make good neighbours? …

Before I built a wall I’d ask to know

What I was walling in or walling out,

And to whom I was like to give offense.

Something there is that doesn’t love a wall,

That wants it down.”

Jesus wanted the Pharisees to see that their focus on being right, being pure, being safe, combined with their love of money, popularity, and comfort, had built a great wall around them. Just like the rich man’s gated compound in the parable. And the Lazaruses suffering and dying outside that wall weren’t just the poor and the sick and the widow and orphan and immigrant. But the social and religious outcasts like the tax collectors and sinners Jesus ministered to. They were sick and dying emotionally and spiritually. Lonely. Needy. Neglected. Hungry and thirsty for connection. Eaten up with toxic shame. Vulnerable to attacks from predators and scavengers.

And they hadn’t just walled out the undesirables—the tax collectors and sinners. They’d also walled themselves in. They had put up thick barriers to love, grace, and mercy. Their wall also kept God out, making them blind and deaf to the Good News of God’s salvation.

Like C. S. Lewis said: “the doors of hell are locked on the inside.”

Those who would follow Jesus don’t build bigger, thicker walls to keep others out. They build bigger, longer tables, to bring more people in.

Amos 8.4-7 Psalm 113 1 Timothy 2.1-7 Luke 16.1-13

This morning’s gospel reading is sometimes called the Parable of the Dishonest Manager, and its about a manager of his master’s business who learned he was going to lose his job. So the manager decided to cook the books with some of those who owed his master debts, and give them discounts so they might return the favour and take care of him later when he had no income.

In one case the manager found someone who owed his master one hundred jugs of olive oil, and he said, “Make it fifty.” He found another who owed a hundred containers of wheat, and he said, “Make it eighty.” And according to the way Jesus told the story, the manager did this so that those people later would welcome him into their homes.

But the master in today’s lesson learned what his manager had done. However, the fate of the manager was not what we might have expected. Listen again to how Jesus told what happened next.

Jesus said, “And his master commended the dishonest manager because he had acted shrewdly; for the children of this age are more shrewd in dealing with their own generation than are the children of light.” Jesus continued, “And I tell you, make friends for yourselves by means of dishonest wealth so that when it is gone, they may welcome you into their eternal homes.”

Few, if any, parts of Luke’s Gospel have bewildered readers more than this part of the Parable of the Dishonest Manager. And you probably would not be surprised to hear that few, if any, parts of Luke’s Gospel have generated more different interpretations of its meaning.

So how should we understand it? Does this story mean that we should praise shady dealings, or that we can buy our way into heaven? Of course not. That would be entirely inconsistent with everything else in the Bible.

We start by remembering that this story is a parable. That means Jesus was speaking in a symbolic way in order to make a point.

This was not a narrative about something that actually happened in Jesus’ experience, but rather a common teaching device that assumed certain facts for purposes of discussing causes and consequences – what we might call a Case study today.

And we also should understand the parable in the context of how Jewish law affected the way people did business at the time.

It was unlawful to charge any interest or finance charges on loans or purchases. This was known as usury. Don’t a lot of people today wish that Jewish law applied to their credit card statements?

But people easily avoided these prohibitions. They simply increased the amounts of notes or the prices of goods to include hidden charges. Or, as we saw today, they might have taken payment in commodities such as olive oil or wheat to possibly disguise the true cost.

In addition, managers of property frequently were not paid salaries, but rather made their living by putting their own commission on top of the amounts of their masters’ money they were able to lend, or the prices of their masters’ goods they were able to sell.

Some analysts and scholars have used these ancient business practices to explain why the master commended his steward for what he did. They say that the steward might only have deducted his own commissions that would have been added on later, and thus the master was not deprived of anything to which he was legally entitled anyway.

Or they say that the reductions that the steward gave the debtors were for interest charges that were not lawful at the time, and the master had no choice but to grudgingly commend the steward for his shrewdness, at least publicly.

My belief, however, is that Jesus told the story this way in order to lead into the basic point he wanted to make. And here I think Jesus used some irony or cynicism. How many times have you heard someone say, “Yeah, right” when they actually meant the exact opposite.

That is a good explanation of what happened here. Let’s go back again to Jesus’ statement that “the children of this age are more shrewd in dealing with their own generation than are the children of light.” Then, and here is the irony, he told his disciples to make friends from dishonest wealth so that those friends would welcome them into their eternal homes.

Jesus probably was making a point by saying something in such an obviously ridiculous way that the opposite meaning, the meaning he intended, would be clear. Suppose I said, “I just love to drive in rush hour traffic.” You could tell from the tone of my voice and the literal incongruity of what I said that I did not mean it, and in fact was indicating my dislike of driving during rush hour.

In the same way Jesus made the point that worldly goods contain inherent dangers, but can be wisely used. And to the extent Jesus even used the manager as an example, it only was because he was resourceful in dealing with his problem, and Jesus wanted the disciples to be equally resourceful in doing their work as they cared for the poor and spread the Gospel.

Thus, the manager was not an example to be imitated, but only an example of someone who showed initiative in worldly affairs. By extension and analogy Jesus urged the disciples to take the initiative in spiritual and godly affairs.

This idea also is expressed in Matthew’s Gospel where Jesus told his disciples that “I am sending you out like sheep among wolves. Therefore be as shrewd as snakes and as innocent as doves” (10:16).

And so we today can take two messages from the parable of the Dishonest Manager. One relates to spiritual understanding and the other to practical action.

The spiritual message is that we all will be called by God to account for the content of our lives; that preparation for that time should include the prudent use now of our resources and finances, including helping the poor and needy; and that when we do so we will be living into the Christian promise of eternal life and joy.

The practical message is that we really do need to be as shrewd as serpents as we serve the church in contemporary society. Surveys show that people are more receptive to spirituality than at any time in recent history. But yet religion is being driven from schools, excluded from the public forum, and diminished by secular activists who see faith as a threat to their agendas.

Opportunities abound for churches to wisely use their resources in new ways to make the voice of God heard. To use the terms of the reading, the children of light should be prepared to engage the children of this age on their own terms, and with a shrewd and wise use of resources the light can drive out the darkness.

Many churches effectively proclaim the Word through modern public relations strategies, cutting edge technologies, and innovative communication techniques. And even when limited financial resources do not permit full use of these possibilities, we still are called to search for creative ways to reach out to those we can bring to Christ.

So for us, today’s Gospel means that we are to engage the world as we find it, not as we might prefer it to be. Jesus knew that his disciples would encounter snares and pitfalls as they continued his ministry, and he wanted them to know that through both shrewdness and faith they could deal with the world and still be true to their beliefs.

That also is a message for the church today. We are the children of light in today’s Gospel. And with a shrewd and faithful use of resources the light of Christ will show the way, and we can discover anew how the Spirit can lead us.

Amen.

Readings – Exodus 32.7-14 Psalm 51.1-11 1 Tim 1.12-17 Luke 15.1-10

Yesterday morning, when I came back from walking the dog, I was greeted with a lovely surprise. Donald had laid the kitchen table and made pancakes for our second breakfast. (We always have second breakfast on a Saturday – those of you who know Tolkein’s The Hobbit will know the importance of second breakfast)! As Joshua was putting a little sugar on his pancake, he came a cross a huge sugar crystal and we thought it looked a bit like a diamond, and it reminded me of a lost and found story from when I was a young teacher.

I remember one sunny summer’s day when most classes had been out having lessons on the field all morning. That lunchtime I went to the staff room where I found the Deputy Head in tears and several other members of staff gathered around trying to console her. Why was she so upset? It turned out that the Deputy had been out with her class all morning and when she had come back inside, realised that she had lost the diamond out of her engagement ring.

You can imagine how upset she must have been. After some quick thinking (which is quite uncharacteristic for teachers at lunchtime),  one member of staff suggested that we enlist the help of eagle eyed children and all go out and look for this diamond amongst the grass on the field. So with two classes of the older children, we formed a long line and began to walk from one end of the field to the other, scanning the ground for this tiny precious stone, rather like you see groups of police officers do when they are on the television looking for vital bits of evidence. We were about three quarters of our way along the length of the school field, when the secretary came rushing out to tell us that the lost gem had been found in the staffroom, right where the group of teachers had been consoling the deputy in the first place. I think Mrs Hodgson was very lucky to be reunited with her diamond.

In our gospel lesson today, Jesus tells us two lost and found stories  – a story about a lost sheep and another story about a lost coin.  I’m sure you can remember the content of the stories from the reading just now.  But you may not remember the setting, the context, of these two parables – but it is the setting, the context, that gives these two stories their special twist and that is what I would like us to think about.

These two parables are addressed to the Scribes and Pharisees and they were the most religious of people:  they attended worship every Friday night as well as the obligatory Saturday; they tithed from their income and were the big financial supporters of the synagogue;  they didn’t eat pork;  they didn’t use four letter words when they hit their thumbs with hammers or got frustrated with their wives;  they were always present, they would certainly have been here amongst us today. 

And, they thought that they were the “found” and that others, those outside the synagogue, outside their church, well those people were the “lost.”  The insiders of the church were the found; and the outsiders were the lost. 

Now something that was a bit of a problem for them was that Jesus seemed to be attracted to the so-called outsiders; Jesus apparently enjoyed spending time with the tax collectors, the camel drivers, the donkey drivers, the tanners, the women of the night, the beggars – all of whom were certainly viewed as being ‘outside’ the church. 

These Scribes and Pharisees came up to Jesus one day, and Jesus, knowing their attitude towards the outsiders, the lost, told them the stories that we heard. 

There once was a shepherd who had one hundred sheep, but one got lost, and so the shepherd left the ninety nine to find the one.  You can imagine the Pharisees smiling to themselves because they agreed with the story; God always goes out to find the lost; that is, those people outside their church like the tax collectors and tanners and camel drivers. 

And Jesus continued; the shepherd found the lost sheep, and there is more joy in heaven over one sinner who truly repents than over ninety nine good people, who don’t think they are lost, who don’t think that they have any need for repentance. 

Hmmmm.  I wonder if the Pharisees might have begun to sense that maybe this parable was directed at them; but perhaps they weren’t sure. So Jesus told them a second parable. 

There was an old woman who lost a precious coin, not just any coin, but the most precious coin that she had. She swept and swept that house ever so carefully, looking for that lost precious coin. 

And the Pharisees must have nodded in agreement, yes, that parable made sense to them. God is deliberate and careful as He searches for the precious lost. 

And Jesus continued.  She found the coin and was so happy, and so it is with God.  There is more joy in heaven over one sinner who truly repents than over a good person who doesn’t even realise that he or she is lost and in need of repentance. 

And so perhaps the Pharisees sensed more certainly that Jesus was talking about them and they didn’t like the idea that Jesus was implying that they were the ones who were somehow lost.  After all, it was so clear to the Pharisees that they were part of the found.

So, what does this parable say to us today, over two thousand years later? What does it mean for your life and mine?

Firstly, our God is a God who comes after us when we are lost.  Our God is like a shepherd who searches diligently for a lost, precious, sheep; our God is like an old woman who searches carefully for her lost precious coin; our God is like a deputy head and her colleagues who search intently for a lost diamond. That’s the way God is. 

And every so often, we can be tempted to think that maybe God has given up on us; that our character flaws and the things that we do mean that God must surely, finally give up on trying to get through to us.

But Jesus’ stories tell us clearly of God’s forever wanting to find us.

The Pharisees thought that they were found, when in reality, they were part of the lost.  So I suppose we should challenge ourselves with the following question: 

Can you come to church every week, be generous in your offerings, say all the right prayers, show up for community events, and still be lost? 

The answer my friends is yes, both then and now.  And this story for today is about us, when we are lost from God. 

Earlier this week, I couldn’t believe it when I saw Christmas decorations for sale in the supermarket, but let’s just use our imaginations and skip forwards in time. Imagine, it’s two days before Christmas, and you are going shopping at The Eastgate centre in Inverness – It is wall to wall people; a total crush.  There is a flurry of activity with the Christmas tree, the choirs, the Santa Clauses, and all Christmas toys and Christmas music.  You and a four year old child who your friend has asked you to look after are holding hands as you walk together through this sea of humanity.  Both of you are looking at the Santa display; you release hands for a moment; you both momentarily go in different directions; and suddenly the child is out of sight; a mob of people has come between you.  And the child is momentarily lost.

You panic and begin moving in what you feel is the right direction.  Meanwhile, the child doesn’t yet know that he or she is lost.  They are cheerfully walking along, enjoying the Christmas toys, the Christmas Santa, the Christmas decorations.  The child has no clue that he or she is lost. 

And so it is with us in our lives: sometimes we lose our grasp of the hand of God and we go wandering, totally absorbed in our present life, cheerfully going about our jobs, our homes, our busy schedules, our church, our thousand and one events that fill our calendars, and we are not even aware that we have lost contact with God our Father. 

It happens all the time, both to the religious Pharisees of the past and religious church going people like you and me today.  It is the story of your life and mine, so busy, and so lost and don’t even know it. 

Jesus’ parables for today are not for the 90% of British people who don’t identify with the church and nor are they about us the church going out to find the lost sheep. These parables are not intended for someone else you know, like your son or daughter or brother or sister or mother or father or work colleague.  No, these stories are about you and me when we get lost from God, when we lose sight of Him and don’t even realise it, just as the Pharisees did in Jesus’ day. 

And the story is God’s invitation for us to repent, to turn around, to come back to Him and grab his extended hand to us, and hold on to Him, and talk with Him and walk with Him and pray with Him, the way we were made to be, to offer and receive love, to give and share life.  And this gives God such great pleasure and joy, when we finally come to our senses, wake up, and return to a loving and living relationship.

The shepherd left the ninety nine sheep to search for the lost one!

Maybe it’s time for you and me to be found…again.  

AMEN

Today is the first Sunday in the Season of Creation – which lasts until the Feast of St Francis on 4^th October. During this season, we spend time together thinking about the planet which we share with countless other human beings and other forms of life.

One of the great themes that we consider during this season is Water: The source of life and if you know your scriptures well, you will no doubt be able to think of some stories in the bible where water plays an important part.

Stories like those of baptism in the River Jordan, or maybe Jonah on his way to Tarshish being tossed overboard and swallowed by a big fish and of course the great flood from which Noah and his family were saved.

And what about the parting of the Red Sea – a miracle performed by God through the prophet Moses. I imagine it to be both awe-inspiring and terrifying – you may remember the scene in The Ten Commandments – the film released in 1956 starring Charlton Heston as Moses.

You know how the story goes, after the Passover, which spares the Israelites’ firstborn children but kills those of the Egyptians, Pharaoh finally agrees they may leave his country. It’s now been seven days since the Israelites’ Exodus from Egypt and Pharaoh changes his mind. He and all the chariots of Egypt pursue God’s chosen people to the water and are about to overtake them.

With their toes touching the Red Sea, it appears that the Israelites will either be slaughtered or drowned. In their panic, they cry out to Moses and he knows his people are scared, so he reassures them. And then he prays to God who tells Moses to stretch his hand out over the sea, causing a mighty east wind to blow all night long. The waters split apart, rather like an axe splitting wood, the waters become walls on their right and on their left.

The Israelites march through the parted sea on dry ground during the night, with God’s pillar of fire overhead. When the Egyptian pursuers follow, God instructs Moses to raise his hand a second time sending the waters crashing down, drowning them in its depths. Recognising the great miracle that had occurred, Moses and the people of Israel sang the Song of the Sea, and Miriam led the women in song and dance.

In this season of creation, as we intentionally reflect on the earth around us – it sometimes feels like we are bit like the Israelites on the edge of the waters, watching the Egyptian chariots draw closer and closer. Sometimes we, too, feel like we are in an impossible situation when faced with the vulnerability of this created world, with no way out.

Yet even though we might feel like the Israelites with our toes touching the edge of the Red Sea, we know that our situation is different. We know that there is danger in thinking we are too much like those fleeing Israelites. Because if we follow this line of thinking, we might come to believe that God will intervene in a similar way. That God will save us from the fires of our warming earth.

Perhaps if we trust enough.

Pray enough.

Believe enough.

God will save us, despite our careless behaviours or our polluted waters and skies. After all, doesn’t God promise, “behold I make all things new in creation”?

Now just park that idea for a minute and we’ll come back to it later.

Let’s go back to the beginning, the very beginning when God creates humankind in His own image. “God blessed them, and God said to them, ‘Be fruitful and multiply, and fill the earth and subdue it; and have dominion over the fish of the sea and over the birds of the air and over every living thing that moves upon the earth’” (Gen. 1:27–28).

“God said to them, have dominion over every living thing that moves upon the earth.” Now I believe dominion means that we have sovereignty over and responsibility for the well-being of God’s Creation. We are called to cultivate and care for the Earth in the way that God does – that is with love and wisdom. We are called to exercise dominion in ways that allow God’s original creative act to be further unfolded.

The word Dominion comes from the Latin word domus – meaning house, temple, or even the dome over the earth. And so just as we care for members who share our individual houses, our individual domus, we are also called by God to care for the fellow inhabitants of our earthly dome.

To be a wise and holy householder we are to do this out of compassion, not just for ourselves or our children, but for all people, and all people’s children. And their children’s children. And their children’s children’s children. We live under this dome together, so we must care for one another and show empathy for one another’s pain.

With this in mind, the fact that the climate crisis is perpetuated primarily by human beings and primarily affects other human beings should be of our utmost concern. It’s about justice. We as human beings are all created by God, in the image of God and loved by God. We are all equal in His eyes. And as we are all created under this same dominion or earthly dome – we should care for one another in such a way. 

Recalling the story of the Red Sea today reiterates this call to community. We are reminded of God establishing the people of Israel as His own people and how He saves them so that the covenant with Abraham may be fulfilled. We hear about valuing community and doing all we can to protect our lives together.

As we focus on the environment during the Season of Creation, we are called to look at the land we share with our communities and around the earth. We are called to look at how we treat land – both the developed and undeveloped spaces. How are we caring for the creatures displaced by urban sprawl? How are we caring for the people living in the lands of food deserts? How do we care for the common spaces that are naturally wild? Do we have an interest in the places we do not own?

So, just come back to that idea that we parked.

A number of young activists have been telling us a lot lately that “we have 14 years or so to turn the earth around or else it will be too late.” Sometimes as older people, we find it hard to hear these apparently angry younger voices and I honestly have no idea where they get their numbers or even if they are true. But what I do know is that they deeply believe that what they are saying is true and they are calling us out on our sometimes selfish and careless behaviours.

Fourteen years – that feels an awful lot like being backed into a corner with no further options. Will God intervene? Will God save us, despite our careless behaviours or our polluted oceans?

God’s biblical promise is not that He will forever save us from ourselves and our selfishness. The promise is that God will forever stand with us, urging us to move in the divine way of unity and wholeness with all created beings under this shared dome. I don’t believe our God will swallow up the CO2 levels or cool the oceans or extinguish wildfires through a heavenly breath. But I do fully believe that our God will continue to remind us that we are connected to one another.

While God may not intervene to save the planet while we stand idly by, I do believe that God is in the process of saving us. God is working on us and through us at this very moment to turn us toward the healing of the planet and the healing of all people living together under this great dome.

Amen.

Proverbs 25:6-7 and Psalm 112 * Hebrews 13:1-8, 15-16 * Luke 14:1, 7-14

In recent years many people have criticised the decline of etiquette and manners in our world. To some of us, it seems that society has grown accustomed to things that would have been considered incredibly rude only a decade or so before. 

But what about a hundred years before? Let’s see how you measure up to our ancestors from the Victorian era as we hear from The Gentlemen’s Book of Etiquette and Manual of Politeness, published in 1874.

1) Remove Your Gloves

“At the time of taking refreshment, of course, they must be taken off. No well-educated person would eat in gloves.”

2) Don’t Eat Too Much or Too Little

“Be careful to avoid the extremes of gluttony or over daintiness at table. To eat enormously is disgusting; but if you eat too sparingly, your host may think that you despise his fare.”

3) Eat and Drink Quietly

“It is decidedly vulgar to make a noise, either in taking the food into the mouth, in its mastication, or in swallowing.”

4) Don’t Chew with Your Mouth Open

“Do not fill your mouth so full that you cannot answer if you are addressed; nor open your mouth so wide during the process of chewing that your opposite neighbour may see the semi-chewed viands, which, if she be a delicate lady, might destroy her appetite altogether.”

5) Don’t Abstain from Taking the Last Piece

“Avoid also, that most vulgar habit which prevails among half-bred country people, of abstaining from taking the last piece on a dish. It amounts almost to an insult toward your host, to do anything which shows that you fear that the vacancy cannot be supplied and that there is likely to be a scarcity.”

Now, I haven’t asked you to raise or lower your hands to demonstrate just how polite you are when eating a meal. And that’s because today I want to talk about a different kind of table etiquette – a kind that comes from a significantly higher authority than The Gentlemen’s Book of Etiquette and Manual of Politeness.

Someone once said that in the gospel according to Luke you can always find Jesus doing one of three things. Either on his way to a meal, in the middle of a meal, or just leaving a meal, – maybe that’s why it is my favourite of the four gospels!

And that is certainly true in the passage we have heard this morning. Jesus had been invited to the home of one of the leading Pharisees, but it wasn’t just your average social occasion. The passage shares the real reason for the invitation – they were watching Jesus closely.

This group of Pharisees and religious scholars probably wanted to give Jesus a very thorough test, but in a surprising twist, the only observations made at the table came from Jesus himself, as he began to comment on their table manners. You see, the religious and social culture of that day had very strict and well-developed lists of social rules for eating together, and there were an incredible number of do’s and don’ts. The way you interacted in these settings was very much tied to your social standing and your place in society. The place where you sat at the table was incredibly important and determined your social rank, so we may not be surprised to find that as they sat down to eat, there was a great deal of jockeying for position.

Lest you think we today are above this kind of behaviour, and social ranking has nothing to do with seating, just think about the last formal meeting you attended or saw on TV. Think of a wedding where the bride and groom are seated at the top table. Or maybe the King, an MP, or somebody else important was present at a state banquet. They would likely have been seated in the place of honour so that they could see everyone and everyone could see them. Certainly there are echoes of what is happening at the house of this pharisee.

Jesus noticed how the people put in a great deal of effort as they jostled for position at the table, so he began to teach through a parable. He told the people gathering around the table the best way to go about choosing a seat. “If you’re invited to a banquet, don’t simply sit in the place of honour. You just might not be the most honoured person there, and it will be incredibly humiliating when your host asks you to give up your seat and you have to traipse back down to the end of the table…” Instead, Jesus says, “Sit at the least honourable place, so that your host can invite you to the higher place. Then you’ll receive a great honour.”

Now what happened next is what is most surprising, because Jesus doesn’t stop with what may have been accepted as reasonable and practical advice. Instead, he challenged the very notion of what honour and privilege were all about as he turned to look at the host and challenged the practical wisdom and etiquette of the day.

Meals like this one were not just occasions to gather, eat, and talk; they were occasions to build your own reputation and make connections. Gifts, such as an invitation to a meal, weren’t free but were tied to obligations to those who accepted the invitation. If you gave out an invitation, you expected to receive one in return. In a way, these dinner invitations were a lot like political rallies. You’re invited to attend, but there are expectations that are tied to the invitation. But Jesus turned this on its head when he said, “When you have a big meal, don’t invite all the people you’d normally think of inviting, just because they can invite you in return and pay you back. Instead, when you throw a party, invite the poor, those who are lame, those who are blind, because they can’t repay you. And in the end, you’ll receive your reward, not from them, but at the resurrection of the righteous.”

Jesus gives to them, and us, a completely different kind of table etiquette. In those days, common wisdom and social etiquette said jockey for position. Jesus said God’s etiquette calls for something completely different – all who exalt themselves will be humbled and those who humble themselves will be exalted. 

In those days, common wisdom and social etiquette was to invite those who can give in return. Jesus said that God’s etiquette reminds us to invite the very least: the poor, the most vulnerable. And when we show generosity to those who can never give in return, Jesus says that we’ll find out something incredible. We won’t be repaid in the usual way, but we’ll be repaid by the very God who created every man, woman, and child. God himself will be the one who gives in return for those who are unable.

Jesus shows us that God’s table etiquette operates with an entirely different way of looking at the world, and I believe that is directly connected with our celebration of Holy Communion Sunday by Sunday. At God’s table, everyone is welcome. Your income bracket doesn’t matter, Your age or ethnicity is no barrier, your state of mind, physical ability, sexuality, intellectual ability, position in society – all those things that we use to promote division – do not matter.

As we approach Christ’s table today, we stand shoulder to shoulder with people from all walks of life across the world. Because around that table, we all receive the very same grace, love, and forgiveness that only God can give. 

Kneeling at the feet of Jesus Christ, we are all loved, we are all cared for, and we have all been offered the same gift of forgiveness and Salvation. 

And so as you prepare your heart and mind for communion today, pray that God will give you the grace to practice the kind of etiquette we learn at God’s table outside these walls in your daily lives.

Amen

Most of you will know that I love reading and talking about the stories of the saints and our episcopalian tradition encourages us to reflect on and celebrate the lives of our dear sisters and brothers who have walked the journey of faith before us. Today , we remember St Bartholomew. But do you know, Bartholomew is rather a difficult saint to celebrate and that’s because we don’t really  know very much about him.

The gospel set for the feast of St Bartholomew doesn’t even mention his name. He may or may not be the same person as Nathaniel – scholars argue the one way and the other. In Matthew, Mark and Luke, Bartholomew is listed as one of the twelve. John doesn’t mention Bartholomew but does mention someone called Nathaniel – so that leads some to conclude that these two men, Bartholomew and Nathaniel to be the same person. 

Some ancient writers on the history of the Christian faith claim that Bartholomew was an apostle to India – possibly working in the region of Mumbai. Along with his fellow apostle Jude, Bartholomew is reputed to have brought Christianity to Armenia in the first century.

By tradition, Bartholomew is said to have been flayed alive, before being crucified upside down, and so became the patron saint of Leather-workers. In painting and sculpture, he is often represented as a rather gruesome image, holding a knife, with his own skin neatly draped over his arm. But Bartholomew has also always been associated with healing, so a number of hospitals are named after him.

He is also associated with the small Italian Island of Lipari, where its thought that he may have been buried. During World War II, the Fascist regime in Italy, looking for ways to finance its  activities, ordered that a silver statue of Saint Bartholomew from the church should be melted down. But it is said when the statue was weighed it was found to be only a few grams and so worth very little, and so it was returned to its place in the Cathedral of Lipari. In reality, the statue is solid silver and is very heavy – a relatively recent miracle associated with St Bartholomew.  

But about Bartholomew himself we know almost nothing, except that he was a disciple of Jesus.

Now, far from being a negative thing, I think that not knowing very much about him is actually the most important thing for us to hold on to when reflecting on the life of this rather mysterious man, because he teaches us that the call to serve is not really to do with our own fame or status.

When we look around us today we realise we are living under the reign of ego and of fame, perhaps media stars and the glitterati are the best known for this. An increasing number of children, when asked what they want to do when they grow up, say that they want to be famous – being famous for being famous has become a vocation. Some of our politicians seem rather the same and of course, the church is not exempt: evangelists on religious television stations, pastors of megachurches, and, unfortunately,  some bishops and clergy appear to love being in the spotlight and have become artists of self-publicity. I once heard someone say that their church was OK, but it was hard to see God because the priest always got in the way. It’s a temptation most clergy are aware of and try to resist – our job is to point people to God, not to ourselves.

So Bartholomew’s anonymity shows us ‘it’s not all about me’. Our job as Christians is to get out of the way and to enable people to catch a glimpse of the God whom we serve.

And something all of us must realise, something that the life of this mysterious man teaches us, is that we actually don’t need to be famous, not because we should be humble or control our egos but because God loves us, and that’s all we need – we need no other adulation.

All of us here will join the great ranks of anonymous Christians who have served God through the ages. In 2000 year’s time – probably long before that – we will all have been forgotten, except perhaps by ancestor hunters who might still be digging our names out of archives and searching church registers for information.

That might seem rather disheartening, but it needn’t be, because we know we are creatures of God’s making and redeeming: we are each loved by God more than we could ever imagine – part of our job is to try to discover a little more of this love as we go about our lives. When we understand even a little of this love our anxieties about status, importance and fame, begin to lose their hold over us. In God’s love we have everything we need.

So often we see the lives of the rich and famous descend into tragedy or disaster. Wealth and fame often don’t bring happiness. The ordinariness of our lives is something to celebrate, if, like Bartholomew, our lives are built on the rock of faith and within us we have the knowledge of God’s love, like a hidden jewel, burning deep inside. 

So Bartholomew is one of us: a follower, disciple and servant of Jesus Christ. An anonymous, unshowy person who gave of his best. Someone we don’t know much about, but whose soul is now hidden with God where that great love will, at last, be fully known.

That is all that is needed. All that matters. Amen