090118 Who pinched my deck chair?

It was decided by a Higher Power that at 9 o’clock in the morning on the first Sunday after Christmas that we should leave her at Scoria Flat, just down from the ski base at Whakapapa; and then walk to Taranaki Falls and back. Higher Powers are always to be obeyed; if only parents could cross examine their children the way our children cross examine us to see if we have carried out their instructions life would be much more straightforward. Thus it came to pass that about 10 o’clock on a that lovely Sunday morning I sat on a bench in front of Taranaki Falls and loved every minute of it. At first I felt guilty; I should have been at church. Then I decided that if I died without enjoying or appreciating the beauties of this lovely world God would have a fair case against me. Then having begun to think theological thoughts it was inevitable that I started to wonder what I could possibly say to you this Second Sunday in Epiphany.

When I preached just before Christmas I introduced you to the roundness or circularity of church time. Church time goes round and round instead of on and on. Round and round the church year we go; starting with Advent we come next to Christmas, and Epiphany follows in quick succession. In Advent I wanted to tell you that more things than what we realise did not come into our lives by way of DNA; there are things born in us of God which have not come from human flesh or will, but from God - for this was the invitation of Gabriel to let that which God wanted to give birth to in Mary be born. It so turns out that we can walk into the Christian story at any point on the circumference of the church’s round year. We can enter it at Advent with Mary and seek to be a place where God can create a new world and a new way. I remember the little Christmas verse: Though Christ a thousand times in Bethlehem be born, unless he’s born in thee, thy soul’s forlorn. In Advent we can offer to make ourselves a home for the coming of Christ into our world.

You can enter the Christian story at Christmas by sitting in wonder and enjoyment at the birth, just as I sat at the Taranaki Falls enjoying the magnificence of God in creation. Except that Christmas is a time to wonder and enjoy the God who comes in redemption. When I was a young minister I used to be quite green with envy at the long, long, long line of cars outside the Anglican churches, though I was not at all green with envy at the services the Anglican priest had to take! But I knew the sordid and shameful truth of that long line of cars - they were there only at Christmas and Easter to make their obligatory communion. Over the years I have recanted my judgment, for I have met these Christmas church-goers in many congregations - those whose entry into the circle of church time only happens at Christmas. What can be wrong with that? If all I ever do is wonder and marvel and worship and enjoy the birth of Jesus, if all I ever am is a shepherd from the hills round Bethlehem, then God be praised.

Time moves on, and we are now into the third season of the church year; we are at Epiphany. So if you come into the Christian story at Epiphany what special thing brings you here? You can see it very clearly in today’s readings, for they all speak of the call to discipleship, the fact that God needs hands on women and men to accomplish his mission and ministry in the world. All three readings tell of people who were to do their bit in God’s work in the world. As I sat down in that blessed Christmas moment of joy and delight in the Taranaki Falls I thought of the holiday I’d really like: not tagging after children or grandchildren, not visiting our many friends and relatives in Christchurch or Auckland. I’d like to go on a cruise - and in my mind I sit on the deck, relaxing in my deck chair, watching the golden sun sink slowly in the west over a calm blue sea. I relax in my deck chair, and it’s Christmas again, blissful, joyful, wonderful, with nothing to do but enjoy it. There is no raucous, unhappy news on TV, no noise from the neighbours, just the gentle swish of water along the hull and the quiet throb of powerful diesels. And would you believe it, I got up from my deck chair for half a minute to look over the side, and when I turned round someone had pinched it. If you have ears to hear, the meaning of this parable is that I’m an Epiphany disciple and not a Christmas shepherd. Epiphany is not a sitting down, deck chair faith, but a faith that is on its feet: walking, working, worrying until we have arrived at that new heaven and new earth which is the intention of God.

Samuel is an Epiphany man. The redactor, that is the person who put this story into the version we now read, has used lots of symbolism. He tells us the word of the Lord was rare, visions were not widespread. Eli is as blind as a bat, so that his physical state matches his spiritual. Then into the darkness God comes. He comes to Samuel about three in the morning before the signs of dawn, when it is still pitch black, and the only light is the dim glow of the candles in the sanctuary. By that dim light God calls Samuel to discipleship, to bring light into the darkness, to speak the word of the Lord. When we were young we sang: God make my life a little light within the world to glow, a little flame that burneth bright wherever I may go. That’s Samuel’s theme song, that’s his calling, his discipleship, and it’s at Epiphany he enters the story.

In a somewhat strange passage from Corinthians our epistle talks about ideas and issues that we think would never be part of a church. Paul is telling them not to have sex with prostitutes. If I were to talk about this or even interpret the passage it would open a can of worms. But the gist of it is that Paul wants to say our bodies are the temple of the Holy Spirit, and thus that illegitimate sex is demeaning both to God and ourselves. We already know this; Christians who are called to be disciples must lead the life of discipleship. We are to make word and action a harmony, so that our words of faith and witness do not seem false or pretentious because our actions are inconsistent. Epiphany people are to live out their discipleship.

Then in John’s compressed and concentrated way we again come upon this same call to discipleship. Jesus calls Philip and Philip calls his friend Nathaniel, Come and see. We have to read between the lines a little. Philip came from Bethsaida, the same town as Andrew and Peter, so presumably did Nathaniel; here’s a group of at least four. It reminded me of the little group at Oxford started by Charles Wesley, about a dozen belonged to it, many of whom turned out to be leaders in the church. They were called the Holy Club for they studied the Bible seriously, did works of mercy, led disciplined lives, and aimed to be, in my terms, Epiphany people. The Holy Club were not lolling around in deck chairs; they were disciples in word and action. Nathaniel is like that - and he sees as disciples do, not only the need around him, but the glory of God and the vision of a transformed world. We know instinctively Nathaniel, this Epiphany man, spends time on his feet working and worrying about discipleship.

Now I know, because I sit among you, that you are not the people who make a beeline for the Christmas deck chairs. You are Epiphany people, you are faith on its feet, you are walking, working, worrying to accomplish discipleship. You have entered the round church year at Epiphany to be disciples. Somehow Jesus has touched you and called you to an active faith. Not that it always seems to do a lot of good. You meet people and they laugh, Can any good thing come out of St Peters? It doesn’t help a lot to know that St Peters is the kind of church people love to scorn these days. We need to learn Philip’s cunning reply, Come and see. But what would they see? Rows of chairs on the deck of a cruise ship? Or pews in an Epiphany place where the call is always to discipleship. What would they see if they came? You tell me.