Lending God Our Treasure: Reflections on 1 Samuel 1.4-20

RCL Proper 33B

17 November 2024

 

Anglican Parish of the Epiphany

Surrey BC

 

         If you were to ask my wife or our children how they know I am feeling stressed and stretched, they would tell you that I disappear into an intense period of reading novels.  I am in just such a time when I am aware of the responsibilities that my role as Priest in charge of this Parish and my roles as the Chair of two Diocesan committees are pushing the limits of my capacity.  Now, there’s nothing for anyone to worry about and I don’t want anyone to think that I am too busy to respond to the needs and concerns of folks here at Epiphany.  I’m just saying that I am aware that I’m approaching but not yet in danger of going too far over my limit.  But I am, when I’m not working, truly engrossed in re-reading a series of novels that I read many years ago.

 

         It’s a series about the end of the Roman Republic and the rise of what we can call the Roman Empire led by an Emperor rather than by the Roman Senate.  In the Mediterranean world of which Rome was a part, there were three qualities that defined how important a person was in the vast scheme of things:  authority, power and dignity.  Authority was bestowed upon a person by some official role that they played in the political life of the community.  Authority could be temporary or life-long, but authority was exercised within the boundaries of law, tradition and custom.  Most of the time, authority was exercised by persuasion.

 

         Power, on the other hand, allowed a person to coerce others to do what the one with power wanted.  A person with authority did have power, but they often found themselves limited in what they could do.  But if you had enough money or a lot of soldiers or both, a powerful person could almost always trump the person with authority.

 

         But beyond authority and power, the most important quality that defined a person was dignity.  Dignity might or might not be connected with power.  Dignity was always connected in some way with authority, whether past of present.  Dignity came from personal integrity – how a person’s words, actions and principles combined to be a worthy example for other people to respect and to imitate.  

 

Being a billionaire certainly gives one power; being elected to high office bestows constitutional authority; but wealth and political office do not necessarily ensure respect, a quality essential to dignity.  One cannot respect one whose character is unworthy of imitation.  Dignity is a treasure to be guarded and used carefully to achieve worthy purposes.

 

         Hannah is a woman with authority.  She is the older wife of a prosperous man.  But her childlessness renders her powerless to exercise that authority within her family.  That powerlessness leaves her open to the ridicule of Peninnah, the younger wife.  Hannah’s childlessness wounds her dignity in a society where childlessness was also attributed to the wife not to the husband.  It does not matter how much attention Elkanah showers upon Hannah; she cannot walk among her peers and expect that her status as the first wife will give her any influence.

 

         With the birth of Samuel Hannah gains more than power over her younger rival; she grows in dignity.  No longer childless, Hannah is the mother of a son, a son whose birth in some ways is miraculous in that it is the result of prayer.  This is no ordinary child; this is a child who is a gift of God.

 

         We might have expected Hannah to have guarded this treasure, this guarantor of her dignity, by keeping him close by her for the rest of her life.  Yet this is not what she does.  Even when she asks God for a child, she promises to dedicate the child to God’s service.  ‘Bestow upon the treasure of a child,’ Hannah prays, ‘and I will lend this child back to you for you to do as you will.’  For Hannah it is a two-fold expression of dignity:  she is no longer a childless woman, and she is a woman who demonstrates profound commitment to the God of Israel.  Her treasure becomes the treasure of the people of Israel who receive a prophet and judge who will lead them into a new chapter of their history.

 

         It is by giving away her treasure that Hannah gains even more dignity, becomes more worthy of respect.  We learn that, after Samuel dedication to the sanctuary at Shiloh, Hannah then bears three more sons and two daughters, treasure upon treasure.  When the time came for Luke the Evangelist to tell the story of Elizabeth and Mary, he will look back on Hannah as the model for these two women.  They will also lend their treasured sons to God, one son paving the way for his cousin.  Both mothers will be become respected examples of faithfulness to God’s purposes.

 

         How we use our time matters to God.  How we use our talents matters to God.  How we use our treasure matters to God.  In our time we tend to define treasure in terms of our financial resources and so we should.  But time and talent are also treasures.  They are treasures we lend to God with the intent that they will enrich the dignity of God’s promises to us and to all creation.  Through our time, our talents and our treasure we join with God in the work of renewal and reconciliation.  We strengthen the ability of this Parish to be a place of help, hope and home in a neighbourhood that needs us and our witness to a living, loving and compassionate God.  We pave the way for our future.

 

         Friends, power is not a treasure we seek.  As the Apostle Paul writes, “For it is the God who said, ‘Light will shine out of darkness,’ who has shone in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Christ.  But we have this treasure in clay jars, so that it may be made clear that this extraordinary power belongs to God and does not come from us.” (2 Corinthians 4.6-7 NRSVue)  Our authority lies in God’s call for us to  be agents of reconciliation and hope and to be worthy of Christ who has called us his friends.  Our dignity lies in how we use our time, our talents and our treasures to embody that reconciliation, hope and friendship God in Christ offers every human being.

Talents: Lost and Found -- Thoughts on Remembrance Sunday

 

All Souls Propers

10 November 2024

 

Anglican Parish of the Epiphany

Surrey BC

 

         On my first day as a curate at Christ Episcopal Church in Denver, CO, I was handed a stack of files with weddings that I was now responsible for as a priest in the parish.  In the course of preparing for one of these weddings, I became acquainted with family friends of the bride and the groom.

 

         After some time had passed after the wedding, I received a call from this family.  Their youngest child had just been diagnosed with cancer at the age of sixteen and was being treated at a nearby hospital.  They asked if I would visit Danny and so off I went.

 

         Danny and I became friends over the months of his illness.  He shared with me his works of art.  He was a gifted cartoonist and had a gift for story-telling.

 

         When Danny died, I was deeply affected.  For weeks, perhaps months after his death, I found myself mourning the loss of his talents as well as his death.  Even now, forty years later, I try to imagine what Danny might have accomplished had his life not been cut short by cancer.  If he had lived, Danny would now be in his late fifties.  Would he have become a well-known author of graphic novels?  Might he have become a newspaper cartoonist?  My ‘what if’ questions can multiply five-fold, ten-fold, even as I speak to you this morning.

 

         Remembrance Sunday brings upon us a host of emotions.  We give thanks for our loved ones who have served and survived, even as we grieve our loved ones who served and did not survive.  We pray for peace in the hopes that we might see an end to wars and armed conflicts throughout the world, even as we realize that our hopes for peace seem unlikely to be fulfilled.

 

         But we also can imagine what might have been had so many lives, whether of soldiers or civilians, had not been lost.  I think of a series on CBC Radio some year ago that featured the music of what we might call ‘lost voices’, musicians who were killed on active duty or of diseases or injuries brought on by armed conflict or who died in concentration camps.  What music might they have composed to enrich our lives?  How many students might they have inspired?  But their talents, like Danny’s, were unfulfilled, brought short by the cruel realities of human life.

 

         But the memory of what might have been need not be only an experience of sorrow.  Remembering what might have been can also be empowering for us who gather on this and similar occasions to remember the past.  Our pondering of the loss of the talents of those whose lives were cut short by war or disease can lead us to re-commit ourselves to using our talents more intentionally in the here and now.

 

         Last week I spoke about how the saints lived and live in kairos, a sense of every moment of the present as a moment in which God is present and active in our lives.  This Sunday I invite all of us to think about the talents God has given us and how we might use those talents to further God’s mission and our ministry in this place and time.

 

         In the New Testament there is a special word for such talents – charismata.  A charism is a gift of a talent or an ability which enriches the whole community.  None of us has all the gifts needed to do God’s work, but all of us, working together, bringing our talents, our charismata, to the table, “ . . . can do infinitely more than we can ask or imagine”.

 

         Just as talents are lost through death, so can the be lost when they are not used.  And there is no one here today, whether sitting in the pews on-site or sitting at home or elsewhere on Zoom, who does not have God-given talents that God intends to be used.

 

         Paul writes in his letter to the Christians in Rome about the importance of using all the gifts that God has given to the disciples of Jesus.

 

We have many parts in one body, but the parts don’t all have the same function. In the same way, though there are many of us, we are one body in Christ, and individually we belong to each other.  We have different gifts that are consistent with God’s grace that has been given to us.  If your gift is prophecy, you should prophesy in proportion to your faith.  If your gift is service, devote yourself to serving.  If your gift is teaching, devote yourself to teaching.  If your gift is encouragement, devote yourself to encouraging.  The one giving should do so with no strings attached.  The leader should lead with passion.  The one showing mercy should be cheerful.  (Romans 12.4-8 CEB)

 

If Paul had wanted to write more, then he could have gone even further:

 

·      If you’re good at welcoming newcomers, then welcome them.

·      If your good at working behind the scenes, then work behind the scenes.

·      Whatever you’re good at doing, then offer it freely to God’s use whenever and wherever you can.

 

         Danny’s artistic talents did not survive his death, but his talent for friendship changed my life.  He made me a better priest.  So all was not lost.  May it be said of us in the months and years ahead that our talents, our charismata, have not been lost.  May people see and know that we have been, are and will be co-workers with God to prepare the way of Christ in the here and now.  For nothing good is ever lost in God’s loving purpose; it just waits to be revealed and unleashed.

 

 

  

For Everything There Is a Season: Reflections on Time

 

RCL All Saints B

3 November 2024

 

Anglican Church of the Epiphany

Surrey BC

 

         As I have grown older, I am becoming more and more aware of how precious the gift of time is for me.  Perhaps this awareness became more apparent to me after my mother’s death at the end of March this year and after the celebration of my seventy-first birthday at the end of April.  I realized that now, with both my parents dead, I was an orphan, an old self-sufficient orphan, but an orphan nevertheless.

 

         If I live as long as my mother, then I have at least twenty years ahead of me.  But, if I live only as long as my father, then I’m looking at fourteen years.  

 

         Let me say that I’m not trying to be morbid.  I’m simply being realistic about how much more time I may have in my life.  This means that I’m becoming more careful with how I use the time that I have now.  It was with such care that I considered whether I would accept the invitation of the Bishop and of the Wardens to become the priest in charge of Epiphany.  I’m here now because I came to the conclusion that this is a ‘good’ thing and worth giving a year or so of my life.

 

         There are many ways to talk about the saints, about sainthood and about what makes a saint a saint.  In recent days I’ve come to think that how a person lives in the mystery of time is one of the ways we can identify a saint, someone whose way of living points us in towards God.

 

         For example, time can be experienced as a quantity.  Just as I can compare my potential lifespan with that of my parents and grandparents and beyond, so can I limit my experience of time to checking off the days and the weeks on the calendar.  How many days before Christmas?  Fifty-two days from today until Christmas.  How many days before New Years?  Fifty-nine days from today until New Year’s Day.  How many days before Easter?  One hundred and sixty-eight days from today until Easter.  How many days before my tax return is due?  One hundred and seventy-eight days.

 

         Looking at time solely as a quantity is not a very enlivening way of living.  It’s like watching a large-screen timer counting down the seconds, the minutes, the hours, the days, the weeks, the months until something happens.

 

         I think that this way of looking at time generates anxiety and fear.  We can become paralyzed and unable to accomplish what we think we need to do before the due date comes crashing upon us.  It’s the kind of anxiety and fear that makes Christmas, for example, not a happy time for many people.  The pressures to get things done by such and such a date, to make sure that our lengthy to-do lists are cleared off, and to have something to show for all that we’ve tried to do, overwhelm many a good and thoughtful person.

 

         But saints look at the quality of time.  In the New Testament this way of looking at time is called kairos.  It’s understanding that every moment of every day is filled with the possibility that it will be an experience of God’s presence.  It’s understanding that every encounter with another person is a moment when a window into God’s love for us and for creation will open, even if only for a brief moment.

 

         Saints know the difference between busyness and business.  Busyness is a substitute for doing what needs to be done for our good and the good of all.  Business is committing oneself to the good things that need to be done for the well-being of ourselves, our families and friends, and the people among whom we live and work.

 

         For saints, waiting is not wasted time but precious time.  Waiting for the celebration of the birth of Jesus through the weeks of Advent becomes an opportunity to experience the birth of Jesus in every moment of every day.  Waiting for the coming of a new Rector becomes an opportunity to explore how our life together as a community strengthens us for ministry in this place in these times.  Waiting for our hoped-for redevelopment becomes an opportunity for us as a Parish to dream of a future in which we serve our neighbours in new and exciting ways.

 

         When we live into kairos, into an appreciation of the quality of each moment of every day, we leave anxiety and fear behind.  Instead of being bound by our fears, we are freed so that we can become more fully alive.  Did you notice in our reading from the prophet Isaiah how ‘waiting’ and ‘salvation’ are linked to freedom from fear?

 

And he will destroy on this mountain the shroud that is cast over all peoples, the covering that is spread over all nations; he will swallow up death forever.  Then the Lord God will wipe away the tears from all faces, and the disgrace of his people he will take away from all the earth, for the Lord has spoken.  It will be said on that day, “See, this is our God; we have waited for him, so that he might save us.  This is the Lord for whom we have waited; let us be glad and rejoice in his salvation.” (Isaiah 25.7-9 NRSVue)

 

This is a description of a people who are living in kairos, a people who are living in expectation of lives free from the fear of death, whether that death is physical, spiritual or emotional.

 

         When Jesus arrives at the home of Mary, Martha and Lazarus, he is confronted with the reality of the death of his friend and the implicit disappointment of Mary that he did not come earlier.  But because Jesus is always alive in kairos, what we might call ‘God’s time’ or ‘kingdom time’, he acts to unbind not only Lazarus from the physical cloths that bind his hands and feet, but to unbind Mary and Martha and all who witness the raising of Lazarus from their bondage to time as a quantity.  They are now free to witness to the unexpected ways God reveals God’s purposes in our times and places.

 

         So, my friends, as we approach the end of this liturgical year and of the calendar year, it is right that we ask ourselves how we inhabit the mystery of time.  We are all encumbered by the many calendars of our lives and by the due dates that populate our lives.  There are days when I sit down at my desk at home or here at Epiphany and feel overwhelmed by the many tasks and expectations there are of me.  I do not doubt that we all have those moments.

 

         But, when I pause long enough to hear the voice of the Spirit of God whispering wisdom into my ears and into my soul, I can begin to experience kairos and I am free to do what truly needs to be done.  I am freed so that I can consider what is important and pressing and what is not.  I am freed so that I can use what days and weeks and months and years that are left to me to serve God’s purposes and to grow as a disciple of Jesus.  That’s what saints do – and I want to be one too – I think that we all want to be saints.

I Want to See: Reflections on Mark 10.46-52

 

RCL Proper 30B

27 October 2024

 

Anglican Church of the Epiphany

Surrey BC

 

[Jesus and his disciples] came to Jericho.  As he and his disciples and a large crowd were leaving Jericho, Bartimaeus son of Timaeus, a blind beggar, was sitting by the roadside.  When he heard that it was Jesus of Nazareth, he began to shout out and say, “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!”  Many sternly ordered him to be quiet, but he cried out even more loudly, “Son of David, have mercy on me!”  Jesus stood still and said, “Call him here.”  And they called the blind man, saying to him, “Take heart; get up, he is calling you.”  So throwing off his cloak, he sprang up and came to Jesus.  Then Jesus said to him, “What do you want me to do for you?”  The blind man said to him, “My teacher, let me see again.”  Jesus said to him, “Go; your faith has made you well.”  Immediately he regained his sight and followed him on the way. [1]

 

            I come from a family whose collective eyesight is not particularly good.  For example, it was only after I graduated from high school that I learned that I have one far-sighted eye and one near-sighted eye.  Had my parents and I known this at an earlier age, it might have been remedied and I would not have grown up never being chosen first for games that involve throwing and catching balls.  For me, the ball would start in one place and then suddenly, as it drew closer, would be somewhere else!  But now my eyes were working together instead of against one another.

 

            My sister drew the winning hand in our family poor eyesight card game.  We grew up in a small city at the foot of a mountain that is 4300 metres (14,110 feet) and visible from more than 100 kilometres north, south and east.  All my friends and I talk about growing up with a mountain in our backyards.  But it was only at the age of seven or eight when my sister received her first pair of glasses that she realized that Pikes Peak was visible from our front porch.

 

Jesus and his followers came into Jericho.  As Jesus was leaving Jericho, together with his disciples and a sizable crowd, a blind beggar named Bartimaeus, Timaeus’ son, was sitting beside the road.  When he heard that Jesus of Nazareth was there, he began to shout, “Jesus, Son of David, show me mercy!”  Many scolded him, telling him to be quiet, but he shouted even louder, “Son of David, show me mercy!” [2]

 

            I have always loved the story of Bartimaeus.  For example, we really don’t know the blind beggar’s own name; we only know that he is called ‘son of Timaeus’ (‘Bar-Timaeus’).  But even the name ‘Timaeus’ can mean two different things.  If ‘Timaeus’ comes from the local Aramaic language of Jesus’ time, then our blind beggar is ‘son of the unclean one’.  If it comes from the widely-spoken Greek of the same time, it means ‘son of the honourable one’. 

 

            It all depends upon how we look at this blind beggar.  Is he a local person that his neighbours think is unclean because of something his father has done?  Or is he an unlucky man from a good family who has been afflicted with some sort of eye disease that has brought him into poverty.  Where is his family in all of this?  One of the worst things that could happen to anyone in Jesus’ time, even in our time, is to have no family to support one. [3]  It’s somewhat the biblical version of having one far-sighted eye and one near-sighted eye!

 

            Then there’s the crowd.  They’ve all come to see the great miracle-working teacher from Galilee.  They are not interested in an annoying blind beggar who insists on getting Jesus’ attention.  ‘Look,’ they seem to say, ‘you’re interrupting the main event, so pipe down and let us enjoy the show.’  Did you noticed, though, how quickly they change their perspective on events when it is clear that Bartimaeus becomes the ‘main event’?  ‘Don’t dilly dally, Bartimaeus,’ they now say, ‘go on to Jesus.  Let’s see what’s going to happen?’  A religious parade has suddenly become a possible healing miracle.

 

            But what always captures my heart, soul and mind is Bartimaeus’ response to Jesus’ call to come forward.  He throws away his cloak.  In the midst of an unfriendly crowd where there are likely a few more beggars like Bartimaeus whose need for warmth is as acute as Bartimaeus, he throws away what may be his only source of shelter and comfort.  He takes what a later Christian theologian will call ‘a leap of faith’.  In my imagination I hear Bartimaeus saying to himself, ‘I have nothing left to lose.  I’ve heard wonderful things about this man and now he is calling me to him.  I will take the risk.  I want to see.’

 

Jesus asked him, “What do you want me to do for you?”  The blind man said, “Teacher, I want to see.”  Jesus said, “Go, your faith has healed you.”  At once he was able to see, and he began to follow Jesus on the way. [4]

 

            In the Gospels the verb ‘to see’ is a many-faceted jewel.  It can simply mean the ability to see.  But it can also mean the ability to understand God’s purposes in the present moment or the ability to envision God’s future or, as is the case here with Bartimaeus, the choice to have faith in Jesus and to become his disciple.

 

Jesus does more than cure Bartimaeus’ physical blindness.  With his eyes now able to perceive what is going on in the ministry of Jesus, Bartimaeus uses this new insight to choose to follow Jesus ‘on the way’.  Let’s remember that the earliest followers of Jesus called him ‘the Way’ and themselves ‘followers of the Way’.  It’s not by chance that the next chapter of Mark’s gospel tells us of Jesus’ triumph entry into Jerusalem, an event that will trigger his arrest, trial and execution, an event that will signal his resurrection and ascension and our own salvation.

 

            Shortly before I entered theological college, my optometrist prescribed bifocals for my use.  It was no longer a simple matter of balancing the near and the far; I had to add new ways to see the world more clearly.  It took a while for me to get used to them, but they proved to be invaluable for my studies and the health of my eyes.  In more recent years with the growing use of computer technology, I’ve started using ‘progressive’ lenses that enable me to see even more clearly whether near or far or in-tween.  I’m tempted to think that there is a spiritual quality as well as a physical one to the glasses I wear.

 

            My friends, we are living through a time of transition in the life of our Parish and in the life of our Church.  How we look at these times requires us to be both near-sighted, that is, attending to the immediate affairs of our Parish life, and far-sighted, that is, shaping a vision for the future of our witness to the Way of Jesus here in Guildford and beyond.  There may be even need for us to identify some mid-range goals.  While we might wish for a simpler ‘either/or’ answers to our questions and concerns, it is far more likely that we have to face the complicated path of ‘both/and’.

 

·      How do we respect the traditions of previous generations of Anglicans and welcome the needs and concerns of newer Christians who do not have the same history and experiences?

·      How do we respect the needs of our older members and discern how to provide nurture and support for our younger members?

·      How shall we shape worship and music that celebrates our identity as Anglicans and that is open to the use of resources our Church has developed over the last thirty years in collaboration with Anglicans and other Christians throughout the world?

·      How will we decide together what we embrace and what we set aside?

 

These are not easy questions to answer.  Christian community is not now, nor has it ever been an easy way of living in the world.  If we do not talk with one another with love, with humility and with gentleness, then we will find the coming months and years troubling.  More importantly, we will find it difficult to come to a shared and collaborative vision of our future.  This coming Tuesday, for example, the leadership of our Parish will gather to hear the final report of our development consultants.  Then we will need to determine how best to share this information with the whole congregation and how to decide together what the next steps will be.

 

Like Bartimaeus, we want to see.  We want to see because we want to follow Jesus on the way.  May God give us the grace to take this risk.  May God give us the grace to see clearly – near, far and everything in between.

 

 

 

---

[1] Mark 10.46-52 (NRSVue)

 

[2] Mark 10.46-50 (CEB).

 

[3] See https://aprilfiet.com/my-thoughts/fill-my-cup-lord-the-story-of-bartimaeus accessed on 20 October 2024.

 

[4] Mark 10.51-52 (CEB).

 

The Symbolism of Evil: Reflections on Job 2

 

RCL Proper 27B

6 October 2024

 

Anglican Church of the Epiphany

Surrey BC

 

       In my final year of seminary I was privileged to participate in an advanced seminar in theology facilitated by Fr Jim Griffiss of blessed memory.  Fr Griffiss was quite particular about who could register for his advanced senior seminar, so places in his course were a hot item on the school’s calendar.  Not only was Fr Griffiss a great teacher, but it was rumoured that he always had cold beer on hand for the seminarians who participated!  I’m able to say that both were true:  Fr Griffiss was a great teacher whose influence on me I still feel and treasure AND he had a commitment to great local craft beers.

 

       He kept the topic of the seminar a bit of a secret until the first week of class.  As we gathered in the seminar room, Fr Griffiss unveiled with a bit of a dramatic flourish the books for the semester.  ‘This seminar is going to be evil,’ he said.  At first we thought he meant that it was going to be really good, but he really meant ‘evil’.  For the next three and a half months we dove into an exploration of ‘evil’.  We spent the first session debating whether we should call the seminar ‘a theology of evil’ or ‘the problem of evil’ or ‘the question of evil’ and any number of other names.  With each new name Fr Griffiss would quickly point out the twists and turns hidden in each possible title that we would need to navigate.  So, by the end of the first session, all of us having enjoyed a beer or two, we settled on simply calling it ‘the Evil Seminar’.

 

       I do not tell you this story lightly.  I tell you this story because every human being who has ever lived, every human culture that has ever existed, every human religion that has ever been founded, has wrestled with what we call ‘evil’.  There is an entire branch of theology devoted to exploring the relationship between God and evil.  Pages and pages, book after book, have been written trying to understand why bad things happen to good people and why human beings seem to be unable to shake off evil despite all the progress we have made.

 

       You and I are keenly aware of evil in its many expressions.  We are made more aware because of our access to all the various forms of contemporary media – the internet, social networks, digital news, printed media, radio, television and podcasts.  There are some who think that evil is more prevalent in our times than at other times in human history, but I think that evil has always touched the lives of human beings in many and various ways.  Our curse is that we know about, read about, talk about in ways that are faster than our ancestors.

 

       We are probably all familiar with the story of Job.  A wealthy man who is known to be a righteous man, a generous man, becomes the object of attention in the heavenly court.  The scene is set almost like a Hollywood movie:  God, here called the ‘Lord’, has called together the heavenly beings.  Among those heavenly beings is one whose is called ‘the accuser’, ‘haSatan’ in Hebrew.  This being is not the Satan of horror movies; this being is not in themselves evil, is not seeking souls to steal from God.  Their job is to go throughout the world checking up on how human beings are keeping faith with their Creator.  When they find someone who is not behaving faithfully, it’s their job to bring that person to God’s attention.

 

       For whatever reason the Lord decides to bring dear Job to the accuser’s attention and to hold Job up as an example of faithfulness.  The accuser simply states the obvious – why wouldn’t a wealthy man be faithful to God, someone who has everything they could want or need.  ‘Just put Job to the test,’ the accuser says, ‘and you’ll soon find out how deep his faithfulness goes.’  And so the Lordaccepts the accuser’s dare, and Job experiences the reality of suffering that he does not deserve, that he does not comprehend, that he does not accept as fair.

 

       There are no words to explain why bad things happen to good people.  There are no words to explain why evil prospers while the good struggles.  There are no words to explain the violence consuming the Middle East, the war between Ukraine and Russia, the violence that is experienced by so many people throughout the world.  There are no words to explain the desperation that causes thousands of people to flee their homes, to sell their possessions and to trust themselves to people-smugglers who put to sea in over-crowded, danger-ridden boats that capsize in the Mediterranean Sea and the English Channel.

 

       There are no words to explain why young people are drawn into the world of drugs that kill.  There are no words to explain why people have to live on the streets.  There are no words to explain the whole litany of tragedies, disappointments and injustices we have seen, we have known, we have experience.

 

       Evil is not a problem that can be solved; it simply is.  Evil is not a question that can be answered; it simply is.  Evil is not a theological category; it simply is.  Why do bad things happen to good people?  I do not have nor do I think that anyone has an answer to that question that will satisfy those whose homes have been destroyed by terror from the skies.

 

       But at the end of today’s reading, we are given a hint of what ought to be the question we ask:  “Then his wife said to him, ‘Do you still persist in your integrity?  Curse God and die.’  But he said to her, ‘You speak as any foolish [person] would speak. Shall we receive good from God and not receive evil?’  In all this Job did not sin with his lips.”  (Job 2.9-10 NRSVue)

 

       When we read, “Job did not sin with his lips,” the writer is telling us what Job, a good man, did when bad things happened.  It is not in our power to banish evil from our world.  We may ponder in the depths of our souls and in the recesses of our mind the question as to why God permits evil to continue, but we are unlikely to receive an answer that we satisfy us or that will heal broken hearts.

 

       But we can direct our minds, our hearts, our souls and our strength towards answering this question:  “What do good people do when bad things happen?”  Good people, despite evil, do justice in our neighbourhoods and wherever our resources permit us.  Good people, despite evil, love kindness extended towards friend and stranger, towards family and neighbours, towards those whom we have never met but whose needs call us to action.  Good people, despite evil, walk humbly before God trusting that God is working God’s purposes out even when we cannot the traces of God’s handiwork as clearly as we might wish to see.

 

       Good people can be angry with God, but they will still press on.  There is a story told about St Teresa of Avila, a sixteenth -century nun, who faced many difficulties in her efforts to reform the monastic communities of her time.  It is said that once, during prayer, she asked Christ why she was facing so many difficulties. She heard Jesus say, ‘This is how I treat my friends.’  Teresa is said to have answered, ‘If this is how you treat your friends, no wonder you have so few of them!’  But she did not stop the work that she believed God has given her to do.

 

       Friends, evil is real.  Evil has touched all of us in some manner or another.  It is a mystery that we cannot yet see into clearly.  But good people do not let the evil of the world stop them from doing justice, loving kindness and walking humbly with God.  Our prayer is the prayer of Archbishop Desmond Tutu, certainly someone whose experience of apartheid made him well-qualified to know how to face evil:

 

Goodness is stronger than evil;

Love is stronger than hate;

Light is stronger than darkness;

Life is strong than death;

Victory is ours through Him who loves us.