Once upon a time, nearly eight years ago, some of us did something very foolish. A bunch of people who had mostly drifted away from church or were burned by church or had been rejected by church bumped into a quirky minister on holiday, and wondered if they might try again ... Read here or listen here.
Once upon a time, there was a billionaire who was rather fond of cage fighting. But what with the collapse of an overseas stock market, and a royal commission, and a great deal of lobbying to protect his interests, he’d had a hard year. He needed to take some me-time, and chillax. But before he went away, he called in his chief investors ... a story and a hermeneutic. Read here or listen here.
Ten bridesmaids. We may hear this story as a Boy Scout lesson: Be prepared! Then we find some sick hungry homeless people, in order to earn our service badge and win the approval of our scoutmaster-king. But some of us are less confident about our belonging, and hear the story differently. Tonight from Sanctuary ... read here or listen here.
Look for leaders who love. Beware any setting, structure or dynamic where pastors don’t have external supervision, power is unchecked, accountability is opaque, or judgement, fear or shame are being deployed. Jesus came to bring truth and transparency, healing and wholeness, love, life and peace: so seek out those who radiate these qualities with good humour, humility and grace ... Read here or listen here.
When we are wounded, our work is to interrupt the cycles of hurt and trauma and violence. And when we say "I forgive you" and "This stops with me", we are declaring our own freedom. We become part of something new and healing, life-giving, good; we become citizens of the commonwealth of heaven ...
We worship an intimate, responsive, changing God who gets involved in the mess of human history and calls us to shape the future by our choices. Some choices are better than others, sure. But because the future is not yet set, there is no single path ...
The story of exodus points to the joy-filled possibilities of civil disobedience.
It takes a special sort of energy to plant something new; now it’s time for me to move on. I’ve been listening to the fields, and they’re telling me to lie fallow for a while. I’ve been listening to the birds, and they’re pointing me back to Melbourne and our little flock of family and friends. And I’ve been listening to the beautiful rivers which flow through this region, and they’re assuring me that the water of life will never run out – but that which wells up in me must soon be redirected ...
Read here.
The usual interpretation of the binding of Isaac is that God may require us to sacrifice everything, even, if asked, our own children: but a contextual awareness changes everything.
Leave your country, your kin, and your ancestral home, you poverty-stricken Cornishfolk, for a land which I will show you. It’s the colony of South Australia ... the story of Abram points to a more just settlement, paving the way to Voice and Treaty.
A woman dies, her children are young: where is God? A longed-for baby is stillborn: where is God? Tonight we remember the Ascension, when the Risen Christ in the form of Jesus left his disciples once and for all. So where is God? Well, it seems that God has left the planet, and we are left with nothing at all ...
You are a chosen race,’ writes Peter, ‘a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God’s own people.’ Really? In the leadup to the International Day Against Homophobia, Biphobia and Transphobia (IDAHOBIT), at least half a dozen LGBTIQA+ events here in Victoria have been cancelled. In the media and online, some far-right ‘Christians’ are claiming an exclusive truth and ‘breathing threats and murder’ towards gay people, trans people, and others; councils are so worried they are shutting things down ...
I know I’m not the only person here who finds the palm parade a little awkward, a little cringe-worthy. We look ridiculous, waving jackets and branches as we sing our way into the building. But compared to Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem, it’s very tame indeed. Because in that story, you have a bloke on a wacky ride surrounded by a bunch of shirtless guys waving stuff and singing in public. It’s joyful, vulnerable, disruptive; and the modern equivalent which comes to mind is a pride parade ... Read here, or listen here.
It is tempting to reflect on the bones. The massacre site that is now a fast food restaurant just a couple of blocks from Sanctuary. The bones which still wash up from time to time on the beach near Peterborough. The babies’ bones buried six feet under at the missions. The bones which were scattered throughout the landscape, left to rot in every lake, valley and hollow, left lying in the paddocks to dry out in the sun. It’s tempting to focus on the bones: because our history and geography are studded with other people’s bones ...
A reflection for white settlers living on stolen land. Read here or listen here.
I am prayer-reading the story of Jesus’ baptism. Using the tools of lectio divina, I read it slowly once, twice, three times. Using my sacred imagination, I place myself in the crowd, watching; as a priest, coming down against this baptism; as John, holding people close as I plunge them into the river … and suddenly I am in the golden light of the waters of the Panmure swimming hole ...
Read here, where you will find a daily reflection from a member of the Sanctuary crowd every day to Easter all about faith in our locality.
‘Since you’re the son of God,’ says the devilish examiner in Matthew’s story, ‘turn these stones to bread.’ Use your power for your own ends. Whip up a miracle, and feed yourself. ‘Since you’re the son of God,’ says the examiner, ‘jump off The Pinnacle.’ Create a spectacle, sell tickets, hold a circus. Let everyone see God’s angels save you: it’ll be great advertising for your little movement. And anyway, it’s all in scripture. According to Psalm 91, ‘The angels will catch you and raise you up — you won’t even stub your toe!’ (vv. 11-12) ...
Be like God and kill ‘em with kindness, no matter what the bastards dish up.
If I said I’d never thought, ‘You nincompoop!’ of someone, or even, once or twice, actually muttered it in anger—well, I’d be a liar. If I claimed my eye had never once wandered, that, too, would be a falsehood. If I denied I am an adulterer because it’s not me but my husband who’s divorced, I’d be playing the sort of legalistic game which Jesus doesn’t seem to think much of. And if I claimed my every ‘yes’ was a wholehearted promise, then let me say now: I’ve been known to prevaricate from time to time ...
Once upon a time, our ancestor Jacob went on a journey. He left the place called Beer-sheba and came to the place called Luz. It had been a long day on the road; it was now twilight. The first stars were becoming visible in the darkling sky. So he took one of the stones of that place, a flat stone, a smooth stone, and brushed off the dirt; then he used it as a pillow ... Every God-encounter is anchored to place. So what's your place? and what's your story?
