The disciple Thomas is either vilified for his lack of faith or applauded for his scepticism. He is, in some sense, a candidate for patron saint of those who do not believe.
We know the story well. The other disciples tell Thomas that Jesus is alive and they have seen him. He has been told the women had seen Jesus as well. The story of Mary Magdalene at the tomb would have begun to take iconic shape amongst the hangers on.
Somehow, in the midst of all this, Thomas has been absent, not present for any of the sightings. Unlike all the other disciples he is not locked away in the upper room. Thomas was a pragmatist, a down to earth practical bloke who dealt with the circumstances as he saw them. Jesus promised much, upset the ruling clique, was crucified and died. That he knew to be the facts, and facts are facts. The rest, all a little fanciful, did not add up to his way of thinking. He went about putting his life back together, and those who wanted to sit locked up in a room waiting for a miracle could do so if they wanted to, but not him.
To read the entire sermon click on the link to Sermons on this page.
Saturday 30 April 2011
Tuesday 26 April 2011
Who Rolled Away The Stone?
On Good Friday we prepared a stone to be used in the Easter Sunday Eucharist. It was to represent the stone which was rolled away from Jesus' tomb. We washed and cleaned it and left it by the front door of the chapel.
When we came in Sunday morning it was gone and could not be found anywhere.
Like Mary Magdalene and the disciples, we were left wondering, who rolled away the stone?
When we came in Sunday morning it was gone and could not be found anywhere.
Like Mary Magdalene and the disciples, we were left wondering, who rolled away the stone?
Saturday 23 April 2011
ANZAC DAY - LEST WE FORGET
On the morning of the 25th April 1915 Australian soldiers stopped ashore at Gallipoli Cove and into the pages of our national history. Over and over again other soldiers, sailors and airmen and women in other wars, on other shores and at great personal cost, have followed them. Their story and stories have been told and retold at occasions like this ever since.
We gather once again to hear those stories retold, some faded and a little rusty now, others as new as last year some, but the stories all have a familiar ring to them. They are the stories of ordinary young men and women who found or find themselves called upon to survive and overcome in extraordinary conditions.
When I read details of the landing at Gallipoli, the mud and stench of the Western front, the barbarity of Kokoda, the survival at Long Tan, I find my self asking: what was it that kept these soldiers going when giving up would have been so easy? Late last year I walked the Sandakan to Ranau Death March trail. A total of 2,434 men died at Sandakan, on the trail or at one of the various camps along the way. Only six survived.
As I trudged through the ankle deep red mud in extreme humidity, up steep jungle infested hills, I thought about what kept them moving forward when it would have been so easy just to walk over the edge or sit down and be shot? On one climb, which took little over an hour t9 men perished in a climb, which took them 5 hours, most completed it crawling on their knees. Why?
The answer is hope. Not hope that they would win or that it would get better. But the hope perhaps one, just one would survive to tell their story. They worked together to make that hope a reality. Pte Richard Murray and 5 others stole some rice from the cookhouse. They shared it around and hid the bag. Unfortunately their crime was discovered and they were taken away. As they stood while the Japanese officer questioned them, Keith Botterill whispered in Murray’s ear, “Don’t move or say anything, they can’t shoot us all.” Murray, sensing that they could and probably would, stepped forward and admitted to stealing the rice but said his mates had nothing to do with it. He was taken away and executed.
We know this story because one survived – Keith Botterill. Hope keeps us going forward when giving up would be so easy. Hope is doing it for your mates, being prepared to place yourself in danger so others will survive. Hope is not a wishy washy dream, a wish for something better, it is a concrete action building the future for others. We only know the story about Sandakan and the Death March, one of if not the greatest single loss of men in war by our country, because Keith Botterill lived to tell it.
Richie Murray was not a religious man, as far as I can tell, but he compares well on that score with another man who gave up his life for others and whom we remember at this time – Jesus of Nazareth.
On Richie Murrays’ grave at Labuan War Cemetery are the words:
He stepped forward to sacrifice his life for his mates.
The challenge of ANZAC Day to each of us is, could we, would we do the same?
Lest we forget.
We gather once again to hear those stories retold, some faded and a little rusty now, others as new as last year some, but the stories all have a familiar ring to them. They are the stories of ordinary young men and women who found or find themselves called upon to survive and overcome in extraordinary conditions.
When I read details of the landing at Gallipoli, the mud and stench of the Western front, the barbarity of Kokoda, the survival at Long Tan, I find my self asking: what was it that kept these soldiers going when giving up would have been so easy? Late last year I walked the Sandakan to Ranau Death March trail. A total of 2,434 men died at Sandakan, on the trail or at one of the various camps along the way. Only six survived.
As I trudged through the ankle deep red mud in extreme humidity, up steep jungle infested hills, I thought about what kept them moving forward when it would have been so easy just to walk over the edge or sit down and be shot? On one climb, which took little over an hour t9 men perished in a climb, which took them 5 hours, most completed it crawling on their knees. Why?
The answer is hope. Not hope that they would win or that it would get better. But the hope perhaps one, just one would survive to tell their story. They worked together to make that hope a reality. Pte Richard Murray and 5 others stole some rice from the cookhouse. They shared it around and hid the bag. Unfortunately their crime was discovered and they were taken away. As they stood while the Japanese officer questioned them, Keith Botterill whispered in Murray’s ear, “Don’t move or say anything, they can’t shoot us all.” Murray, sensing that they could and probably would, stepped forward and admitted to stealing the rice but said his mates had nothing to do with it. He was taken away and executed.
We know this story because one survived – Keith Botterill. Hope keeps us going forward when giving up would be so easy. Hope is doing it for your mates, being prepared to place yourself in danger so others will survive. Hope is not a wishy washy dream, a wish for something better, it is a concrete action building the future for others. We only know the story about Sandakan and the Death March, one of if not the greatest single loss of men in war by our country, because Keith Botterill lived to tell it.
Richie Murray was not a religious man, as far as I can tell, but he compares well on that score with another man who gave up his life for others and whom we remember at this time – Jesus of Nazareth.
On Richie Murrays’ grave at Labuan War Cemetery are the words:
He stepped forward to sacrifice his life for his mates.
The challenge of ANZAC Day to each of us is, could we, would we do the same?
Lest we forget.
Friday 1 April 2011
The Dog Raises The Bar
Remember the dog who races the Harley on my way to work? Well, he has raised the bar.
Over the last few weeks he has rarely participated in our morning ritual choosing instead to sit quietly and watch me as I rode by. But this week it has all changed. He's back and he has a new game plan.
Instead of waiting on the corner for me to turn into Terranora Road to begin the game he has come up with a strategy to win the race to the top of the hill. He doesn't wait for me to take off, he begins moving just as I stop. He doesn't come to the corner but takes off on the diagonal, cutting the corner. On both counts he gets the jump on me and makes me chase him, not the other way around.
I think he cheats. He thinks he wins. You can see the smile on his face as he watches me go by. He seems to be saying; this is my game, and we play it by my rules, not yours.
So it's not the one with the bigger bike that wins, but the one with the best strategy.
Now, what do I do?
Over the last few weeks he has rarely participated in our morning ritual choosing instead to sit quietly and watch me as I rode by. But this week it has all changed. He's back and he has a new game plan.
Instead of waiting on the corner for me to turn into Terranora Road to begin the game he has come up with a strategy to win the race to the top of the hill. He doesn't wait for me to take off, he begins moving just as I stop. He doesn't come to the corner but takes off on the diagonal, cutting the corner. On both counts he gets the jump on me and makes me chase him, not the other way around.
I think he cheats. He thinks he wins. You can see the smile on his face as he watches me go by. He seems to be saying; this is my game, and we play it by my rules, not yours.
So it's not the one with the bigger bike that wins, but the one with the best strategy.
Now, what do I do?
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