Tag: Psalm 139

Yes, be angry, but don’t take anger into your darkness

David HerbertLeave a comment

Sometimes a sermon feels half-baked, but that’s all this preacher has this Sunday for a small congregation meeting in the heart of Warwickshire. The focus is on anger, one of the gifts of being human, in the context of violent anti-immigration riots which have been going on in towns and cities in the UK over the last week or so. “Be angry, but don’t let the sun go down on your anger” is the text from the reading appointed for the day – Ephesians 4:25-5:2.

August 11th 2024

See how fearfully and wonderfully made we are. That’s the frame of mind of the Psalmist. We say our Amen when we join the prayer of the psalmist. We are fearfully and wonderfully made. Our Amen is our Yes to this frame of mind and part of our adoration of God. The Psalmist thanks God: “You yourself created my inmost parts. You knit me together in my mother’s womb. I thank you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.” (Psalms 139: 12-13)

We don’t just come with our physical make up. We have our psychological make up. We have soul. We are fearfully and wonderfully made – complete with our basic instincts and appetites. Without those instincts and appetites we wouldn’t survive or organise ourselves or build society. The desert fathers listed these instincts so that they could help people discipline them, because without that discipline they turn on us and ruin us.

Among their list of instincts and habits, as an example, is the habit of dejection – which lowers our sights and expects the worst of ourselves. Greed is in that list, and so is anger. They tried to cover all our basic instincts and habits of thought, recognising the demons that turn those instincts against us. They recognise that we all get caught up in corrupt chains of thought that ultimately bind us. You may see that in yourself. I see it in myself. I hear one thing, which leads me to another – it is my doom-looping which has made me bound to think and behave this way and that.

This morning we have a letter to read dating back nearly 2000 years which is dedicated helping to free people from these chains of thoughts and behaviours. It comes to us from the Christians of Ephesus.

Be angry, the letter reads recognising the basic instinct of anger which is part of our make up – part of being fearfully and wonderfully made. 

Be angry – why not? Jesus got angry. Our anger can be very useful. Cassian, one of the desert fathers, taught that the proper focus for anger is on our malicious thoughts and on the destructiveness we see around us. These are things we need to get angry about. Imagine a world in which no anger was focused on such things. Imagine ourselves and what we would be like without an anger against some of the ways we are. Anger can make things better.

And anger can make things worse. Anger can turn nasty. Our anger can be deeply hurtful of others and ourselves.

Anger needs reining in. Ephesians has given us a pearl of wisdom which has become almost proverbial. Be angry, but don’t let the sun go down on your anger. I dare say that has saved a good many relationships. Don’t let the angry word be the last word of the day. Don’t take your anger into the night. Keep your anger in the light.

Don’t take your anger into the darkness. Break the chain of thought before the chain of thought traps you in darkness.

We’ve seen anger spilling onto our streets this last week using mis-information to make targets of immigrants and their defenders, and Muslims and their mosques, 

Having read his book The Lightless Sky I’ve been following Afghan refugee Gulwali Passarlay. He featured in the Channel 4 election debate. He posted on Twitter this week that he has “never been this afraid” He’s lived in the UK for 17 years and been a citizen for the last 5. He posted: “I’m afraid for my kids. I to;d my wife, don’t go to the park. I had to travel from Bolton to take my kids to nursery because I was afraid for my wife to walk on the road.” There were NHS staff frightened to go to work. And yesterday I heard that a Faceboog group of British Asians in Leamington were warning members not to go into town because of the possibility of racist attack.

The mob violence we have seen is anger gone wrong – anger pent up, anger that has been taken into darkness by perpetrators who have been misled – and we all need to be very afraid. Thank God for the counter-protesters, and for those who day in and day out defend the stranger and the defenceless.

When we take anger (as well as our other instincts) into our darkness, into the night and into our sleep, we find that, there the darkness spins chains of doomloops to bind us. Anger belongs to the day. Be angry, but be angry in the light of day. The Ephesians tell us, Don’t make room for the devil to work with your anger.

If we don’t make room for the devil to work in our anger we leave room for compassion and love to work there, to direct and discipline our anger.

The permission for anger in Ephesians comes with disciplines that rein in this basic instinct. Putting away falsehood, let all of us speak the truth to our neighbours, for we are members of one another. We belong together. We are made for one another. Anger needs the light of truth, so we only speak the truth to our neighbours and about our neighbours. We’ve seen this week how the incitement to riot relies on falsehoods, deception and misinformation.

In anger, let no evil talk come out of your mouths, but only what is useful for building up, as there is need, so that your words may give grace to those who hear …. Be imitators of God … and live in love.

Anger is one of our instincts. We are fearfully and wonderfully made – with anger and much else. God loves our anger when we are imitators of God. His anger was shown by Jesus. His anger and wrath is against those who put themselves first, the entitled, the supremacists who demean others and put others beneath them and never go to their help. His anger and wrath is against those wolves in sheep’s clothing who lead people astray.

But for those put last, for those lost and misled, for those least, for those forced to flee, for those seeking sanctuary and safety, for those housed in the hotels being attacked in the mob violence, there is only words of love giving grace to those who hear them, and the promise of a rule which puts them first, not last.

Ephesians 4:25-5:2
So then, putting away falsehood, let all of us speak the truth to our neighbours, for we are members of one another. Be angry but do not sin; do not let the sun go down on your anger, and do not make room for the devil. Thieves must give up stealing; rather let them labour and work honestly with their own hands, so as to have something to share with the needy. Let no evil talk come out of your mouths, but only what is useful for building up, as there is need, so that your words may give grace to those who hear. And do not grieve the Holy Spirit of God, with which you were marked with a seal for the day of redemption. Put away from you all bitterness and wrath and anger and wrangling and slander, together with all malice, and be kind to one another, tender-hearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ has forgiven you. Therefore be imitators of God, as beloved children, and live in love, as Christ loved us and gave himself up for us, a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God.

For the shamed and ashamed

David Herbert1 Comment

Here’s a sermon for the 5th Sunday after Trinity (year B) for a group of churches who on the 5th Sunday of the month come together for their “Gathering”, together with a poem which inspired me for this – Harry Baker reading Unashamed. The gospel for the day is Mark 5:21-end.

June 30th 2024

The preacher’s task is to bring the gospel to life. The test is whether you love the gospel more after the sermon than before and whether it has a greater power.

To start, I wondered whether we could spend a few moments hearing from one another any words or phrases that particularly struck you, shouted at you or surprised you ……….

Just as today’s gospel comes to us in two parts, so this sermon has two parts. In the first we will look for Mark’s meaning. The second is an application to us.

Mark 5:21-end
When Jesus had crossed again in the boat to the other side, a great crowd gathered around him, and he was by the lake. Then one of the leaders of the synagogue named Jairus came and, when he saw him, fell at his feet and begged him repeatedly, ‘My little daughter is at the point of death. Come and lay your hands on her, so that she may be made well, and live.’ So he went with him.

And a large crowd followed him and pressed in on him. Now there was a woman who had been suffering from haemorrhages for twelve years. She had endured much under many physicians, and had spent all that she had; and she was no better, but rather grew worse. She had heard about Jesus, and came up behind him in the crowd and touched his cloak, for she said, ‘If I but touch his clothes, I will be made well’.
Immediately her haemorrhage stopped, and she felt in her body that she was healed of her disease. Immediately aware that power had gone forth from him, Jesus turned about in the crowd and said ‘Who touched my clothes?’ And his disciples said to him, ‘You see the crowd pressing in on you; how can you say, “Who touched me?”’ He looked all around to see who had done it. But the woman, knowing what had happened to her, came in fear and trembling, fell down before him, and told him the whole truth. He said to her, ‘Daughter, your faith has made you well; go in peace, and be healed of your disease.’

While he was still speaking, some people came from the leader’s house to say ‘Your daughter is dead. Why trouble the teacher any further?’ But overhearing what they said, Jesus said to the leader of the synagogue, ‘Do not fear, only believe’. He allowed no one to follow him except Peter, James, and John, the brother of James. When they came to the house of the leader of the synagogue, he saw a commotion, people weeping and wailing loudly. When he had entered, he said to them, ‘Why do you make a commotion and weep? The child is not dead but sleeping’. And they laughed at him. Then he put them all outside, and took the child’s father and mother and those who were with him, and went in where the child was. He took her by the hand and said to her, ‘Talitha cum’, which means, ‘Little girl, get up!’ And immediately the girl got up and began to walk about (she was twelve years of age). At this they were overcome with amazement. He strictly ordered them that no one should know this, and told them to give her something to eat.

The gospel has two parts – as expressed by our two readers. There’s the story of an unnamed woman and the story of a girl who we know as Jairus’s daughter. Both of them are healed by Jesus. The story of the woman’s healing is sandwiched into the story of Jairus’s daughter. The story of one interrupts the other.

By arranging the stories in this way, Mark, the gospel writer makes sure that we read them in the context of each other. He downplays one in relation to the other, leaving the reader with the task of amplifying the other.

There’s an overlapping timeline. Unusually Mark gives us precise detail about how old Jairus’s daughter is. She’s 12 years old. And he tells us that the woman had been haemorrhaging for 12 years. Their stories overlap. The woman  became ill just when Jairus’s daughter was born. 12 years ago. 

We always need to prick our ears up when we hear the number 12 in the gospels. It’s a number pattern that sums up Israel’s identity. The 12 tribes of Israel. The 12 disciples. 12 baskets of food left over at the feeding of the 5000. By including these details Mark is wanting us to realise that these two stories are about Israel and the kingdom of God.

The woman had suffered 12 years of haemorrhaging. Mark tells us she endured much under many physicians. They’d taken all her money. She had nothing, and far from getting better she’d got worse. This is what the institutions of Israel did to people.

It was worse than that. There were strict rules for people like her. They were listed in their scriptures. “When a woman has a discharge of blood for many days at a time other than her monthly period … she will be unclean as long as she has the discharge … Any bed she lies on will be unclean … anything she sits on will be unclean … anyone who touches them will be unclean. They must wash their clothes and bathe with water. (Leviticus 15:25-31)

For 12 years this woman would have been told she was unclean, and would have known those who came into contact with her would have been unclean. Not only is she poor, she’s in pain – and she is isolated and cast out because people had to be kept separate from things that made them unclean. She reminds me of the widow in the temple who Jesus watched as she put two coins into the treasury. It angered Jesus to think that her religious leaders had taken everything from her. She was left with nothing. Here, too, this woman is left with nothing. Her physicians had taken everything.

The rules of society were kept by the synagogue – people meeting together to observe the rules and be bound by them. Jairus was the ruler of the synagogue, the ruler of the rule-keepers, that ruled people in or ruled people out, that ruled people like our friend in the story out, and that made all women like her unclean, untouchable outcasts of society. Jairus had the power, privilege and prestige of being the ruler of the synagogue – and his daughter will have benefitted all her life from the prestige and protection of bring his daughter. There is such a contrast between the woman and the girl.

Did you notice how the crowd outside Jairus’s house laughed at Jesus? I was hurt when I read that. How dare they? But then I realised that this was the ruler’s family, his house, his daughter. They were used to being the most important. They were used to being first. They were probably offended that Jesus had put them last because he had allowed the least to interrupt him and make him late.

He was late because he wanted to know who had touched him. He’d felt something. She comes forward and tells him “the whole truth”. It was this that made Jesus late for his next appointment. He had put the last first. He had been touched by the least, the outcast – this poor woman. He listened to the whole truth from her. I love that phrase “the whole truth” – the truth of her suffering, the truth of her isolation, the truth of her treatment, the truth of her poverty, the truth of her loneliness and the truth of her faith in Jesus, that he, of all people could bear her touch.

This would have taken time. Jesus listens to her whole truth and finds in her faith the whole truth. He loves her. He calls her “daughter”. She is a true daughter of Israel. Her faith has made her such. She has been last but she comes first. She comes before the daughter of the ruler of the synagogue. The one who was used to coming first was going to have to wait. They were all going to have to wait while the last came first.

Where does this leave us? Loosely connected to all this I wanted to dwell on one of the words that struck me when I was reading this in preparation for today – that is the the word “crowd”. It’s mentioned three times in this passage. Hearing performance poet Harry Baker prompted me on this. He’s touring with his show he’s calling “Wonderful”.

Harry Baker performing Unashamed at his favourite place, Margate

For a moment I want to put us in the crowd around Jesus. We are, after all, here for “the gathering” (all the churches coming together). Gathering is a more genteel way of saying crowd. We’re not quite in the Glastonbury league, but we are a crowd. 

We’re with the woman who wants to reach Jesus. We’re with all those who believe Jesus can bear our touch – however unclean we may feel, or however ashamed we’ve been made to feel. We’re with all those who believe they’re a lot better for knowing Jesus than if they’d not. We’re careful not to crowd people out, particularly those others who know they only need to touch Jesus to feel better.

Shall we tell Jesus the whole truth of our lives, knowing he welcomes the interruptions of the poor, in spirit or otherwise? Or just the edited version? Or just our best side?

Shall we see in each other the whole truth, the whole truth of those we see around us, the whole truth seen by Jesus – that in the words of the psalmist (Psalm 139), that we are “fearfully and wonderfully made”? Is that how we are going to see each other? Is that how we are to make others feel? Not “unclean and ashamed”. There are already enough people making us feel like that. But “fearfully and wonderfully made” – not many see that in us, and not many are interested in “the whole truth” about ourselves – except, we hope, this crowd, these our brothers and sisters, claimed by Jesus as his sons and daughters – children in the kingdom of God, people in whom Jesus sees the truth that despite all appearances we are fearfully and wonderfully made.

Grains of Sand

David Herbert1 Comment

Grains of Sand is a rebrand. I originally called this blog The Jog. That has run its course. The blog was The Jog but now it’s just Grains of Sand. Why?

  1. Grains ain’t heavy and take themselves lightly
  2. I like my questions blowing’ in the wind
  3. I like the sound of sand sifting in the sea
  4. There are too many to count
  5. Jesus did all his best writing in sand

There’s rocks and then there is sand. Or is it the other way round? Time managers insist on getting to the rocks first but that suggests we don’t have to make time for the grains of sand. I get concerned that the blogosphere will be taken over by experts with their weighty opinions. Am I wrong in thinking that posts are getting longer and look more like journal articles? It’s as if they’re uttering the last word. I’m wanting space for the first words of consciousness and wonder.

They’re too many count. Nobody in their right mind would ever dream of counting grains of sand (although it might be a better way of getting sleep than counting sheep). In the Bible grains of sand stand for plenty. They stand for the extent of his love and the extent of his amazing grace. When we say “how much?”, we hear “so much, you can’t even begin to count”. His love and his mercy is measured in grains of sand.

How precious to me are your thoughts, God!
How vast is the sum of them!
Were I to count them,
they would outnumber the grains of sand (Psalm 139:17f)

The angel of the Lord called to Abraham from heaven and said “… I will surely bless you and make your descendants as numerous as the stars in the sky and as the sand on the seashore.” (Genesis 12:17)

The sins I have committed against you
are more in number than the sands of the sea. (Manasseh 1:9)

Jesus did his best writing in the sand. I say that because there’s no evidence that he did any writing other than the writing he did in the sand (John 8:1-12). In this passage Jesus subverts the judgments of his community.His opponents framed a woman – they said “caught in adultery”. They want Jesus to confirm the judgement that she should be stoned to death but Jesus refuses. He writes in the sand. He says the first stone should be cast by the one without sin – at which her (and his) accusers put their stones down and leave. Jesus, as the one without sin, should have been the one to cast the first stone. Instead he says, “I don’t condemn you”.

We don’t know what Jesus wrote in the sand. Instead we read into his writing his merciful love and his despair at those who don’t realise the damage they are doing when they judge others. There is one  fanciful suggestion (Derrett) that what Jesus did write was two verses from scripture. He was sitting down when he wrote – the theory is he would have been able to reach as far as being able to write only 16 Hebrew characters, which might have been:

“Do not follow the crowd in doing wrong… do not pervert justice by siding with the crowd.”(Exodus 23:2) and
“Have nothing to do with a false charge.” (Exodus 23:7)

We just don’t know what he wrote. But if the suggestion is true, or if he wrote something similar, it is clear that it was the malice of the chargers that bothered Jesus, not the alleged wrong of the woman. I would say that this is beautiful writing, calligraphy that spares the ones the world accuses (rightly or wrongly) – writing for salvation.

That is the way to write, with the grain of that sand. So Grains of Sand it is. Just a few grains, a tiny part of a large harvest. Just grains, secreted and buried in the blogosphere. It’s not for me to know what happens next. Thanks for reading and thanks to all fellow sifters.

Love and knowledge embrace one another

David Herbert5 Comments

Sam Wells suggests that it is very hard to believe “that if someone truly knows you, they will truly understand and love you.”

That is because of the sense of shame that we feel.

Sam Wells is reflecting on Psalm 139 which begins with the words “You have searched me and known me.” He points out that we make knowing and loving enemies of one another. God, on the other hand unites them.

The separation of knowing and loving is an everyday experience for us. Lovers of Coronation Street are seeing that played out through the interplay between Phelan, Gary and Owen. Phelan “knows” Gary was prepared to leave him for dead, and uses that knowledge vindictively for his profit.

Jesus also knew that people were prepared to leave him for dead, but his knowledge is full of love, just as his love is full of knowledge. That love showed itself in Jesus’ absolute passion to forgive those responsible for his suffering.

With us, knowing and loving are separate, and there’s always the fear that if someone really knew us, they’d have a power over us that they could use to hurt us, or that they’d see through us and cease to love us. But God’s knowing is different. God’s knowing and loving are indistinguishable. There’s never a moment when God knows but doesn’t love, or loves but doesn’t know. That is the gospel we can hardly begin to imagine. God wholly knows because God wholly loves; and God wholly loves even though God wholly knows.

from Learning to Dream Again p24