Pen and Ink Reflections - Pen and Ink Reflections

icons of belovedness

1/12/2025

image: Arian Baptistery in Ravenna

When I hear today’s story of the baptism of Jesus, what often comes to my mind is a stained-glass window in the Anglican church of St Luke Toowoomba. It was certainly a handy teaching aid over the years I presided at baptisms there. After all, there is much truth in the well-known saying that a picture can paint a thousand words. That is certainly a strength of churches like St Luke Toowoomba, which also has a number of other even more significant stained-glass windows, accompanying its Gothic Revival architectural features. Not all those windows are also reflections of other ages on another continent. The great western window above the baptistery is a particularly beautiful contemporary stained-glass window. This, with its mandala-resonant patterns, highlights a wide range of Australian animal, cosmic, and other natural features, and resembles a kind of dot-painting as a whole. The church is thus in some ways a veritable picture book, as well as a key city centre space for worship, music and other artistic and festival events. In a similar manner, our current liturgical season of Epiphany is also like a picture book. It too contains various images to encourage and challenge us: significant stories which are icons of God’s love. Let us therefore reflect today on the baptism of Jesus, which is a particularly powerful icon of God’s love, and of our beloved place within it. Indeed, in some Orthodox traditions, it is much more important than the birth narratives of Jesus. After all, they are an amalgam of different stories in only two Gospels, whereas the baptism of Jesus appears as a vital narrative in all four Gospels. Crucially, for example, in the Synoptic Gospels it is found immediately before the stories of Jesus’ temptations. Its central declaration of the beloved-ness of Christ, and our associated beloved-ness, is therefore the vital antidote to the threats and traumas of our world. Let us then look at three particular features of today’s iconic story, with the aid of three significant contemporary painters of the scene, and, thereby, encourage us too to share and become icons of divine beloved-ness ourselves…

gifts for groundedness and growth, in the power of three

1/5/2025

Adoration of the Christ Child, Mughal India, ca. 1630. Freer Gallery of Art, Smithsonian Institution, Washington, DC.

Symbolism abounds in the season of Epiphany, this great season of revelation, or spiritual revealing, that we are now entering. This morning it is focused especially in the visit of the Magi to the newborn Christ, a narrative rich in symbolic meaning. For today, let us reflect on two features: the significance of the gifts brought by the Magi, and of the number three associated with them. In doing so, let me speak briefly about three things: firstly, interpretations of the gifts and their three-ness in Christian Tradition; secondly, further perspectives on the gifts and three-ness which we may glean from other traditions, somewhat as the Magi helped enlarge the Judaean context of Jesus; and, thirdly, what gifts and symbolic three-ness we might offer up from our Australian contexts to bring further Epiphany meaning and spiritual revealing…

disruptive, delightful and divine - the bells and babies of Christmas

12/25/2024

I believe some of you have some bells – bells to recognise and welcome the Christ child on this Christmas morning. If you’ve got some bells, can you give them a shake now, so we know you’re there? Thank you. Now you bell-bearers have an important job today – to keep us all awake to the possibility of Christ among us today. So, every time in the next few minutes that I say the word ‘bell’ or ‘bells’ or ‘baby’ I want you to shake your bells. Let’s give that a test run – one of the most easily recognised symbols of Christmas is bells. Well done. Now some of the rest of you listening, may be thinking that all this ringing of bells is going to be rather disruptive of your peaceful contemplation. And you’d be right. Bells are disruptive in general. They have been used throughout human history to alert us that something is happening – for good or ill...

welcome to the divinity reveal party

12/24/2024

past Christmas focus in St Luke, Toowoomba

Something is missing here. What do you think it is? I mean, I have been involved in these Christmas Eve gigs for a long time. I’m sure there is something I was typically aware of, on Christmas Eve, in the first years of my ministry, which we don’t see around us here…

so, what about the Virgin Mary?

12/22/2024

Our Lady, digital print by Alma López (1999)

So, what about the Virgin Mary? How do you relate to the mother of Jesus? What sacred significance do you see in her? Mary has certainly ignited Christian feelings powerfully down the centuries, prompting both profound spiritual warmth and reaction. This continues today. Back in July, for example, a sculpture of Mary was attacked in the Roman Catholic cathedral of Linz in Austria. The figure, designed by Austrian artist Esther Strauss, depicted the Virgin Mary giving birth to Jesus. It was beheaded by protestors, who, with others, had complained that it was blasphemous. It was a dramatic instance both of continuing contemporary struggles about religious freedom, and also, a very striking illustration of how women, and female bodies, are at the heart of conflicts over what is powerful and sacred. In the case of the Linz statue, it is important to note that it was part of the DonnaStage art installation project on women’s roles, family images, and gender equality. As we hear Luke’s account of the Annunciation, let us therefore reflect: firstly, on what we inherit from history about Mary; and secondly, on how we ourselves might fruitfully understand Mary’s role in salvation; including on how we might positively understand the doctrine of the Virgin Birth today. Let me begin however with another true story involving attacks on an art work and differing interpretations of Mary, faith, female power and the sacred…

on elf pilots and dianellas

12/15/2024

Do you remember the twelve days of Christmas? No, I don’t mean the song. I mean the time when the festival of Christmas began around Christmas Eve and ran through to the eve of Epiphany, otherwise known as twelfth night. That is where the song comes from of course, alongside the tradition, now long gone in many places that used to practice this, of taking Christmas decorations down before January 6. Today, in contemporary Australia, the Christmas season seems to start at the beginning of November and is essentially declared over before the feast of St Stephen, aka Boxing Day. This year this has been vividly illustrated by the Wundrful World of Christmas,[1] which opened near us on the corner of York and Market Streets on 8 November and continues until Christmas Eve. Complete with helpful elf pilots – mainly friendly students and backpackers needing a job – it is billed as ‘an epic animated walk-through immersive experience and journey to the North Pole’, with ‘stunning’ VFX and CGI, and tickets from $25 but free to under 3s, all coming with a free Santa letter pack and complimentary North Pole digital family photo. No, sadly, especially for our treasurer, I am not getting a commission! What it does give me however are three questions. Firstly, in that context, and many other such lively things, what are our churches doing in marking the ecclesiastical season of Advent? Secondly, how, in doing so, are we engaging with the contexts in which we live? And, thirdly, and not least, what has the message of John the Baptist we hear today (in Luke 3.7-18) to say to our world?

the jester and the fisher king

11/24/2024

One of the great figures in British, not least Arthurian, mythology is the Fisher King. His origins are possibly in Welsh Celtic legend, derived from Bran the Blessed in the Mabinogion. Lively modern uses of the story include Terry Gilliam’s (1991) fantasy comedy drama, entitled The Fisher King, dealing with trauma and questing for love and healing in New York, and starring Jeff Bridges and Robin Williams – a portion of whose lines we heard earlier in our contemporary reading. For the myth continues to resonate with human struggles for personal and communal well-being, not least in the contexts of power and masculinity, and their effects on others. This is because of the mythic significance of the Fisher King, who is both the protector and physical embodiment of his realm, but who bears a wound that renders him impotent and his lands and people barren and blighted. Only the successful completion of a hero-knight’s task can bring the healing of his wounds and life-giving for all. At the end of the Church’s lectionary year, as we reflect upon God’s life-giving realm, and upon Christ at the centre, redeeming humanity, the Fisher King continues to open up perspectives for us and our own times. Let me therefore offer a few pointers to help tease out today’s Gospel passage and the dialogue between Pilate and Jesus related to the nature of power, kingship, and human flourishing. Let me begin however, with another story, about another king, and, especially, about a jester…

failing systems and poor widows

11/10/2024

In one of his essays,[1], Oscar Wilde wrote that, in his view:

the most tragic fact in the whole of the French Revolution is not that Marie Antoinette was killed for being a queen, but that the starved peasant of the Vendee voluntarily went out to die for the hideous cause of feudalism.

Hearing our Gospel story this morning (in Mark 12.38-44), we might be tempted to say something similar: that the most tragic fact in the corruption of the world of Jesus was not the hideous colonial violence of the Romans and the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem, but that the poor widow gave all she had to a failing leadership and its flailing religious institution. Furthermore, what similar tragedies might we see, and be part of ourselves, in our own world?...

a tricky question

11/3/2024

Most of those asking Jesus questions so far in Mark’s gospel have been hostile – seeking in various ways to catch him out. However, as Mark records the encounter it would seem that this scribe is different. They listen and hear that Jesus answers well and receive his response gladly, in such a way that Jesus declares them as ‘not far from the kingdom of God’. The question is nevertheless a tricky one, and Jesus’s response is careful. He limits his answer to the Torah. He begins in the most orthodox way imaginable by invoking the Shema, “Hear, O Israel,” from Deuteronomy 6:4–5; first, an assertion of who God is and to whom God is and then, a command issued on the basis of that identity, to love God with all one’s being — God and no other. And then, Jesus adds from Leviticus 19:18, “You shall love your neighbour as yourself.” There is in effect nothing novel about any of this. For our part we have heard this so often that it there is a danger of it having become practically ho-hum – love God, love your neighbour; the Golden Rule, ‘Mrs do -as you -would- be -done -by’; nothing new to see here, go back to sleep?! But if that is what we hear, then I suspect we have not heard at all. For here we have not such much a series of commandments – love God, love your neighbour, love yourself – as what Buddhist teaching might call a koan – an unanswerable question designed to wake us up and which over a lifetime of reflection may yield a multitude of possible resolutions, none of them complete. No part of this teaching yields easy answers. What does it mean to love God with our whole being? Who is God for a start? What is my mind, my heart, my soul, to say nothing of my body? I don’t even know how my little finger works, so what makes me think I can begin to contemplate God? Only when I realise this and might be about to give up, might I be ready perhaps to begin...

beyond embarrassment: the cry of the blind

10/27/2024

healing of Bartimaeus by William Blake

Deep faith is often embarrassing. Maybe that is a reason we human beings avoid it. We typically prefer to seek to live ‘good’ lives, or the opposite: to seek to be respectable in our opinions and behavior, or, alternatively, to find value and reputation in kicking against, or rorting, the system. Admittedly, in choosing radical pathways, we may also conceivably live out of the vulnerability of a type of deep faith. Yet that also risks centring ourselves in our own egos. Deep faith however is not only about letting go of human conventions but also about letting go of ego, into God in godself. The expressions of this can be quite embarrassing, even alarming. Maybe that is why organised religion, including much of our Uniting Church traditions, often tries to keep deep faith under control, in liturgy and in church life. Imagine, for example, if, like Francis of Assisi, we were indeed to heed Jesus’ to the rich man and give away all we have to the poor. What if, like the original Quakers and Shaker communities, we were to be so overcome by the fire of pentecostal love that we would literally move in the Spirit, shaking and quaking, in our prayer and witness? No wonder, faced by the zeal of early Methodism, that Bishop Joseph Butler famously told John Wesley that ‘enthusiasm is a horrid thing.’ That, surely, is not simply a classic English reaction to faith’s embarrassments. It also expresses much general unease about the consequences of letting go into God. For deep faith is beyond embarrassment, as we see in today’s Gospel story (in Mark 10.45-52)…