Palm Sunday  - Luke 19:28–40

We gather today on the threshold of Holy Week, a time when the great archetypal drama of descent, death, and resurrection unfolds once more — not only in the story of Jesus, but in the landscape of our own souls. Palm Sunday begins this journey with paradox: a triumphant procession of a king, yet one who comes in humility the name of peace and love.

This morning’s Gospel reading from Luke 19:28 - 40 offers us the familiar scene of Jesus entering Jerusalem, welcomed by crowds with shouts of joy. But Luke’s version is subtle, distinctive, and with its own nuance. If we pause and look closely, we may find that this is not just a story about the past — it’s a parable for our times.

Interestingly, unlike Matthew and Mark, Luke does not mention palms, nor does he refer to the people shouting “Hosanna.” Instead, the people shout, “Peace in heaven, and glory in the highest heaven!” an echo of the angelic chorus at Jesus’ birth earlier in Luke’s Gospel (Luke 2:14). Peace at the beginning. Peace at the end.

This is one of Luke’s key perspectives. His Gospel, more than the others, highlights Jesus as a prophet of peace and inclusion — someone who consistently uplifts the poor, welcomes outsiders, and critiques the powerful with both compassion and clarity.

Only Luke tells the story of the Good Samaritan the despised outsider who reaches out compassionately across the ethnic and sectarian divide
Only Luke includes the Magnificat, Mary’s song proclaiming that the proud will be scattered and the lowly lifted.  
Only Luke gives us the story of Zacchaeus, the rich man who climbs a tree to see Jesus and then gives almost all of his wealth away.

And so when Jesus rides into Jerusalem in Luke’s Gospel, he is not a warrior Messiah nor a celebrity preacher. He is a messenger and a bringer of peace. He comes not on a war horse, but on a borrowed colt – he does not even own the donkey he is riding. He comes not to dominate, but to demonstrate a different kind of power — the power of humility, of solidarity, of love in action.

In exploring this passage, it helps to remember the context. This was the time of Passover — a festival that recalled the ancient liberation of the Hebrews from the oppressive Egyptian Empire that held them as slaves. But in Jesus day they were once again a captured people – dominated and oppressed, but this time by Rome. Passover was therefore had very real political overtones. Revolutionary fervor ran high as many longed for freedom and a new liberation from their oppressors.  

Marcus Borg a biblical scholar tells us that in this volatile situation in Jerusalem at the time of Passover, in a dramatic display of Roman power and authority, Pontius Pilate, the Roman Governor,  would have processed into Jerusalem from the west with all the pomp and ceremony of a Roman military parade, banners flying, soldiers armed, and imperial power on full display with an increased military presence to quell any potential rebellions.  By contrast, Jesus enters Jerusalem from the east in a very different procession riding on a humble colt. 

Marcus Borg suggests that this stark contrast was not accidental. Jesus’ entry is a counter-procession, a kind of street theatre, one that draws on Jewish prophetic tradition as Jesus enacts a different way of being in the world – a procession of peace not through power and the sword, but a procession for peace through humility, integrity, solidarity and love.  He was inviting his own people to put aside the way of revolutionary violence that would only bring upon itself more violence and to walk a different path a revolution of integrity and love. 

As we explore Luke’s narrative we see that it is rich with references to the Hebrew Scriptures:

- The choice of a colt “on which no one has ever sat” (v. 30) echoes the purity laws for sacred use in Numbers and Deuteronomy. This is no ordinary animal. It’s a symbol of something new and pure, something set apart. Jesus enacts and embodies a deeper meaning of purity – the heart that refuses the way of violence and domination.  Another interesting interpretation of the donkey is the it represents our animal nature that has been tamed and purified and put in the service of a greater cause. 

- This image of a humble king riding on a donkey comes directly from Zechariah 9:9  
  “Rejoice greatly, O daughter of Zion! Lo, your king comes to you; triumphant and victorious is he, humble and riding on a donkey…”

But here’s what comes next in Zechariah:     “…He shall command peace to the nations; his dominion shall be from sea to sea.” 

For Zachariah, the one who comes in humility is the one who brings peace — not through force or violence, but through inner strength, through divine-centered action, integrity, selflessness, suffering love.

- And in Luke’s version of the story when the people shout, “Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord!”, they are quoting Psalm 118, a festival psalm traditionally sung at the gates of Jerusalem. It was a welcome given to pilgrims, but now offered to Jesus, the peasant rabbi, who turns their expectations inside out.

Luke ends this passage with a curious moment. Some religious Pharisees tell Jesus to rebuke his disciples. Perhaps they fear that such bold acclamations will stir political unrest. Perhaps they fear Jesus influence over the people.

But Jesus answers: “I tell you, if these were silent, the stones would cry out.”

His words are not just poetic, but also deeply prophetic. In the Hebrew Scriptures, stones often symbolize both ‘witness’ and ‘judgment’. For example, the prophet Habakkuk once wrote:   “The very stones will cry out from the wall, and the beams of the woodwork will echo it.” (Habakkuk 2:11).  What Habakkuk is pointing to is that injustice cannot be hidden forever. The earth itself testifies when peace is denied and truth is silenced. Even creation longs for liberation. As St Paul writes in Romans: “...the whole creation groans as in the pains of child-birth… in anticipation and hope for the coming renewal and the coming glory of the children of God.”  (Romans 8:18-22).

So what does all this mean for us? 

Palm Sunday invites us to ask:  What kind of procession are we part of?

Are we caught up in the noisy parades of ego, spectacle, and power?  Or are we following the quiet path of peace, the one that challenges the injustices of this world without violence, that chooses humility over dominance, compassion over coercive control?

In a world still marked by militarism, injustice, and exclusion, the message of Palm Sunday is as relevant as ever. It is the quiet revolution of love that moves gently, yet decisively, through the hearts of those who refuse to play by the rules of empire and domination.

But this is not just a drama that plays out in the external world. In Luke’s Gospel, Jesus reminds us that the Kingdom of God is within, a the Kingdom of the Heart. If we are to be bearers of peace and love in the world, the drama of Jesus processing into Jerusalem also needs to play out within each of us as well. 

We are invited to allow Christ the humble messenger of peace to enter the city gates of our own being, to lay down our cloaks — our identities, our certainties, our ego masks — and to walk with him the path of humility, self-knowledge, integrity compassion and suffering love. 

In Luke’s Gospel, Jesus weeps over Jerusalem just after this passage. He laments that they “did not recognize the time of their visitation” — the moment when the Divine drew near in gentle humility. May we not make the same mistake.

The path ahead leads through suffering, but also through surrender, and finally, to new life.

So let us open the gates — of the city, and of the soul — and welcome the One who comes in the name of Love and Peace.

John 8:1-11 - Throwing Stones & the Mirror of Conscience

The story of the woman caught in adultery in John 8 is, I believe, more than just an episode in the life of Jesus; it is a timeless parable of the human condition and the Divine response. 
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As we explore the story in the context of John’s Gospel, we find the story is set in the midst the Festival of Booths, a time when the Jewish people commemorated their journey through the wilderness and celebrated God’s providence. It was a festival of light and water, reminding them of God’s guidance through the desert and provision from the rock.  

Amid this celebration and a time of revelry in Jerusalem, with people longing for light to dispel their darkness, the religious leaders bring a woman caught in adultery before Jesus. Their intention is clearly not justice, otherwise they would have brought the man along with the women. Instead their intention is entrapment. They wish to trap Jesus, pouncing on the more vulnerable woman as bait for the trap, and using the law as a weapon rather than a guide to righteousness. 

On the surface, this story is about judgment and mercy, law and grace. But I believe that beneath those themes lies an even deeper spiritual truth. In what is sometimes called ‘the Perennial Philosophy’—the wisdom that unites and lies at the heart of all the deeper spiritual traditions—this story speaks of the universal human tendency to condemn others to avoid confronting our own inner darkness.  

The accusers represent the ego, that part of us that asserts superiority through judgment and condemnation. The woman on the other hand represents the vulnerable soul—caught, exposed, and shamed. And Jesus represents the awakened consciousness, that mostly lies hidden within every person, that sees through illusion seeing with deeper understanding and wisdom and which calls forth a deeper truth.  

In response to being confronted by the women’s angry accusers, Jesus stops, bends down and begins to write in the sand. In doing so, as Jesus stoops to write on the ground, he is not merely buying time or ignoring the crowd. He is I believe, grounding himself in silence and presence—reminding us that wisdom emerges from stillness, not reaction. 

This past week, I received what came across as a heated and an angry email. It was quite overwhelming with certain words capitalised which gave the effect of feeling a little like I was being shouted at over email.  I should add that it had nothing to do with either Dromore or Banbridge but rather a wider Presbytery and denominational issue. My initial feeling was to get into reactive mode and I realised that I needed to take a step back a breathe a little so that I could respond, not out of emotion, but with a clear head with some deeper understanding. 

 In all the deeper spiritual traditions, silence is often seen as the doorway to truth. In that moment of writing on the earth, Jesus grounds himself, finds his center, and in doing so embodies the still point where reaction and judgment ceases and where clarity, awareness and insight begins to dawn.  

The words Jesus finally speaks, “Let anyone among you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone”, are not a rejection of justice or righteousness but an invitation to self-knowledge. Jesus, in effect, holds up a mirror to the accusers, inviting them to see their own participation in the brokenness of the world.  It is a truth that St Paul expresses in a different way when he says in Romans 3:23 “For all have sinned, and fallen short of the glory of God”. We all have our failings and weaknesses, but when we stand ready to hurl condemnatory stones at others we tend to weigh up another’s weakness against our own strengths conveniently forgetting those places where we too fall short. 

In response to Jesus invitation for those without sin to throw the first stone, one by one, the accusers leave, confronted not by Jesus but by the light of their own conscience – the light of God within them that they had failed to access. This is the deeper spiritual insight: transformation begins not by condemning others but by confronting our own illusions. The ego wants to project its darkness outward, but the soul must reclaim that darkness, to own it, acknowledge it in ourselves, and to allow it to be transformed by the light of Divine love that is our truer and deeper nature.  

As the story unfolds, when the woman is left standing alone with Jesus, he asks her, “Where are they? Has no one condemned you?” And she replies, “No one, sir.”  And Jesus responds, “Neither do I condemn you. Go your way, and from now on do not sin again.”  

Notice the profound truth here: grace precedes transformation. Jesus does not first demand that she change and then offer forgiveness. He forgives her without condition, inviting her to let go of the false self that seeks fulfilment in all the wrong places and to awaken to a new way of being.  In the book of Romans, St Paul expresses this truth in a different way when he says: “Christ died for us, while we were  yet sinners”. And earlier in John’s Gospel the writer of John has Jesus say:  “For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but to save the world through him.” John 3:17. Divine grace precedes transformation. 

Interpreting the story from this perspective, Jesus embodies the divine awareness that sees through the illusion of separateness. In this story, the woman and her accusers are not fundamentally different—they are all caught in the web of ignorance, clinging to judgment and shame. The awakened heart sees beyond those divisions and knows that condemnation only deepens separation.  

And so this story challenges us to see ourselves in both the woman and her accusers. Even though we may struggle to admit it, both live inside of us. The perennial wisdom calls us to examine where we still hold stones of judgment, where we project our darkness onto others rather than owning it within ourselves. But in addition to the woman and her accusers who dwell as hidden parts of ourselves, sometimes denied and sometimes expressed, the awakened consciousness of Christ that embraces both without condemnation, is also present within each of us

Lent is a season to awaken to the truth that divine grace is already present, waiting for us to see through our illusions and receive it. As we drop our stones of condemnation, we find that we, too, are forgiven and set free. In that realization, the inner light of true wisdom and compassion can shine forth—just as Jesus declared immediately after this story: “I am the light of the world” (John 8:12).  John O’Donohue writes  “The soul redeems and transfigures everything because the soul is the divine space.” - the place from which the Light of God shines forth. 

To live from this light means letting go of the ego’s need to condemn and embracing the soul’s capacity for true insight, wisdom, love and forgiveness. 

It means recognizing that every act of condemnation and judgment is rooted in fear and every act of true wisdom is rooted in Divine Love.  

In this Lenten season, as next time we find ourselves ready to pick up stones to entrap, accuse and condemn,  may we gently question our quick judgments and blanket condemnations, that we might open ourselves to receive grace, and become bearers of the light that awakens and transforms.  

Amen.

Luke 13:1-9   Second Chances and Fresh Starts 

I’d like to begin with a question: Have you ever found yourself asking, “Why do bad things happen to good people?” It is one of the oldest and most difficult questions we face as human beings. When we see tragedy strike, we often look for reasons—was it their fault? Was it random? Could it have been prevented? Was it some kind of Divine retribution – a punishment from God?

This impulse to interpret tragedy as divine punishment is not new. When disasters strike, people of faith have often looked for moral or spiritual explanations. Take, for example, the sinking of the Titanic in 1912. Many saw it as a judgment on human arrogance and pride— the so-called “unsinkable” ship, ‘unsinkable even by God’ according to one White Star employee, was lost on its maiden voyage. In fact some preachers at the time claimed it was divine retribution for society’s increasing materialism. More recently, disasters like Hurricane Katrina or the 2004 Indian Ocean tsunami have been interpreted by some as acts of divine punishment for societal failings.  

This way of thinking mirrors the mindset of those who came to Jesus in Luke 13. In this passage, Jesus is confronted with news of two tragic events. First, Pilate has ordered the slaughter of some Galileans, mingling their blood with their sacrifices. Second, a tower in Siloam has collapsed, killing eighteen people. The people questioning Jesus seem to assume that these victims must have done something wrong to deserve such fates. Jesus challenges this assumption, saying, “Do you think they were worse sinners than all the others?” He answers his own question: “No.” But then he adds something striking: “Unless you repent, you will all likewise perish.” He follows this with a parable of a fig tree that has not borne fruit for three years. The owner wants to cut it down, but the gardener pleads for one more year of care and nourishment to help it flourish.

Luke’s Gospel often emphasizes the themes of repentance, grace, and the urgency of transformation. This passage falls in a section of Luke where Jesus is journeying toward Jerusalem, teaching the crowds about the nature of God’s kingdom. Just before this, Jesus has spoken about the need for discernment in reading the signs of the times (Luke 12:54-56) and the call to be prepared (Luke 12:35-40). This passage continues that theme, urging people not to be complacent about their spiritual growth.

Historically, the references in this passage would have resonated deeply with Jesus’ audience. Pilate was a brutal governor known for his violent suppression of uprisings. His slaughter of the Galileans was likely part of Rome’s wider effort to crush dissent. The collapse of the tower of Siloam, on the other hand, appears to have been an accident—one of those random tragedies that strike without warning. But Jesus rejects the idea that these events were divine punishment. Instead, he shifts the focus: Rather than speculating about the sins of others, look at your own life. Are you living fully? Are you bearing the fruit of love, justice, and compassion? Are your current attitudes and actions leading you on a trajectory towards greater wholeness and harmony of life or are they leading one towards suffering for oneself and others?  What Jesus is pointing to I believe is more about the law of consequence than Divine retribution.

Turning to the parable of the fig tree, in the Old Testament, the fig tree is often used as a symbol for Israel and its spiritual condition. The prophets frequently depicted Israel as a vineyard or a fig tree that was meant to bear fruit but had instead become barren due to unfaithfulness (Jeremiah 8:13, Hosea 9:10, Micah 7:1). In this context, Jesus’ parable of the fig tree takes on a deeper meaning. It is not just about an individual’s need for transformation, but also a warning to Israel as a whole. Just as the fig tree is given one last chance to bear fruit before being cut down, so too is Israel being given an opportunity to turn back to God and live in alignment with divine justice and mercy. The parable reflects both divine patience and the urgency of repentance: 
There comes a time when the consequences of our actions, individual and collective, inevitably catch up with us and the opportunity to avert these consequences is lost. 

N.T. Wright, a prominent New Testament scholar, suggests that Jesus’ warning here is deeply apocalyptic. He was not merely speaking of personal repentance but issuing a stark warning to the Jewish people of his time. Many in first-century Judea were on a trajectory toward violent confrontation with Rome—whether through radical nationalism, armed resistance, or a refusal to seek peace. Jesus saw where this path was leading. If the people did not turn away from this course, disaster would inevitably come. And, as history bore out, it did. In 70 AD, the Roman army besieged and destroyed Jerusalem, razing the Temple to the ground. Jesus’ call to repentance was not just about individual transformation but about the collective fate of a nation. The urgency of repentance – a collective change of heart and mind -  was not theoretical—it was a matter of life and death

What might the passage mean for us today…?

This passage challenges us to rethink how we interpret suffering. The human impulse to seek blame—either in ourselves or in others—is strong. When disaster strikes, we might wonder if we could have done something differently or if those affected somehow “deserved” it. But Jesus moves the conversation away from blame and toward transformation. Instead of asking, “Why did this happen to them?” he asks, “What will you do with the time you have?”

The parable of the fig tree reminds us that transformation takes time, but it also has a sense of urgency. The tree has been unfruitful, yet it is not condemned outright. The gardener offers care, nourishment, and another year of grace. This is an image of God’s patience, but also a call to action. We are given time to grow, to change, to live in ways that reflect the love and justice at the heart of the divine. But we cannot assume that time is endless or that the law of consequence will never catch up.

Jesus’ warning remains relevant today. Actions bring consequences. Are we ready to face the consequences of the decisions we are making in our lives? Are we choosing paths that lead to life, wholeness, and peace, or are we heading toward destructive outcomes—personally, socially, or environmentally? Whether it’s in our relationships, our communities, or the way we care for the world around us, the choices we make today shape the future. The urgency of transformation is not just about avoiding disaster—it’s about embracing the opportunity to create something better before it’s too late.

If the gardener in the parable were speaking to us today, perhaps he would say, “Give yourself and others time to grow, but don’t wait forever to start.” We live in a world that is fragile, uncertain, and filled with suffering. But we also live in a world where change is possible, where love can take root, and where each of us is invited to bear fruit that nourishes others. 

May we take this passage as an invitation—not to fear divine punishment, but to embrace divine possibility. Amen.  

AUDIO RECORDING of The address by Rev. Mark Reid - Belfast Mission to Seafarers

TODAYS SUNDAY SERVICE WAS RECORDED AT BANBRIDGE

​Luke 4:1-13 – The Temptations of Jesus


This past week my brother sent me a meme over whats app…. It was an old medieval painting with an image of a devil or demon sitting on a man’s shoulders whispering into his ear: And the caption that accompanied the image were the words: 

“Good! Good! … Now use your wife’s fabric scissors to open that card-bard box. She’ll never know.” 

Today is the first Sunday of Lent.  Lent is a season of reflection, of turning inward to examine our own lives and our spiritual journey. The Gospel reading for the first Sunday of Lent is traditionally the account of Jesus’ temptation in the wilderness, a story filled with rich symbolism I believe that speaks not only to temptations in Jesus’ life but also to the deeper spiritual struggles that each of us faces. In Luke’s Gospel, Jesus enters the wilderness for forty days, fasting and wrestling with the forces that seek to divert him from his path. It is a passage rich in symbolic meaning.

As we consider the context of the passage within the narrative of Luke’s Gospel, we find that the passage comes immediately after Jesus’ baptism in the Jordan, where the Spirit descends upon him, and a voice proclaims, "You are my Son, the Beloved; with you, I am well pleased." In Luke’s telling, Jesus, described by Luke as "full of the Holy Spirit," is then led into the wilderness. This transition is important. Baptism represents an affirmation of identity, an identity that is then tested in the wilderness. Like Jesus, we are all God’s beloved… but that is something we all need to discover, and in discovering it, it also needs to be tested. 

In Matthew, Mark and Luke’s Gospels, this story deliberately echoes the journey of Israel through the desert after their liberation from Egypt. Just as Israel was tested for forty years, Jesus is tested for forty days. Yet unlike Israel, which often faltered in its trust in God, Jesus remains steadfast.

Comparing Luke’s and Matthew’s versions of the temptations of Jesus we find that both Luke and Matthew present three temptations (which Mark’s Gospel doesn’t do), but Luke and Matthew  arrange them differently. In Matthew’s account, Jesus is firstly tempted to turn stones into bread, then to throw himself from the temple, and finally to worship the devil in exchange for worldly power. Matthew ends with Jesus standing atop a high mountain, rejecting dominion over all the kingdoms of the world.

Luke, however, reverses the last two temptations, concluding instead with the temptation at the temple in Jerusalem. This is significant because Luke’s Gospel gives special importance to Jerusalem as the place where Jesus’ mission will culminate. The shift also suggests that Luke sees the spiritual temptation of the ego as the heart of the matter – the seeking after the self-glorification of the ego. Temptation to political power is just another symptom of this for Luke. 

This passage I believe needs to be read not a literal history, but rather as a symbolic journey of the soul, a universal story of testing and transformation. Indeed there are many who would suggest that the temptations as we read them in Luke and Matthew were always meant to be read symbolically (not as literal history), in which the writers of Luke and Matthew were seeking to express in story form the deeper values of Jesus and the kinds of temptations that all people will ultimately face in the journey of life in this world.  And perhaps at this point a note on the devil in this passage is important. Here again we don’t need to treat the devil as a literal figure.  The devil in the story can be read as representing the temptations of our lower nature that resists and often undermines the call of our higher spiritual nature.  Bryant Magill writes that “The worst bullies you will encounter are your own thoughts”.  We have enough bad thoughts coming from our own lower nature without having to interpret the devil in this passage literally – although some might debate this.  

Getting back to the three temptations in the passage, we find that they correspond to fundamental, archetypal struggles we all face:

Firstly, the Temptation of Bread corresponds to the struggle with material needs -  Jesus is hungry, and the devil tempts him to turn stones into bread.  

This speaks to the basic human longing for security, comfort, and survival. But Jesus replies, "One does not live by bread alone." This suggests that while material needs are real, they are not the whole of life. A deeper hunger, the hunger for meaning, purpose, and connection must also be fed. In the western world, where we are obsessed above all things with profit margins and financial security and where people are financially wealthier than at any other time in history we are also seeing a plague or a pandemic of meaninglessness, depression and other mental ill-health. Jesus words speak deeply into this crisis in western societies – “One does not live in bread alone”.  A deeper hunger, the hunger for meaning, purpose, and connection must also be fed.

Wends and I have been catching up in recent weeks on Ben Fogle’s New adventures into the wild – showcasing people who have given up the comforts of modern living and finding a much deeper sense of meaning and joy living a life of greater simplicity – not always living easy lives, but living deeper, more joyful lives. Living examples that one does not live on bread alone. 

Secondly, the Temptation of Power speaks of the struggle with control and influence - The devil character in the story offers Jesus dominion over the kingdoms of the world in exchange for worship. This is the temptation of power, of bending the world to our will. Thinking that if only the world did things our way, we would all be happy. It is a temptation that nations, institutions, and individuals face constantly. Jesus’ refusal reminds us that true authority is not found in domination, and the desperate effort to control life and others, forcing others to do what we want, but in integrity and service.

Thirdly, the Temptation of Spectacle, the struggle for recognition and ego -  The final temptation in Luke’s account takes place in Jerusalem, where the devil urges Jesus to throw himself from the temple and prove his divine status. This speaks to the temptation of self-importance, the desire to be seen, validated, and admired. Jesus resists this temptation, refusing to manipulate or demand recognition. His path will not be about spectacle and the assertion of his own self-importance and desire for glory but about humility and faithfulness.

What is fascinating about these archetypal temptations as described by Luke and Matthew is that they don’t focus on the sins that Christians have traditionally focused on:  Sex and riotous living. That is not to say that those can’t be potential problems in people’s lives. What Luke and Matthew are suggesting however is that there are deeper sins of the spirit that even respectable people in society can engage in that are more insidious. In fact in Luke’s Gospel, the traditional sinners of society found great solace in the presence of Jesus. They found in Jesus a new beginning and a love that drew them out of their dysfunctional lives and dysfunctional behaviour.  By contrast, those who had a real struggle with Jesus were those clinging onto economic, political and religious power and authority , respectable people for whom religion had strengthened their egos rather than diminished their ego’s, and high ranking political figures like Herod and Pilate for whom the love of power had undermined the deeper values of the heart and the spirit. And thirdly, those for whom the fear of insecurity had led them to hoard money.  Luke’s Gospel highlights the dangers of religious, political and economic sin far more than the dangers for example of sexual sin and substance abuse, as destructive as these can sometimes be when abused and misused.  

For Christians today, I believe that this passage invites us to deep reflection not on supernatural battles between good and evil but on the inner conflicts we all face. Lent can be seen as a time to explore our own wilderness, the places of struggle within us where we are most especially tempted by security, power, and ego, but also any other lesser temptation that has the potential to undermine the wholeness of life for ourselves and others.  What hungers drive us? What powers do we seek to control? Where does our ego demand recognition? And how might we, like Jesus, respond with humility, wisdom and integrity?  
Amen.

AUDIO RECORDING of Sundays Service

Luke 6:39-49  Building Foundations of Integrity and Compassion

In our passage from Luke’s Gospel today, we find Jesus offering a series of profound, almost poetic images: the blind leading the blind, the speck and the log, and the house built on rock versus sand. These images speak to universal human experiences that go across cultures and different religions, offering us a wisdom which resonates with all people who seek to live with integrity, compassion, and purpose in life. 

In the first image, of the Blind Leading the Blind, Jesus asks, “Can a blind person guide a blind person? Will not both fall into a pit?”

This image invites us to reflect on the nature of leadership and guidance in our lives. It’s not about physical blindness but about spiritual and moral sight, about insight and the lack of insight. Who do we follow? What values and truths guide us? Are those we follow trust-worthy… 

In our fragile and often chaotic world, it’s easy to follow voices that echo our fears or flatter our egos. But real wisdom, true insight, comes not from superficial understanding but from deep reflection and self-awareness. This is why in many traditions, from Christianity to Buddhism, the call is first to wake up, to become conscious of our inner life so we can see the outer world more clearly.

There is something about this image that I believe also speaks deeply into our Non-Subscribing tradition. In the Constitution of our Church as framed in 1910, we are reminded of the sacred right of private judgement that God has given each of us, and that free enquiry is essential to the extension of religious knowledge.  Ours is a constitution that therefore does not require blind faith. Echoing the warning of Jesus of the dangers of the blind leading the blind, ours is a tradition that invite every person to weigh and test everything for ourselves so that each of us follow the dictates of our own conscience.   When we are asked or pressured to over-ride the dictates of our own conscience and that sacred right of private judgement, then we are in danger of falling into the trap. Now that doesn’t not necessarily mean that the dictates of our conscience are always correct. Our non-subscribing forbears were right to emphasize the fact that God can and does speak through our own consciences, but even this requires discernment… because sometimes our conscience can be informed more by the dictates of the culture we grew up in than the voice of God.  But equally it needs to be said that when we fail to listen to the voice of conscience within, we are in danger of falling into the trap of an empty and a blind faith that leads not to inner integrity of heart but to falling into a pit of meaninglessness out of touch with our own inner sense of what is right and true – out of touch with our own inner sense of meaning and purpose in life. 

Ours is not meant to be a blind faith… where we blindly follow what we are told, even if it is from a minister or someone else we see as an authority.  The faith of a Non-Subscriber should require of us that we be willing to put everything to the test in order to discover for ourselves what we believe with all our hearts to be true. 

The second image that Jesus refers to in this passage is the metaphor of The Speck and the Log when Jesus says to his disciples:  “Why do you see the speck in your neighbour’s eye, but do not notice the log in your own eye?”

This teaching follows on naturally from the point that has just been made, as a counter-balance inviting us to question not just others but also ourselves. It points to the very human tendency to judge others while being blind to our own faults. It’s a universal experience, we spot the flaws in others more easily than in ourselves. And one of the ways we do this is by comparing own own strengths to another persons weaknesses, while being blind to our own weaknesses and failing to acknowledge fully the other persons strengths. But Jesus calls us to a deeper honesty, to look inward before we look outward.

This isn’t about harsh self-criticism but about humility and honesty. It echoes the Buddhist idea of Right View, seeing ourselves and others clearly, without distortion. In the Buddha’s 8-fold path, which is essentially the path to living a noble life, in which we minimise suffering for ourselves and others, the first step on this 8-fold path is what the Buddha called: Right View.  If you have a distorted view of life, filled with misinformation, then it is going to cause all sorts of problems for ourselves and others, causing all sorts of suffering. But if we have a clear view of life, seeing life as it is and not as we think it should be, seeing ourselves as we are, not as we imagine ourselves to be through rose tinted glasses, then we are able to navigate through life much better.  The rest of the Buddha’s 8-fold path in a sense flows from Right View… if we have a right view then from it quite naturally flows Right Thought, Right Speech, Right Conduct, Right Livelihood, Right Effort, Right Attention, and Right Balance of Mind.   

For Jesus in Luke’s Gospel, having a clear view of life requires being deeply aware of our own foibles, our own weaknesses and even the very human tendency towards self-deception. This is about having a deep honesty and self-awareness of both our strengths and weaknesses which enables us to have a clearer sense of the strengths and weaknesses of others.  And to this end, Jesus tells a parable later on in Luke’s Gospel, where he tells of a respectable and self-righteous Pharisee who pats himself on the back for being such a good person, and then contrasts the Pharisee with a despised and morally compromised Tax collector who has become aware of his own failings and simply prays: God be merciful to me a sinner.  It is a parable that suggests that as soon as we start thinking of ourselves as morally superior to another we are on dangerous spiritual territory. As soon as we start wondering why other people are not like me, it might be a warning to look inward once again and see what failing or weakness I may have missed or forgotten about in myself.  

When we acknowledge our own imperfections, we become more compassionate toward the struggles of others. We recognize that we’re all walking this difficult path of being human together.

The words of Rumi speak deeply into this truth: “Yesterday I was clever, so I wanted to change the world. Today I am wise, so I am changing myself.”

And Bryant Magill writes: “You will be a beautiful person, as long as you see the beauty in others.” 

Finally, Jesus speaks of building a house with strong foundations. It’s a simple but powerful metaphor. Life will bring storms, this is certain. Pain, loss, confusion, these are inevitable. But the strength of our inner life, the depth of our values, determines whether we stand firm or collapse.

To build on rock means to live with integrity, to not just hear the call to compassion, justice, and love, but to live it. It’s about aligning our outer actions with our inner truths.

Building a house with strong foundations is also about building our lives not on things of a temporary and fleeting nature.. what the New Testament calls ‘this world’, in other words, the outward world of form.  If our trust is ultimately in the outward world of form which is constantly shifting and changing then we will ultimately have not real rest for our souls.  To build on a solid foundation, we have to move beyond the world of form, to that which is formless and unchanging, the deeper inner realm of the Spirit. 

Our Non-Subscribing forbears tended to emphasize on deeds over creeds…. 

So, what does it mean to live these teachings today?

It might mean pausing before rushing to judgment, asking: What’s the log in my own eye?

It might mean questioning the voices we follow, whether political, religious, or personal, and asking: Do they lead with wisdom and compassion, or are we blindly following?

And it definitely means returning to our foundations. What are the core values you build your life on? Are they sturdy enough to hold you when life gets hard? What might it mean to trust in the Higher and Deeper Wisdom of God that is not rooted in the world of outward form, but the inner realm of the Spirit? 

May we each take that step today, toward greater awareness, compassion, and a life built on the solid ground of truth and love.

Below is the service Brian led at First Church Belfast this morning. 

Love Your Enemies? Wrestling with Luke 6:27-38

During the 1994 Rwandan genocide, Immaculée Ilibagiza hid for 91 days in a tiny bathroom with 6 other people during which time her whole family was murdered, except her brother who was out of the country studying in Senegal. In the years that followed, in an act of profound courage and grace, she chose to forgive the perpetrators, saying that harbouring hatred would only destroy her own heart.

Luke 6:27-38 is probably among the most challenging passages in the Gospels. In these verses, Jesus calls his followers to love their enemies, to do good to those who hate them, to bless those who curse them, and to pray for those who mistreat them. He goes on to instruct them to turn the other cheek, to give freely without expecting anything in return, and to extend mercy just as God is merciful. These teachings cut across the grain of our natural instincts for self-preservation, fairness, and justice. They challenge us to reflect deeply on the nature of love, mercy, and discipleship.

This passage is part of Jesus' Sermon on the Plain, which mirrors the more well-known Sermon on the Mount in Matthew's Gospel. Luke places a particular emphasis throughout his Gospel on God's compassion for the marginalized and the poor, the call to radical love and mercy, and the inversion of societal norms. Luke’s Jesus also invites his own disciples to a life of radical simplicity which enables them to live with a much greater freedom of spirit unencumbered with a constant preoccupation with material possessions.  Combined with this Luke's Gospel presents a vision of a kingdom governed by grace, not retribution.

In this passage, Jesus offers a concrete expression of this vision: love without limits, mercy without conditions. It is a love that goes beyond human reciprocity and mirrors the boundless compassion of God.  "For God is kind to the ungrateful and the wicked," Jesus reminds us (vs 35).

This radical teaching naturally raises difficult and uncomfortable questions. Does this passage require Christians to be pacifists? Historically, the Christians of the first two centuries interpreted it as such. Early Christian writers like Tertullian and Origen argued that Jesus' command to love one's enemies prohibited participation in war and violence. For the early Church, the cross was the defining symbol of self-giving love, not the sword.

But what about the complexities of history? What if Nazi Germany invades your country? How does one respond to such an aggressive and oppressive force? Is it possible to defend one's country while remaining faithful to Jesus' call to love one's enemies? Can one fight without succumbing to hatred?

These are not easy questions. Some Christians, like Dietrich Bonhoeffer, concluded that opposing the Nazis through direct action was a tragic necessity to prevent greater evil. Yet even Bonhoeffer struggled with the moral implications of his decision. Others have sought to embody a non-violent response, figures like Mahatma Ghandi,  Martin Luther King Jr. and Archbishop Desmond Tutu, who all drew on Jesus' teachings to resist injustice without dehumanizing their oppressors.

Further questions it might raise is whether Jesus' command to love our enemies and to turn the other cheek means that his followers should passively accept injustice or allow harm to go unchecked.   Feminist writers in particular have raised deep concerns how these teachings have been used to keep victims of domestic violence and abuse within abusive situations preventing victims of abuse from setting healthy boundaries or from leaving their abusive partners.  

In the year 2000 I did a module of study on domestic abuse and was asked to write an assignment how these realities should inform and even challenge simplistic interpretations of Christian Theology.  The reading material for the assignment contained numerous stories of women in abusive relationships from a variety of religious backgrounds and how in reaching out to pastors, priests, ministers and rabbi’s for help, they were told they needed to go back to their abusive partners and forgive or that this was simply the cross in life that they had to bare. It was suggested that in such instances clergy become accomplices in domestic abuse and religious teachings have been used in such a way to enable the abuse to continue unchallenged.  We might well ask the question, is that really what Jesus had in mind if indeed Luke the Gospel writer has accurately conveyed the teachings of Jesus accurately in this passage?  (Such insights and questions can be equally applied to situations where men are the victims of such domestic abuse). 

As we wrestle with these and potentially other questions, I wonder if at the heart of these teachings of Jesus in Luke’s Gospel is an attempt to work out the radical implications of the true nature of love.  And the clue is in the text itself in verse 32 “If you love those who love you, what credit is that to you?  Even ‘sinners’ love those who love them. And if you do good to those who are good to you, what credit is that to you? Even ‘sinners’ do that. 

These verses challenge the transactional nature of much of human love — the instinct to love only those who love us back or to do good only towards those who do good back to us. Jesus points out that such love is not extraordinary; it is common, even among those who are not particularly spiritual. In fact it is an ethic that even gangsters and the mafia abide by. What Jesus is suggesting is that only loving those who offer love in return is ultimately in fact self-centred and self-serving and thus love given for purely transactional purposes, for getting something back in return, is not in fact true or pure love at all. 

True love, according to Jesus, is not self-serving or conditional. It is generous, extending itself beyond the boundaries of relationship, of affinity, or of expected return.  Jesus words, according to Luke, are suggesting that for love to be true and pure it ultimately needs to be self-less.  

What then does one make of Jesus teaching here in Luke, that we should love our enemies?  Jesus does not suggest that this is optional for his followers.  Why does Jesus think it is necessary?  Why might it be important? 

And perhaps there might be two responses to these questions: 

And the first response is about the nature of hatred, and here the Buddha’s teachings are helpful.  According to the Buddha, hatred is what he calls one of the three poisons – which also include greed and ignorance. As such, hatred is poisonous to the one who holds it and carries it in their own hearts.  To harbour hatred according to the Buddha is to bring suffering upon oneself.  Where there is hatred, there can be no real and deep happiness.  Hatred according to the Buddha poisons the pool of our own joy and happiness. As some have said, it is like holding onto a burning coal while hoping it will hurt one’s enemy.   And interestingly advances in holistic medicine that take seriously the connection between body and mind, have also begun to show that harbouring feelings of anger and hatred not only poison our minds and our hearts, but they also poison our bodies, leading to diseases including cancer if harboured within us for long enough. 

The second response to the question, why love for enemies is important, comes from Jesus, because Jesus in both Luke’s and Matthew’s Gospels suggest that in loving in this way we are becoming vessels and channels for Divine Love. And by implication, to the extent that we limit our love, as all of us actually do, is the extent to which we limit our experience of the Divine… 

But there is some really good news in all of this for those of us who are struggling to love in this way… according to Jesus in these verses, our falling short of the way of Divine Love, does not diminish the Divine Love towards us.  It might  limit our experience of the Divine Love, but it cannot and will not limit or change the Divine Love towards us.  For as Jesus says in this passage: “The Most High is kind to the ungrateful and the wicked.” When I hear these words of Jesus in Luke and the parallel words in Matthew’s Gospel, I am not sure how any Christian can take seriously the idea of God casting sinners into some kind of hell for all eternity. Such a view of God seems quite antithetical to the view that Jesus gives in this passage.  And how can it be possible that Jesus should call us to love our enemies if in the final analysis God does not hold Godself to the same standard? 

Getting back to Luke’s Gospel, rather than inviting his followers to passively accept abuse, some theologians and biblical commentators suggest that the words of Jesus in this passage were meant to be understood as non-violent acts of resistance towards an oppressive and abusive occupying army.   In a situation of oppressive and brutal occupation, such as the Jews experienced under the Romans, violent resistance would only bring about more violence and even harsher treatment.  When an oppressed and occupied people have no other options available to them, then turning the other cheek can become a chosen, non-violent act of defiance and a chosen, dignified act of free will in the face of violence. 

But advice and teaching given to an oppressed and an occupied people living under a brutal empire that cannot be escaped is not necessarily good advice to be given to a person living in an abusive domestic relationship, where a better option would surely be to leave the abusive relationship, and to set boundaries in place to protect one from further harm. 

Is it also possible, that under certain circumstances, for example when the Nazi’s are invading one’s country, it might in fact be necessary to take up arms to resist the spread of an evil regime?  And is it possible to do so while not allowing one’s own heart and soul to be poisoned by hatred?  

Words from the Tao Te Ching, the little book of Chinese Wisdom, give a thought provoking perspective on these things. 

Chapter 31: Weapons are instruments of fear; they are not a wise person's tools.
They use them only when they have no choice.
Peace and quiet are dear to their heart,
and victory should not bring them joy.
If you rejoice in victory, then you delight in killing.
The wise person enters battle gravely
with sorrow and great compassion
as if attending a funeral. 

And a final question… is it also possible that Jesus might be pointing us towards an inner joy and an inner happiness that does not depend on outward circumstances or possessions at all, an inner joy that once discovered can never be taken away because it is rooted not in temporary external things but in a timeless and formless spiritual dimension… otherwise known as The Eternal - what Jesus refers to as the Kingdom of God within. 

Just some food for thought today on a very challenging passage. It feel like we have only but scratched the surface and that there are more perspectives to be considered.