“Heart language.”  That’s how my friend, who loves John’s Gospel, described John 17 during our meeting yesterday.

I struggle with John. It is heart language from another time and culture. It is a culture distant enough, that when I read John 17, I sometimes remember being a little child trying to listen to the prayers being said by the minister.  I was not even mystified at the words. They were just noise. I could make no connection at all.

Traditionally, we skip these bits of the bible where we struggle to connect. If you are a minister, like me, you still have to preach on Sunday, so you retreat to the epistle reading, or the Old Testament lesson. Unless you have committed to preach something on the gospel, that is!

My approach at such times, is to break the text down into small pieces. ... Read on >>>>

Two young blokes came looking for emergency financial assistance. They carried that air of resentful aggressiveness you need to survive being down and out, which puts the people around you on edge.

It’s humiliating to ask for help. You go only because you are desperate, expecting to be knocked back regretfully if you are lucky, knowing more likely that you will be treated with cold contempt. The term “cold as charity” reflects a common reality.

The man behind the counter looked like an ancient English butler, who had decided to be recklessly casual by dispensing with his suit coat for the afternoon, but whose enunciation and bearing immediately gave him away. He treated the two men with the same respect he would have shown His Lordship, but with an unmistakeable undercurrent of warmth. There was nothing effusive about it. It was just there; a real respect that went beyond the good  manners required of a butler.... Read on >>>>

The Christian story begins with a garden.  “The Lord God planted a garden in Eden, in the east; and there he put the [people] whom he had formed. Out of the ground the Lord God made to grow every tree that is pleasant to the sight and good for food.” (Gen 3)

When we settle in towns and cities we build gardens. Adelaide was designed around parks and gardens. Once that was settled we established the Botanic Gardens. Even as pragmatic a suburb as Elizabeth, is designed with a linear park for its entire length from south to north, and you can walk through the extended Fremont Park from the west of the suburb to the eastern hills face.

The garden is the symbol of all that is good... Read on >>>>

I always talk to my grapevines when I prune them. I used to do it when I had to prune vines by the hectare, too. At home, we always talked to the sheep, as well. Not just the yells of exasperation, but conversations. "Come on girls..."

I once spent a few days with Chris Bretag, who breeds rams.  I couldn't get used to him saying, "Come on men, move along." We’d always had ewes, for the most part.

This is the sign of a disturbed mind.... Read on >>>>

Funerals are poignant times. People who don’t normally come, fill the church, grieving the death of a loved one, or a friend. As the minister, I see folks tune in and listen, and then tune out a little while, looking somewhere far away in their private grief. I do it too, if I’m not leading the service. There’s only so much we can bear, and sometimes the words all seem ... just words.

There’s one place where we all pay attention. As the coffin is lowered, at the last final, undeniable goodbye, we all watch. I usually recite Psalm 23 at that time, and it seems to speak to people more consistently than any other text I know.

even though I walk in the darkest valley

though I walk in the valley of the shadow of death

The Good Shepherd comes to us in our time of extremity... even when we are walking in the darkest valley.... Read on >>>>

My Dad used to walk around the sheep. It’s not that common in Australia. Why walk when we have utes and motorbikes? (My cousin Phillip rides a mountain bike when he shifts sheep, but that’s to keep his weight down. It has nothing to do with caring for the sheep.)  For the most part here in Australia, you don’t walk around the sheep. Life is good, and the sheep don’t need much help. We don’t have wolves, and mostly, we don’t have sheep stealers.

In the saltbush country, sheep grazing means keeping the water up at the bores, and accepting that when you have ten or fifteen thousand sheep, you’ll lose a few. The sheep ignore the farmer; in fact, they try and stay right out of her way, and the farmer has a distant relationship with the sheep, looking after fences, fixing troughs, and keeping the property running.

So, the farmer ignores the sheep, day to day, and the sheep get along pretty well on their own. It feels a bit like being a Christian. You could almost wonder where God is some days... Read on >>>>

Louis A Ruprecht says

Make no mistake about the implications [of Mark’s crucifixion story]: a Roman soldier presiding over this ghastly execution was converted to the correct view about Jesus by observing the way he died, not by seeing him raised from death. There was something about the death of Jesus that was unique, and even revelatory, according to Mark.

Of course the main question is, Why? Mark's Jesus expires with that question on his lips. Why would Mark tell the story this way? Who is he trying to convince? And how could he think this brutal story would be convincing to anyone?... Read on >>>>

Let’s imagine we are members of the congregation of Mark’s church.

We live around 70AD; about 40 years after Jesus’ death. We know the stories of the faith, how he was crucified, and rose again after three days. We have heard about great heroes of the faith like Peter the apostle, and Andrew and James and John.

It’s hard being a follower of the Way. Our Jewish neighbours think we are oddballs, to say the least. Other folk think we are weird.  There have been outbreaks of violence against our people in various places across the empire. It’s not safe being a Christian.... Read on >>>>

All theology needs to pass what I call the Bridge and Aeroplane Test. If I trust bridges to cross rivers, and aeroplanes to fly—if I entrust  my life to them—then I can’t legitimately apply the criteria of the pre-aeroplane age to my reading of the New Testament.

The Scientific Method, although immensely powerful and successful, clearly has limits to its competency. We cannot run repeatable, controlled experiments upon some aspects of life. However, one thing is clear,  even before science: people do not rise from the dead. We know that people who die do not come back in any recognisable, biologically based way. What the science of cells, and bodies, and brains does, is massively support this common sense observation.

This means that the stories of resurrection in the New Testament can only be read as stories which are trying to  overcome their own limits of competency; in this case the competency of language, or else, read as completely in error.

Paul’s treatment of the ‘resurrection body’ makes it clear that we are dealing with linguistic limitations. There is something here of a different order, beyond our cognition, which our time and matter based language cannot encapsulate... Read on >>>>

The reading for this Sunday is Mark chapters 14 and 15. How do we preach on "the whole story, rather than a few verses? Here is one attempt.

Somewhere, growing up, you and I had to face The Big Question. Something made us ask, “What is this all about? What does life mean?”

Now, my brother-in-law is so relaxed that we have to prop him up; he snores while he’s awake. But even he has to deal with the big question of what it all means. I’m at the other end of the scale. It’s been bugging me since I was eight years old. The question is always there. “What is this about?” We all face it... Read on >>>>

My mum taught primary school. One year, just before Easter, she read her Year 5 students the Gospel of Mark. That is; at length, she read them the story of the Passion, beginning to end.

This is not usual in Australia, where we focus on Hot Cross Buns, the  Easter Bunny and his eggs, and now, the Easter Bilby; as well as the holiday. Even in church, it is sometimes unusual to “hear the whole story” in one go.

Mum’s kids were appalled. “Mrs. Prior, why did they do that to him?” They were very clear in their response that this death was underserved.

The story is brutal... Read on >>>>

One year I went to my daughter’s school camp as one of the supporting parents.

One activity on offer at Coffin Bay that summer was wind surfing, or sail boarding. The girls were in thigh deep water, and would teeter to an upright position on the board. Then started the perilous effort to raise the sail, which mostly resulted in them falling off, and bouncing off the bottom of the bay, with the obligatory squeals and shrieks. Everyone was having a great time.

The three girls I was tasked to watch and help, were very slowly drifting away from the shore as they splashed and crashed around in the water. Then, after one more attempt to raise the mast, the girl fell off, just on the other side of the board to where her friends were standing, and completely disappeared. Three, maybe four seconds later, she popped up, shocked, shrieking, spluttering and white, and was back on the board quicker than a champagne cork out of a bottle.... Read on >>>>

Meeting the Jesus John met by writing my own gospel.

I open my New Testament to John 12 on a Monday morning, and am immediately lost in a strange, confusing world. I have to remind myself what this book is, and what it is not.

It is not biography. It is not the historical story of Jesus’ life. It is written for those who know the history of Jesus already. It is written for those who know the ending, and who have been captivated by the ending; who have seen and have found that crucifixion was not all shame, and not at all the end. It is written for those who have read and reread, and are praying and finding meaning for their lives in the story of Jesus.... Read on >>>>

Kirby, at my local bike shop, may have said something about my lack of sartorial elegance; something involving the word "daggy."  Along with, "Is that stubby holders you've got stuck on your gloves?!"... Read on >>>>

I could not sleep last night, until well after 2.00am. I’d been to a church meeting; and not an easy one. In that meeting, I was deeply ashamed at some attitudes that were expressed. I was appalled at how some in our church community have been abusing others. I was also staggered, uplifted, and enthralled at the wisdom, and the love, and the grace, of some folk; especially those who had most reason to be deeply angered. It was a hard meeting, but good... Read on >>>>