Geoff Stevenson

Rev Geoff Stevenson

Geoff Stevenson
Presbytery Chairperson-Mission Strategist

Geoff provides missional leadership to congregations across the Presbytery. He is also the Chairperson of the Presbytery and provides institutional leadership, both in line with the Presbytery Vision 2055. He has significant pastoral ministry experience, community organising and a strong interest in spirituality and public theology. 

Geoff is a keen musician, photographer, enjoys walking through the local bush and following the Western Sydney Wanderers.

Geoff's Reflections

One in Purpose and Love

Years ago, in my late teens, I was invited to a young adult weekend away by the group from the local church where I was connected. I hadn’t been part of the senior youth/young adults group because of other things, like playing basketball on Friday nights. On receiving the invitation, I thought it could be fun and accepted. One of the leaders arranged to pick me and another fellow up and off we went. We arrived at a large guest house in Austinmer. It had a large communal room with dining area, couches, a pool table and around that were rooms with bunks. We were shown to our rooms were and were able to leave bags etc in them. There was already a decent group, and they were gathered around the pool table watching others play. I knew some but not well and so was introduced around and we talked, laughed and watched others play pool. I loved pool and snooker, well watching it on TV and trying to play on the few occasions I had the opportunity. I looked forward to having a game but also knew my place and that everyone else had to have a go first – I was the youngest and newest. I went to a boy’s high school and had quickly learned how the world worked – there was a pecking order and once established, everyone should know their place and stay there. It was clear, at school, that those who were happy to use violence rose to the top and ruled the roost. Each year as senior students left school, others rose up to claim the prized ‘tough guy’ places. In school I also learned how to hide behind a mask so that people wouldn’t see the real me, the vulnerable, unsure adolescent trying to find his way in life. I learned how to fit in, when to speak and when to be quiet, who to speak with and engage with and who to avoid. In this new situation, my senses were heightened as I tried to work out what mask was appropriate, who I could/should associate with, who was top of the pecking order and so on. It was difficult because they were different and there no obvious hierarchy. As I was pondering this and thinking about how I’d wait until everyone had had their go at pool before I’d play, the game before me finished. One of the players walked up to me and handed me the cue, telling me it was my turn. I tried to protest, expecting someone to intervene and correct this misunderstanding, but no-one did. They all agreed, and I was paired up with another player. We played an awful game, missing sitting shots and everyone laughed – but not at us, with us. It was okay to be ordinary and make mistakes. This was very new to me and a bit unsettling, even as it was relieving. The weekend progressed in much the same way, with everyone including me, and each other in all activities. I was invited to join them in a walk to the beach or to get ice cream at the shop. People asked me about myself, what I did and enjoyed – and they were interested, really interested, and they shared stories of themselves, often vulnerable stories. On the Saturday night we wandered up to a headland. As night fell and the stars and moon shone above, there were trees swaying gently in a breeze and the sound of crashing waves on the beach. It was peaceful and beautiful. We sang some songs and then one of the fellows shared his story of faith and God’s grace. It was simple and heart-felt and as he spoke, I felt a deep connection, to his story and this love of God, but also to this inclusive community gathered prayerfully. I also felt connected to the world around -the stars and moon, the beach and waves – the world, people and creation. I felt a deep sense of Spirit and that the Spirit was love and held me, held us and everything. It was this deepest sense of being loved and belonging to something much bigger than me or my world. I felt this wondrous presence of God in this place! It was simple – a person sharing their own story of love and grace, of faith. His story and experience touched me, and the Spirit reached out and connected us through the story, the experience, the yearning for this deeper connection to the life and love at the heart of everything. I felt connected to everything – everything belonged and was held in grace. It is an experience I’ve had many other times. Sometimes in the simple beauty of the world around – feeling the warmth of the sun, the breeze in the trees, a walk along the creek, a sunset or sunrise. Sometimes it is around the meal table with family or friends, sharing life and stories, laughter and tears. It is belonging to something bigger and there is a God-presence, a Spirit of love and grace that permeates and fills and enfolds. I feel it in prayer or music, in stories that move me through their love and inspiration. God is there and there is a deep sense of belonging – to God, and the world God has made and loves! I cannot grasp, hold or control it – just experience the wonder, the beauty, the reality. This week we read a beautiful last prayer of Jesus (John 17:20-26). It is the night of his arrest, before his crucifixion. He is gathered with his disciples to celebrate Passover, the ancient festival that remembers the liberation of God’s people from Egypt through the leadership of Moses. He washed their feet, demonstrating the way of service, giving of self and becoming the least. He urged them to love each other, as he has (and will!) love them. Then he prays and, in this prayer, we hear the circular language of belonging and connection – ‘Father, as I am in you and you are in me, may they also be in us, so the world will know you sent me…’ It is about belonging, relationship, connection in which we find our place, our home, our being in God. The prayer continues as Jesus prays that ‘they may be one, as you and I are one.’ This is a profound prayer is the deep yearning of Jesus’ heart that they and all who hear and respond, will be one – united in purpose and mission, in love for the world. It reflects the unity of this God we call Trinity – three in one. Three persons held together in the deepest and most profound relationship of self-giving love. Out of this relationship of love, creation emerges and is imbued with the Christ-presence, the Spirit renews and evolves creation and holds everything in love – whether that is recognised or reciprocated or not. We are to love and be one as God, in God’s diversity, is united and one in purpose, mission and love. Profound! In the context of this story, we recognise that Jesus is giving himself to the world in love the demonstrate the way of love and the reality of God’s love. He gives his life for the sake of the world and to show us a different way. This is the love and unity he prays that we might grasp and live into. His yearning is for the union he has in God to be realised amongst those whom he has loved and those who will come after them – all who will hear and respond and seek this way of love. It is a love that cannot be quenched, destroyed or overcome – it is the power of life for all. Such unity does not create uniformity but allows the diversity and uniqueness of each person, but we are drawn into a unity of purpose and mission that is grounded in love. God’s mission of reconciliation becomes ours as we share this story, this love and create inclusive, life-giving communities of grace.

Following the Dream…

In the sweltering heat of a Washington DC summer in 1963, a quarter of a million people gathered in the capitol extending back from the Lincoln Memorial, having marched in support of Civil Rights. Several speakers regaled the masses. As the final speaker prepared to move to the podium, the television networks switched to live coverage and Mahalia Jackson sang, ‘I’ve been ‘buked and I’ve been scorned…’ Anticipation built as Rev Dr Martin Luther King stood before the large crowd, having prepared scrupulously for this, his most important speech to date. He and his trusted aides spent the night working and reworking the text, as they sought to wend a course between the difficult obstacles of policy and reactive voices to unite people solidly behind a just cause. His words were thoroughly prepared, and he began, recalling Lincoln’s great Gettysburg Address, declaring the slaves of the south, free. His words moved between poetry and stiff legalese. The prepared speech was good but not great. He came to a point and realised his next words were lame; he began to improvise and those around his realised this. As he negotiated his way, Mahalia called out, ‘Tell ‘em about the dream, Martin.’ It was a dream he had shared as he toured churches across the US, a dream, a vision of a brighter future where all lived in harmony. He faced the cameras and spoke of his dream, his vision, the vision that had wrapped itself around his being, filled him with passionate hope and drove him onwards, a vision where his children and all children would not be judged by the colour of their skin but by the quality of their character, and be able to share food at the same table. I heard another story of lost dreams or visions. A couple who went to the theatre. They were watching a performance of The Man From La Mancha. During the performance, the man was distracted by the woman next to him. She was obviously nudging her husband and in hushed tones telling him to be quiet: ‘Shh. You’re embarrassing me. Stop it…’ The man surreptitiously glanced sideways. He saw an older man, well dressed and upper-middle class respectability and appearance. He was sobbing uncontrollably, and his wife was trying to quieten him. When the first man looked back up to the stage it was immediately obvious why this other man was sobbing. The figure of Don Quixote was singing, ‘To Dream the Impossible Dream.’ He was singing about beating the unbeatable foe and striving with courage to go where the brave dare not go. He was singing about reaching for the unreachable star and the man was sobbing because somewhere along the way he had lost is dreams, his visions. We all need a dream, a vision for life, something to give us direction, purpose and energy. We need a vision to drive us forward as we strive to become who we can be and make a difference. A vision captivates us and gives meaning to what we do. Proverbs 29 reminds us that without a vision, the people perish. Martin Luther King gave us a dream that day, a vision that captivated him and many others, a vision of justice and life for all. Mother Teresa, Nelson Mandella and many others have given us vision, dreams and purpose that revolve around loving each other, seeking peace, equality and justice. When we hear these great voices, we listen. They lift our minds, our being, our hopes and expectations. We are captivated by a vision of what can be. It motivates us to create a beautiful world with hope and life. All visions begin with the person being captured, held in a passionate moment of clarity and giving themselves into the energy and life of the vision – of letting go of control and entering the flow of visionary life and movement. The New Testament story of Saul’s conversion speaks of a vision, a blinding light and a voice, that brings him to his knees, vulnerable and helpless, blinded and dependent. Saul is transformed, his legalistic belief system blown open and he becomes Paul, the Apostle to the Gentile world of the 1st century. Paul is held by this vision, and it becomes his calling. It drives his life and changes everything. He lets go of everything he was and the absolute control he demanded over people and beliefs of ‘right and wrong.’ He rides the waves of vision and dream, a passionate living in the way of God and the life of the Spirit. He gives everything to share the love and freedom he has experienced in Christ, with the world. In this week’s reading (Acts 16:9-16) Paul is travelling across Asia (modern day Turkey) and his way ‘feels directed’ in a straight line. Every time he looks to turn left or right, he is redirected back on the forward journey, teaching, preaching, sharing hope with those he meets. Finally, he hits the coast of the Aegean Sea in the city of Troas (slightly south of modern-day Gallipoli). Before him is water. He prepares to journey south, north or back inland but is caught by a dream in the night that changes everything – again! In the dream a man cries out for him to come to Macedonia and help them out! Macedonia is ‘out there,’ across the water – 2 days by boat. Paul, a man of dreams and visions, captivated by the Spirit’s call and the Reflection Notes – 25/5/25 6 th Sunday of Easter – Geoff Stevenson mission of God, listens to this latest dream, and enlists a boat to take them across the waters. He arrives on the second day and travels inland to Neapolis and onto Philippi, the capital. On the Sabbath day, he went to where he understood Jewish people would gather to worship and looked for ‘the man’. There were no men, only a group of women, and Paul spoke to them of his vision, his life, his hope, his faith and the love that seized him in Christ. One of the women, Lydia was moved and responded, seeking to be baptised by Paul. She and her household were baptised, and she invited Paul to come and stay – if he found her faithful (worthy of being seen with Paul and offering hospitality). Paul and his group readily went and stayed in Lydia’s home. This was the beginning of the church in Philippi. It began as a vision and the faithful, courageous response by Paul. There was a vision calling him to come and this vision reflected the deep yearning of people, especially Lydia, in Philippi. Life and hope in Christ came to the city. I find this simple story deeply challenging and hopeful. Paul travelled and trusted. When he dreamed of the man in Macedonia, he had the courage and passion to follow. He wasn’t afraid of getting it wrong – he’d turn around and try again, listen harder, more carefully for the voice of love. What does it mean for you and me as we travel along life’s highway, or the low roads of struggle? What dreams do we hold and how do we allow them to find expression and life? Do we have the courage and hope that Paul has, to listen to the Spirit’s wisdom and follow into unknown, strange places? Will we live into the vision of Jesus and love of God that invites us to live life in love, hope, justice and peace – and faith? Hear the gentle voice of love that will affirm and guide you. Walk in the way of love, the way of Jesus.

The Shape of Transforming Love!

A little boy sat in a doctor’s surgery whilst the Doctor tried to explain that they needed to take some of his blood – or marrow – to save the life of his sister. He had recovered from a serious blood disease that had threatened his life and now his sister was in dire need of his blood to save her life. The boy was quiet and subdued, he looked anxious and unsure, a bit pale at the request. Finally in a soft voice he replied, ‘Okay doctor you can take my blood to save my sister.’ The procedures happened and all went well. The doctor went to find and report to the family that all had gone well, and a very positive outcome was expected. He saw the boy sitting alone, head down and very quiet. The doctor went up and began to chat with him, reassuring him that his sister would be okay… After a short silence, the boy looked up with frightened eyes and asked, ‘So doctor, when do I die?’ It was then the doctor realised the little boy thought that in giving his blood for his sister, he was giving his life. Such is the generous sacrifice of love! I’m not sure the boy was conscious of the profound shape of his decision, even if grounded in a misunderstanding. He acted for his sister’s well-being even though he believed he was going to die. Such is love. When love, as the theme of so many songs, poems, plays, movies, stories etc, is portrayed in forms that range from the sublime to the ridiculous, it often becomes lost in sentimentality, mushy feelings and simplistic notions. Some of this is nice and feels good but is it love that is sustaining and real? When I celebrate weddings, the question I ask is ‘Will you love each other…?’ This invites the couple to reflect on a commitment to love through the good times, when everything feels lovely and is going well, when the nice feelings flow, it is easy to ‘feel’ love. What happens when everything falls apart, when there are tensions and challenges, when you disagree…? Love is a commitment of the will to act for the well-being and flourishing of another, says Scott Peck. It may be sacrificial, generous and self-giving with nothing in return. This week Jesus invites his disciples to love one another as they have been loved by him (John 13:31-35). He speaks of this as a new commandment – to love as they have been loved. There are various commandments that existed – Love God with your whole heart, soul and strength. Love your neighbour as yourself. Love the stranger, the sojourner in your land… This one, however invites the disciples to love as they have been loved, as they have experienced love in him. I pondered this idea, of what the disciples experienced. What was their experience of love? What did they see, hear, experience and how did these experiences transform them, change their perspective, give them a new and different story? I pondered how this may have been for them in that particular moment, a poignant and critical moment in Jesus’ life as he approached his death. In John’s story there are several chapters that surround his death, as he gathers with the disciples, washes their feet and models servanthood. They shared the Passover meal and remembered, and celebrated, the story of their predecessors and God’s grace in liberation and salvation. He prayed for them and all people who would hear and follow and be drawn into this new way. He prayed that they would be one, as he and God are one. He prayed for their mission of reconciliation and healing in the world, the continuation of his mission. And he told them to love, as they had been loved. As I pondered, one night, I imagined those who looked into this face of love in other poignant and critical moments of life. A woman caught in the act of adultery (where was the man???) and confronting a group of male leaders who wanted to stone her as the law seemed to imply. Jesus invited them to go ahead but only after the one without sin in their own lives threw the first stone. He doodled in the dirt and then looked up to see the woman standing alone. He offered her the forgiveness and peace of God and sent her off to live in a new way – he loved her and gave her life in the deepest ways. What love did she experience and recognise in his eyes? What love did the disciples see in this or in the woman who suffered a menstrual bleed for 12 years? She visited various physicians, but they only took her money and did nothing for her – she was left broke and alone. She was alienated from community and life, desperate for help that no-one would give her. She saw him and believed that all she needed was to touch the hem of his cloak and all would be well. She did and was, but he felt the connection and asked who touched him. In the midst of the jostling crowd, he asked, and she came forward scared and unsure. But he loved her – ‘Daughter! Your faith has made you well. Go in peace!’ She was named a beloved child of God in that moment – and loved. What did she feel? What did she see in those eyes of love? What did the many who experienced Jesus see, feel, experience in the love that flowed through acceptance, liberation, forgiveness, healing and grace? What did the disciples experience through their own transformation, their own experience of grace and love? What did they see in the face of the one who loved in the name of Love itself? How had their own lives changed through the ministry of Jesus and how had they experienced such transformative, self-giving, generous love? What did this love look like? The urging commandment is more prescient and profound in the context of Jesus’ own life at that moment – his impending death. As he speaks through this extended passage, promising hope beyond death, a place in God’s house and union with God through his own life and death. He pleas for unity in their diversity and that these followers and all who hear and respond will be drawn into a unity that reflects this Triune God of relationship and inclusive love. Jesus will give his life in the name of love and for the sake of love, justice, hope and peace for the world. He will stand against those powers of the world who are violent, oppressive, exclusive and judgemental. He will surrender into the way of sacrificial love for the sake of all and through death find new life and liberation – a story of cruciform shape that urges death and resurrection in life and spirit. He gives for the sake of others and do so in love. When he urges them to love as he has loved them, it is profoundly challenging, a high calling. It is a profound call to surrender into love and offer self for the sake of others and their flourishing regardless of what it might mean for us. This is the shape of love, surrendering, transforming, liberating and the hope for our world!

Listening for the Voice of Love!

This morning, when Nico and I went out for our morning walk, we took a different route, one we hadn’t been on for a while. We have generally been wandering down the main road and Nico stops at the lights, waits until it turns green and then walk across, usually pulling me with him (he doesn’t know it’s a green light, but it buzzes, and he knows to walk). This morning, we took some different paths and Nico kept looking up at me to know which direction to take when there were options. I point and he follows. He keeps looking at me to make sure we are on the right track. He looks for my directions and he listens to my voice. In the park, where there are various people and dogs, he will hear Susan, or I call out and listen and come. He has learned words and instructions – he knows ‘letterbox’ and ‘bin’ and ‘hose’ and runs to the gate or tap when he hears the words. All day, Nico will follow me around, listen for instructions, respond to a call, and he wants to be patted, called by name, stroked under his neck. Nico wants to belong and know that he is part of the pack and loved by the leader of the pack. He will give of himself fully and enjoys playing his part, doing ‘work’ and being part of the pack. Nico knows me and I know him. This Sunday is sometimes called ‘Shepherd Sunday.’ It comes from the readings usually associated with the week. One is the beloved Psalm 23, attributed to King David who was a shepherd and knew the interactions between sheep and shepherd. In this beautiful Psalm, he speaks of God as his shepherd, who ensures green pastures in which to rest and feed. He leads beside water that is still and fresh, safe for drinking, refreshing. The Shepherd leads us into the right and good ways for life and holds us through the darkness of pain and struggle, where death and suffering loom. This shepherd holds us when enemies surround us, ensuring we are held in love and connected into the source of life itself. It is a comforting and reassuring Psalm that is life-giving and hopeful. In this Psalm, is the personal awareness of his own deep and profound care for his flock of sheep as a shepherd boy and extrapolating this onto God in a deeper and more profound way. Just as David would protect the sheep from enemies, seek out the sheep that were lost or save those in trouble, ensuring food, water and well-being, so God in a deeper, more profound way will ensure we wave what we need. ‘The Lord is my shepherd,’ says David, ‘I will not want.’ I will have what I need to live and flourish in life. The other reading, from John’s story (John 10:22-30), follows on from where Jesus speaks of himself as the Good Shepherd who cares for the sheep. He speaks of the sheep knowing his voice and hearing him. Others don’t know him, don’t hear his voice, won’t listen and follow all manner of voices and would-be leaders. This shepherd will lay his life down for the sheep and no-one can snatch his sheep from him – they will always belong to him, safe in his care. It reflects words of Paul and others that proclaim that nothing can separate us from God’s love – ever! As I ponder these words, I recognise the cacophony of noise, voices, sound, distractions and the subtle temptations that seek to draw my attention, will and life in all manner of directions. I am bombarded with advertisements that want me to buy more, invest, accumulate, gain, experience, ideology, politics, religion… There are so many messages that strike me every day in so many ways, some subtle and luring and others bold and in my face. Some voices come at me in a constant barrage until I succumb to their message, until my defences and resistance is at least softened. I know from my own experiences that too often the path leading from these temptations is a dead-end road that is empty, unsatisfying and dangerous. Too often I have succumbed to the lure of a new toy, and it has been wonderful and stimulating for a brief time until the novelty wears off and it is just another thing to fight for my time and attention. I have followed paths that have seemed good, urged on by voices that seem wise and genuine, and perhaps they were. The path leads nowhere of substance. It is more of the same, fine for a time, perhaps a bit of fun but ultimately hollow. It is usually when crisis hits, the ‘valley of the shadow of death’ that the Psalm speaks of, that the hollowness of these different paths is revealed. When life opens up, cracks and I flounder, what is there to hold onto? What voice will call my name and offer safe passage through the struggle and strain, the suffering and pain? What light will penetrate the crack and offer me the promise of something deeper, more real and sustaining? Amidst this cacophonous noise of voice and advertisement, of experts and leaders vying for my ‘likes’ and ‘re-tweets’ and ultimately my money, there is a soft, gentle voice. It comes quietly and at depth. It doesn’t promise the world, and yet it promises everything but bids me to let go and trust. Trust in what? A voice in the darkness? The voice of a shepherd? The voice that echoes through centuries and sometimes looks old and worn, rather than shiny and cool, chic and hip, contemporary and young? It is the voice that cries through crucifixion pain, through death and loss and raw vulnerability. It is the voice of one willing to die in order to live and to walk me through my own dying and dying, over and over again until the rising and rising and new life forms me and I let go of control and definition, trusting in this raw, human voice of love. For some reason Nico, and our little dog, Nessa, know and trust our voices. Sometimes against his instincts and will, Nico will trust us and follow – Nessa is learning that as well. They have everything they need – food, rest, warmth, belonging, community, love, purpose… Can I learn from them, or the example of sheep and a shepherd? Can I trust the quiet, gentle voice that calls my name? Can I even hear it through the noise? Can I trust this voice for all I need despite being told I need much more or won’t have real life? Can I learn to let go and follow trusting that I will be led into the richness of life and being in a community of human beings, animals and creatures, sharing life together in a beautiful world where we learn to trust and rely on each other? I yearn for this voice to lead us all into the wisdom that eludes so many leaders, leads us into a life of inclusive love, grace, hope and joy. What about you?

Amazing Grace, Transforming Lives!

This week was the 10th anniversary of the execution deaths of Andrew Chan and Myuran Sukumaran, the two men arrested, tried and sentenced to death as the ringleaders of the, so-called, Bali 9. They were organising for heroine to be brought from Indonesia to Australia. They were sent to prison and spent 10 years awaiting their final fate as appeals were made. There were legal appeals, appeals from Australia, Human Rights organisations and even the Warden of the Kerobokan prison. In an all too common story, these were young men who had challenges at school, fitting in and losing their way in life, drifting along and attracted to a dream of wealth and being comfortable through ‘easy money.’ They were lured into drugs and the drug industry and the culture it brought – until they were caught and arrested. Their lives changed in a moment. The easy money and flashy life no longer there. Their freedom was lost and their future uncertain as the appeals happened around them. There are a variety of stories around these two men of the changes within them and the work that they initiated in that God-forsaken place. One account has Andrew in his cell pondering life and his fate, perhaps remembering glimmers of faith from his childhood and then praying to a God he isn’t sure about, seeking some kind of sign. The next day his brother arrived to visit with a friend, a Salvation Army Minister. They talked and Andrew asked for a Bible. He began to read. I imagine the stories of Jesus, of his death and the faith and hope he inspired. Something in Andrew began to change and he recognised that Jesus’ life was a blessing to others. He helped others and gave hope, life and transformation. Andrew converted to Christianity in prison. He and Myuran began a variety of education opportunities for other prisoners. They created a zone in the prison that was drug-free and where inmates could find a different way in life and make the most of new opportunities to turn themselves around. Andrew was visited and encouraged by various Christian leaders and studied theology within the prison. He led worship and provided pastoral care and counselling to others. He was ordained in prison. Myuran also converted to Christianity. He discovered his gift of art and reached out to renowned Australian artist, Ben Quilty for guidance and support with technique and colour. He set up and art studio in the prison and used it to work with and help other inmates. Exhibitions of his work provided some funds for the prison ministry these two men were so deeply engaged in. Their lives and work were so significant and transformative that they were recognised as ideal inmates with a vital role in the rehabilitation of other prisoners. The prison warden appealed to the Indonesian President, Joko Widodo, on their behalf but to no avail. He wouldn’t be moved, and they were executed by firing squad. On the day of their execution, they provided interpretation and comfort for the other 6 executed with them. They refused a blindfold and sang the hymn, Amazing Grace before their death. They then began to sing the contemporary Christian song, ‘Bless the Lord O my Soul.’ They never finished the song as the bullets tore into them and their dead bodies crumpled to the ground. I imagine the remainder of the song ringing out in that eternal Realm of which we speak, where there is peace and hope, and all tears are wiped away. This story of transformation echoes the story Luke tells of Saul/Paul who was on his way to persecute the Christians in Damascus. Saul/Paul was a fanatical religious figure, belonging to the very serious party of the Pharisees. He was driven by his belief systems that focussed on the legal requirements of the law, as articulated through the Hebrew Scriptures and the various interpretations. He was obsessed with this blasphemous and dangerous sect, as he understood them. The Christians were peddling dangerous ideas and leading people astray. It was a threat to the true faith and the laws of God. On his way to round up and imprison Christians, Saul/Paul was blinded by a light and fell to his knees. He heard a voice calling out, ‘Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me?’ ‘Who are you, Lord?’ asked Saul/Paul. ‘I am Jesus, whom you persecute.’ This interaction, however, it happened, and whatever Saul/Paul experienced, turned his whole being upside down. It confused him and left him helpless, blinded and desperate. He was told to go to a particular place and a disciple would tend to him. Ananias had to be convinced to go anywhere near this Saul/Paul, who had a reputation. When he went, he found a helpless, confused and desperate soul. He laid hands on Saul/Paul and prayed. Scale-like things fell Reflection Notes – 4/5/25 3 rd Sunday of Easter – Geoff Stevenson from Saul/Paul’s eyes, and he began to see, not just physically but with deeper insight and wisdom. He recognised how wrong he was and that there was grace and life that he never recognised in his intellectual pursuit of the law. He was being transformed through this experience, this encounter with the Living God. It took time for him to embrace and embody the fullness of this revelation and the way of Jesus as a fulfilment of the law through grace and love. He was transformed from violent fanaticism to one who embraced powerlessness and vulnerability, trusting this Spirit of God to guide and use him. He recognised that in his weakness, when he was naked before the world, God would use this in ways he could never comprehend. He was flogged, shipwrecked, abused, imprisoned and finally executed under Rome as he reached out to spread the Love and Grace of God across his world of the Roman Empire. He encountered resistance and opposition from religious figures, political figures and the powers of the world but he never let go of this hope and life that had been given him through the experience of Grace on the road to Damascus – and everything that flowed from that. The stories of Andrew and Myuran, as they encountered a Living God who transformed them and used their powerlessness and vulnerability to transform other lives in the harshness of prison, is inspiring. The story of Saul/Paul being brought to his knees and opened to grace is a story of radical transformation of the human heart and being. Their witness to us is that Grace is freely available and transforms our world if we will allow ourselves to be vulnerable before life, before God and surrender to the Love that will not let us go. This is Amazing Grace!

Grace and Love Break Open our Fear…

We could tell something was happening; a storm was on its way. Nico, one of our dogs became agitated and anxious. He started shaking a bit and pacing around, running from room to room. We checked the radar and sure enough, a storm was coming over the mountains but still a way off. As it came closer Nico became more agitated, barking and crying, running, and shaking. A peel of thunder, still far off but loud enough to startle us, ang out and Nico ran out. He ran outside to the car port and to the front gate. This is his ‘hiding’ place. It doesn’t make sense. It is out in the open, under cover, but open. Perhaps he confuses hearing a sound when in the house, to that danger or threat being in the house? I went out and got him, just as a louder, closer peel of thunder rang out in the sky, following the lightning strikes. Nico ran inside with me and jumped on Susan’s lap, causing havoc. Eventually we sat him down and held him, providing comfort and reassurance and the storm passed over. Nico isn’t the bravest dog going around. He has places that are safe, and he retreats to – the side gate, the gate on the other side of the house (completely open!), under my desk, between the piano stool and the piano… He will hide when threatened or, on a walk, try to run away from the threat. In desperation he will bark and growl and try to scare the perceived danger away. In this sense, Nico is like most of us when confronted by something that threatens us or cause fear, pain, confusion, anxiety… We try to hide from such a threat or escape in some way. I find myself retreating and hiding away when I feel myself under deep stress or fear. When I receive news that is challenging and confronting, that causes pain or threatens me or someone I know, I want to retreat, avoid, escape. Sometimes I can and that is exactly what is needed. Other times I have no choice but to face the challenge or threat, even though everything in me wants to run away. When I’m in the midst of a difficult time or dealing with confronting, sad or horrible news, whether close to me or in the news feed of the day and across the world, I often want to hide from it. I can only deal with so much and feel overwhelmed or helpless and in my confusion, I try to escape it. This is how most of us operate. There are points in all of our lives when life is just too much, when we can’t deal with the threat or challenge, when our energy and courage wanes and we feel fear and overwhelming desperation. This is the fight, flight or freeze response, a physiological and psychological response to threat and danger, to fear. This response is central to the Easter story! All the narratives around Easter involve some form of fear, confusion, hiding, or escape as the followers of Jesus deal with the enormity of their grief and loss. It isn’t only the loss of this friend, whose love and authority have given them new life and direction. It is the loss of everything they have given up in following Jesus. What now? What do they do? Will those who killed Jesus come after them? Are they guilty by association? Will they seek to take the whole movement down, rather than just the leader? In John’s continuing story of Jesus (John 20:19-31), the disciples and followers of Jesus are hiding away behind locked doors and solid walls. They are afraid. Even despite Mary’s witness to encountering the Risen Christ in the garden that morning, their fear, confusion, and grief are overwhelming, and they hide from the dangers and threats. How long will they hide? How long is grief? What next? They are locked away from the world in the evening when this Risen Christ materialises in their midst! He says: ‘Peace be with you,’ and shows them his hands and side – his wounds. Again, saying, ‘Peace be with you.’ He breathed on them and said: ‘Receive a Holy Spirit. If you forgive anyone’s sins, their sins are forgiven; if you do not forgive them, they are not forgiven.’ This story is John’s holding together of the revealing of the Risen Christ, the receiving of the Spirit and the commissioning of the disciples to continue the work of God’s mission of reconciliation and healing in the world! Thomas wasn’t there and won’t believe until he, too, experiences this Risen Christ and recognises him through his woundedness. A week later, they are all still hiding away behind locked doors, still fearful and confused, despite this experience! Jesus again materialises in their midst and shows his wounds to Thomas who recognises the crucified, now Risen Christ. It is in the brokenness that Jesus is recognised, and it will be in their vulnerable brokenness that the disciples will be recognised as witnesses to the power of God’s love Reflection Notes – 27/4/25 2 nd Sunday of Easter breaking into human life. It is in our helplessness and powerlessness that we are broken open to receive the grace and love that will hold and sustain us and be a witness to the grace and love that, alone, can heal the world and bring hope and life! This story resonates deeply with me and my experience. As I try to hide from life, from pain, from suffering, from fear and threats and… As I try to retreat and escape, a prayer of desperation escapes my lips, or bubbles up from my inner being, a prayer of the deepest yearning for help. As I create the ‘room’ with its solid walls and locked doors to keep the world at bay, the Risen Christ gently enters and says: ‘Peace be with you!’ I am offered peace in the midst of fear and pain. The Risen Christ breathes the Spirit of God, the Spirit of life onto me and invites me into faith and hope – and the way of love! I am invited to share int eh mission of healing and reconciliation in the world, God’s Mission of peace, justice, reconciliation, and love. It is in my lowest moments, my most desperate and fearful moments, in the darkness of night, that the Risen Christ breaks into my life and breathes peace and Spirit and life. It doesn’t change the circumstances around me. The storms still rage; the threats still threaten; the pain is still real, but I am held in love and know that all will be well. Somehow, some way, in life or death, all will be well. I don’t understand, I can’t define or control, only trust. At that moment I can breathe again, and I know I am not alone and whatever may happen, nothing can separate me from God’s love in Christ. From death to life, we grow/ Through grief and pain to breathe again. Through locked doors and solid walls/ the Risen Christ breathes life and then/ Says: Peace be with you, my friends/ From death to life we grow.

Cracks in Life let the Light of Grace In!

‘There’s a crack, a crack in everything. That’s where the light gets in…’ This is part of the chorus from Leonard Cohen’s ‘Anthem.’ There’s a crack, a brokenness to human life and we feel it in our being. As I gaze around or am deluged with newsfeeds, the brokenness of the world rings out, like the bells in Cohen’s song. There is a brokenness to everything; everything is cracked or cracking, but too often we try to hide it, cover it over or pretend all is well. Life cracks open when narcissists arrogantly assert, megalomaniacs accumulate and abuse power, tyrants tyrannise, and people hurt or die. Life cracks open the violent violate and the wealthy hoard and fail to share. Where there is conflict or hatred, fear or revenge, impoverishment or exclusion and people are pushed aside as collateral damage, the brokenness screams out as the cracks break open. There’s a crack, a crack in everything… Life has its moments of deep darkness, when the clouds of pain and despair descend and swallow us. When the medical staff deliver the news we feared; when we experience the grief of death, or when it looks us in the face; when relationships break open and we feel the loss of dreams… the cracks appear, and we feel the brokenness. This is really what the story of Easter is all about. In those last days before his crucifixion, there is the Passover meal where Jesus names betrayer and denier and identifies the broken bread with his soon-to-be broken body and the cup of wine with his blood that will be shed. They go into the garden, and he cries his desperate prayer: ‘God, if possible, take this cup of suffering from me, but not my will but yours be done.’ Jesus is arrested, tried, abused, and then handed over to the Romans for judgement and death. Pilate is confused, finds no reason, but is fearful of upsetting the religious leaders. Jesus is whipped, and carries his cross through the city, a journey of humiliation and pain. Then he is stripped, nailed to a cross and hung up to die a painful and horrible death. For those around him, there is fear, grief, confusion, and overwhelming pain. Everything has come to an end for them, and they are lost. This is brokenness and the cracks are overwhelming, as reality breaks open in the deepest, most painful way. Over many years we hosted a Stations of the Cross art exhibition curated by minister and artist, Doug Purnell. Doug invited leading visual artists to prepare a work related to one of the traditional Stations of the Cross and they were exhibited over Easter. As I encountered these works, where artists reflected on Jesus’ story out of their own life and experience, I was challenged, confronted, surprised and I gained deeper insights into life and death and the Easter story. Some of the artists were Christian, but most were not. Some were from other religions (Buddhism, Islam, Judaism…) and from different cultures. All had a heightened sense of spirituality and engaged the texts deeply and with surprising wisdom. In the works, there was a revealing of brokenness and the cracks emerging in life, in its many forms and in different places. Over the years the various artists engaged very personally with the part of the story they were portraying. I remember one female artist in tears as she shared, for the first time in a public manner, her own story of abuse. She painted reflections on Jesus being sentenced to death and it kindled in her memories of the abuse she experienced and how it felt like a sentence. In another exhibition she portrayed the cross she bore as a female artist in the 1970’s, excluded and not given equal opportunity. She connected this with Jesus’ own rejection at the hands of religious leaders and Rome. She brought in other stories of women who have been rejected and persecuted in corporate or public life, and of the cross they bear. Other artists connected their own stories, or the stories of their people, with the story of Jesus and gave us their intimate works to engage our own story with that of Jesus. There was wisdom, hope, and life as we engaged with each other around this central and profound story. There is a crack, a crack in everything. That’s where the light gets in. Through this exhibition and the stories of people, I recognised that God’s Light was there, breaking in through the cracks in human life and where the brokenness of the world is revealed. In the stories of artists, reflecting on Jesus’ story and their own story, there were tears and pain through remembered experience. There was rekindled grief – there was also new life. There was this strange and mysterious grace that penetrated into their lives, through their work, and then penetrating more deeply into the wider community of people who reflected on the works they created. As the cracks Reflection Notes – 20/4/25 Easter opened, light flowed through and there was a strange and mysterious sense of healing and hope – even in the darkest places! What I also discovered through these exhibitions was that when the ‘world’ (that is beyond the church) opens the texts and engages with Jesus’ story from the experience of life in the world, its crises, and challenges (and cracks!), there is wisdom for life. Jesus was crucified in the world, by the powers that be. His life was lived in the context of the Roman Empire and the Jewish nationalistic sensibilities and expectations. It was a story that happened in the midst of life in the world. Over the centuries, it has been contracted back into a religious tradition, carefully guarded and protected by religious people until the ‘world’ is largely pushed aside and Easter has become a Christian holy day, relevant only, it seems, to people of faith. The Stations of the Cross Exhibition opened this story up and invited the ‘world’ into conversation with the story of Jesus and it revealed the connections of this story to the life we all lead. It exposed the cracks in life and allowed the Light of God’s grace to flow in and touch us all. Easter holds death and life together. It speaks of God who embraces the deep realities and pain of the world in the body of Christ. This God experiences the pain, alienation, rejection, and death of the world, but does so in deeply profound love. Jesus surrendered everything into this grace and love as the only path that would deliver hope and life to the world. Resurrection, with all of its mystery and wonder, is the reality of hope for the world. It says that death, violence, hatred, injustice, and evil will not have the last word – faith, hope and love remain! Easter speaks into our world, proclaiming that the only way forward through the violence, conflict, injustice and evil around us, is the path and way of love, of reconciliation, and that is God’s mission – our mission. This is the mystery of resurrection.

The Yearning in the Human Heart…

The older I get the more I am convinced that people are essentially spiritual and yearn for spiritual depth, meaning and hope in their lives. I think that in an overtly materialistic world it is more so the case. There is something within the human being that yearns for the spiritual and attached to that yearning is meaning, purpose, hope and love. When I speak about ‘spiritual’ I am not placing any specific form on that word because whilst there may be a yearning for spirituality, any such search often takes people away from organised religions. They offer their systems of belief rather than a way of life that runs deep and quenches the inner thirst of spirit. Perhaps the God of which I speak is actually over there? In times of crisis, grief and uncertainty, people I have met long for that which touches their inner being and brings hope. Such moments take us deeper than the more superficial elements of our life – work, house, possessions and bank balance, education, status, power and so on. Such moments of crisis or ongoing struggle confront us with the non-material realities of life that stir our souls and inner being. What is real? What is true? What is hopeful? Where is love and joy and peace? What is really important? Some people are very clear about these things. Their lives are lived on the very edge of being, tested and strained to breaking point by poverty, illness, emotional pain or oppressive danger. They know what is important and what is clearly superficial and transient. Food for the day, water to drink, a place to sleep in safety, people to share the struggle with – a community or family that can stand together – and something or someone beyond them who might offer liberation and release – hope! For others of us it is more at points of stress or pain that we confront something of the futility of life as it is lived and what we are told is ‘true and good for us.’ When my world comes crashing down what good is ambition or status or education or money or any other material thing in which I may have placed all my trust and hope? Beyond the struggles of life, though, there are other ‘symptoms’ of our endless search for spiritual meaning as we seek to be filled with awe and wonder. I feel awe and wonder when touched deeply in my being, my soul. I gaze into the sunset as the colours flare through reds, pinks and oranges, burning up the sky in brilliant beauty. I feel awe and wonder when I look into the garden with its flowers and trees and diverse beauty or into the local creek as it twists and turns to the sounds of birdsong. I feel awe and wonder when moved by the beauty of a melody or song that lifts my spirit. The simple meal around a table with family and friends sharing stories and laughter or the occasional tears and pain. I feel awe and wonder in the profound lives of people who give their all for the sake of others, the common good, justice, peace and the well-being of the world. The martyrdom of Martin Luther King jr, Romero, Bonhoeffer and others moves me, inspires me and lifts my vision. When I see the simple smile of the children from the impoverished communities, too poor to own shoes and living extremely simply, I am moved, touched and connected to something deeper. (So, it seems to me a little off-putting when we can attach a word such as ‘awesome’ to the more mundane things of life such as the possibility of a fast food meal, a new toy or a football match.) This week we celebrate that which is commonly called ‘Palm Sunday’. This year we read Luke’s version (Luke 19:28-40). It’s a strange story as it describes Jesus riding into Jerusalem, the holy city of religious power, on a humble donkey. As he rides, the people, ordinary crowds of lowly people disenfranchised by the system – both Roman and Jewish Religion – gather and sing a song of welcome to the king. Jesus is hailed as a King but has nothing of the detritus of kingship. He has no crown, no sword or spear, no temporal power or authority, no temporal wealth. He comes humbly on a donkey and the lowly hail him as their king. He has listened, engaged, healed, and spoken hope into the mess of their lives. He has told them that God loves them and that this love looks different from what they sometimes imagine because it comes unconditionally. He told stories where the little ones are lifted up into God’s presence whilst the powerful are cast aside, even as they cast the little ones aside in the haste and lust to gain even more. What I missed for many years was the story of power that we don’t hear in the Bible, it being more concerned with the counter-story, this prophetic alternative. The story of power runs like this. Pontius Pilate, the Governor of Judea, always came into the holy city of Jerusalem at Passover. It was a time of celebration but offered hope to subversive voices who sought to stir up trouble amongst the plethora of pilgrims flooding into the city. Pilate Reflection Notes – 13/4/25 Palm Sunday – Geoff Stevenson was Caesar’s representative and came with the power, might and flourish of Rome. A great stallion, a war horse, held Pilate high. He was surrounded by soldiers, on horseback and foot. The clanging of swords, spears, shields, the weapons of war and symbols of military might. Trumpets and heralds broadcast his presence and everyone bowed – everyone who valued their life, at any rate. This was a show of power, a threatening show of power to demonstrate who is boss and to warn troublemakers off. Pilate represents Rome, the most powerful power in their world. Jesus’ simple parade with songs of praise looks meagre, although perhaps more people gathered? Despite Rome’s overwhelming show of power and the demonstration of might, the people yearned for this simple rabbi and what he offered through story and gracious love. The people longed for what he said and promised even though there didn’t seem to be the remotest possibility of him delivering. This was a simple man against the might of Rome. All he had was love and the belief that God was in this and in and through him. He had passion for the way of God and lived it thoroughly before the powers of the world. He followed his passion to the end and hung on a cross, dying because of love and hope, and God’s Reign in the world – and invites us to join his song, his dance, his parade. The people felt it, saw it, believed it but it couldn’t be grasped and held onto. They only could get in line with this One and walk in the Way. It got into them and filled them with awe and yearning of the spirit for the Spirit. Eyes become open to another hope, another way, a realm within the world where God reigns in love and grace. Sometimes we have a name and framework for this awe and wonder that fills our soul and sometimes we just yearn to know it more clearly.

What’s It Like to Begin Again?

I have, floating through my mind, images from the screens of my life – TV, social media… The images of war and suffering in Ukraine or Gaza; of cyclonic winds, rain and flood waters ripping through towns and cities, destroying homes and businesses; of fire storms raging through bushland and into suburban areas, reducing everything in their path to ashes… Images of people loading cars, boats or bikes – any vehicle they have – of filling bags and backpacks and leaving. They drive, ride, float or walk away… Never knowing what they will return to – if at all! Will the firestorms destroy everything, or the floods consume and ruin or the bombs and missiles of invading armies reduce to rubble all that we know… What is it like to start again? When confronted with health issues and crises, of life and death situations that close down life and diminish hope, we begin to ask questions and feel the sense of anxiety about how we will live through and beyond this. When I celebrate the life of a person, loved and missed, and there is deep sadness and grief at the loss. The questions begins to emerge, How can we live? What will it look like? What is it like to begin again? In so many ways, in so many times of our life, we ask, we wonder, what is it like to begin again? What will it mean and how will we cope? Into my pondering of late, an ancient prophetic voice from the Jewish Scriptures echoed down through history: ‘A new thing, I am doing a new thing!’ The prophet Isaiah utters these words in a reading this week (Isaiah 43:16-21). This prophetic voice, with its anticipatory hope is good and ominous – What is it like to begin again? Whether God is in it or not! What is it like to have to start over, to rebuild, recreate, renew and find our way in a world that is dynamic, changing, resistant and difficult? What is it like to begin again? There is much in life that we anticipate with joy and excitement, new things emerging in our lives – experiences, babies, events, new ‘toys’ to play with, new work… Change is everywhere present and some we negotiate well. Other change is hard to embrace as securities and familiarity disappear or when change is omnipresent and all-consuming. We feel swept up in the cataclysmic maelstrom of being and feel deep anxiety, fear and resistance. New things can be really hard – especially when we feel no control over life! New things or possibilities often also mean an ending, that something old is now being set aside, thrown away and lost. When we think about the new, there is also the old, with the attendant grief and loss associated with its passing. God promises these Jewish people a new thing, a new way and that is a source of hope and peace. Their lives have been turned upside down over a generation or so. The Babylonian armies have destroyed their home, temple and everything that was theirs. They now endure life in the far-off land of Babylon. So, this is welcome news. They will have hope and life. The prophet is speaking into their hopelessness and promising a hopeful end to their struggle. The people do eventually return home, but home is rubble. There is newness and possibility but also grief and no doubt the desire to return to the way everything used to be. Why couldn’t we just have our city, homes and Temple? Why couldn’t everything be the same as it always was? There is the struggle between the new thing and what was. The ‘what was’ can no longer be, and it must be let go of in order to embrace the new thing that God is offering. How hard is it to begin again? We are often caught between what was and what can be – the old thing and the new possibility. This is precisely the situation we wrestle with in so many of our institutions and organisations at this time in history. As everything changes so rapidly all around us, we are being driven into new places of meaning and relevance to encounter and deal with the world that is our lives. This is difficult! In so many ways the new is life-giving and exciting but also harrowing and difficult. It takes energy and will to embrace the new thing and not sentimentalise the old. It sometimes takes courage to step out in faith to engage with the new thing that lies before us – that, which God is perhaps drawing us into. In the midst of the new thing and the change that it represents we need to prepare ourselves and even grieve in order to accept, embrace and engage the new thing before us. In John’s story of Jesus (John 12:1- 8), we are confronted with a strange story of Jesus dining with Mary, Martha and Lazarus (the one of resuscitation fame). During the meal, Mary, out of gratitude and understanding, anoints Jesus’ feet. This strange event is about grieving Jesus. Mary, it seems, clearly understands that Jesus’ time is limited, that he will soon be sacrificed on the Roman cross. His prophetic and compassionate life is too confronting to the powers that be and the world can’t handle such love and grace. She takes expensive perfume and anoints Jesus, preparing his body for burial. This sounds very strange to us but is a beautiful act of love and Reflection Notes – 6/4/25 5 th Sunday in Lent – Geoff Stevenson acknowledgement of what will be. Mary understands what is to come and what confronts Jesus. She understands that there is a new era about to emerge and Jesus will not be part of it – he has prepared the way, and the Spirit of God will be with the people, but Jesus will not be there. This is a public act of love and grief that recognises what will be; what perhaps has to be. Mary celebrates Jesus and grieves what she will lose. There is a curious comment of Jesus after Judas castigates Mary suggesting the money for this expensive perfume could have been used for the poor. Jesus says. ‘The poor you will have always. You will not always have me.’ This points to the new thing, the new way that Jesus has begun but will continue on through those who follow, who take up God’s way and carry on his mission. They form communities of grace into which the poor (and all people!) can belong and find they have enough. This is a prophetic statement that envisages a new way in the world where all will have enough and learn to share with those who don’t. It is a new thing where love, courage, faith, compassion, justice, peace and joy will mingle with hope to bring life – like a stream in the desert there is flourishing! The way of God always calls us into new life, new ways and new possibilities. God is always doing a new thing because there are always people who need new hope, new life and liberation. It can be hard to embrace all the change, all the letting go and the unsettling instability that embracing newness can require. We are all in a constant state of change, transition and movement into new ways of life but there is a constant that grounds us in hope and provides security amidst the change. That foundation and constant is God’s love and grace that can hold us in tenuous moments and sustain us in difficult times of transition and transformation. It is difficult to begin again, to start anew and engage with transformation – but God is with us!!! May God hold you, strengthen you and energise you through the times of newness and the new things that life offers.

The Journey into Grace and Love...

Like all of us, I have made many journeys in life. Some have been simple and straightforward and others more complex and challenging. Some have been physical journeys that have taken me away from home on some adventure or a retreat into a peaceful space. Some journeys have been emotional and challenged my world view, challenged everything and left me breathless and confused, grieving and lost. Sometimes the journey has been simple and lovely, such as the little journey we made today around Toongabbie Creek on our daily walk with the dogs. Susan and Nessa ventured to the park to play ball. Nico, meanwhile, wanted to walk further away, to explore the creek, the parks, bark at or greet other dogs and people along the way. This little journey isn’t so much a physical challenge but a source quiet and reflection in the wonder and beauty of the early morning world. Sometimes the journey is emotionally or physically demanding. It stretches me by confronting me with my own limitations and powerlessness. The journey through my mother’s illness and death so many years ago, was extremely confronting and emotionally challenging. The resultant grief and sense of loss became its own journey to understand, recalibrate and recognise my own limitations and mortality. I also recognised that I cannot do this life alone. ‘Journey’ is a metaphor that is readily present in all cultures to describe the movement through life that engages us. Most cultures, religions and philosophies seem to speak in terms of a journey at some point. The great archetypal story is of the outward journey we all make, leaving home to take on the world and build our own sense of being. This metaphorical (and sometimes physical) journey is about the individuation of self, of experimenting and testing the world and working out who we are. It is necessarily self-centred and ego-driven. It revolves around ambition, striving, testing and pushing boundaries. It is the life of the adolescent who is naturally self-absorbed as they try to define and express their emerging identity. Sometimes this is a wild journey (‘sowing wild oats’) that pushes everything as far as possible. There may be rebellion and anger. vulnerability and naivete in the push and pull of home versus independence. This is the story of the Garden of Eden and the journey outward into the world away from the fantastical world of childhood. It is about rebellion and pushing boundaries and rules and the movement into personhood – Adam and Eve gained names and individual identity at this point in the story. They enter a world that is harsh and filled with toil and struggle, along with the joy of relationships and life lived. This is also the beginning of the journey that will eventually bring them home into a place of peaceful acceptance, of relational equanimity when engaged with integrity! The outward journey we make into life is one that builds the container of our being. It is the building up of who we are and is formed in the dreams, hopes and adolescent longing of ego, ambition and the seductions of the world in which live. We are tempted with fame, fortune, power and the accumulation of ‘stuff’. We become driven to ‘be someone’ even though we have no clear idea of who we are. The compulsions and addictions we acquire as we struggle through this journey drive us onward until we fall into vulnerability and humility. When we are confronted by a great suffering and as we live through it, we recognise our own powerlessness and inability to ‘save ourselves’. Sometimes it is a great sense of awe that brings us to our knees and reveals the smallness of who we are in this vast universe – the world does not actually revolve around ‘me’. It may be a great love that draws us into a vulnerable, humble place before which we recognise that we are not the centre of everything. These kinds of experiences, when engaged with and allowed to form us and change us, squash down the ego into a healthier place where it doesn’t dominate everything. We then begin the second journey of life, which is about filling the container of our lives, with that which is ultimately important. We learn wisdom, community, generosity and love. We begin to understand that we are part of the webs of life on this vulnerable planet. We are no better or worse, no greater or less than other people – we are all unique, and everyone has their place. We are all in this together and must share the resources and learning we have acquired along the way for the good of all. This is some challenging journey and one that not everyone makes! The best leaders the world has known were engaged in this journey in life whilst the worst, ego-centric leaders are still negotiating the first journey and do not understand what life is about – not yet. Donald Trump, Vladimir Putin and others who are ego-centric and narcissistic, and believe the world revolves around them! This week’s story comes from Luke 15:11-32, which is the story often known as The Prodigal Son. It is a story of the 2 journeys. The younger son is bored with the world of home and wants out. He wants to push the boundaries, experience life and test the seductive promises of the world beyond home. His father obliges and he leaves on his adventure. All seems good until he realises it actually isn’t. Money gone, friends moved on and desperate he falls into crisis and suffering. It is somewhere in this fallen state of pain and crisis that he realises he can’t do it and home looks pretty good. His father’s house cares for all who are there. He returns home. He could not do that until he came to the humble realisation that he was powerless to change anything about his life. He could not do it alone and needed home! The part of the story that confounds us and turns expectations upside down is when he gets close to home and we are told his father had looked out every day and when he saw his son he ran and grasped him with tears in his eyes and love in his heart. The son tried to confess, apologise… but the father pushes it aside saying, ‘You are my son, you’ve always been my son. You were lost but now your found; dead but now Reflection Notes – 30/3/25 4 th Sunday of Lent - Geoff Stevenson alive.’ This is grace! It is undeserved, unmerited love that recognises the boy has endured the first journey and is now ready to come home to where he belongs as the unique individual he can be. He doesn’t need to be ‘punished’ just accepted and loved! He has been to ‘hell’ and is back home. His older brother never left home and has never known the deep pain. He has lived in safety and judges his brother severely! He refuses his father’s grace and wants retribution towards his brother. He cannot accept grace. He cannot see that the deeper a person falls and suffers, the deeper their need for grace, love and acceptance. This is a story of God’s grace and love that is there for everyone, free and lavishly bestowed on all who understand their need and humbly open themselves to receive it! The older son becomes real in our own experience when there is judgement of others who need grace and love – asylum seekers, our Indigenous brothers and sisters, those who struggle with poverty, both here and overseas, or people who have great needs, physical, emotional/psychological and spiritual, which at some point is most of us. The older son is those who from a sense of entitlement judge other people who are in another place without walking with them to understand their life. The older son refuses to come to the celebration and wants to deny grace to others. Such grace and love is confounding and antithetical to the priorities of our world, where vengeance and retribution dominate our responses to life’s challenges. Forgiveness and grace, though, are the way of healing and peace for all.

In the end - There is Grace!

We ask the question, 'Why' in many situations. Why did something bad happen to that person, or that group?

Finding Peace and Life - in the Heart of Love

An ancient Jewish poem, invites us to find our deep peace and life in God. Psalm 27 is a profound invitation into grace but how does it work for us in our contemporary world?