KAUWHAU at TE POU HERENGA WAKA O TE
WHAKAPONO
(South Napier)
2nd Sunday after Epiphany
(January 14th) 2018
Readings
1 Samuel 3:1-20
1 Samuel 3:1-20
Psalm 139:1-6, 13-18
1 Corinthians 6:12-20
John 1:43-51
It seems to
me there are many ways to prepare a kauwhau (sermon) and no one way is right.
Those of us who preach probably use a variety. I might for example spend time
trawling through the resources I have learned to use during my academic
journeys, then spend time making something meaningful out of them for the
people – you – whose lives I am speaking to. What do the profound insights of
great biblical scholars bring to us as we do our best to live our faith with
integrity in down town Ahuriri Pounamu (guess that’s a bit of a made-up name
but it will do)? What do they say to us in this strange century of climate
change, manic US presidents, renewed threat of nuclear winter and dismantled
certainties?
But I’m ignoring that option!
For while scholars will dig out deep intellectual insights, the obvious links that our readings make between the call of Samuel and the call of Nathanael seem to demand more personal a tale. What is a call? How does God tap us on the shoulder? Are some calls better, more godly than others? Are back-to-front-collar-wearers closer to God the God of Creation and Cross than the rest of humanity?
Hah! Hardly! But we used to speak that way, as if the only call of any significance was to priesthood, ministry, or in the rohe (parish) where I first explored a life vocation, missionary service?
In fact, I suspect God never stops calling us. Sometimes, rarely, the calls are dramatic, like that of Samuel in the night. Sometimes they are less so, and in a way Nathanael’s is that. Modernize the telling of his encounter with invitation and it becomes more like a chat in a pub.
“What are you doin’ this weekend?”
I’m putting up a retaining wall.”
No wait … different story.
“Hey Nathan?”
“Yeah?”
“Waddyadoin’ for the rest of your life, you Nazarene? Thougta trekkin’ along with Jesus?”
“Yeah, right.”
“You’re dreamin’ mate. He’s from Nazareth!”
“Yeah, but you know. Whatever.”
Not all touches of God are nudges in a spectacular direction. Hey Nath … would you mind being a teacher, bus driver, gardener. Vocation might be an obviously missional life, or might mean doing, as the song put it, what you do do well … doing what you do but knowing that as you do so you bear the light of Christ in a chosen field. Engineer, meter monitor, electrician.
So, as Paul put it in a passage which is not down to read today, and taken a little out of context “… do all for the glory of God.” It’s a guideline that no doubt we’ll all fall short of, but a good one nevertheless. Do I drive a bus? Do it for the glory of God. Do I plant trees? Do it for the glory of God. Do I preach sermons? Do it for the glory of God (and make sure you listen to your own messages!).
How though, might God call us? I remember when I was first exploring the journey towards ordination many years ago, many spoke of the “call” as if it had involved some dramatic light in the night, voices from heaven, a mystical moment like that outlined in the Samuel narrative and elsewhere in the call of many of the great prophets, of both Hebrew and Christian covenant.
Neither my original conversion nor my stumbling towards ordination were anything like that. Perhaps some are, but I suspect most are not. In my conversion experience I spent many months ascertaining whether I was convinced that I was living in a universe without a God. I slowly concluded that I was not, and then set out to find the God of whom I had heard rumours in the lives and actions and words of one or two people I had met. In my later “call” to ordination I simply tried to ascertain where best my skills might lead me, and slowly discerned, alone and then with others, that they might well lend themselves to theological school and on to what I would call manatū pirihi, priesthood. The authorities eventually agreed, and I have stumbled along that path more or less ever since. I can think of at least one bishop – possibly more than one – who is convinced the authorities got it badly wrong
In the end though it is a matter of listening, as Nathanael and Samuel both demonstrate. At theological college I encountered some for whom theological formation was some sort of recognition of talent, some sort of authentication. “Mate, you’re dreamin’” I might have said. Immersion in Jesus is our authentication, and anything after that is merely fine tuning by the leading of God’s Spirit. Wairua Tapu over and again equips us for one task or another in the service of God’s reign. “Are all apostles? Are all prophets? Are all teachers? Do all work miracles? Do all drive taxis? Do all grow vegetables? Do all write books?” My set of skills happened to be reasonably useful in the career I’ve followed (and, I sometimes muse, not much use for anything else), but in all we do we must seek in our own fallible ways to take our faith and our Christlight with us.
Sometimes the journeys are hard to understand. I look in awe at Hone’s pounamu carving, or listen to Uma or Stewart on the guitar (I know three chords) or gain hints of the incredible wāhine (I’m not going to say “kuia” in case you thump me) who surround me here, and I see real evidence of the way in which God gives gifts, and the way in which receivers of those gifts have quietly, and no doubt fallibly, used those gifts in many different ways.
I’d like to take the mystique out of the words “calling” and “vocation.” They are the same word, with equivalence to “umanga” or the rather nice “karangatanga” in te reo. I’d like to know more of all your callings and vocations, but also your joys and sometimes stumblings in following your vocations. But they are your stories, that God has given you. Mine will be different.
Above all, whether we are Samuel or Nathanael, Algy or Hone or Maree or (even) Lem, male or female, Māori or Pākehā, South Napier or te Pou Herenga Waka o te Whakapono, we are called, nudged, led by God’s Spirit simply to be what and who and where God has chosen us to be. We are called from before we were conceived, called By the God who has searched us and knows us, who has called us into life and who will one day call us into the life beyond our sight. Let us serve God with the gifts God gives us, to the best of our ability, offering ourselves soul and body in the service of God’s Reign.
But I’m ignoring that option!
For while scholars will dig out deep intellectual insights, the obvious links that our readings make between the call of Samuel and the call of Nathanael seem to demand more personal a tale. What is a call? How does God tap us on the shoulder? Are some calls better, more godly than others? Are back-to-front-collar-wearers closer to God the God of Creation and Cross than the rest of humanity?
Hah! Hardly! But we used to speak that way, as if the only call of any significance was to priesthood, ministry, or in the rohe (parish) where I first explored a life vocation, missionary service?
In fact, I suspect God never stops calling us. Sometimes, rarely, the calls are dramatic, like that of Samuel in the night. Sometimes they are less so, and in a way Nathanael’s is that. Modernize the telling of his encounter with invitation and it becomes more like a chat in a pub.
“What are you doin’ this weekend?”
I’m putting up a retaining wall.”
No wait … different story.
“Hey Nathan?”
“Yeah?”
“Waddyadoin’ for the rest of your life, you Nazarene? Thougta trekkin’ along with Jesus?”
“Yeah, right.”
“You’re dreamin’ mate. He’s from Nazareth!”
“Yeah, but you know. Whatever.”
Not all touches of God are nudges in a spectacular direction. Hey Nath … would you mind being a teacher, bus driver, gardener. Vocation might be an obviously missional life, or might mean doing, as the song put it, what you do do well … doing what you do but knowing that as you do so you bear the light of Christ in a chosen field. Engineer, meter monitor, electrician.
So, as Paul put it in a passage which is not down to read today, and taken a little out of context “… do all for the glory of God.” It’s a guideline that no doubt we’ll all fall short of, but a good one nevertheless. Do I drive a bus? Do it for the glory of God. Do I plant trees? Do it for the glory of God. Do I preach sermons? Do it for the glory of God (and make sure you listen to your own messages!).
How though, might God call us? I remember when I was first exploring the journey towards ordination many years ago, many spoke of the “call” as if it had involved some dramatic light in the night, voices from heaven, a mystical moment like that outlined in the Samuel narrative and elsewhere in the call of many of the great prophets, of both Hebrew and Christian covenant.
Neither my original conversion nor my stumbling towards ordination were anything like that. Perhaps some are, but I suspect most are not. In my conversion experience I spent many months ascertaining whether I was convinced that I was living in a universe without a God. I slowly concluded that I was not, and then set out to find the God of whom I had heard rumours in the lives and actions and words of one or two people I had met. In my later “call” to ordination I simply tried to ascertain where best my skills might lead me, and slowly discerned, alone and then with others, that they might well lend themselves to theological school and on to what I would call manatū pirihi, priesthood. The authorities eventually agreed, and I have stumbled along that path more or less ever since. I can think of at least one bishop – possibly more than one – who is convinced the authorities got it badly wrong
In the end though it is a matter of listening, as Nathanael and Samuel both demonstrate. At theological college I encountered some for whom theological formation was some sort of recognition of talent, some sort of authentication. “Mate, you’re dreamin’” I might have said. Immersion in Jesus is our authentication, and anything after that is merely fine tuning by the leading of God’s Spirit. Wairua Tapu over and again equips us for one task or another in the service of God’s reign. “Are all apostles? Are all prophets? Are all teachers? Do all work miracles? Do all drive taxis? Do all grow vegetables? Do all write books?” My set of skills happened to be reasonably useful in the career I’ve followed (and, I sometimes muse, not much use for anything else), but in all we do we must seek in our own fallible ways to take our faith and our Christlight with us.
Sometimes the journeys are hard to understand. I look in awe at Hone’s pounamu carving, or listen to Uma or Stewart on the guitar (I know three chords) or gain hints of the incredible wāhine (I’m not going to say “kuia” in case you thump me) who surround me here, and I see real evidence of the way in which God gives gifts, and the way in which receivers of those gifts have quietly, and no doubt fallibly, used those gifts in many different ways.
I’d like to take the mystique out of the words “calling” and “vocation.” They are the same word, with equivalence to “umanga” or the rather nice “karangatanga” in te reo. I’d like to know more of all your callings and vocations, but also your joys and sometimes stumblings in following your vocations. But they are your stories, that God has given you. Mine will be different.
Above all, whether we are Samuel or Nathanael, Algy or Hone or Maree or (even) Lem, male or female, Māori or Pākehā, South Napier or te Pou Herenga Waka o te Whakapono, we are called, nudged, led by God’s Spirit simply to be what and who and where God has chosen us to be. We are called from before we were conceived, called By the God who has searched us and knows us, who has called us into life and who will one day call us into the life beyond our sight. Let us serve God with the gifts God gives us, to the best of our ability, offering ourselves soul and body in the service of God’s Reign.
TLBWY / kia noho a Ihowa ki a koutou
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