You can’t.  It won’t work.  It hasn’t been done before.  It is impossible.  Don’t talk foolishness.  Are you crazy.  What are you thinking. 

Our nature, our humanity, taught us to be cautious.  Like sheep, we follow the herd.  We have high ideals of independence and freedom, then we all get jobs, buy our houses in the suburb, and live the conventional life.

Anyone or anything that seems out of the ordinary, we doubt.

So we must forgive Thomas, he, like us - like all of us - are natural doubters.  We are hone by experience and years of conditioning.

And Thomas didn’t see.

Imagine, your dear friend had thousands of people cheering for him as he entered the great city of Jerusalem, throwing their cloaks and palm branches on the ground.  In the back of your head, you see yourself as next to the future king - and the Messiah.  A couple of days later, you sit down to a traditional holiday feast, you laugh, you drink some wine, you go for a walk in the gardens.

Everything seems fine.

Then, a mob of soldiers descends, takes you friend in front of a kangaroo court, turns him over to the hated government who sentences him to death - and you see him executed.

Let’s face it, you don’t expect to hear about him waltzing around town three days later.  Who wouldn’t doubt!

In the end, we like Thomas are doubters.  We won’t believe unless we see.  Pray and ask for guidance, but turn away when it isn’t what we expect - or worse, is going to force us go outside of the normal expectations.  It is seemingly easier to tread the normal.  The perception is, that the ‘normal’ way, is best.

We, like Thomas, let our common sense in the way.  We refrain from suspending our sensibilities.  I can’t change the world.  I can’t stand up to my friends.  I can’t change.

The lesson we must learn for Thomas is first, don’t always go with conventional wisdom.  Don’t always follow the heard.  Listen, and pray and discern.

Second, what might seem improbably, or even impossible for ourselves and humanity, is not impossible for God.

And that my friend, makes all the difference.

 If we put ourselves in the shoes of the early Christians, those first disciplines on this Easter morning, it would be a very dark time.

Our dear friend and leader, the man we had seen walk triumphantly into Jerusalem only a week early, was dead.  And not just dead, but executed.  We were his known friends.  Together, we huddle together, waiting for the soldiers to come and take us away.

Life had to seem very dark indeed.

Imagine the confusion when the woman came back to tell them that the tomb was empty.  The Jesus had risen.  Peter and John had to be in a state of shock, of disbelief.  They knew him, they learned from him, but yet, it is so unimaginable, so confounding of a thing that even they couldn’t have believed it.

So they ran to the tomb.  And it was empty.

Life and death still confuse us today.  There is the horror and the pain.  Many of us have experienced it first hand.  We have seen what the ravages of time and sickness can do to those that we love.  We have seen the impact of lives snatched away suddenly.  We weep for those lost opportunities.

Yet still, for Christians, we know that it is not the end, and Easter proves the point.  It is a transition point.

For those that read the ‘wisdom’ section of this website, you know the story first hand of life and death that my mother and my family experienced firsthand, but it also seems fortuitous that both the illness and death happened around Easter.

Like Peter, John, Mary and Martha, we mourn for the lost of our loved ones.  But if have faith, we also know that the story doesn’t end at the tomb.  We know that it is merely a transition, we know that the promise of the resurrection isn’t a hollow one, we believe that He died for our sins, and rose again to set us free.

We also know that suffering is part of life.  As challenging as those weeks, months and years were around Mom’s illness, they were also deeply rewarding and bore much spiritual fruit.  Patience, kindness, compassion, understanding, and faith.

When the Isrealites were lead out of Egypt, they complained against God and were set upon by snakes.  They were saved by a bronze serpent on a pole, set up for all to see.  We were saved by one of us, dying for us, set up on a hill for all to see.

In was in the suffering that the lessons of our humanity were learned.  It was in the pain and the hardships that our metal was tested.

In their humanity, the disciplines who hid after the death of Jesus, who had seen the glory of the triumphant entry, the wonder and companionship of the Last Supper, followed by the horrors of Good Friday - they couldn’t see, nor comprehend what would follow on that Easter.

This Easter, may have the faith to believe that the story doesn’t end on the cross, that the crosses, the shames, the troubles we bear aren’t the end, but only part of the story of our redemption.

 God became flesh and blood, he became us, man.  He shared our humanity and our experience and his life mirrors, in many ways, our own.  He had a family, Mary and Joseph, that loved him and reared him.  He grew up in a small town, no doubt surrounded by friends and relatives.  Mary more than likely walked each day to the well with the local women.  They would have attended the local synagogue with their friends and neighbours.  

As a young man, he had a close circle of friends.  We know that he attended weddings, and would have also gone to funerals as well.  I’m sure he had chores as a child, and he was probably a very good carpenter, learning at the hands of his earthly father Joseph.

Jesus was also an intellectual.  He preached and debated religious law with the chief priests and elders.   His band of friends thought he was really something.

But he also shared our emotions.  He got angry with the money changers.  He mourned over his friend Lazarus.  He enjoyed time with children.  He chided his mother.  He probably shared a good laugh with his friends.  He got disappointed with them as well.

In hindsight, it is easy to look at the triumphant entrance into Jerusalem as something different then it was, but we all have our triumphant moments.  The election to some office.  Winning the football game.  That great first date.  A great night out with friends.  A wedding.  A raise.  The birth of a new child.

We all have those euphoric moments.

And Palm Sunday was no less.  Here is a poor carpenter’s son, a travelling preacher, who is welcomed by thousands, throwing cloaks and blankets on the road. 

It had to be an exhilarating experience.

We know the rest of the story, but Jesus’ followers, didn’t.  They had to be beside themselves with excitement.  Could this be the time?  Could this be the time when Jesus would rise up and be king?

They had to be wondering, what comes next?

And I’m guessing a crucifixion wasn’t what they had in mind.

While none of us (hopefully) will have to suffer a horrible death by crucifixion, we will all have our triumphant moments.  But the nature of the human experience, like that of Jesus, is that we will have those highs, but also the lows.  The wedding is followed by a divorce, a death, or an illness.  The birth will be followed by messy diapers, rebellion or worse.  The football hero will reach the age of retirement.  The won election will serve out the term, face retirement, or defeat at a future date.

The triumphant entry into Jerusalem was followed by the next high point of the Last Supper, then the horror of Good Friday.

Like with all humanity, we know that we too will have our low points.

But we also know, that the story doesn’t end on Good Friday.  For Christians, we believe that life is transformed.  The triumphant entry into Jerusalem was just that.  We know that Good Friday was a death, but also a transition.  A transition that set us all free.

 The Lord said through the prophet Jeremiah that he would make a new covenant, a covenant written on the hearts of men, not on the stone tablets, not some rules that man must remember, but ones that will be burned on our very souls that we might follow Him.

And that we would know Him, from greatest to least.

What a difference in the Gospel.  Jesus cries out to His Father and says, “Father, glorify your name!” And He gets a response from heaven, “I have glorified it and will glorify it again.”

The crowd heard it - they HEARD the voice, but argued - it was only thunder - no, it was an angel.

Ah, we humans, so hard of hearing.

Or is it listening?

One of my favorite John Wayne quotes is from the movie the Shootist, “Sometimes it isn’t being fast that counts, or even accurate; but willing. Most men will draw a breath or blink an eye before they shoot. I won’t.”

How many of us, in our faith,  are willing?  How many of us, when we hear the voice decry it as thunder?  Decry it as meant for something else or someone else or fail to even hear it?

We live our lives in fear of not doing the right thing or saying the right thing, or of losing money or face.

Sometimes, we have to lose to gain.  No one promised us all roses.  The old soldiers saying is that the hardest battles yields the richest prize.

But Jesus puts it so that even a simple country boy can understand, “Unless a grain of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains just a grain of wheat; but if it dies, it produces much fruit.”

It is in dying to ourselves, in following the voice, in following the path that we are asked to follow, in being willing to take the step, take the risk, and step out of our comfort zone where we yield the fruit.

Wheat in the bin does little good (aside from bread and cattle feed) - but you can use that seed to produce a bountiful harvest.

God will provide the sunshine and the rain in their due course.  We might not see nor understand the fruit of our labor, but that is where the faith - where the love, where the ability and the faith to follow the law written on our hearts is all the more important.

 ”The light came into the world, but people preferred darkness to light, because their works were evil.  For everyone who does wicked things hates the light and does not come toward the light, so that his works might not be exposed.  But whoever lives the truth comes to the light, so that his works maybe clearly seen as done in God.”

• - John, 3:14-21

The idea of light and dark are old principles. Good things live in the light.  We can see what is happening around us.  The light gives us warmth.  Darkness on the other hand is scary.  Dark is bad.  We don’t know what lurks in the dark. 

But we learn to live in the dark.  We learn to adapt and learn and strive.  We become accustom to it.  Eventually get very good at living in the dark - we can get away with a lot of things in the dark.  We can have a pretty good time.  But that good time can sometimes lead us from fun, to sin and vice.

Science and modern sensibilities tell us that the creatures of darkness, that devils and evil spirits don’t exist, that they are fanciful designs of an unenlightened world.

Yet how many people are led astray by that little voice that says, just take it a little farther…don’t worry about the consequences, don’t worry about regrets…think about now…think about the fun now…don’t count the cost…

Inevitably, there is a cost for sin. There was an interesting comment at a Lenten service last week, the priest said, “Each of us is born with absolute freedom, but the cords that bind us are woven with our own sins.”  I’m not sure why, but that one phrase struck home for me.  That image that each time I sin, the cord that will bind me and prevent me from spending time in the heavenly Kingdom is being made by my own hands.

We are called to the light.  We are called to let the light of faith fall on our lives.  Lent is a time to think about who we are, and where our heart is, and what sin we just can’t see.  Discernment.  Prayer.  Patience.

It is about faith.

If we follow His law, if we follow our conscience, if we walk in the light and live lives of truth and transparency, we will have freedom.

Part of being a Christian, or a good person, is to face the facts as they are.  To open our hearts. To know our sins.  We can hide it, or try to bury it, or we can bring it to Lord and say, “Lord, I’m too weak.  My strength isn’t enough for this.”

And that ok, His strength is more than enough.  His love is more than enough.

People suffer for their sins.  The Israelites were set upon by snakes and Moses had to raise a pole with a snake on it - when people looked to the bronze serpent they were healed.  When the son’s of Judah turned from their faith, they were taken for seventy years as slaves to Babylon, before being restored through the actions and the faith of the Persian King Cyrus.  We are saved from our sins by our God raised upon the cross.

It is the acknowledgement, the wisdom, the strength to know our sins - the clarity - that comes from the light.

 I read a recent news article about a shrine in Japan dedicated to Jesus, because according to local legend, Jesus travelled to Japan when he was twenty-one and spent twelve years building his spiritual life, before making the trek back to Judea.  Once back home, the local people wouldn’t listen to him, so they sentenced him to death.

But his brother, Isukiri, died in his place, and Jesus travelled north to escape, through Siberia and eventually, found his way back to the village of Shingo, he settled down, married, became a rice farmer, had three daughters, and died at the ripe old age of 106, still a deity, but with the relics of his brother’s ear and a lock of his mother’s hair.

To the local religious, this makes absolute sense - how could a god die?  How could a deity suffer humanity on a cross?

Indeed, Paul talks of this as well - the Greeks and Jews couldn’t see pass the absurdity of it either.  How could a god, or God for that matter, die.  How could the Messiah, the Saviour of the people, succumb to death at the hands of the Romans!  How could God be weak?  It was foolishness!

But as Paul says, “The foolishness of God is wiser than human wisdom, and the weakness of God is stronger than human strength.”

As mere mortals, we cannot fathom the depths of God, our minds, super computers, machines and mechanisms can’t begin to glimpse the vastness of the thoughts of Divine Providence.  We chalk the field of life and say this is what we shall see, this is our area of influence - and we ignore the world of possibilities around us.

When Jesus chased the merchants from the temple, He was asked for a sign - and He replied with, “Destroy this temple and in three days I’ll raise it up!”

Now the people whose lives - and whose families - had spent decades labouring and giving of their time, talent, and treasure to build this edifice were aghast.  It had taken 46 years to build what was there - and it wasn’t done yet!

But God wasn’t talking about the building, He was talking about His physical body.  Now tell me, which is a greater sign?

Moses was a shepherd when the burning bush called to him to lead his people to freedom.  David was tending his father’s flocks when he was anointed by Samuel to be the new king of Israel.  Peter was a lowly fisherman.  Matthew was a tax collector.  Paul was going to kill Christians when he was struck on the road to Damascus.  Augustine was a promiscuous drunk before he got the call and became one of the Doctors of the Church.  Patrick was a slave in Ireland before escaping, becoming a priest and getting the call to go back.  Thomas More was a poor lawyer, raised to head of government, and died for his faith.  Saint Ansgar was an orphan who became bishop and was lead into the land of the Vikings and converted the Swedish royal court.  John Paul II was a student in Nazi occupied Poland, and priest in communist controlled Poland.

How would any of them faired without faith!

It is said that Christianity is a religion of rules and commandments, and true, there are commandments and rules, yet they are meant to give us freedom, to calk the field for us, to set the standards for decency, the rules in the New Testement are the same - love one another, love the Lord.

Yet too often, our narrow minds limit our thoughts, our dreams, our prayers, and our visions.  What if Moses had said, “No my place is with the sheep.” Or David said, “No, my father’s pasture is good enough for me.”  What if Peter said, “My job is a fisherman.”  What if Matthew had said, “Get away from me, I’m a sinner.”  What if Paul had said, “You know, I guess maybe I was struck by God, but maybe it was something else.”  What if Augustine had said, “I’m not cut out for the priesthood.”  Thomas More could have said, “I’m just going to go along with the changes without saying anything.”  Patrick could have said, “I’ve been to Ireland Lord, and there isn’t anything going to change there.”  Ansgar could have said, “Look, the Vikings are the Vikings - they aren’t going to start saying their prayers.” What if John Paul II would have said, “It is just too risky to stand out.”

The Japanese couldn’t fathom a god dying.  The Greek’s couldn’t believe in Jesus crucified because how could a god die.  The Jews couldn’t believe because how could their savior succumb to the cross.  What is our weakness?  What is our foolishness?  What is excuse for not believing?

 As a child, I used to say my prayers.  Well, they weren’t really prayers really, they were conversations with people - relatives that had passed away, saints that I’d been told were special protectors of me (St. Mark, St. Wenceslaus, Mary), and the big man Himself.

I knew not to expect a response back, and in their childlike innocents, they seem quaint and whim some now.

How could a mere child, a mere mortal, hope to communicate with God.

And yet history is fraught with times when people have implored to God and God has given a sign to them - Joan of Arc, Constantine - to name two …asked for help from Divine Providence, all requested a sign.

And a sign was given.

Today, we have God putting Abraham to the test - and showing a tremendous sign to three of the Apostles.

Abraham, who prayed and prayed for a son and heir had to be heartbroken when God asked him to give him a sacrifice consisting of that very same son.  And yet, Abraham heeded the voice of God. 

But our God is not a God that demands blood - indeed, He gives his own blood for us.

Instead, he is a God that demands obedience, so God once again speaks to Abraham - and orders him not to lay a hand on the boy.

In the Gospel, Jesus is transformed from his normal appearance into one of dazzling white, and he converses with Elijah and Moses.  There is not much of a better sign that can be performed!

But yet, Jesus foreshadows what he knows is coming - don’t mention it until the Son of Man rises from the dead….

Signs and wonders abound in this week’s readings.

And yet we still live in a world that doubts.  A world that says faith is dead, that technology is carry humanity forward.  Yet there is no humanity without faith.  There is no faith without the one that made us.

And in the end, we have choice.  This lent.  This day.  We have choice.  Are we with Him, or against Him.  As Paul reminds us, “If God is for us, who can be against us?” 

Which is perhaps the most humbling part of all of Christendom, regardless how much we sin, regardless how much we try to run away, God still loves us.  God is still for us.  God still wants us to spend eternity with us.

Childlike prayer might be exactly what is needed in this time and this place.  In a world that at times seems to have gone mad, perhaps nothing is so mature, so logical as praying with that childlike innocents that we had as youths.

 ”I’m not interested in moving overseas.” I replied.

“But you said that you would be willing to relocate?”  said the managers a bit surprised.

“Listen, that was years ago.  I’ve built a life.  I’ve set down roots.  I’m happy where I am.”  I replied.

All of that was true.  Three years ago, I was in a very good spot in my life, and was happy with where things were.  When I was told that there may be an opportunity in Australia, there was something pushing me. 

And it was far from a certain thing. There was a list of people in front me.

One way or another, things worked out.  Twenty-three months into that eleven month assignment, I’m preparing to go home. It has truly been a life changing experience.  It has changed my mindset on many things, it has given me countless friends that I hope I will keep for life.  It has opened up a host of opportunities.  I’ve certainly grown.

I still wonder at how things worked out.  Even inwardly, ask me how I was adamant that I wasn’t interested in an overseas posting, and yet leap at this chance. Ask me how at the right moments, things broke my way.  How against my nature, I pushed for the deal to get done.

I can’t explain it.

In Mark’s Gospel, it recounts the telling Christs time in the wilderness much differently than the other Gospels.  Each line is a story in and of themselves, and to me, few more so today then the line, “The Spirit drove Jesus out into the desert.”

Jesus was one with the Spirit and one with the Father.  Yet here was the Spirit, driving him out into the wilderness.  Away from friends and family.  Into a strange land filled with wild animals.  It made Him pray.  It made him think about who He was. 

A good friend of mine says that all people have their ‘wilderness’ moments.  Moments in the desert. Times that test them.  Most of them go there willingly, but it usually out of character.  Abraham Lincoln spent a year on flat boats in the Mississippi River.  George Washington spent time as a wilderness surveyor, far away from his beloved plantation.  Theodore Roosevelt took his time in the wilderness of North Dakota.

Mark’s Gospel states, “He remained in the desert for forty days, tempted by Satan.”

Isn’t that the way it goes.  A strange land filled with wild beasts.  Jesus being man and having the emotions of man had to be scared.  There had to be moments when he was tired, cold, hungry, and perhaps the most cruel for man - alone.  These are the moments that Satan looks for - those times when our spirit is low, when we doubt.  Yet, Jesus being God, doesn’t fall for the bait - He knows He isn’t alone.

Then there is the line - and angel’s ministered to Him.

Wow, wouldn’t it be great if angels ministered to us?  I’m no theologian, but I will admit I have, and continue to have low points in my overseas assignment.  It isn’t as easy as just phoning a friend - there are massive time zone differences.  I’ve missed the birth of a nephew and numerous good friends children.

But there are people that have come to the rescue - inviting me to footy games and farm stays, feeding me in their homes, introducing me to friends and family.  Taking me on their vacations and family holidays.  Angels, I can’t say, but they certainly seemed like Godsends at the time.

Perhaps, this time at Lent, nothing strikes so close as the last line in this Sunday’s Gospel, “This is the time of fulfilment.  The Kingdom of God is at hand.  Repent, and believe in the Gospel.”

This is a line that has been spoken for two thousand years.  Is God’s time really at hand?  Yes.  God’s D-Day into enemy held territory of earth began in the stable in Bethlehem, and it continues today in each of our hearts.  This is the time of fulfilment for those of us willing to open our hearts and minds to His grace.  For those willing to repent - and believe the Good News.

 The first package hit me about Christmas time the first year, the first Christmas, that I would miss at home.  It had a Christmas tree and ornaments in it.  That box was followed by others, filled with candy, knick knacks and trinkets that reminded me of home and that people back there loved me and missed me.

I still remember the phone call late at night as I was walking home from a work function, I was tired and missing home - and a friend called from the field to let me know the latest news and gossip, and let me know how much I’d been missed.

A simple email from someone in the office one of my first weeks said, “Let’s go for a pint Friday night.”  Which turned into one of the best steak dinners in Australia and one of the best friendships.

Another simple email that said, “Mate, I’m playing footy this weekend at 1pm, here is the address.”  Has created a lifetime of memories and a friendship that will hopefully last as long.

In today’s Gospel, Mark tells the story of the crippled man who wanted to be healed by Jesus.  He is being carried by four men.  Know the Gospel doesn’t say much about these four men, but as with most things, their actions speak louder than any words can.  They might be strangers, people that are merely trying to help someone unfortunate, but more than likely, they are friends or family - these four men carrying the stretcher.  I’m guessing that they aren’t scribes or Pharisees, but that they are merely four good men, helping a friend in need.

These four men couldn’t get their friend into the house in Capernaum where Jesus was staying, so rather than shrug their shoulders and say “Well, we’ve done all we can.”  They took the next step.  They believed so much in Jesus, and they had so much love for their friend, that they took the extreme measure of ripping a hole in the roof and lifting him down in front of Jesus.

Can you imagine that happening in today’s world?  Someone ripping a hole in roof?

Here is where it gets interesting, Mark’s Gospel says, “When Jesus saw their faith, he said to the paralytic, ‘Child, your sins are forgiven.’”

Think about those few words, “When Jesus saw - THEIR - faith.”

True, it was about the man that needed help, it was about the cripple on the mat, but just as much so, it was about the four men ripping the hole in the roof.

We don’t live lives of isolation.  We live in communities - we live amongst friends and family.  Each of us are called to rip a hole in the roof at some point in our lives to save a friend.  Each of us has a choice every day - every day - on what type of friend we want to be.

As individuals, our strength and our faith will fail us.  Alone, without God and without each other, we are doomed to failure.  With the strength of God, and with the strength of the people he has sent to support us, we have the power to live lives that are extraordinary.

But as exciting as that prospect is, it also requires a great deal of courage.  For as much as we are the paralytic on the stretcher, even more so, we are called to be those four strong men ripping the roof off to lower our friend in.  Speaking from experience, it is humbling to be the man on the stretcher.

But in the end, we are called to support one another.  We are called to go to extraordinary lengths to make sure that the package arrives, that the phone call gets made, that the invite goes out for the steak dinner, that the foreigner is welcome at the footy game.

Some days, we will be the one in the stretcher, but more often than not, we are called - no - it is our responsibility to rip the roof off.

 In our modern mind, Jesus does exactly what we would expect Him to do. It is as if His very actions are type cast. Of course he is going to heal the leper - that is His nature. Would He really do any differently?  Isn’t that what is expected of us as Christians on a daily basis?

In fact, his actions are about out of left field as you can get. It is not only surprising, it is downright shocking that he would reach out and touch a leper and heal him for two reasons:

First, it was against the law. Our idea of what good proper Christians should do and what they should be is to live as good meek, humble men and women.  To live our lives with compassion and love.  All that is true to some extent, but it seems as if we get wrapped up in the every day and we forget that our faith is about debate and justice.  It is about challenge and change and doing what is right as much as it is about humility and obedience.

Leprosy was a horrible condition in the ancient world, one that was both feared and hence tightly controlled.  The law of the Old Testament strictly laid out how people should act and how they should live. And it was a horrible life - living on the edges of society.  Living apart from society, cut off not just from loved ones, but from all human contact.

In touching the leper, Jesus broke one of ancient rules. 

Second, and to make matters more confusing, Jesus had no reason to touch the leper.  Numerous other stories, it didn’t even require him to be present to heal the sick and bring the dead back to life.  Yet here he is - touching the untouchable.  Not to heal, but out of love; out of compassion.  We all need that physical contact - the pat on the back.  The hug from a friend.  The embrace of our loved ones. 

So in short, it was surprising that Jesus touched the leper because he didn’t have to in order to cure him, but out of compassion, but in doing so - he broke one of the ancient laws of society.  He was a rebel!  Humble he might be, but He wasn’t afraid of saying “this is wrong.”  Conventional wisdom be damned, societal rules be damned - just because it was the way it was, doesn’t mean that it is right!

Modern society tells us that Jesus was the meek lamb lead to the slaughter.  That is not giving the Lord any credit - He was lead to the slaughter for precisely the things that we hear about in today’s gospel - touching the untouchable.  Associating with the unclean (tax collectors, sinners, fishermen, and even lepers) and yet driving the Pharisees and the lawful society (like the money changers in the temple!) to madness or worse!

Jesus was no meek lamb, he was a man willing to stand up and call a spade a spade.  He was willing to fight and argue - while at the same time, supporting and encouraging the people that need it.

Our God isn’t some weak lamb to the slaughter, he is a warrior king, who knew who to support, who to encourage, and who to knock around a little bit.

Our job as Christians is to be fighters for what is right.  To jump in and get our hands dirty.  To fight for the rights and the just of the less fortunate.  To show and provide compassion to those that need it most.  To show warmth and emotion to those that we love - and those that we should love!

We must follow our Lord, not like sheep, but like fighters going to battle.