All traditions were new once

As someone who does a lot of thinking, who loves coming up with ideas, wondering how things could be different - theologically progressive, ecclesiologically an innovator - that sort of person, I find myself sometimes at odds with traditionalists, who might not get or buy into all the change or new ideas.  However, it occurred tome recently that all traditions were new once. A tradition is simply something that is passed on, and someone started it sometime, somewhere. Like at school, when someone whispers something to the person next to them and says, 'pass it on'.  Rarely was it indisputable fact, unless you went to a really clever and studious school...
In the same way, traditions are always started off by someone who has an idea. At the time, it may be revolutionary. Imagine the person who came up with the wheel, they probably laughed at her/him. They probably got rejected by the Stone Age version of Dragons Den. But look at how that ended up.
I once heard a story about a young man, maybe in his very early teens, who complained that the songs in church were boring and irrelevant. So he started writing his own songs. Lots of them. I expect they were not well received by all at the time. But 300 years later, we all know them and many of us love them. The boy was called Isaac Watts. One of my favourites of his is 'When I survey the wondrous cross'.
When wereadthe Gospel accounts, we regularly encounter these pantomime baddies called Pharisees. The thing they are often criticised for - not least by Jesus - was their tradition, and their devotion to their traditions. They are presented as inflexible, conservative, closed-minded. But the origins of this group within Second Temple Judaism was actually the opposite to how we find them in the New Testament. This group emerged as a liberal movement, who believed that the Law, the Scriptures, did not speak for themselves in the contemporary culture, and so they started to interpret the Law, creating volumes of commentary on the Law, which became basically small print to help ensure that the Law was observed properly. So these guys were liberal, in that they wanted to make the Bible make sense in their culture. That, in fact, is a founding principal of classic Liberalism, the quest for a theology that makes experiential sense.  The trouble is, often very fluid or provisional interpretations, working theories, become cast in stone.
That's a problem we often encounter in theology. Theology is the study (ology) of God (theo). Now if one's theology never shifts, then one's understanding or experience of God doesn't either. In a sense, a theology that is closed, fixed, is presumptuous, in my view. It suggests we know all we need to know about God, or even that we know everything about God. Of course, such a presumption would usually be unconscious.
Anyway, I think theology can only ever be provisional. Like a scientific theory, if new observations, new data, disprove the theory, we can adjust it. That's not to say we give up our faith convictions. But it is to say maybe we don't need to hold tight to so many propositions.
To return to my initial point, all traditions were new once. This applies to traditionalists and progressives alike. New traditions often start as correctives to existing ones. Think of revolutions and reformations. And while we're there, let's remember that many totalitarian regimes started with revolutions. Many dictators stood for and fought for freedom first. Today's liberals may be tomorrow's conservatives. In fact, liberals can sometimes be the least liberal towards other people's views. So, not all traditions are bad, and not all change is good. But neither is all change bad, nor all traditions good. Let's be open to try new things and old ones. Let's learn from one another about faithfulness to what got us where we are, and fearlessness of what will get us to where we might go.

"I like to beat my faith up" - Simon Peter at Simon the Tanner's house (Acts10)

The above quote, I believe, has been attributed to Bono, the frontman of Irish rock group U2. I take ittomean that he likes to put his faith under scrutiny, to embrace challenges to his faith, to be stretched. This is good practice. Beating our faith up builds resilience, the quality of a flexible durability, a strength, muscle memory we could say. It's like going to the gym - painful and difficult at the time, but of great benefit as it strengthens us. Gradually, the strain of the exercise eases.
  The New Testament book of Acts tells the story of what happened to Jesus' first followers when he was no longer physically with them. One of the main characters in this book is Simon Peter, who had been Jesus' right hand man. Like the rest of the Twelve disciples, Peter was Jewish. Even though he had taken the risk on following the unorthodox Jesus, Peter still considered himself a Jew. This still informed Peter's worldview, still influenced his behaviours and attitudes. He largely spent his time among other Jews.
  So in chapter 10 of Acts we come to a watershed in Peter's life, and the church's. Peter has been touring Lydda and Joppa. And while he's in Joppa, he stays at the house of another Simon, a tanner. And while he's staying with Simon, during prayer, he has this rather weird vision where he is invited to eat a non-kosher picnic, as a sheet is lowered from heaven with unclean animals in it (animals that Jews were not permitted to eat, not dirty beasts). Peter refuses, The voice says to him, 'don't call unclean what God has made clean'... And, because it's the bible, this happens three times. Then Peter is made aware of some men looking for him, and it turns out they've been sent by a Roman centurion called Cornelius, living in nearby Caesarea (about 30 miles up the coast). Anyway, Cornelius is a good Roman centurion (possibly retired), a God-fearer, well-disposed to Jews. He wants to hear about Jesus, so Peter goes with the men. And when they arrive at Cornelius' place, it makes sense to Peter: he's been discriminating against Gentiles like Cornelius, not mixing with them, not including them in the good news. And suddenly, the church takes its first steps away from Jewish sect toward multicultural, inclusive movement.
  But let's go back. Is Peter's realisation so sudden? He's been staying at a tanner's house. What is a tanner? Someone who converts dead animal hide into a flexible and durable material, often used as a tent covering, wineskins, bags and purses, shields, etc. Basically, they made leather. Leather is tough, but malleable. Bikers use it to offer protection.
  The tanning process involves steeping, washing, scraping, and more. It was often smelly business, so this was one reason why tanners, whose tanneries were probably their own homes, were marginal people. Simon lived in seaside town Joppa, but specifically he lived by the sea, so possibly out of town. Tanning may also have been religiously dubious occupation, given the contact with dead animals (I believe this issue has been debated).
  So maybe Peter, by moving in with a tanner, was already broadening his horizons. Maybe Peter was already re-thinking his worldview. His faith up to this point was never going to take him to Cornelius' house or beyond. But at the tanner's house, his beliefs and attitudes and thinking were converted into something flexible and durable. He learned to beat his faith up. We all need to go to the tanner's house sometimes.

'This do in remembrance of me'

With Remembrance Sunday and Armistice Day almost upon us, I have found myself in a strange headspace.  I feel torn between honouring those who have paid the greatest price in conflict, and protesting against such conflicts. It's like I want to remember those who have died, but want to forget how and why they died, if you know what I mean.  After all, there is something noble, godly, even, about pacifism. But many have fought for peace, and maybe that's right too.
It occurred to me today, though, that remembrance of someone's ultimate sacrifice is biblical. Jesus told his disciples, at the Last Supper, "This is my body which is given for you: this do in remembrance of me" (Luke 22:19 - I don't usually quote from the King James Version, but sometimes you just have to...).  Jesus gave himself to the world and for the world. But at the same time, he was taken, brutalised, abused, by oppressive and corrupt systems and forces (the religious authorities, the political powers and their enforcers).
I was drawn to that remembrance line as I pondered Remembrance. I was reminded of what Elvis Costello said of his (in my opinion) greatest track, Oliver's Army:

"I made my first trip to Belfast in 1978 and saw mere boys walking around in battle dress with automatic weapons. They were no longer just on the evening news. These snapshot experiences exploded into visions of mercenaries and imperial armies around the world. The song was based on the premise 'they always get a working class boy to do the killing'. I don't know who said that; maybe it was me, but it seems to be true nonetheless. I pretty much had the song sketched out on the plane back to London."

He's right. Most of those who have lost their lives in the armed services in conflict have been from the working class. They have often been sacrificed by oppressive, corrupt systems and forces (politicians, elites, ideologues and ideologies, economies, empires...).
When Jesus suffered the full force of these structures and powers, he called them by name and disarmed them, scorning and mocking them. Perhaps our fallen do the same of the powers and structures, and of war itself. Therefore, we will remember them and their sacrifice, each one a protest and indictment against war and the machinery behind it.

The Salvation Army - a reflection

  What’s in a name?  A name can be difficult to live up to, or can be misleading.  When London’s Imperial War Museum was recently refurbished, it was observed by one journalist that the attraction has often had to overcome one obstacle: “the three words of its title”[i] – all of which can turn potential patrons off.

  The Salvation Army, it seems to me, also has a problem with its name.  This is more of an identity crisis, a danger of falling short of living up to its name.  To understand who we are as a movement, a body, a phenomenon, requires digging deeper into the meaning of our title.

  I will look at the words in reverse order, starting with the most common shorthand for our movement: Army.  This automatically throws up the much-debated issue of the military metaphor, which is plagued by the same PR crisis as the Imperial War Museum.  The military metaphor may or may not be satisfactory, although this article does not call for a name change, but greater ownership of the name.

  Similar tension surrounds the Army-related issue of uniform.  Again, one can legitimately ask questions around the suitability and practicality of full Salvation Army uniform (granted, there is a time and a place), but what we should focus on here is the way in which our clothing can identify us.  I would also stress the difference between unity and uniformity: unity is everyone being together; uniformity is everyone being the same.  The former is crucial, the latter undesirable to say the least.  Uniformity implies homogeneity, which is contrary to our DNA as The Salvation Army (the “whosoever” probably won’t look like a lot of Salvationists).  Unity, however, is what we must strive for.  This is born of the kind of sacrifice, selflessness, and humility present in Jesus Christ (cf Philippians 2:1-11, for example).  It suggests a body of people who are prepared to take a bullet for one another, to put themselves on the line for the cause and for each other.

  Identifying ourselves as an Army carries other implications.  Along with the idea of sacrifice for one another, there is the call to sacrifice on behalf of those whom we serve in mission.  And mission is necessarily risky.  Roman Catholic priest and missiologist William Frazier once commented that “Those who receive [the missionary cross] possess not only a symbol of their mission, but a handbook on how to carry it out”[ii].  Mission is costly, potentially dangerous business, and an Army is therefore well-placed to engage in this enterprise.

  An Army is disciplined.  Trained.  In fact, we could shorten the word ‘disciplined’ to ‘discipled’.  Our Army must be discipled, every member a disciple, a student, a follower, of the Master, Jesus Christ.  We seem to accept, in general, that our music requires commitment and discipline.  We build into our programmes musical practices, but what about spiritual practices?  While personal, individual devotions are essential, and we each need to take responsibility for our own spirituality, it is clear to me that we need also to create a culture of spiritual accountability, of training together.  This may take the form of prayer meetings, bible studies, small groups, accountability partnerships, mentoring.  I would not want to prescribe how it should happen, but rather that it should happen.  We are good at training for Sunday morning, but as Message Trust founder Andy Hawthorne has observed, Sunday morning isn’t the match – it’s the teamtalk.  The match – or war, to use our favoured metaphor – happens the whole week.  Let’s train for that.

  As an Army, we must assess whether we are a marching army or a standing army.  A marching army ‘marches as to war’; this is a flexible, fighting force, advancing into enemy territory, breaking new ground, pushing boundaries.  A standing army is stationed with a defensive posture, its primary function and duty to protect key strategic points and guard boundaries.  It remains within its own territory, it is well-drilled in parades and performance.  A good example of this contrast is found in the respective armies of King David and King Solomon.  Only a generation apart, David’s army was a marching army, while Solomon’s was a standing army.  David (latterly, his general, Joab) led his troops into battle, expanding his territory, overcoming enemies.  Solomon, however, inherited his father’s large kingdom, and defended it with a standing army (cf 1 Kings 10:26).  Solomon devoted considerable attention and resources to the administration of his kingdom and building projects (albeit spectacular ones).  What happened after Solomon should sound a note of caution (his kingdom split, ultimately collapsing).

  If, then, we are a marching Army, to which war are we marching?  For whom, for what, and against whom, against what, are we fighting?  We have “a burning desire to… fight for social justice” (from the Territorial Vision Statement).  This is consonant with the gospel, the mission and ministry of Jesus involved a head-on battle with social injustice in many guises.  However, some will argue that our battle is spiritual warfare.  Again, Jesus cast out many demons, and engaged the devil himself.  Paul wrote to the Ephesians that “our struggle is not against enemies of blood and flesh, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers of this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places” (Ephesians 6:12).  He then goes on to list the items of the armour of God, but many of these refer to this-worldly struggles for social justice, as much as to spiritual battles[iii].  Like the apocalypticists, perhaps we do well to see battles here, intertwined with heavenly war.  Jesus did not see the social and the spiritual as dichotomous, and never the twain shall meet.  Rather, in the mission of Jesus, we see a holistic approach, whereby people are set free from whatever is holding them.

  This brings us nicely to the concept of Salvation.  What do we mean by salvation?  When someone is saved, what are they saved from?  From hell and damnation?  We hope so!  But not only as an eternal, yet-to-come possibility, but a here-and-now reality.  For many people, life is a sort of hell, they are already living as the condemned.  People currently suffering abuse, or survivors of abuse; people who are oppressed, in various ways; people living without a consciousness of God.  People need salvation from all these situations.

  It might be helpful here to revisit our doctrine of total depravity (Article 5: “We believe that our first parents were created in a state of innocency, but by their disobedience they lost their purity and happiness, and that in consequence of their fall all men have become sinners, totally depraved, and as such are justly exposed to the wrath of God”).  It seems to me that the total depravity of humanity is not such that every human being is a monster, with no moral compass, and no possibility of ever doing any good.  Rather, I suggest it has to do with the breadth, rather than depth, of depravity, the range.  Sin has gotten into every aspect of humanity.  Every level and dimension of human life is under the effects of sin.  In fact, sin affects (or infects) the whole of creation, as Paul suggests in Romans 8, because of human distortion of God’s order.

  Thus, sin or evil takes many forms.  There is personal sin, which is perhaps the most obvious and easy to conceptualise.  I find the following definition of sin quite helpful: ‘going against the known will of God’.  Thus, if I know (or believe) that a certain action goes against God’s revealed will, but choose to do it anyway, I am sinning.  This is also helpful, because it frames the issue in relation to the kingdom of God, God’s reign.  God’s reign is about God’s will being done.  So, in the prayer Jesus taught his disciples, we find, “Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.”  Heaven is the place, the state of affairs, where God’s will is done, absolutely and completely and perfectly.  Sin hinders this heavenly order on earth.  But this sin operates in many dimensions.

  There is also structural or systemic evil, whereby sin takes hold of structures or systems (eg, organisational or social) and manipulates these to oppose God’s will.  So, for example, any system which is designed so that, or as a corollary causes the situation whereby, privilege is maintained over against the exploitation or disadvantage of others.  To ground this example in real life, in a corporation where the directors are on six-figure salaries, with even larger bonuses, while the labourers (be they factory workers, retail assistants, etc.) are on barely the minimum wage (or less, as the case may be), I would suggest that structural evil holds sway.  In such a case, the salvation war might call us to boycott their business, or to campaign for greater economic justice (such as the rule of 10%, whereby the lowest salary in the corporation cannot be less than 10% of the highest).  This is just an example, among far too many, alas, of the reality of structural sin.

  Another “consequence of their fall” is bound up in the problem of suffering.  Why does suffering happen?  Why are there natural disasters that wipe out thousands of innocent lives?  Why do good people get cancer?  These are questions which cause heartache, and for some are even deal-breakers between them and God.  I have no intention of trivialising any of this, or trying to explain these away.  Such questions are valid, and deserve to be explored.  But for now, I would offer that the world, the created order, life itself, is under the power of sin, and this means decay and destruction dog our every step.  Paul suggested something along these lines in what is considered by many his magnum opus, Romans 8, as noted above.  It is not just humans who are affected by sin, but the whole creation.  One day, however, we will see “thy great salvation,/Perfectly restored in thee” (SASB 438), as He makes all things new, and removes all suffering, all sickness, all sorrow, all sin.

  It seems to me that we are called to advertise this coming kingdom.  We are called not to build the kingdom, but, as Jesus said, to seek it.  To look for it, to anticipate it, here and now.  And that means we can enact it, on some level.  We can work to alleviate suffering.  We can be there when disaster strikes – personal, communal, ecological, economic, and so on.  Sometimes we can relieve the problem, sometimes we can only live through it with someone.  But that kind of solidarity is holy – Christlike, as He came to share, to take on our pain and weakness, and everything else that human life and inhuman death involves.

  Therefore, if sin affects every dimension of our existence, then so does God’s salvation.  God’s salvation, I suggest, involves the restoration of all relationships.  It involves individuals coming into proper relationship with God, our Father, through Jesus Christ, the Saviour and Lord.  It involves individuals being brought together into the new humanity, where they can relate properly to one another.  It involves individuals being brought into proper relationship with themselves: understanding who God has made them to be.  It involves humanity being brought back to its initial state of proper relationship to creation (cf Genesis 1:28ff).  A salvation which fails to take seriously, but also integrally, the individual and corporate and societal, the spiritual, physical, social, and the ecological dimensions is a salvation which fails to reckon on the God who is “the Creator, Preserver, and Governor of all things”, and who as Trinity is perfectly relational, and invites everyone and everything to join His community of love and wholeness.

  And finally, we come to the beginning.  One little word, easy to overlook, the definite article: “The”.  We do not purport to be simply a Salvation Army, as though there are other such groups.  We make the bold claim that we are “The Salvation Army”, and as such we are saying that we have a particular, perhaps unique or exclusive, calling.  Salvation, it seems, is our business.  But what is our Unique Selling Point?  After all, surely, the Church universal is called to this business, to mission, stemming from God, to the whole world.  How do we differentiate ourselves, so that we can truly own our name and calling as The Salvation Army?

  I would suggest that this has to do with how far we will go.  To the ends of the earth?  In a sense, although not so much geographically, as socially.  We were raised up to reach the parts of society that other movements were not reaching.  Those who would not ‘fit in’ within the existing church cultures and structures.  A wise colleague officer once pointed out to me that we are there to catch those who fall through the gaps – gaps in welfare provision, in church affiliation, in our communities, and so on.  As The Salvation Army, we are perhaps God’s ‘special branch’, for the purposes of search and rescue; of going behind enemy lines and bringing down strongholds; rescuing captives and hostages; disrupting enemy operations.

  Comrades, there is a war going on.  Are we The Salvation Army?  Often, I hear those parting words of the Founder ringing in my ears:

  “While women weep, as they do now, I’ll fight.  While little children go hungry, as they do now, I’ll fight.  While men go to prison, in and out, in and out, as they do now, I’ll fight.  While there is a drunkard left, while there is a poor, lost girl upon the streets, while there yet remains one dark soul without the light of God, I’ll fight.  I’ll fight until the very end.”

  William Booth’s sight was failing by that time, but his vision was undiminished.  He could still see clearly that we were called to the salvation war.  One day, The Salvation Army will find itself in the heavenly version of the Imperial War Museum, as the fighting will be over.  There will be no more weeping.  No hunger.  No crime, no criminals, no victims.  No addiction.  No poverty.  No darkness without God, because everyone will see His light.  Our mission will be accomplished.

  Until then, we fight.  We are The Salvation Army.

---

[i] Marina Vaizey, 22 July 2014, http://www.theartsdesk.com/visual-arts/first-world-war-galleries-imperial-war-museum.  ‘Imperial’ is a throwback to an era many of us are ashamed of, or mourn.  ‘War’ is not a popular word or reality in many cultures, not least in a liberal democracy such as our own.  Even the word ‘Museum’ makes many of us yawn, I would suggest.

[ii] Quoted in Bosch, David J., Transforming Mission, 1991, Maryknoll, NY, Orbis, p.122

[iii] It seems obvious to me that Paul would be well aware of these Hebrew Bible references: in Isaiah 59:17, God puts on the breastplate of righteousness and a helmet of salvation to intervene in the corrupt state of affairs on earth; in Isaiah 11:5, the servant, the shoot from Jesse, will wear faithfulness, or truth, as a belt; also, no shoes are mentioned, but the feet of the one who brings good news (gospel) of salvation are beautiful on the mountains in Isaiah 52:7 (the content of that gospel: “Your God reigns”); God as a shield is a common Old Testament motif, for instance, Psalm 18:30, Proverbs 30:5; God’s word as a sword is not an Old Testament concept, but does feature in the deuterocanonical work Wisdom of Solomon, 18:15f (“your all-powerful word leaped from heaven, from the royal throne, into the midst of the land that was doomed, a stern warrior carrying the sharp sword of your authentic command…”)

Shepherd's warning

(Study passage John 10:1-18)
[This study was submitted to Salvationist magazine months ago.  They haven't published it.]

I remember, as a child, hearing the old saying, ‘Red sky at night, shepherd’s delight; red sky in the morning, shepherd’s warning.’  I have no idea whether this is accurate or not, but my interest in it is the contrasting pictures it paints.  This is a common motif in the Gospel of John, who seemingly has an obsession with dualisms, with contrasts between light and dark, love and hate, life and death, sight and blindness, and the list could go on.

  My other reason for mentioning that saying is the shepherd.  In churches, the words ‘pastor’ and ‘pastoral’ are frequently used.  They are generally associated with those in leadership positions within the church community, and carry connotations of caring, of nurturing.  The origin of the word pastor is Latin, where it is the word for shepherd.  The pastor is the shepherd of the flock.  The exemplar of this, of course, is Jesus, who described Himself as the good shepherd in John chapter 10 (verse 11).

  John 10 is a wonderful chapter, but the key to tapping the rich resources of this passage lie in its juxtaposition with the preceding chapter (John 9).  These two, together, provide a classic Johannine contrast, and offer up several more, which will be clear as we proceed: good and bad; give and take; in and out; life and death; come and go; security and insecurity; generosity and jealousy.

  John 9 sees Jesus controversially giving sight to a man born blind.  This leads to the Pharisees investigating the healing.  It’s hardly the stuff CSI is made of, but there you go.  The Pharisees bring in the heretofore-blind man for questioning.  They try to discredit the man, and Jesus.  They even bring in the man’s parents as witnesses.  The parents duck the questions, for fear of being put out of the synagogue (9:22).  The Pharisees, here, are seen as oppressive and exclusive.  Everyone and everything must fit into their categories, and on that basis they decide who gets to participate and who doesn’t.

  When the seeing man is thrown out, Jesus finds him, and has some stern words for the Pharisees.  And the Pharisees overhear.  And it is then that Jesus starts John chapter 10, by talking about thieves and bandits trying to get in on the act.  That most famous and ever popular phrase “life in all its fullness” comes a few verses later, but even this verse (John 10:10) in all its fullness is a contrast.  It starts with the statement that, “The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy…” The thief is self-seeking, self-serving.  In contrast, says Jesus, “I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly”.  Jesus is open, inclusive, liberating.

  What kind of outlook do we have, as individuals, as Corps, as a church and organisation?  What is our attitude, our contribution?  Do we give, or take?  Are we about life in all its fullness?  Or are we stealing, killing, destroying?  Are we only out for what we can get?  Members signing up, more money in the pot, or whatever we might seek to gain?  Or are we, instead, all about promoting and presenting and providing abundant life?

  Are we secure in ourselves (and in God), or insecure?  Secure people don’t grab and snatch and grasp.  They are relaxed, ‘light touch’.  Gentle and humble (sound familiar?).

  Jesus, the gate for the sheep (10:7), offers salvation (10:9).  And this is coupled with the image of the sheep coming in and going out and finding pasture.  Interesting that pasture is not (only) found “in” but “out”.  Could it be, then, that Jesus never intended a cosy club, a holy huddle, in specific sacred, sanctified and sanitised places?  But rather, that ‘pasture’ is found ‘out there’, on the road, in our ongoing journey with Him, and with one another – note that this passage is about sheep, plural.

  A final observation.  “The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep.  The hired hand … sees the wolf coming and leaves the sheep and runs away – and the wolf snatches them and scatters them” (10:11, 12).  To reiterate, the word pastor means shepherd.  And Jesus is our model.  He lays down His life for the sheep because they are His.  The hired hand doesn’t have that deep connection, commitment, investment, with the sheep.  So when the chips are down, he’s not there.  He’s looking after himself, his own interests.  Perhaps herein is the shepherd’s warning: how good are we as shepherds?  Not just the Officer, or the PCC.  At every level of The Salvation Army, what kind of shepherds are we?  How deep is our commitment to our people – to one another, to those who really need us?  Are we really investing in people’s lives?  So that, when the wolves come – relationship problems, health concerns, employment issues, financial crises, and so on – are we there, laying down our lives?  Or do we disappear?

Losing the plot

In Matthew 21:33-46, Jesus tells a parable of a landowner who plants a vineyard, doing all the right things (he puts a fence around it, and a wine press and watchtower in it).  He then leases it to tenants and leaves the country.  At harvest, he sends his slaves to collect the produce. The tenants mistreat and kill the slaves.  He sends more slaves, and the same happens.  Finally, he sends his son, thinking, they'll respect him because he comes in my name, as my representative... That's not how it turns out.  The tenants see the heir, and kill him, thinking they'll get his inheritance.
Jesus asks his audience, 'What do you think the landowner will do to them when he comes?'  They reply, 'Put those wretches to a miserable death, and lease the vineyard to other tenants who will give him the produce at harvest time.'
Jesus goes on to warn that the Kingdom of God will be taken away from them (his hearers) and given to a people that produces the fruits of it.
This passage is not anti-Semitic.  I once sat in a New Testament class when this passage was being looked at.  Almost everyone in the room thought that this passage was about God 'dumping' the Jews for his new squeeze, the Christians.  However, if we look at the dramatis personae of the piece, we find that this is not at all the case.  It is true that God is the landowner. But if we read verse 45, it clearly tells us that the chief priests and Pharisees got the message: they were the tenants.  Further proof that the tenants are not to be understood as Israel, or the Jews, is given by following the reference upon which Jesus builds this parable: Isaiah 5.
In Isiah 5, God builds a vineyard, the right way: he puts a fence around it, and a winepress and watchtower in it.  He loves the vineyard, he does everything necessary for it, but instead of grapes, it produces wild grapes.  That vineyard, Isaiah tells us, is Israel.  And again, in Jesus' parable, the vineyard is God's kingdom, the ideal, or fulfilment of, Israel.  (It's also worth remembering here that when Jesus told this story, there were no Christians as distinct from Jews.)  The problem, for Jesus, isn't Israel.  It's the powers that be.  The establishment.  They're taking liberties with what God has entrusted to them.  Oppression and structural violence are their modus operandi.  And even when Jesus comes along, they abuse him.
Jesus speaks truth to power.  That's what this parable is about.  Power.  Jesus challenges those who hold it about their relationship with it.  Ultimately, Jesus will remove these people from power and entrust his kingdom to those whose lives reflect it.  The kind of people Jesu wants in power, I suggest, are those who exercise power under people, not power over people.  People who lift others up.  Who encourage, who empower, who release.  Not people who bring or keep others down.  Who discourage, who disempower, who burden.  These latter will lose the plot - the vineyard of God's  kingdom.  After all, didn't Jesus say that the rulers of the Gentiles "lord it over them, and their great ones are tyrants over them.  But it is not so among you" he told his disciples; "but whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you must be the slave of all.  For the Son of Man came not to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many" (Mark 10:42-45).  And in a great enacted parable, he got down from the table, took a towl and a bowl of water, and washe his disciples' feet (John 13).
So how are our relationships with power?
It's not enough to claim we are acting in Jesus' name if we are acting contrary to his will and ways.  The tenants thought they would get the son's inheritance by killing him.  How stupid.  Yet many believe that by acting counter to Jesus' kingdom - crucifying him over again - they are getting a share in his inheritance.  No.  They are losing the plot.

They like the church, but not Jesus

  A few years ago, a guy called Dan Kimball published a book called, 'They like Jesus, but not the church'.  The thesis was that there are masses of people outside the church who actually really like Jesus, who respect what he's about, in various ways.  I confess I haven't read the book (my wife has), but I certainly agree with the concept.  It seems there are many people who like the historical figure of Jesus, who respect and even attempt to practise some of his ethical teaching, but have no time for the church, or organised religion.  There might be others who recognise that Jesus is the only, the true, or the best, way to spiritual enlightenment, salvation, fulfilment, or some such idea.  But these people find the church to be at odds with Jesus - either it is hypocritical, or it is too restrictive to facilitate the sought-after spiritual exchanges.
  I would like to suggest that a parallel phenomenon is also occurring - a mirror or shadow version of what is happening outside the church is happening inside it too.  It is, sadly, true that there are a great many who like the church, but not Jesus.  These people may be horrified to realise that Jesus, in fact, did upset the apple cart.
  Jesus talked about stuff - real stuff, God stuff - often dealing in questions and open-ended stories, rather than polished, Hallmark platitudes or finely-tuned and unassailable doctrinal statements.
  Jesus spent more time outside his church building than in it.  (Granted, the 'church' per se did not exist in his time)  In the Gospels, Jesus spends little time at synagogue, and probably less time at the Jerusalem temple (the place to be for the seriously religious).  And some of his visits to these places ruffled feathers (literally on at least one occasion).
  Jesus met lots of people in their homes or on the street.  In their homes.  To talk about God.  Imagine...
  Jesus spent time - lots of time - with 'undesirables'.  He didn't seem to care about his reputation.  Jesus sought out the excluded, and included himself among them.  People like lepers, prostitutes, tax collectors.
  Jesus loved children.  He welcomed them, even when others thought they were noisy and disruptive.  And Jesus' care for children seems pretty sincere to me.  He didn't just see them as 'the future', an investment, an asset, a resource.
  Some people will be shocked by this: Jesus got tired.  Jesus got hungry.  Jesus wept (John 11:35, shortest verse in the Bible, it's in there!).  Perhaps worse, Jesus laughed!
  Jesus was prepared to challenge authorities: social, religious, civil, spiritual.  Jesus was prepared to speak and act on behalf of the hurting and hopeless, the voiceless and vulnerable, the lost, the last and the least.  In fact, these were his people, his brothers and sisters (that's in there too, for example, in Matthew 25:31-46).
  Jesus was prepared, for God's sake and ours, to put himself where he could get hurt, in real danger.  He risked everything.  Sacrificed everything.  For others.
  God's love and human suffering - rather than tradition or doctrine - dictated Jesus' actions.
  Lots of people who had been excluded, who didn't fit in, loved Jesus.  Lots of people who had issues - issues that were obvious and public, that they couldn't or wouldn't hide - loved Jesus.
  Lots of religious people hated Jesus.  They didn't like the way he challenged them.  They didn't like the way he tried to mix things up, to move boundaries that had been built up over a long time to protect decent people and the faith and God.  After all, isn't that what it's all about?  Looking after our own, and keeping God good, like Sunday best?
  It seems to me that not too much has actually changed.  There are still people today who like the church, but not Jesus.  They are fully paid up members of the church, but they don't recognise the Jesus you've just read about.  They wouldn't like him.  They'd find him too controversial, too difficult to handle, too outrageous to follow.  They'd probably want him out of the way, so they can get on with church business in peace.  Without fear of being challenged.  Challenged about how we do church - or where or when.  Challenged about who it's all for - who are we serving, who are we including?  Challenged about how we live our lives, on all kinds of levels.
  Trouble is, the Jesus you've been reading about is, to me, inescapably the Jesus of the Gospels.  He's Jesus.  Like it or lump it.  Like him or lump him.
  The good news is, Jesus includes everyone.  He welcomes everyone (even the kind of people who actually don't like him or find him inconvenient).  He might challenge us, but he welcomes us.  What we do about that is up to us.