Tag: Inhabiting

Inhabiting — Chapter Seven — The King of Rest

This was a sermon preached at City South Presbyterian in 2024. You can listen to the podcast here, or watch it on video. Some of the block quotes were on screen and summarised but have been included in full.

What does your regular week look like?

What are the things you do week in, week out — regular commitments — that are shaping you?

For many of us it will be work, or studying, and some exercise — then some church stuff — church on Sundays, growth group mid-week — your calendar is probably already full — and if you throw kids and their weekly commitments it is overfull.

We have been thinking about inhabiting space; now we are exploring time; learning to number our days; making them count — redeeming the time — so we might live wisely.

The end goal is to construct a rule of life; a pattern of habits to adopt to be formed as followers of Jesus — so we are considering how we are ruled by regular life.

How is your regular week shaping you?

And what regular commitments could you embrace to become more like Jesus?

We cannot make time for everything; we are limited — busy — and this idea of adding more regular stuff — it feels — overwhelming…

We have spent time earlier in 2024 thinking about hospitality and Luke’s Gospel; the idea the kingdom of God is revealed at the table — how do we make time for that? And about living before the throne of God as those raised and seated with Jesus — spending time “in heaven” in prayer and worship? So we can live heaven-on-earth lives — we might want to do this regularly.

But… something has probably got to give if we are going to make time for this stuff…

As we think about the shape of our weeks now — seven days — about our limits; our busyness; how overwhelmed we are — I am going to suggest we should carve out time each week for this stuff, and there is a ready-made category for this in the Bible.

The Bible’s story is the reason we have a seven-day week — our rhythms come from the Genesis story, where God creates and generates for six days, then rests on day seven; naming it holy time; a bit like the garden is marked out as holy space (Genesis 2:2-3) — this becomes the regular rhythm of the week for God’s people in the form of Sabbath (Exodus 20:8-10).

Now. I have preached on Sabbath before — but — I am still not sure I am nailing it as a practice in my own life. And if you know anything about Presbyterians, you will know we have got a tradition of being legalistic about the Old Testament law; a bit keen to apply Israel’s laws to Christians — maybe especially on the Sabbath; which we call the Lord’s Day…

This is not just a Presbyterian thing — my mum’s family were part Methodist, part Anglican and there were all sorts of rules about whether you could watch football on the Sabbath — because you certainly could not play it — and — anyway — my family are reactionaries, so when we moved to Queensland in the late 90s, my dad was asked to MC this annual Presbyterian event called a Celebration Rally; it was on the Lord’s Day — a Sunday night — and at this Celebration Rally there was a sausage sizzle; apparently it was OK for people to cook sausages for hundreds of people on the Lord’s Day, but they ran out — and people were hungry — and rather than breaking bread and fish and passing them around the crowd, dad dared to suggest anyone hungry should grab some drive-through Maccas on the way home — a Lord’s Day tradition in our family… And he caused a mini scandal. Trading on the Lord’s Day is a no-no.

This is the heritage I bring to thinking about the Sabbath — which is mostly “it is a restrictive rule from the Old Testament that does not apply to Christians…”

But.

I am increasingly convinced that I have had it wrong — that the Sabbath is not about restriction — but liberation — that rest is not an imposition but a necessary act of both re-creation and resistance to the patterns of the world we find ourselves surrounded by… that maybe we have reacted against legalism — rightly — but robbed ourselves of a rhythm of refreshment; a habit of time — of coming to Jesus as weary and burdened people and receiving rest (Matthew 11:28-29) — seeing the Sabbath as a practice of grace, not law — learning the way of Jesus as we come alongside him; the Lord of the Sabbath (Matthew 12:7-8).

I am on this journey — and today I want to make the case that our week should be shaped around a regular practice of Sabbath — holy time; time marked out to spend in God’s presence, receiving his gifts — enjoying him and his creation — not just as recreation but as re-creation — not as a legalistic restriction but liberation from a machine world that wants to desacrate time and space and our bodies — make those things less sacred — while we should be learning to see time and space and our bodies as connected to the divine life in whom we live and breathe and have our being.

So we will cover the Sabbath in the Old Testament pretty quickly — we have already seen how the Genesis story sets up the Sabbath as holy time, that reflects God enjoying his creation and inviting people into holy space and time with him —

it also emerges against the contrasting backdrop of Egypt in the Exodus story; Israel’s life without rest; their slavery — their oppression — at the hands of Pharaoh and his slave drivers — where they are an oppressed group of migrants doing back-breaking labour while being treated ruthlessly (Exodus 1:11-14).

They are enslaved by a slave-driving kingdom that gives no rest. The Exodus is their rescue out of this kingdom and into God’s kingdom, and this experience defines their ethical system; their law; their regular weeks — see how the Ten Commandments are framed in the Exodus story: “I am the Lord your God who brought you out of slavery” (Exodus 20:1-2).

And when you get to the structure of the week — they are called to keep this day that God declared holy in the beginning holy; to do all their work in those six days, and then enjoy a Sabbath — to God — doing no work; it is a rest day — a holy day given to enjoying God’s rest (Exodus 20:8-10).

And this is for everyone — it is an anti-Egypt — Sabbath includes whole households; including servants — anyone employed or enslaved — and any foreigners — the migrant workforce of their day — it is a day tasting liberation for all. At this point it is tied back to the creation story, to God’s words in Genesis (Exodus 20:11), but as the law expands from the Ten Commandments, Moses says do not oppress foreigners because you know what it was like to be oppressed — their experience of oppression; of work without rest is meant to shape how they live — this regular Sabbath expands from week to year — every seven years (Exodus 23:9-11) — Leviticus calls this a Sabbath year — where they — and all those in their household — and the foreigner — are to live off the land; off God’s provision; rather than their own work; resting the land — and every seventh seven-year period they would have this Jubilee year (Leviticus 25:4-6).

This Sabbath day though — it is to give rest and refreshment to all — including the slave and the foreigner — now — this stuff about slavery amongst God’s people is tricky — but, briefly, I reckon the whole point of Sabbath is that it is meant to shape how you see the people you rest with the way God sees them — and see work differently too — it is a teaching thing (Exodus 23:13). When Moses restates the law in Deuteronomy as Israel is about to enter the land, we get the Ten Commandments again, and the Sabbath command again, with two tweaks — the Sabbath is so everyone — including those who might be oppressed — can rest; and rather than looking to Genesis, the Sabbath is tied to their liberation; the Exodus; their rescue and re-creation — that they were slaves with no rest, so they are not to enslave with no rest (Deuteronomy 5:13-15).

The Sabbath is meant to show them they are not slaves, and teach them not to be slave drivers; to be like the Egyptians.

But once they get in the land they are just like their neighbours; they get obsessed with acquiring wealth; they do not practice the Sabbath year; the prophet Amos says they trample the needy and have done away with the poor — and they spend their Sabbaths daydreaming, waiting to get back to trade; they are dreaming of cheating others out of their wealth, enslaving the poor… buying them with silver or a pair of shoes (Amos 8:4-6)…

The prophet Isaiah launches his condemnation of Israel by announcing their celebration of Sabbath has become worthless to God; because their hands are full of blood; they are not seeking justice or defending the oppressed (Isaiah 1:13-17). Instead, Isaiah lists out their rebellion — explaining why God is not seeing their fasting and holy days as they are facing exile (Isaiah 58:1-3) — because — on the day of their fasting they are not just not defending the oppressed; they are oppressors — they are regularly exploiting their workers; fighting each other (Isaiah 58:3-4); their religiosity is the opposite of what God wants; he wants them to fast from oppression and injustice and set people free, not enslave them.

They should be fasting from hoarding, by sharing their food with the hungry; sheltering the poor; clothing them; spending themselves on behalf of the hungry; satisfying the needs of the oppressed (Isaiah 58:6-10). That is what God would notice; if they do this, then God will guide them to life; they will be like a well-watered garden (Isaiah 58:11) — a people of paradise — Isaiah turns from fasting to Sabbath; he says if they keep from breaking the Sabbath — doing as they please — treating holy time as holy and a delight — not going their own way, but God’s — then they will find joy in the Lord.

This is what the Sabbath is meant to be and produce, then God will bring them into his heavenly feast (Isaiah 58:13-14) — that they have become oppressors; slave drivers means exile; these promises need fulfilment; an Israel who understand the Sabbath, who delight in God and rest in him; enjoying him; practicing justice and love; modelling this new way of living in time.

And we find this fulfilment; this true Israelite in the one who invites the weary and burdened — those overwhelmed by life under the oppressive rule of other powers — in other kingdoms — to come to him — not to buy them for a pair of shoes, and oppress them more — he is not violent and proud, he is gentle and humble, and he offers to give rest (Matthew 11:28-29).

He does not come with a heavy yoke of slavery, but an invitation to come beside him and receive rest, to learn to rest; so that we find rest for our souls — Sabbath rest with our creator, who invites us into his Exodus, the fulfilment of Isaiah — paradise and a feast. Matthew follows these words with a picture of two visions of Sabbath — a miserly legalism, and the enjoyment of God’s provision — I reckon we have often tossed both in order to avoid oppressive legalism. Jesus feeds his disciples on the Sabbath — they are tasting a sort of Jubilee year; picking from the field — but the Pharisees — well — they have never seen Jubilee, so they just see work — rule-breaking — they want the hungry to stay hungry (Matthew 12:1-2). Jesus condemns them for missing the point of God’s law; his heart — and condemns the innocent — missing that the king of rest — the Lord of the Sabbath — is in front of them modelling fulfilment of the law (Matthew 12:7-8).

And then, as another image of the contrast, we meet this man with a shrivelled hand — and the Pharisees do not see a human; they see a test for Jesus; they want this guy to stay unable to work… excluded… poor… to prove a point. But Jesus declares it is lawful to do good on the Sabbath; and he heals the guy — he brings life — complete restoration — while the Pharisees — well, they are happy to plot a murder on the Sabbath (Matthew 12:10-14).

Later the one who has an easy yoke and light burden says these Pharisees load up heavy, cumbersome burdens on people’s shoulders and do nothing to ease the burden (Matthew 23:4). They oppress. They enslave. They walk like the Egyptians. So what does this all mean for us as we seek to follow the Lord of the Sabbath?

What are we to do with this way of shaping our week?

The miserly legalism of the Pharisees has no appeal to me at all — but maybe it is not a choice between working to eat, or to do good, and legalistic rest… but between coming to Jesus for rest, or being team Pharisee.

Maybe the Sabbath is not meant to oppress, but to liberate; maybe it is a chance to follow a different rhythm; to live differently in time as we come to the Lord of the Sabbath and receive rest; the fruits of the new life of God’s people promised in the prophet Isaiah — whose writings Jesus fulfils.

Jesus is the one who does away with the yoke of oppression; replacing it with a yoke that is light; giving on behalf of the hungry — liberating the oppressed — bringing people into garden-like rest.

Jesus is the one who delights in God’s Sabbath; the king of Sabbath — and brings people to feast at God’s table. Jesus is the one who, on the cross — launches a new Exodus; liberating humanity from sin and death and Satan and from life under oppressive rule into life where he shoulders our burdens — telling the rebel there with him “today you will be with me in paradise” (Luke 23:43) — a promise for us as well, as those raised and seated with him now — so that our Sabbath rest is not just shaped by God as creator, or by Israel’s Exodus rescue, but our own — so, in the same way, the practice of Sabbath is a chance for us to learn from Jesus, and, like for Israel, a chance for us to not oppress others; to give rest to others as we embrace the pattern of the kingdom.

Sabbath is a chance not to be a slave or a slave driver; to not live like Egypt, or embrace the patterns of our world, but to delight in God’s goodness; to taste paradise today.

The rest the king of rest invites us into is the garden; not just to look back to Eden, and not just to look forward to paradise, but to remember we are in paradise with him today; it is a day to shape ourselves to live as heaven-on-earth people as we work the other six.

In the Practicing the Way resources on Sabbath — it is one of the practices they suggest might become part of your rule of life — they break down how to think about Sabbath not as a legalistic restriction but as this way of life with four headings — Stop. Rest. Delight. Worship.

Stop working and participating in the systems we live in that are inevitably violent and oppressive; disconnect from the grind; not just reluctantly, like in Amos — where we are plotting and scheming how to game that system. Resting from our work; and trusting that God provides what we need and will keep the world ticking over even when our shoulder is not pushed against the wheel.

And as we do this we are invited to use this time we have carved out to delight in God; his goodness to us in our rescue and in creation; enjoying abundance; anticipating paradise — feasting, practicing hospitality — enjoying one another as we live as the household of God — and worshipping God together; spending time “dwelling in the heavenlies” as part of the rest Jesus has entered into that he invites us into as those united with him.

The issue with that Celebration Rally was not so much that my dad suggested people go to Maccas — it was in the lack of abundance at the heart of the celebration — that was a picture of a certain sort of miserliness. The Lord’s Day is a chance to join the leisure of the garden — to play in anticipation of the new creation; to taste and see that God is good; to feast — and to do this as both the culmination of each week and a practice that shapes our week… to plan and prepare ahead of time in order to experience fulfilment and contentment in God’s generosity that remind us we do not need that Sabbath experience every day; as we work; a rhythm that is deliberate and focused on receiving God’s goodness that keeps us from chasing that same satisfaction from idols…

And… here is a surprising reason to embrace the Sabbath that I like — grounded in the prophets and the life of Jesus — and not just in “what is good for me personally” — Sabbath is political; Sabbath is an act of resistance — a liberating practice for us — and for others — we are not just celebrating not being slaves; it is where we learn not to be slave drivers.

This comes with a challenge as we build our own practices; seeking to enjoy abundance in this sanctuary in time — it is to hear the words of Amos, and step out of consuming others — actively, or in our daydreaming about our own little kingdoms… to refuse to act like an Egyptian slave driver, relying on the exploited labour of foreign workers to deliver for us — and, instead, to make space and time for these very folks to enjoy liberating rest — and this practice is meant to shape the rest of our week too.

You might not notice, but we participate in systems of oppression — particularly the oppression of migrant labour, or foreign labourers — we are not slave drivers… but maybe we enslave drivers.

I wonder how many of you have ordered food using Uber Eats, rather than cooking yourself… what about ordering from Amazon?

There are plenty of other forms of modern slavery embedded in our supply chains… but Amazon has got a track record of exploiting its workers — this story from the Guardian is about delivery drivers so desperate to stick to their delivery schedule — which is so tightly monitored drivers cannot take bathroom breaks…

“I saw no effort on Amazon’s part to push delivery service providers to allow their drivers to use the restroom on a normal human basis, leading many, myself included, to urinate inside bottles for fear of slowing down our delivery rates… ”

Many of them will use bottles in their cars. In Australia, Amazon has gamed the employment regulations so they can overload drivers’ schedules and erode safety practices; by calling drivers “hobbyists” or contractors.

“Serious safety issues like dangerous overloading and pressuring drivers to rush through deliveries is not something to brush off as insignificant, implying that this gruelling work is little more than a paying hobby with drivers in full control.”

People caught up in this system talk about being treated like robots rather than humans.

“I feel dehumanized. I feel like they resent the fact that I am not a robot and that I am made of flesh and bone.”

Enslaved; dehumanised to deliver according to quotas — like Israelite slaves making bricks in Egypt — not just set by their corporate overlords, but the consumer expectations of the market…

Deliberately not consuming on the Sabbath is a chance to lift our eyes so we are not swept up in making money, or planning how we might buy a person for a pair of shoes… to make time to see the way our consumption impacts migrant workers, or the poor.

One of the coolest things I read on Sabbath comes from Tricia Hersey — who gets called the Nap Bishop — she wrote this book Rest Is Resistance — where she argues that the conditions of the modern market were actually born in slavery; in the plantations that built the wealth of the west; and where our bodies — especially those of marginalised and oppressed people — when we are working in a system that celebrates 24/7 productivity and rewards hustle and always being on — what we see in the spirit of Amazon — we are still working under Egyptian conditions; brainwashed by a violent culture that does not see us as humans but as machines — she reckons that is at work across the economy — where we work, and where others work for us — and we will not see it unless we carve out time to notice. She sees naps — resting — Sabbath — as acts of resistance against a world that always wants more from you — liberation; a path back to our true nature.

“ …this violent culture that wants to see us working 24 hours a day, that does not view us as a human being but instead views our divine bodies as a machine… The Rest Is Resistance movement is a connection and a path back to our true nature. ”

Sabbath is a chance to deliberately step out of other kingdoms that claim our time, and our bodies, and reorient ourselves to the kingdom of the king of rest; as we come to him, and receive rest — because it is a path back to being human; as we stop and rest and delight and worship — maybe we would find life in a weekly rhythm of Sabbath, not just on that one day, but in a way that will shape our work on the other six days; as we experience freedom from the patterns of sin and slavery and slave driving so we find rest for our souls; learning life with him in paradise.

Inhabiting — Chapter Five — Setting the Table

This was a sermon preached at City South Presbyterian in 2024. You can listen to the podcast here, or watch it on video. Some of the block quotes were on screen and summarised but have been included in full.

Let’s talk about Paris. The city of love and liberty — from kings and from gods… any gods.

Let’s talk about the 2024 Olympics — a public, global event where all the nations of earth come together in a festival, celebrating the human body and the human spirit. An event tracing its heritage back to Greek paganism, that now includes people from every tribe and tongue and nation and religion.

And — let’s talk about the opening ceremony.

Did you see it?

In a performance that ran through France’s secular history — its revolution and liberation so it’s now a society that celebrates unrestricted love and beauty — there was a fashion show that became a bacchanalian feast, and there was a moment where Jolly created a scene that looked like Da Vinci’s painting of the Last Supper.

That’s an important distinction — right — that he copied a painting of the Last Supper, not the Supper itself. We Presbyterians have a tradition of thinking any representation of Jesus in a picture runs the risk of violating the second of the Ten Commandments — whether it’s Da Vinci’s white Jesus, or Jolly recreating that scene with Jewish lesbian, Barbara Butch.

Jolly re-presented this painting using humans; re-framing a famous artwork consistent with his own religious convictions. Describing his intention he said:

“We wanted to talk about diversity. Diversity means being together. We wanted to include everyone, as simple as that.”

We’ll come back to this.

Because as the camera zoomed out in the opening ceremony it was clear this wasn’t just the Last Supper — Da Vinci didn’t paint a smurf on a platter.

The performance was (apparently) a homage to a painting, The Feast of the Gods, by Jan van Bijlert from the 1600s, which you can find hanging in a French gallery.

People who made this connection suggested Christians were silly to be outraged; we should calm down; it’s not even a painting of Jesus — only — the French museum has a guide to its artworks where — in a bad French-to-English Google translation — we’re told the Reformation meant less demand for paintings in “temples,” which I assume is a translation of “churches”:

“In the context of the Reformation, in which the commission for temples had disappeared, the artist found a stratagem to paint a Christlike Last Supper under the cover of a mythological subject…”

With mythological, pagan features… the Greek gods feasting on Mount Olympus. Apollo in the place of Jesus. All the gods are included, as Jesus is replaced.

And, just for fun — there’s another painting hanging in a gallery in Paris — a Last Supper scene on the River Seine — its title is a pun; I won’t mangle the French but “Last Supper,” “the scene,” and “the Seine” all sound the same.

When Paul visited Athens he was introducing a new God to a pagan landscape. Where we sit, any religious revolution — any paganism — has to account for Jesus and his impact on the west. While most of the ancient Athenians laughed at the idea of a resurrected God, who had been mocked and ridiculed — powerless — on a cross, modern paganism laughs at a God they have found repressive, exclusive, and powerful.

Anyway. How did this image — this event — this mockery and idolatry make you feel?

Whether you interpreted it as a direct insult to an image of Jesus, or just the image of a feast of pagan gods supplanting Christianity’s claims of exclusivity in the west, in the name of inclusivity of people often excluded from the table by Christians… however you saw it — what was your response?

Disorientation?
Offence?
Distress?

And what’s your response to the response — both from other Christians, or the apology from the Olympic committee — or to the death threats received by the person at the centre of the image, or by the artist — or the Vatican issuing a statement condemning the display?

How you think we should respond or react to this is kind of a picture of where we are up to in our series today about inhabiting the world. We’ve looked at building our own lives, at being part of a household or family, at creating habitats that shape us in our homes or church spaces. This week we’re thinking about how we live in public; in cities — or a world — designed with its own conforming pattern; its own architecture or habitats that shape hearts and minds.

How we react to this moment around a global festival, this overt display of religious worship, this appeal to form our minds is a bit of a test case; a way to explore how we imagine life inhabiting spaces like Athens, or Paris, or Brisbane, as people who have inhabited and been formed by the living God — as his temples.

We started our series in Athens, where we saw Paul’s reaction to the pagan art and performances of that city — its idols, and altars, and temples — he was greatly distressed (Acts 17:16). It’s literally the word provoked.

I think some of us are hard to offend and might minimise the distress others feel in response to blasphemous dismissals of the God we worship; the desire to see his name hallowed. We might miss that idolatry is an affront to God, and not be provoked by this enough — whether the performance was directly the Lord’s Supper, or just a pagan feast replacing it — but I reckon some of Paul’s distress is not just about love for God, but love for humans — and his understanding of what idolatry does to humans; how it excludes us from life with God; life at his table.

Paul’s distress doesn’t just lead to a classic Old Testament response to idols — he doesn’t tear them down or smash them with a hammer or “devote them to destruction” like Deuteronomy says:

“This is what you are to do to them: Break down their altars, smash their sacred stones, cut down their Asherah poles and burn their idols in the fire.” — Deuteronomy 7:5

He preaches to them. He invites them to the table, to meet the living God (Acts 17:18).

He uses their human impulse to worship; their idols and altars (Acts 17:22-23) — their artists, poets, and philosophers to point them to their Creator (Acts 17:28) — who made them to inhabit time and space (Acts 17:26)… and to seek and find him (Acts 17:27). He uses all this architecture — including art and images — and their desires — to aid this search; pointing them to the Creator they are ignoring in their pagan worship.

He doesn’t come with a hammer, but he calls them ignorant — and tries to inform them so they might be transformed. While God overlooked this offensive paganism in these nations before Jesus, now he commands all people to repent (Acts 17:30); to leave the gods of Mount Olympus and their feasts and festivals to find transforming life at God’s table, with him. God, our creator, has us inhabiting space and time so that we might find him, and the way to find him is through Jesus, in his kingdom.

This speech in Athens is part of Luke’s two-part volume about who Jesus is and what his kingdom looks like. When our church worked through Luke’s Gospel earlier this year, we saw how this kingdom is revealed at the table:

“When the hour came, Jesus and his apostles reclined at the table… he took bread, gave thanks and broke it, and gave it to them, saying, ‘This is my body given for you; do this in remembrance of me.’” — Luke 22:14, 19

Whatever that meal symbolises, it is a picture of life feasting with God, and how God invites us to this feast through Jesus. Our desire to be included in human community might well be part of how God has wired us to look for connection and belonging and inclusion — a desire that is best fulfilled at his table, rather than filled with pagan feasts.

And we’ve seen how the Christian habitat for being formed as God’s people is a household — homes, spaces where people meet together and break bread, remembering Jesus’ body and his blood given for us so that we might become children in God’s family; so we might be transformed as we turn away from destructive idols, and patterns of life, and inhabit the city differently.

But what should this look like? This transformation? Life in this kingdom? Life at this table — and why choose it rather than the feast of the gods around us?

If you think way back to the start of the year to our second talk in the Luke series (podcast here), we saw how in Luke Jesus proclaimed the good news — the Gospel — as the beginning of a party with God, the year of Jubilee (Luke 4:18-21). He came to fulfil this.

Some part of inhabiting the world as those feasting at God’s table involves this preaching — a proclamation that comes as an invitation to feast at God’s table, and away from other tables, altars, and gods.

We get a picture of this transformation from the Old Testament passages Jesus says he fulfils. His good news announcement of Jubilee comes from Isaiah 61 — which is good news for the poor and the oppressed, for captives who are in the dark (Isaiah 61:1). Now — we either tend to read this and see a picture of justice being meted out for any oppressed people, and see God’s heart to include excluded and oppressed people — or we tend to spiritualise this idea of freedom and rescue and make it just about sin and forgiveness. And God certainly liberates us from sin and death and the rule of other powers and principalities. But Isaiah is written to the nation of Israel, and this is — as much as anything — a promise that exile from God will end; that being excluded from his presence is not forever; that God will regather a people for himself.

And those of us reading after Jesus who are Gentiles — most of us — this regathering comes with bonus inclusion: the end of an exile from God for all nations, nations who had worshipped other gods, with pagan feasts like the one on Mount Olympus. Pursuing liberty — freedom from God, freedom to rule our own lives and pursue our own feasts.

Isaiah suggests this idolatry is destructive and dehumanising — we become what we worship:

“All who make idols are nothing, and the things they treasure are worthless. Those who would speak up for them are blind; they are ignorant, to their own shame.” — Isaiah 44:9

And we are left “feeding on ashes” (Isaiah 44:20). The worst thing is to be formed in the image of these false gods, and to find ourselves as enemies of the God of all nations.

Anyway — Jubilee is not just about liberation and inclusion and diversity. It is about invitation and transformation. Through it, God will take those — first of all — those of his people on Zion — and replace their ashes, the way they had been marked by mourning, with a crown of beauty. Bringing the oil of joy instead of mourning. This is beautiful imagery, isn’t it? Restoration. God will make these people righteous; like trees planted to display his splendour (Isaiah 61:3). These people will be rebuilders of cities — specifically in this case it is about Jerusalem — they will create shared architecture that points to life with God (Isaiah 61:4). They will be priests of the Lord, benefiting from the produce of fields and vineyards, receiving abundance — a double portion, an inheritance. Joy-filled (Isaiah 61:6-7).

God will make a covenant with this people and reward them. Their descendants will be known among all the people of the world as his blessed people (Isaiah 61:8-9); clothed in salvation and righteousness; a fruitful, garden-like people who will multiply praise as God makes them grow in righteousness (Isaiah 61:10-11). This is what Jesus says he fulfils. This is the sort of people we are invited to be as we become part of his household. This picture of life as God’s people — who dwell at his table and model fruitful life in the world.

How should this idea of being fruitful, righteous, rebuilders of cities work when we live in cities more like Athens than the new Jerusalem?

Another image that might help comes from another prophet, Jeremiah, who talks about God’s people preparing themselves for the promised end of exile while still living in Babylon. God promises them they will return to life with him, and to prepare by building houses and planting gardens — creating homes that operate as habitats where they are formed as God’s people; gardens that echo Eden and the temple they lost (Jeremiah 29:5); being fruitful and multiplying (Jeremiah 29:6); seeking the prosperity of their neighbours because their prosperity will be found as the city prospers (Jeremiah 29:7). God promises he will end their exile — bring them home — but the pattern of life in a hostile city is to build and plant, to generate life, to bless their neighbours, anticipating restoration to life with God — to practice the sort of things Isaiah pictures as restoration.

And there is something very Genesis-y about both these pictures — isn’t there — some explicit language that connects to the mission God gives humans in the beginning. As he blesses them and calls them to be fruitful and multiply (Genesis 1:28); to fill the earth and rule over it as his representatives. And then as he commissions his gardening human to cultivate and keep the garden — his dwelling place — where he gives a feast (Genesis 2:15-16).

So this is who we are to be. God made us to inhabit space and time, and he has called us into life with him. Jubilee life at his table. Life in his kingdom. Calling us to cultivate space — planting and building — that reflects his rule, while inviting others to the party; to be transformed as they find the God who is seeking them through his resurrecting king.

But what does this look like? How do we live like this when there are so many other feasts, other gods clamouring for our worship, forming our minds? Provoking us? We are invited to be cultivators, builders, planters — to live constructively, not to seek the destruction of these idols and their tables or altars.

There’s this Japanese-American artist-slash-theologian, Makoto Fujimura. He makes art drawing on his Japanese heritage and his Christian faith, and writes books about how Christians might think about participating in our culture — our Babylons — while anticipating the heavenly city.

Where some folks suggest our job is to fight a culture war, he calls us to culture care, and to an approach that summarises all this Old Testament stuff — to a life of generativity. It’s a good word. He describes it as bringing flowers into a culture bereft of beauty:

“Culture Care is a generative approach to culture that brings bouquets of flowers into a culture bereft of beauty.”

— Makoto Fujimura

Being fruitful and multiplying; generating life.

“God creates and calls his creatures to fruitfulness… We call something ‘generative’ if it is fruitful.”

— Fujimura

He applies this idea to his art — and to critiquing other sorts of art or creativity. And it is a useful idea when we are confronted with art — or life — that feels degenerate: paintings, performances, pagan feasts, idol statues, or modern altars and temples that turn our hearts and habits away from God.

“We can also approach generativity by looking at its shadow, ‘degenerate’ — the loss of good or desirable qualities.”

— Fujimura

This allows us to respond to something degenerate or degrading with imagination; trying to introduce beauty to the ashes. Gardens to Babylon. Where, like Paul in Athens, we focus on being fruitful and multiplying; pursuing abundance; being constructive not destructive — inviting others to encounter this life.

“What is generative is the opposite of degrading or limiting. It is constructive, expansive, affirming, growing beyond a mindset of scarcity.”

— Fujimura

“Generative thinking is fuelled by generosity” that responds to God’s generosity; hospitality that responds to God’s hospitality — reminding us not to commodify or objectify life; to dehumanise other humans, or treat God as an object in our own plans to consume.

He says: “An encounter with generosity can remind us that life always overflows our attempts to reduce it to a commodity or a transaction.”

I love this stuff.

So often the “culture war” dehumanises the other — in the Paris situation this looks like not seeing the humanity of those at the table; and Thomas Jolly or Barbara Butch getting death threats. Generativity means building movements or creating things that seek to make our cities — our culture — more humane and welcoming, and inspire us to be truly human.

“Thinking and living that is truly generative makes possible works and movements that make our culture more humane and welcoming and that inspire us to be more fully human.”

— Fujimura

So. We might see the Olympic opening ceremony — the Olympics themselves, and the controversial “feast” in particular — as degenerate. Degenerating. Like the idols and altars and feasts of Athens; designed to dehumanise. We might — like Paul — be distressed.

But let’s examine not just our distress — but our response. It would be a problem if our distress did not move us towards where it moves Paul: towards inviting people to encounter God as God actually is; to find life in a feast with him. But instead to our own sort of degenerative behaviour where we dehumanise the other, the opponent — where we pick up our sledgehammers and attack the idols with our own angry art.

It would be a problem if, when we saw a table full of people typically excluded from church community and life with God — dressed in drag, or gender non-conforming folks, or queer people like the lesbian DJ Barbara Butch in her crown — we joined the crowd of people yelling hate or sending death threats.

To respond with outrage at the idea that these folks might be included would be to perpetuate their exclusion, and probably to join in seeing them as less than human. And our distress or outrage might be around the idea of who is at that table and what they represent, rather than the portrayal of Jesus.

Reframing Jesus as part of another pagan festival — replacing him with Apollo, and serving up Dionysus — is dumb, insulting, and blasphemous. It is degenerate, as was plenty of the sexual stuff, the celebration of promiscuity around that particular image. It is dehumanising, and like any idolatry it offers a dead end.

The modern idol of inclusion and diversity — without Jesus and the transformation he offers everyone through resurrection and re-creation and life at God’s table as his worshipping image bearers — that’s also a dead end. But it is a longing tied in with our search for meaning, for God, for love and connection and inclusion — the same impulse that led artists and architects to build idols and altars in Athens.

There’s also an interesting sub-thread here with the anger about the inclusion of the “other” in the culture war here — queer folks — at the table. The comparison here is not exact; but where our intuition is to see anything not binary as an affront to God’s design of image bearers as male and female, we have to grapple with one of the primary pictures Isaiah gives us for exile and restoration, and the way he challenges our categories — in a thread explicitly picked up by Jesus.

In Isaiah 39, Isaiah tells the king of Israel that exile is coming; Babylon will cart off his household, and Israel’s images of God — humans — in this case, sons of the royal house will be turned into eunuchs (Isaiah 39:6-7).

For Israel, a man whose sexual organs were mutilated would be excluded from life in God’s house under the law:

“No one who has been emasculated by crushing or cutting may enter the assembly of the Lord.”

— Deuteronomy 23:1

This was common practice in Babylon in a way that reflected their creation story — where the god Marduk creates through violence and dismembering other beings. In Babylon’s religion, only the king was the image of God, of Marduk. Babylon’s kings would routinely gather up the most beautiful sons of conquered nations, and make them into eunuchs to serve the royal household (Isaiah 39:7).

This probably happened to Daniel and his friends, who were literally given to the “chief of his court officials,” which is “chief of the eunuchs” in Babylon (Daniel 1:3-4). Someone made a eunuch before puberty would develop different feminine bodily characteristics. They would not fit a typical gender binary. An Israelite would see this as an affront to God’s design, his law, and an expression of idolatrous worship and power. Such a person would be excluded from the table.

But as Isaiah pictures the return from exile God promises, he pictures eunuchs — the excluded, these humans whose bodies were marked by the idolatrous empire that included them at the royal table, in the king’s family, who do not conform to a rigid gender binary image. They are being included in the temple, God’s house, as a prophetic picture of God’s rebuilding and recreating and liberating work, of Jubilee (Isaiah 56:4-5).

Some religious folks in Isaiah’s day, familiar with the law, may have found this image incredibly provocative and distressing — or they may have been moved by compassion and by excitement to be part of something God was going to do, rebuilding a people.

Jesus continues this inclusivity when he talks about eunuchs as a picture of faithfulness in Matthew’s Gospel (Matthew 19:12). He describes those who are born this way, those made this way by others, and those who choose to live this way for the sake of the kingdom of heaven, as he speaks of those who will choose God’s kingdom over sexual expression that rejects God’s design.

It is striking, too, that the first Gentile we meet included in God’s kingdom in the book of Acts is the Ethiopian eunuch (Acts 8:27)… who is reading Isaiah (Acts 8:32).

Now — this is a broad category and it does not only or exclusively map on to the sorts of people at the table in the opening ceremony image. There are complex dynamics around individual circumstances and biology and sin working out for any person who comes to God’s table seeking inclusion and life with him.

Practicing generativity and generosity will mean looking to see the humanity of the other we might dehumanise, as we build communities with a desire to see all people come to the table with Jesus to be transformed by him as their exile ends and Jubilee begins.

Our reaction to a picture of queer people at the Lord’s Supper, our outrage, risks closing the door to this sort of inclusion; to creating a prophetic community where those harmed by Babylon, or Athens, or Paris, and its worship, find adoption and life in God’s family, at his table. Where we see those in this picture as less than human, or do not desire their presence at God’s table, or close the door, we are missing the pattern of life we are invited into.

A culture war posture of outrage — our response when we feel attacked — might fail to recognise the deep desire folks have for inclusion; to feast at the table of God. To see how when this desire misfires in degraded, degenerative, pagan worship that dehumanises, there is an opportunity to proclaim the one who is at the table offering his body to give life.

What if — though we are provoked, distressed — by pagan parties that mock Jesus — we reacted with a generous invitation, like Jesus does from the cross. Where he says “Father forgive them,” or invites the rebel next to him to join him in the garden.

What if, when we see a picture like this, we do not see an awful attack on Christianity, but — in the artist’s words — a search for inclusivity that, without Jesus and the transformation he offers, is just a dead end.

So we do not pick up the sledgehammer or keyboard in a culture war, but set the table with culture care.

And look — you might say “but this is not what the artist meant, it was deliberately offensive and you are letting them off the hook”… But I am pretty sure the people who built the altar to the unknown God in Athens did not mean for Paul to make it about Israel’s God either.

What if instead of seeing these folks taking the seats of Jesus and his disciples, we saw them at the other side of the table; across from Jesus.

What if we imagine Jesus in this picture offering his body and his blood — his loving hospitality and invitation to these folks just as he did for us? Offering inclusion and transformation to those prepared to repent and be transformed.

What if this was our posture in real life too — not just our reaction to the opening ceremony? To build and plant homes and spaces in our city — amongst the idol tables — that offer this life to others.

What if our building and planting — our generativity — were generated by our own weekly re-enactment of the Lord’s Supper at this table; a picture performed for us, and the world, as we remember and proclaim the good news that Jesus has given his body and blood to include us, to transform us, as we bring our lives, our crowns, and our sin to the table and repent. Laying those things down and taking up the life of Jesus so we might carry it into the world with us.

Inhabiting — Chapter Three — the Household

This was a sermon preached at City South Presbyterian in 2024. You can listen to the podcast here, or watch it on video. Some of the block quotes were on screen and summarised but have been included in full.

I need to give a bit of a content warning — we are talking about family — about parents — and I know some people have had damaging relationships with their parents, so this is a traumatic topic to engage with.

We are also talking about church as family — which, in high-control environments, is language that can be used coercively or abusively — probably in ways that overlap with those family experiences.

I am hoping we will steer clear of these dynamics, but acknowledge there will be an overlap with language that may have harmed you; deforming rather than forming some of us.

There is also a caveat I want to add up front; sermons have limits. The sort of ideas we open up today about our households, and our church as a household, might require deep recalibration of our lives. I am sketching out a framework for how we think of discipleship; our formation as children of God. This is a conversation starter, not a conversation finisher.

I am also opening with a confession. I am worried I am not a good parent; and the more time I spend with those of you whom I love, who have suffered at the hands of bad parents; the more I have seen the cost of these wounds, the more I fear how I am deforming my kids. I need help.

At home I am short-tempered. Distracted. Focused on what I want to do. Trying to cope. Parenting is hard. Kids are always fighting. Always noisy. Always too slow to do what I want. Our house is too small, and we just always feel angry at each other. It is overwhelming… and it needs to change. I need to change.

And look, I am on social media — I know I am not alone in this sort of feeling.

A few years ago Robyn and I visited these psychologists — a couple — who specialise in ministry families. If you have been around for a while you will know I have not always been great at work-life boundaries — another thing I inflict on my kids. Robyn is quite insightful; she had recognised that this was not sustainable for either of us before I did — and one of the things she brought up was that it is a real problem for her, and the kids, when I work from home; from the couch.

I reacted pretty badly to this — some of you will know I am in the family business; as a kid, my dad never felt available. In his first church he had an office across the yard from our house; we knew when he was in the office we should not interrupt. Then, when we moved to Brisbane, his office was downstairs — and the door was always closed. I had decided not to be behind a closed door; to be present and accessible. It turns out a clearly marked-off workspace is probably a wise thing — but — my folks had been looking after our kids, and when we picked them up after our session they asked, “What did you say about us?” — because you always talk to psychologists about your parents.

I told them I had brought up the closed door and how I worked from the couch so I could be interrupted; and Dad explained he had worked from home, in his office, because my mum’s dad — also a pastor — his office was in town, and he was always absent, and Mum did not want that.

Dad worked from home to be available and the door was closed because the air-con was on. I had to re-narrate that closed door… because, as you know, “love is an open door…”

It is funny how much I had been impacted by this part of my habitat; the closed door; and how my own choice with the couch was not a fix. I tell this story because it is a picture of how we learn to be human in a household. And how we set up our households is part of what forms us, and others — perhaps especially kids. And even if you do not have kids yourself, you are probably conscious of having been formed by those around you.

Last chapter we looked at the analogy of the human life as a house; one we each build either on the foundation of Jesus — or something else — where we take responsibility for building wisely (1 Corinthians 3:10).

This week we are mixing our metaphors — or building them up a little — moving from house to household. This is language we find through the New Testament; a picture of the church as a household — the household of God (1 Timothy 3:14-15) — not just a biological family. We modern Western folks are quick to equate a household with a nuclear family — and plenty of our experience of a household is a product of this move; our families — our households — inevitably shape us; our habitats shape our habits; we inherit patterns of life in the world from others — or define ourselves against them — like in my story; three generations of pastor-dads choosing where to work and messing up their kids.

We will look at 1 Timothy here, and while we will look at the content, I also want us to think about the nature of relationships this letter is operating in and trying to create. Paul is writing to Timothy — last week we saw Paul holding up Timothy as his beloved son who follows his example (1 Corinthians 4:16-17); his way of life (1 Corinthians 4:16-17). Also — while we are looking at 1 Corinthians, remember that bit from last week where Paul calls the church the temple of the Holy Spirit (1 Corinthians 3:16). He uses a Greek word for house in this bit where he says God dwells with us; it is maybe more literally translated inhabits; God’s Spirit inhabits the church; and this word, it is all through 1 Timothy; where Paul is writing to his true son in the faith (1 Timothy 1:2). Paul is Timothy’s spiritual dad. We do not know what has happened to Timothy’s biological dad — he is not described as a spiritual influence when Paul reflects on the role Timothy’s mum and grandma played in teaching him God’s word (2 Timothy 1:5).

Anyway, in Paul’s opening words there is a household reference we lose in english that shapes the whole letter. Here in this warning about avoiding faithless controversies that get in the way of advancing God’s work (1 Timothy 1:4), is actually this same house word; oikos — “managing God’s work” is oikos nomia; the Greek word we get economy from; it is the idea of household management. Paul is writing to Timothy — his spiritual son — about building God’s economy; his household, which is what he calls the church.

And, up front, the goal of his instructions — the task of stewarding God’s household — is love (1 Timothy 1:5). Love from a pure heart; a good conscience and a sincere faith — you might summarise that as a transformed mind — this is a particular kind of love too — it is the word for committed, sacrificial, connected love for another person; it is about giving, not getting.

So Paul’s point in writing the instructions for what kind of examples should shape the church — spiritual parents in the household of God — is part of this guide to love; to the sort of conduct that happens — the practices — that produce the character of the household of God (1 Timothy 3:14-15). Paul gives a list of behaviours for men and women who are going to be model parents in a church community — parents who do not follow worldly patterns. In the Roman Empire in the first century there were patterns and expectations for a male head of a household; a patriarch.

Paul subverts a bunch of these as he writes to men who occupy this sort of presumed role about shaping a new type of household by not acting this way; he says these spiritual dads should be above reproach — exemplary — faithful to his wife — not engaging in the predatory sexual power games of the culture, he is to be self-controlled — not violent or striking out in anger like a Roman patriarch could when they felt wronged; hospitable — able to teach — picture taking on apprentices here, rather than just lecturing… someone who is not ruled by alcohol or money or their passions (1 Timothy 3:2-3)… someone already doing this job in their family (1 Timothy 3:4). Again — this is the same house word in Greek — it is not just about the nuclear family; though it mentions his children — a Roman household was a little economic unit; home to multiple generations, single friends and relatives — and often slaves or clients — he has got to be running his little economy — in a manner worthy of respect, of imitation — before he can be an example; a spiritual parent, an economic model in God’s household (1 Timothy 3:5).

This is true for any of the examples Paul uses in the letter; if they are not modelling it in their own households they cannot be models in God’s household (1 Timothy 3:12).

There are not just instructions about exemplary men in this letter — or this passage — some of this feels pretty gendered to us, but I reckon Paul is inverting certain stereotypes that are documented as part of Roman culture — in a patriarchal culture, not universal gender norms — and the idea is really that both exemplary men and women are worthy of respect; and — I reckon this word should actually be translated wives (1 Timothy 3:11) — Paul is mapping out the patterns of matriarchs and patriarchs — patterns — in this new household of connected love — not the self-seeking competition and power in other economies. This is not to say unmarried people cannot be heads of households, or examples to follow — as we will see…

If we flip over a few pages in 1 Timothy, in chapter 5 Paul keeps unpacking the dynamics of this new family system — Timothy is to see those he is in community with as family — older men as fathers; younger men as brothers, older women as mothers and younger women as sisters — with purity — the sort of love that comes from a pure heart (1 Timothy 5:1-2); and this pattern spreads through the community in particular ways — families care for each other — especially when suffering occurs — so we get these instructions for how to care for those within biological families, and without a biological family (1 Timothy 5:4). Kids and grandkids should care for widowed mums and grandmas — practicing our religion — that is another habit word — by caring for those in our immediate household; our families; recognising they have cared for us — this is tricky if they have not; if our family have harmed us and not loved us in ways where this care would be an act of reciprocity — and we will talk more about this; it is a challenge in the face of broken family relationships and trauma and abuse to practice our faith this way — but, just notice — and this is important — Paul has very harsh words for those who fail to care for their relatives — including parents who do not care for, or abuse, their kids — they have denied the faith and are worse than an unbeliever (1 Timothy 5:8); they have put themselves outside this network of connected love; God’s economy; the task of loving people into the love and likeness of Jesus.

Where people in the church community do not have others to care for them — where these households have failed — the church family is their household.

There is a widows list (1 Timothy 5:9-10), where the church will pay exemplary women to keep being motherly or grandmotherly examples in the life of the church — those known for their good deeds; there are big overlaps between the women provided for in these ways and men who are held up as leaders of the church — raising children… showing hospitality… serving others (1 Timothy 5:10)… while younger widows can provide for themselves — whether that is through marriage if that is an option — or through managing their own households (1 Timothy 5:14) — a type of leadership — being exemplary motherly types who care for others, presumably to cultivate this same way of life.

All of this is about the household of God; this new family that we are brought into as God makes his home among us and builds us to be his household (1 Timothy 3:14-15); his children in the world as we learn how we ought to live from people doing it; people embodying godliness — finding it expressed in the foundation of the house — the source of true godliness — Jesus — who appeared in flesh, was vindicated by the Spirit in his teaching and life and resurrection — was taken up in glory and who now forms the basis of our faith and practice; shaping our economy (1 Timothy 3:16).

So what has this letter to Timothy got to do with us — you are not an apprentice or adopted son of the Apostle Paul — but Timothy is an example for the church to imitate; a model for us — that is a lot of pressure for a young bloke — and Paul says “do not let anyone judge you for being young — focus on being an example in speech, in conduct, in love, in faith and in purity” (1 Timothy 4:12) — a picture of life in the household of God; the life of love the letter is designed to produce — this comes through devotion to reading the Scriptures (1 Timothy 4:13). Timothy is to keep the message of Jesus at the heart of the household — but not only this; he has also got to live it; his example; his progress — his growth in maturity — is to be visible to all; we are all learning what it means to grow up and mature in God’s household together — even our leaders — Timothy is to keep his life aligning with his doctrine (1 Timothy 4:15-16). Because this is the pattern we are growing into; our examples and communities form us as children of God.

While perfect habitat will not perfect our heart — that is page 2 of the Bible — our habits, our households are either part of the conforming patterns of the world, or, in the household of God, part of the transforming and renewing of our minds as God’s Spirit makes his home in us. We will be shaped by the household we belong to. To inhabit the world is to be formed by life in a household; the architectures and rhythms and examples of who we live with and where we live — or who we do not live with when we feel disconnected from others.

One of the obvious ways we inhabit time and space is by being born into a family — a household with a story or history — every human has to navigate this reality — whether our parents, or households, aid us or hinder us in seeking God. Someone born into a household in ancient Athens would be shaped not just by the architecture of the city, with its idols and temples, but the architecture of their household — their family gods — shaping their lives too. And this is true for us, and our patterns of worship.

The household we are brought into profoundly shapes our elephants — more than the city; the world around us — we have been thinking about our minds — what we carry into the world using this metaphor of the rider — our thinking brains — and the elephants — our ingrained intuitive responses to the world. That part of our mind is profoundly developed — whether positively or negatively — whether through presence or absence — by those humans who shaped us; and can be reshaped by a new household built around habits of love and connection.

I mentioned Jonathan Haidt’s idea of the brain featuring a ‘rider’ and an elephant, and this book The Other Half of Church in chapter one — which is about how we are not formed just by teaching the rider; the bit of our brain shaped by listening to sermons and talking about stuff; we need to form the bit of our brain that does the heavy lifting; the automatic, intuitive bit that accounts for most of our behaviour.

The authors suggest this ‘fast’ part, or ‘elephant’ comes from who we are; who we have learned to be in our connected or disconnected relationships; this formation begins in our families as babies and infants — but it keeps happening in our bodies as we experience all the way into adulthood; we do not stop being children; we do not stop being shaped by our households. Even in my 40s I am learning that I am a child; a child of my parents; a product of my family system, my household — even as I parent my own children — I just need to keep learning to be a child of God.

My parents were pretty good, really — I have had to re-narrate the closed door and a bunch of other stuff as I have found out how hard parenting is… but there are things I want to do differently as I set an example for others — including my kids — new patterns to learn — and I know that for some of us this is a bigger battle, because the patterns of our families have traumatised us; leaving our elephants scared and scarred. Trauma shapes our elephant; this part of our brains — because trauma is a function of broken relationships; not having a secure way to process suffering.

Humans need a household — whether that is biological or not; the households we define ourselves around — and their rhythms and our experience of embodied life within them — produce our character, shaping our hearts and minds. Children of God need households operating according to the values and conduct of the household of God; his economy, where spiritual parents provide examples of maturity and love for us in secure and connected relationships; love that reflects God’s love. If you are a parent who wants your kids to know the love of Jesus — whether they are infants or adults — you might need to assess where your spiritual parenting is forming those in your household — including you — are you conforming to the patterns of this world, or being transformed by God’s Spirit dwelling among you? What are your routines — when you get up in the morning is it the “get out the door” rush that teaches work and school and success are important — or connection to each other and to your heavenly Father that guides your steps? What do you talk about together? When do your kids experience encouragement and connection? When you discipline are you discipling?

I know I have got some work to do as a parent on this front. I have still got things to learn and unlearn from my own parents, and from other spiritual parents in our community. And I need help. But I grew up in a household that wanted this for me.

If your biological parents have been abusive or harmful — worse than unbelievers — you might — even as an adult — need spiritual parents, in a community lovingly teach you a new way of life as you submit to learning their example rather than imitating or reacting against those who harmed you. Family trauma — broken attachments — not being cared for — stops us growing up because the people who were meant to model these things have failed us. When we are in this situation we need a new household. New models.

Lots of people who have experienced trauma or exclusion from their biological families have created new household structures — using language like “chosen families” — which is great — but often these chosen families are peer networks, often with others who have experienced similar patterns, with an inbuilt suspicion — and trauma response triggered by parent-like figures. I wonder if we do not just need chosen families but chosen parents; those in the household of God who can teach and model life in God’s family for us — and — perhaps — actually start undoing some of the ways we have been harmed. And there is a role here in our community for some of you older folks — or us older folks — to serve as chosen parents or grandparents in the faith. If you are older you might need to take steps to build some of these connections with others, while if you are younger you might need to deliberately ask some older folks to be part of your life; to open their households to include you. Growth groups are part of that in the rhythms of our church family.

I mentioned this book The Common Rule, in chapter one, and this quote from Justin Earley about “the house of his life” being decorated with Christian content while the architecture of his habits was like everyone else’s.

“While the house of my life was decorated with Christian content, the architecture of my habits was just like everyone else’s.”

And because I would like to make changes on this front for me, and for my household, I was excited to read his follow up, called Habits of the Household — it is another book full of quotable quotes and ideas of practices and rhythms to build into home life.

He seems to be zeroing in on 1 Timothy when he says our households should be little schools of love; habitats that teach inhabitants to live our calling; to be formed as lovers of God and neighbour.

“The most Christian way to think about our households is that they are little ‘schools of love’… places where we have one vocation, one calling: to form all who live here into lovers of God and neighbour.” — Justin Whitmel Earley, Habits of the Household

He chose the word “household” not “family” because he reckons we should think bigger than the nuclear family…

“Thinking in terms of the household, instead of just the family unit, encourages us to think bigger about how God is working through our families… People do not join our households just because you wish for them to. They become part of the household because there is a rhythm or a pattern that invites them in.”

But apart from his chapter on hospitality, which imagines making ways for others to become part of the household at the table, his book is really about the nuclear family… and about parenting.

It was disappointing — the households of the first century; multi-generational groups of connected people — not just biologically related to one another — were a brilliant structure, and as we have reduced life to biological families living disconnected lives in the modern world we have created all sorts of problems for ourselves; especially when it comes to learning to be human and the pressure placed on parents, and kids. And plenty of households in church communities are not nuclear families with two parents.

There are some helpful practices in the book that can be applied in various contexts, but if we see the church as the household of God — made up of households — and that this might happen in chosen family groups, and different structures — not just biological families — then I reckon it is worth engaging with The Other Half of Church — and, for homework, I would love you to read it, or listen to The Other Half of Church podcast — especially the episodes on joy and hesed. Hesed is the Hebrew word for connected, committed love — in Greek it is translated into ‘agape,’ the love Paul says is the goal in God’s household.

The writers of this book are incorporating the work of modern psychologists like Allan Schore — I read some of his work this week and he seems legit — his work on attachment theory is built on the idea that we develop attachment through our eyes and our faces — especially through experiencing joy; connection to a person looking at us who is glad to be with us — an open door.

“If Dr Schore is right about the definition of joy being what I feel when I see the sparkle in someone’s eye that conveys ‘I am happy to be with you,’ I was experiencing joy… Our identity is built and formed by joy-bonded relationships. The identity center in our brain grows in response to joy.”

— The Other Half of Church

This is identity-shaping; elephant-shaping… so much of my parenting has communicated the opposite — especially when I have been working on the couch and been annoyed by an interruption; gazing at screens does the opposite — anyway, they reckon our identity; our right-brained sense of self is formed by joy-bonded relationships — they build on this idea that biblically, joy is connected to God’s face shining upon us — and that we experience this in face-to-face community aimed towards this sort of connection — and where churches do not habitually express and include this joy face to face, eye to eye — our ability to produce fruitful life is depleted — they use the analogy of cultivating the right sort of soil to grow towards maturity.

“If my community is not in the habit of expressing what God sees as special in each of us, our eyes do not meet and our faces do not shine when we see each other. Our soil becomes depleted. Soil that is low on joy is primed for growing addictions. When our brain looks for joy and does not find it, we become vulnerable to ‘pseudo-joys.’”

— The Other Half of Church

Where we do not have this joy we start looking for it in pseudo-joys — addictions; things like consuming; looking at people’s faces on social media; porn; the stuff in the list of behaviours that spiritual parents in God’s household should model avoiding. They reckon we need to practice face-to-face “joy transmission” in our households.

“If joy is transmitted primarily through our faces and eyes, we need to practice letting our faces light up with each other… Our brains draw life from our strongest relational attachments to grow our character and develop our identity. Who we love shapes who we are.”

— The Other Half of Church

We share in communion as a community; a household — connected by bonds of love; by God’s love — his Spirit dwelling in us — inviting us to be at home with him as his household. The people around you as you take communion are prime candidates to be this household for you — a community we are attached to, where we experience hesed — this love — God’s love.

Our elephants are formed by the joy we experience in strong relational attachments — who we love shapes who we are. This is true of our attachment to God, but we learn this from each other as we take up the task of forming one another towards maturity; listening to the word of God and taking on the character of Jesus; the source of godliness — and we only do this when we build our community wanting this attachment with each other, where we experience a different economy; one not built on consumption or self-service, but on connected love where we come face to face not just with people glad to be with us, but the God who adopts us into his family.

Inhabiting — Chapter Two — Learning Jesus By Heart

This was a sermon preached at City South Presbyterian in 2024. You can listen to the podcast here, or watch it on video. Some of the block quotes were on screen and summarised but have been included in full.

There is something you do not know about me. Probably. I cannot tell you. But if you were there when I gave this as a talk, I tried to show people by playing a song on the piano.

As a kid, I learned piano. I reckon my parents spent thousands of dollars so I could learn — really — that one song. It is basically all I have to show for it — that, and I can still play most of the scales. Maybe I should have just done that.

I was not great at practicing, but I did learn — and practice — that one song, until it became part of me. I can play it without looking — or thinking — and I play it much faster than it is meant to be played, and probably much less well than it is meant to be played.

But I remember it. I know where my fingers are meant to be and what it is meant to sound like — and I know it without thinking. What the people heard when I played was automatic; it was muscle memory.

There is a phrase we use when we learn something that we can produce automatically, is there not? We talk about learning something by heart. And we know we have not learned it through some process of our heart — that organ — magically latching on to a thing. When we learn something by heart, when we get it to the stage of being natural or automatic, it is a product of practice. Of repetition. Of bedding something down deep into our bones.

And we think of this sort of automation as good when it comes to learning an instrument, or a sport, or how to drive a car — so that we are making those movements without deciding.

I stopped learning piano — practicing — because I did not love it, so only one song comes naturally to me; I only know one “by heart.” While I am almost 42 and still playing soccer; still practicing hoping more things might become automatic because even though I am uncoordinated and nothing feels automatic, I love it. I have given my heart to it, and I am hoping my body will automate some things if I keep repeating the actions. I wonder how we go though at following Jesus by heart; learning to live as a disciple of Jesus.

That is what we are thinking about this series — we are thinking about how we be who God has made us to be; those who inhabit time and space in order to seek God like he made us to (Acts 17:26-28). And we do this as those who have found God because he has revealed himself to us in Jesus so that we are now trying to be formed as disciples. Trying to be transformed as we saw last week, rather than conformed into the patterns of the world (Romans 12:2).

I wonder what your model for this transformation looks like — whether we think of learning to follow Jesus as like learning to pass an exam at school, or like becoming more like him from the heart. I wonder if our approach to discipleship should look more like learning an instrument, or a sport — something we do with our bodies — rather than something we do by thinking right. If you are doing the Practicing the Way course in your growth group you might have heard them talk about thinking about discipleship as more like an apprenticeship than a university degree.

Last week we looked at the metaphor of an elephant — where the idea was that the world and its patterns — the architecture and idols that surround us — are designed to shape us in particular ways, and to shape our hearts or minds in particular ways as we use our bodies in these spaces, pursuing what we love. And we talked about how often we slip into thinking about our minds as the bits of us that are conscious — we borrowed the analogy of the rider and the elephant from the psychologist Jonathan Haidt. We think about our minds as the rider and about discipleship as informing the rider with the right information about God, but most of what we do is shaped by the elephant — our intuitions, what we have made automatic, our instinctive sense of who we are in the world. These elephants are shaped, like when we make piano playing automatic, by what we do, what we experience, who we are around, what we learn to love, and what we practice.

And this week we are picking up a different metaphor — it is one we will expand over the next few weeks — we are going to think of our lives — our bodies, our minds, our growth and formation — and especially our heart, the core of who we are — as a house.

And rather than examining the architecture of our city, I am going to invite you to think about your life and its structures — how you are being built and formed as a human house; what the plan is, what is foundational, what is load bearing, what is giving you a shape, and how you are building your life, piece by piece. How you are building not just the plans — which might be the rational thinking part of your brain — but the structure; your loves, what is automatic, who you are actually becoming.

We are going to do this looking at the teaching and example of Jesus — and then the teaching and example of one seeking to become like Jesus — the Apostle Paul.

So Jesus, in our reading, he is located on the plains — a level place (Luke 6:17). This is interesting, right — because there is a parallel between what Jesus says here in Luke, and his teaching from a mountain top in Matthew (Luke 6:17, Matthew 5:1). What we are hearing from Jesus is like his stump speech. I heard this week that President Biden gave basically the same radio interview to stacks of different stations around the country; reporters are given pre-vetted questions so he can stick to his script. Well, here is Jesus sticking to his script — this is a core part of his teaching about what the kingdom looks like, and how we should think about being formed as disciples.

Both Luke and Matthew have this first metaphor of a tree producing fruit — it is literally making fruit — this will be important as we roll on. But Jesus says good trees make good fruit (Luke 6:43, Matthew 7:17). You can tell if a tree is good from the fruit, and if the fruit is good from the tree.

And just like that, humans are trees. If fruit is being made, it is coming out of the heart of a person (Luke 6:45). The good things are stored there — literally, treasured there. Our lives that we live, what we make and what we say, are a product of our hearts.

Jesus is picking up an Old Testament idea here — one you will find in the wisdom of Proverbs — that we should guard our hearts because everything else flows out of this part of us (Proverbs 4:23).

And straight up, the next bit in Luke — well — it is a shift in metaphor, but I think Jesus, as he talks about building a wise life as building a house, is talking about building a wise heart that will produce this sort of fruitful, kingdom-shaped life. There are a couple of links we lose in our English here — Jesus literally says “and do not ‘make’ what I say” (Luke 6:46) — it is the same root word for what the tree produces — and then in the next verse where we get “practices” — which I think is a great word — it’s the same word again, this “making” word (Luke 6:47, Luke 6:43).

A tree makes good fruit when it is a good tree. Jesus is asking why do you speak as though I am Lord if you are not producing the fruit, the practices, the way of life that comes from his words. It is not just about belief, this discipleship caper — the link between who we are and what we do is about this link between our heart and our actions.

And to be a disciple — someone who calls Jesus Lord — is to take Jesus to heart; to learn his way by heart — through practice — where our practices reflect his practice and his words (Luke 6:46, Matthew 7:24). Jesus is the ultimate good tree — his words and actions come from his heart, and for us, fruitful, wise life looks like being like him because he is our Lord.

There is this formative cycle between doing what Jesus says and our hearts being fruitful, so that our actions then reflect our hearts.

And here the stump speech continues with this metaphor of a house — of our lives as a house (Luke 6:48, Matthew 7:24). Those who hear Jesus’ words and put them into practice — having them shape what we make, what we do with our bodies — these people are humans, wise humans, who build a house on a secure foundation. A rock.

So that when flooding waters come they do not shake the house — the life of the person — because it is well built (Luke 6:48).

The point of this metaphor is to construct a well-built house, right? To build wisely — starting with the foundation you build on. Starting not just with listening to Jesus’ words but putting them into practice. It is almost like the well-built house is about a heart that has treasured up and stored goodness so that it produces goodness and is not destroyed.

The alternative to the wise builder is the one who hears the words of Jesus and does not put them into practice (Luke 6:49). Just pause there — he does not say the fool does not hear the words of Jesus. The fool is the one who hears — perhaps even believes. Perhaps, to throw back to the model of our ‘mind’ in chapter one, this is the person who just thinks life is about the rider, where you just have to hear and believe, but where that does not translate into wise building, into elephant training, into treasuring and being formed by the words of Jesus as we practice them and make fruitful life.

The person not building a house on the rock — but just on any piece of ground, with no foundation — their life gets swept away when the storm hits; it is destroyed (Luke 6:49).

If we want to be wise builders — houses that are formed as good, disciples of Jesus, truly human — we need not just a building plan, but to build well. Not just a foundation — Jesus — but the practice of doing what he says, which is how we store up treasure in our hearts; how we learn by heart to live with the new hearts he gives.

Jesus teaches plenty of stuff in the Gospels that his stump speech — whether it is the Sermon on the Mount or the Plains — invites us to practice; to make our way of life. There is another consistent message across the Gospels — a summary of what we are invited to practice; to take to heart and learn by heart as we build our lives.

In Luke it is recorded as Jesus meets a guy who reckons he has got it all together — an expert in the law — who asks what must I do to inherit eternal life. Jesus asks him, “What does the law suggest?” (Luke 10:25-26).

And this bloke says, “Love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your strength and mind” (Luke 10:27). This is a command to treasure God; to have our heart shaped; to learn his ways through how we honour him with our bodies. And this flows through into how we love other humans. Our neighbours. Jesus says, “Yep. Do this” (Luke 10:28). In Matthew he calls this the first and greatest commandment (Matthew 22:37-38), and that all God’s word hangs off these two commands (Matthew 22:39-40).

So I guess we could start there.

But I reckon there is one other bit of Jesus’ teaching that is worth having in mind here as we think about our hearts and becoming disciples. And it is that we do not do this as people disconnected from Jesus, not as individuals left to our own devices, our own ability to work our way into new habits.

If we are calling Jesus Lord and our hearts are longing to, and treasuring him — then this itself is an act of God’s transforming, heart-changing grace in us. We are not earning our way in as we seek to be disciples. This is a pattern of life for those who have listened to what Jesus says and are seeking to put his teaching into practice because he is our Lord, our foundation, and we are in the process of being transformed not just to be like him, but by him as we live with him and listen to him.

A disciple — an apprentice — has a teacher. And we also have this picture from Jesus of coming to him to have our hearts transformed not just by habits of working to improve ourselves, but the life-transforming habit of not relying on ourselves, but coming to him. Jesus invites us — those of us tired and overwhelmed by the world and its patterns; those of us buffeted by the storms and recognising that anything we build will never be strong enough to hold us secure in the storms, or in the face of death — who feel the constant gnawing sense that we need to do better, work more, build a better us on our own. Jesus invites — commands even — us weary ones to come to him, to learn his ways as we rest (Matthew 11:28-29), as we pass him this burden and learn from him, like a trainee learns from their trainer as they carry the load, and as we learn to be like him — gentle, humble in heart, good — while we find rest for our souls; rest from the relentless pressure to do better.

This is why he can say his yoke — the bit of wood on the shoulders of a beast of burden, connecting them to the one walking beside them so they would share a load — this is why he can say his yoke is easy and his burden light (Matthew 11:29).

Even as we also embrace the paradox of denying ourselves daily and taking up our cross — dying — and following him (Luke 9:23, Matthew 16:24). But note, part of this dying is dying to the idea that we are kings or queens of our own lives; that we are Lord; that we have to save ourselves and build our own security and always be better. And it is hard to write that story into our bones; to die to the false gospels that say be better, do more, self-justify, self-improve, self-satisfy, and to the bits of our heart that still believe that deforming lie. We have learned that story by heart — some of us — from the world, from our families, from our inner voice, and our loves for false gods.

Jesus offers a different foundation, one that will last, one we can build on differently as we inhabit his life and take on new habits that we learn by heart.

I reckon we see a pattern of discipleship in Paul, in 1 Corinthians 3. Paul picks up the words of Jesus and calls himself a wise builder (1 Corinthians 3:10). At this point he is talking about the way he has taken the words of Jesus and not just used them to form himself as a house disconnected from others, but to produce fruit — loving and serving the folks he is writing to. He has laid a foundation for them and now he wants this church to build with care; to produce their own wise lives.

Jesus is the foundation not just of the church — as a corporate reality — but for Christians. And this passage keeps the corporate and the individual in tension. Each one should build; each one is a house (1 Corinthians 3:11). But we all together are God’s house — his temple — where the Spirit dwells in our midst (1 Corinthians 3:16).

This week we are thinking about the individual part — how we live in the world in our body and pursue a wise life with a heart that produces fruit because we practice what Jesus teaches ourselves. Next week and the week after we are going to expand to think about the corporate realities we are part of as we inhabit space together.

Paul will take this idea of being a temple of the Holy Spirit to apply it to how we use our bodies — reminding us that Jesus, our Lord, redeemed us. We — the church — are the fruits of his life, his listening to God, what he is building. That we have the Spirit is part of God’s plan to recreate humans; giving us new hearts that can love and obey God as fulfilment of the prophets. So as those bought at a price, we are invited to honour God with our bodies (1 Corinthians 6:19-20).

This is what it looks like to build with care on the foundation laid for us by Jesus (1 Corinthians 3:10); to learn the life of Jesus by heart so that what we treasure in our hearts brings forth good, not evil, as we practice what Jesus teaches (Luke 6:45).

Building with care is not just about thinking, it is about creating this way of life in the body that honours God — that means good things come out of a heart that treasures Jesus and a life built on him (1 Corinthians 3:11, 23). Paul is a wise builder, building on the foundation of Jesus toward the reality that we are now of Christ, just as he is of God.

As Paul unpacks this idea in the next chapter, he urges the Corinthians to build this life by imitating him, and in his absence, by imitating Timothy — who is also faithful in the Lord, who is an imitator of Paul following in this chain of imitators (1 Corinthians 4:16-17).

Timothy will remind the Corinthians of Paul’s example — his way of life in Christ Jesus, which lines up with what he teaches (1 Corinthians 4:17). Timothy is a disciple of Jesus and an apprentice of Paul. Paul’s way of life is not just words, it is this visible pattern. He will say later they should imitate his example — what they hear and see in his life, and Timothy’s — as they imitate Jesus. This is part of how discipleship happens: finding wise people who are imitating Jesus who will teach us. But it is also about following a way of life that lines up with the message of Jesus, and with his life.

I asked earlier what the model of transformation you have in your head is — how you would go about learning a new way of life by heart — and what that looks like when it comes to discipleship. A lot of the resources I have been reading for this series are from a guy named Dallas Willard, or a second generation of pastors and counsellors deeply impacted by him. Willard’s book Renovation of the Heart sketches out his basic idea that discipleship is about character formation that comes about as a result of our inward renewal — a renewal brought about by the Spirit as we connect with and imitate Jesus; as we become apprentices of his way, those yoked to him who do what he says.

One of his offsiders was a guy named James Bryan Smith. He came up with a shape to summarise both Willard’s framework and the New Testament. It is a kind of picture of the building blocks that seem to lead to this sort of transformation. If you remember that triangle from the video last chapter of unseen forces shaping us, these are a kind of antidote.

He suggests our path to transformation involves embracing the story of Jesus as our story, so that we learn how Jesus lived and what he calls us to, and having this enacted and embodied in communities where we find examples that we want to imitate and where we act as examples for each other. This formation is not just about introspection, it actually happens in relationships where we experience and practice the love of God and love of neighbour together. And the third corner is about practicing things; exercising — learning Jesus by heart, becoming who we aim to be by imitating Jesus repeatedly, practicing his commands as we encounter them in the Gospels and the New Testament. And the Holy Spirit is at work in each of these activities.

This seems to me to be a reasonable shape. We will look more at our community and relationships over the next few chapters. But I wonder what practices you might adopt to learn the way of Jesus by heart; what rule of life or way of life you might build to be a wise builder who is treasuring him in your heart.

His book has a bunch of suggestions for soul training, but so do some of the other books I will mention like The Other Half of the Church and the Practicing the Way course. Over the course of this series we will be thinking about the rhythms and structures — how we live in space and time. We want to build into our lives so we are practicing the way of Jesus, glorifying God with our bodies.

This starts with us. It starts with how we feed our hearts through the way we use our bodies, which is a question of who we serve, who we are ruled by. Are we going to be people ruled by Jesus, who call him Lord and practice what he says, who build our life-as-a-house on him as a foundation, shaped or structured by his rule at the level of our practices?

Or will we be ruled by someone or something else, serving someone else, having our hearts — our habits — shaped by the habitats set up by other masters who are not as gentle, or forgiving, who place heavy burdens on our shoulders?

If we are not deliberate about embracing a rule of life where we are ruled by Jesus, then other people — other rulers — will fill that vacuum. Or we will be practicing some other way and being formed accordingly. This sort of practice — taking on new habits, shaping the elephant, writing things into our bones so they become automatic, building our house wisely — it is not easy. It is not easy to learn to put off the heavy yoke of the world, what we are used to, to replace it with the easier burden of Jesus. Automating godliness.

It is hard work to unlearn things, and at times you might feel like I do on the sports field or at the piano. But hopefully it will be life-giving and liberating. And at its core the idea is to build on Jesus, to be planted in him, yoked to him.

Discipleship is about practicing the teaching of Jesus, imitating him, imitating those in our lives who imitate him, so that we learn him by heart. But it is not about self-mastery, it is about finding life loving God and knowing his love wholeheartedly so that we can love others. It is about making time and space to spend time with Jesus, in prayer, in listening to his word, so that we can put it into practice. It is about learning and experiencing that he is good, that he is humble in heart and gentle, learning to stop striving to carry our own burdens, being overwhelmed by busyness and the burden of self-improvement or self-transformation, coming to him for rest, taking up our cross and dying to those false gospels and the patterns of the world they create and that sustain them while destroying us daily.

And because we know Jesus is good and that he is leading us to life, being prepared to suffer when we reject those patterns and experience the cost, or even being prepared to suffer like Jesus as we engage in costly love for our neighbours because we are learning the goodness of God. This is what it means to produce fruit — fruit that comes from a heart shaped by Jesus and practicing his commands.

Inhabiting — Chapter One — The Architecture of our Lives

This was a sermon preached at City South Presbyterian in 2024. You can listen to the podcast here, or watch it on video. Some of the block quotes were on screen and summarised but have been included in full.

If Being Human was about who we are (or whose we are) and Before the Throne was about ‘where we are’ — on earth but also ‘raised and seated with Jesus in the heavenly realm,’ this series is about how we live in time and space; how we inhabit the world as humans, and as followers of Jesus.

The idea is that if we want to be disciples of Jesus — people being formed by him because his love and Spirit are transforming us — this happens as we inhabit time and space, and this happens at the level of our habits.

Forming these habits that form us is tricky, because the world we live in — our habitat — has been set up by humans to deform us with an entirely different set of habits; leading us to worship entirely different gods and so forming different habits in us; habits we have to combat and unlearn.

We are not always good at spotting our habitat and how it shapes us. In fact, often we do not think about habitats or habits. We can slip into the modern, western way of thinking where we do not really reckon with the power of habits — unless we want to change to be “super successful,” where we might buy a self-help book about ‘atomic habits’ or ‘the power of habit.’

Right from school we are taught that we change — we are formed — by thinking the right thing; having the right ideas so we can choose how to live. This is true for how we think of church too — we emphasise content, listening to sermons, reading the Bible, talking about ideas — hoping education about God will transform into our character.

I know we have been combating this idea as a church for a while; thinking about what it means to live before the throne, and to see God’s kingdom on display at the table as we eat together in unity as a family or household united in Jesus. But this has been stuff we have thought about. What does it look like to change the architecture of our lives — our habitats and habits — to reflect these ideas? To move ‘ideas’ into ‘habits’?

And how much is the habitat we live in — our city, our homes — priming us towards different habits; forming us to worship different gods? There is an idea in our world that religion is a private thing best left for church spaces or your home — where the architecture of our world would be “neutral” — nothing like the Athens in our reading — and not like somewhere like Sri Lanka.

If you were the apostle Paul walking through Kataragama last year you would have recognised a community that is very religious — and then you would have seen a procession of elephants getting out of control and trampling the crowd, injuring thirteen people.

This will be a bit of a parable for us this morning. I think there are two principles to pull out: all space is set up to produce behaviours — habits — and these habits are a kind of worship that form and shape us. It is just easier to see how that is true in the stomping foot of a living elephant than in the architecture of our lives. We can try to stop that impact by grabbing the elephant by its tail — but it is better to be consciously deciding where that formation is happening.

Let’s jump into Athens, where the religious architecture is made of stone rather than flesh, and set the scene by looking at the end and beginning of our reading. At the end, Paul has given what looks like a pretty compelling sermon to the council in Athens whose job it is to decide whether a god will get space in their assembly of gods — symbolised by the Parthenon, that massive building that still dominates the skyline in the city of Athens today.

When he is finished, there are a few people who are convinced to change the architecture of their lives; to alter their altars, so to speak. Some want to hear more, some believe, but it seems most of the crowd sneered (Acts 17:32). They are entrenched in their beliefs; their habits. They have been formed as worshippers of the gods of their city; their convictions align with the convictions carved into the architecture of Athens.

What Paul sees in the opening of our reading as he wanders through this city is that it is full of idols (Acts 17:16). I do not know if this is your experience when you wander down the Queen Street Mall, or Boundary Street, or West End, or in Garden City or your local Westfield — can you spot the architecture of these habitats and what it is designed to do to human hearts and minds? The trampling elephants?

It is more obvious for Paul in Athens because it was a city filled with statues and altars and temples — full of things designed to pull people away from the worship of Yahweh, the creator; to form them — or deform them. Paul’s heart is attuned to this, and to the impact of this sort of habitat. He is distressed.

He starts inviting people to meet the living God — he is preaching the good news about Jesus and the resurrection (Acts 17:18). He ends up with an invitation to the Areopagus, this council — and there is some evidence he crafts his speech according to the rules they used to accept or reject new gods as he speaks to them — but he is also drawing on his observations of their habitat.

“I see that you are in every way very religious”

— Acts 17:22–23.

Now, let us suspend for a moment our belief that our city is not religious; that religion is a private matter — and let us imagine that religion is about what we give our lives to; what we serve because it is what we see as ultimate and powerful. Let us take a moment to consider how our city’s architecture is just as contested and confusing as the polytheism of Athens, and how religious we still are. Our cities are full of monuments to human ingenuity — our capacity to shape the world using technology and technique; to money — banks and skyscrapers named after banks; our belief that education transforms — and so our universities, where the architecture is often similar to the architecture of the Athenian forum — and our belief that we can buy or consume our way to the good life, through pleasure and purchasing. This is before we get into the ground-level architecture of our own lives.

Athens, though, is so religious it has every box ticked — even an altar to an unknown god — which is an opportunity Paul cannot pass up. There is not much architecture in their city pointing to this God — no church buildings, and not many Christians living lives that model the gospel yet.

One of the criteria Athens had for introducing a god via this council was to address the question of what sort of physical architecture they would need — what sort of temple and altar and cycle of sacrifices. Paul challenges this category — not so much by saying “do not think about habitats,” but by claiming that the whole world is meant to be geared to the worship of its creator. The Lord of heaven and earth — the God who made the world — does not live in temples built by human hands (Acts 17:24–25). This is part of the game-changer that happens in the start of Acts, where God’s Spirit comes to dwell in humans who receive life from Jesus as his gift to us. This life is not a thing we earn through ritual; but it is a life that comes with new habits as we are transformed into living temples. We do not serve God the way a pagan god is served through sacrifices on various altars, because the living God has served us through his sacrifice. He is not a taker, like the other gods of Athens — but a giver — even to the Athenians who are not worshipping him. He gives everyone life and breath and everything else (Acts 17:25).

An Athenian believes their prosperity — if they have any — comes from the specific collection of gods they have chosen to serve; to worship; to sacrifice to — that their prosperity is earned through getting the mix right between their efforts — their habits — and what those efforts trigger as they engage in their habitats — these religious spaces. But Paul says everything they have is actually a gift from a God they do not even know, let alone worship.

Here are the key verses for our whole series. Paul says all nations — all the peoples of the earth, who have built all the cities of the earth — all our habitats — all people are made by this one God so that we might inhabit the whole earth. This is a throwback to Genesis and the idea of being God’s image-bearing people who are fruitful and multiply and fill the earth — and it is God who locates each nation — each person — in time and space, marking out the time and the space we will inhabit (Acts 17:26) — with a purpose — so that we would seek him and perhaps reach out for him and find him (Acts 17:27–28).

Maybe this is why idols are so distressing for Paul — they get in the way of this purpose; they stop people being truly human; imaging the God who made them. These images and the habits that come with them — the habitats we build around idols — stop us inhabiting the world the way God created us to; they deform us; they keep us from reaching out for him and finding him; they blind us to how proximate he is, and even how much he wants us to know the source of our life and breath and being.

And look — maybe you are here with us this morning still searching; maybe you have come along to church because you have noticed that the architecture of our city still includes these spaces and these communities offering some sort of answer; some sort of meaning — and pointing to some sort of God amidst all the other choices you have. I hope you can find meaning and purpose with us — not in us — but in God — the God who wants you to find him, and who gives life.

Maybe you are here this morning as someone who is a Christian but you feel this gnawing sense; this lack of meaning and purpose; or like you are caught between so many choices; so many options; a habitat that is confusing and a set of habits that do not align with who God wants you to be — sins, addictions, wired-in responses to the world based on what you have done, or what has been done to you. This series is an opportunity to take a fresh look at the architecture of your life and to let God do some reforming.

Paul’s message in Athens is a message for us — whether it is about our idols, what we look to for meaning or purpose; or our self-help — our self-actualisation or self-idolisation — where we work on our self-image through sacrifice, even harnessing the “power of habit” out of some legalistic desire to be better.

We are God’s children — this is all humans, not just Christians — and so we should not think that being more human is a matter of human design and skill (Acts 17:29), whether that is idol-building or harnessing the right power of atomic habits. It would be easy, as we talk about inhabiting time and space and the way our habits form us, to become Christian legalists who think nailing good works is a path to the “better us,” the “truer us” — to focus on self-improvement and make us the drivers of our destiny. This is a tension Christians have grappled with for the entire history of the church.

That is not the gospel though. The gospel liberates us from legalism, and from false worship, and from self-reliance because it liberates us from human rule — whether the rulers of the cities we live in, the architects of our behaviours and our slavery to sin and to deforming powers and deadly idols — or just our need to master ourselves through skill — and places us as children who are invited to learn life from our heavenly Father and from his Son — our king — Jesus. This comes with different habits, and it helps us to think about the architecture of our life differently — but hopefully in a way that is liberating and life-giving and re-humanising and good for us, rather than destructive — because we are pursuing what we are made for; not on our terms by discovering the “true self” within and never being sure if we have quite understood ourselves — but by understanding the nature of the divine being in ways that mean we begin to reflect his life in his world.

There is some fun stuff in the background of this Acts sermon around the nations and their gods — and God overlooking ignorant worship (Acts 17:30). I will not go super deep into it, but there is an interesting thing where, if you dip into the Old Testament, the nations do not tend to be condemned for idolatry — they have been given to powers and rulers who are not Yahweh — and you can kind of pinpoint this moment in the story to the story of Babel when the nations are given their boundaries (Genesis 11:9), or to this idea in Deuteronomy that the nations have been given to other powers — “sons of God” — while Israel have been marked as God’s children (Deuteronomy 32:8). The story, though, is that all of these nations are human; all created by God, and that God is greater than all these powers one might worship. In Jesus — and his victory over sin and death and Satan and these powers — God now commands all people everywhere to repent (Acts 17:30); to come back to him and find their humanity in his kingdom; in reflecting him. As we saw in our last series — this is the turning point in the Lord of heaven and earth’s plan to bring heaven and earth back together as one.

This day — this future — is where he will judge the world with justice through the man he has appointed — Jesus — the one raised from the dead (Acts 17:31). This day — this future — is now the guidepost for life inhabiting time and space; a reason to seek out and perhaps find the God who sought us in Jesus.

And if we are those who hear Paul’s message and believe, this comes with a new architecture; because the architecture of the city of Athens — its idols — is a dead end and will not last. You have to wonder what life was like from here on for Dionysius, who was a member of this gatekeeping council, or Damaris (Acts 17:34). Luke, who writes Acts, often does this thing where he names people along the way, where I think he is both indicating they are a source in his investigation and description of the life of the church, and that they are people in these church communities; living, breathing witnesses for his first readers. You can imagine Dionysius going home and cleaning the idol statues out of his home, and maybe renouncing his job deciding which idols do and do not get worshipped, and Damaris rethinking who she turned to in prayer to secure her fortunes — and even what “fortune” looked like — as she worked out how to serve a living God of heaven and earth, not a statue contained in a temple. That this came with new habits and a change of habitat as they discovered what it means to live as children of God; and, hopefully, a sense of liberation from the need to get everything right in order to live.

Their challenge in their city is our challenge in our city: inhabiting God’s world as God’s children. Inhabiting our time as the time God has appointed us to exist in — in history, within the boundaries of our lands. Inhabiting time and space is not a choice; it is a given — given to us by God.

Habits are not just atomically powerful tools for transformation; they are not just areas for legalism and self-actualisation or self-improvement; they are also, to some extent, givens. We are creatures of habit; shaped by the habitats we operate in and our vision of the divine, and what we work towards and serve with our bodies.

The architecture of our lives — the space we inhabit — whether our city, like Athens, or our homes, and how we structure our time — is full of idols. It is geared to produce habits and rhythms, and if we are not deliberate in our choices, or fortunate enough to occupy spaces deliberately shaped to form us in godliness by others, the habitats we operate in deform and trample us like elephants.

In Romans, Paul talks about this architecture as the patterns of this world, and he invites worshippers of Jesus, as we engage in worship — the habitual use of our bodies — in view of God’s sacrifice, his gift of life for us, to not conform to the trampling elephants of this world, but to be transformed by the renewing of our minds (Romans 12:1–2). For Paul, this is a product of God’s Spirit being at work in us, transforming us into the image of Jesus.

It is this idea of our minds I want to zero in on today as we begin this series. Preachers get into big trouble trying to sound like experts on brain science — in part because the science itself is always developing and is pretty contested because we are complicated.

One study suggested just using a picture of a brain scan in a news story — and probably a sermon — means you can make just about anything seem plausible; that the image provides a physical basis for something abstract, and that we tend to want simple explanations of cognitive phenomena — brain stuff.

“We argue that brain images are influential because they provide a physical basis for abstract cognitive processes, appealing to people’s affinity for reductionistic explanations of cognitive phenomena.”

— McCabe and Castel, ‘Seeing is believing: The effect of brain images on judgments of scientific reasoning’

But another study debunked this one; they tried to replicate the experiment and found that brain images exert no influence on people’s agreement, but that “neurosciency language” can make bad explanations seem better.

“We arrive at a more precise estimate of the size of the effect, concluding that a brain image exerts little to no influence on the extent to which people agree with the conclusions of a news article.”

— Michael, Newman, et al, ‘On the (non)persuasive power of a brain image’

With all that in mind — and with us thinking about transforming our minds as we inhabit time and space — Daniel Kahneman was a Nobel Prize-winning psychologist and economist who wrote Thinking, Fast and Slow about how our brains work.

He brought in this idea of “System 1” and “System 2” thinking. System 2 thinking is the kind of stuff we aim at in churches when it comes to formation — thinking; rational decision-making where we are conscious and applying principles of logic and agency.

He reckons System 2 accounts for about five percent of our actions, while System 1 does most of the work — it is our intuition and instinct; what we do on autopilot.

Jonathan Haidt is another psychologist — he is going a bit viral at the moment because of his book on social media and anxiety — but before that book he wrote a couple of books about how our brains work and how they shape our moral actions and judgments.

He used a metaphor that is a bit easier to grasp for System 1 and 2 thinking: the rider (System 2) — the conscious part of our brain — and the elephant (System 1) — the automatic part — where the idea is that it is nice to think that the rider is in control; that we steer our elephants towards goodness and truth, but really so much of who we are, and what we believe is right and wrong, happens at the level of our emotions and guts.

I reckon this is true of our discipleship too — the question of what god we serve and how we live that out. I do not know if this is your experience with sin, but I reckon I can be believing, in my rider-brain, all the truths I get up and preach and read and speak, while at the same time feeling pulled again and again into anger and lust and all sorts of patterns of this world and passions of the body — ruts, addictions, bad habits — that deform me and harm others without conscious thought.

The battle to be in control feels like a battle to steer an elephant before it tramples me, or others — trying to grab its tail while it is stampeding.

So here is my theory: the architecture of our idolatrous world is set up to feed our elephants and steer them in destructive ways.

Idolatry and worship work not just on the conscious mind, but our whole minds — our intuitions and instincts. These are the patterns that need renewing and transforming, not just our thinking. While it is great to get our brains in control and try to steer the elephant, maybe we also need to work at training the elephant with a new architecture — to pull us towards godliness; to keep in step with the Spirit so God produces fruit in us, rather than us producing destruction.

One of the ways we feed this elephant is through habits. It used to be a criticism of churches that did lots of ritual stuff that, over time, the repetition became less meaningful — but I wonder if that is because it moved from being conscious to automatic, and whether we live in a culture that puts a disproportionate amount of importance on the conscious bit of our brains because we like the idea that we are masters in control with the right information.

The Other Half of Church — a book about brain science and how we think about church and discipleship — is worth grabbing if you are interested in thinking through some of this.

We will dip into it throughout the series. The authors take the same model — the slow and fast parts of our brain — and suggest we have built churches to cater just for the bit that is impressed with good arguments and logic and stories and strategies, at the expense of shaping our intuitions and relational depth.

They reckon this part of the brain — the elephant (though they do not use Haidt’s model) — is shaped through attachment; through schooling our emotions and our intuitions by feeling secure, and connected, and attached to God — like children to a loving, nurturing parent — and in a community where we are being shaped and nurtured.

The problem is that often how we approach church is about our rider; the slower system — and we live lives that are hurried and almost constantly on autopilot — another function of our habitat. We can try to put the rider in charge but, to do that, we need to be slow and unhurried, and not anxious or panicked. That elephant stampede happened when loud noises startled the elephants.

“We were pursuing discipleship by focusing on strategies centered on the left brain and neglecting the right brain.”

— Jim Wilder, Michel Hendricks, The Other Half of Church.

So this series is an invitation to slow down, to be deliberate; to try to get the rider in control — to use our time and space to make conscious decisions aligned with the truths we believe, but also to bed down habits and security into the elephant so it does not get panicked and crush us or others; so we automate godliness rather than sin.

It is to discern some of the habitats we live in — the idols in our architecture — the patterns of our world — and their deforming power, and to make decisions about our habitats and our habits. It is to take up this search we were made for; reaching out for and finding the God who lives; who is in heaven; who is not destructive like a rampaging elephant, but a generous giver — who gives us life and breath and everything else — because we are his children (Acts 17:28). When we find him we find a good Father, who is also seeking and reaching out for us, delighting in a relationship with us.

Repenting means turning from the gods and patterns — the elephants — who stomp us into their image, and returning to him as our Father, the giver of our life, and being shaped accordingly. It means restructuring our lives — how we inhabit time and space — as those who have found life with him.

Justin Earley has written a couple of resources we will look at this series for how we live together in time and space. In his book about building habits of purpose for an age of distraction, he talks about realising how the shape of his own life was a bit like Athens. His house might have been decorated with Bible verses and imagery — Christian content — but the underlying architecture of his habits, his habitat, was like everyone else’s.

Repenting involves transforming not just the decorations in our life, but our structures and rhythms — how we live in the place and time God has put us, with our bodies and our time, as children of God; knowing what he is like and experiencing joy through our attachment to him as those who can come before his throne.

“While the house of my life was decorated with Christian content, the architecture of my habits was just like everyone else’s.” — Justin Earley, The Common Rule.

When we are imagining what life might have looked like from then on for Dionysius and Damaris in Athens, I reckon it is safe to assume the pattern of the first church — its habits and habitats — might have shaped their lives. Those who repented and found life in Jesus devoted themselves not just to learning — shaping the rider through the apostles’ teaching — but to connection: fellowship with God and each other, the breaking of bread, and prayer (Acts 2:42). They met together as a rhythm; not just in the temple — which they could do in Jerusalem — but in homes, around tables, eating together, praising God, experiencing joy and security and connection (Acts 2:46–47). Inhabiting time and space together with God; learning to be like Jesus.

The final resource we worked through in small groups during this series was the Practicing the Way course. We used their material in Growth Groups — meeting in homes — where we are not just learning information, but experiencing this connection. We used this video as an introduction to assessing the architecture of our habits; trying to spot the way elephants are stampeding us.