When we look at the teachings of Jesus, we will find nothing there of theological conundrums, illogical doctrines or obscure philosophy. Were he to come back and see all the nonsense that generations of priests and theologians have buried him and his teachings under, he would, I suspect be both astonished and angry. He would not appreciate having been turned into a god, like some demented Roman emperor, or even one third of a god, when he saw himself as a man chosen by the one and only universal Father – which was how he experienced the Divine – to bring a message of hope for his fellow men and women. It was a message about what he called the Kingdom of God, meaning a universal human community bound together by a mutual love that reflected the love of God. This vision holds good as the ideal to hold before us, the standard against which to measure our own failures, weaknesses and betrayals, our missing of the mark – which is to live with loving kindness and to forgive ourselves and others when we fall short – which we usually do. The Way of Jesus is the Way of humility, compassion and mercy, and it is easy to understand if you open your heart but hard to follow. But there is no punishment for falling short, only the loss of what we might otherwise have gained.
Jesus did not lecture in a college or university. He spent little time in cities with their intellectual circles and their religious hierarchies. He didn’t associate with the self-satisfied, self-appointed elites – the self-consciously ‘respectable’ who thought themselves a cut above the working poor, the underclass of beggars, lepers and the ritually ‘unclean’. To the socially advantaged he preached repentance and a turning towards humility and justice. To the socially disadvantaged he brought the assurance that they mattered, that they belonged in God’s Kingdom now, not in some remote future, if at all. To everyone he taught love of one’s neighbour, regardless of race, nation, gender, class or religion – even toward those who we don’t like and who don’t like us, those classed as our enemies.
Where did he teach, who did he spend time with, how did he speak? He taught in the open air – on lakeshore and hillside – and in local synagogues in the villages and small towns of Galilee. He sometimes visited the ‘big city’ of Jerusalem – how often we don’t know – but it wasn’t until the end of his ministry that it became central. He spent his time not only with fishermen and farm-workers but with social outcasts like tax-collectors and prostitutes. He built a community of women as well as of men, with a foundation of equality that challenged the norms of the ancient world – Jewish, Greek and Roman. He welcomed children and saw in their innocence an intimation of the Kingdom. He even reached out to soldiers of the hated occupying Roman Empire, while denying the claims of their arrogant emperor. He saw God’s love – not just his power – at work in the natural world. And how did he teach? He taught by healing, by explaining the Jewish scriptures, by showing kindness and humanity, by exposing unkindness and hypocrisy, and by telling stories. And these stories – or parables – related to people’s everyday lives, but they were also enigmatic – passing some people by but hitting home to those who were ready to hear them. “Whoever has ears, let them hear” was how he is often said to have finished. He must have left some amused, some bemused and some enlightened. And I dare say everyone got something, which is why they kept following him around.
Jesus lived in an agrarian society which is why so many of his parables are about growing and sharing food, about fishing and vineyards, about sowing seeds and reaping harvests. But we don’t, for the most part, live in an agrarian society: few of us “plough the fields and scatter the good seed on the ground”, few still celebrate either Lammas, when harvest begins or, once it ends, the Harvest Home, with all its raucous relief at having gathered everything in “ere the winter storms begin.” Harvest, once a truly communal event, is the province of a relative few, largely ignored by an unappreciative majority. We take it for granted that our loaf of bread will be on the supermarket shelf when we want it, and get annoyed if it costs a penny or two more than usual. And if a rumour on social media says that the loaf won’t be there tomorrow, then panic buying may ensue!
But how sure can we be that the loaf will always be there? In the time of Jesus you couldn’t be sure. Blight, bad weather or some other disaster could and did bring famine. Throughout our own agrarian past also this was true, which is why a successful harvest brought not just joy but a profound sense of relief. There would be food for the coming months. There would be seed to plant next year. In our modern prosperous and technological society we haven’t had to worry about such things. No one starves to death – not in this country, anyway, and others like it – but this isn’t true everywhere and it may not be true even here in the future.
Good harvests are essential for all human life and we have got used to them. If harvests are poor in one place they are good in another and our one world economy ensures that those who can pay will get what they need. But will this situation continue? As the climate changes and weather systems fall into chaotic extremes, how reliable will our harvests be in the not too distant future? When we see, as we do today, thousands of human beings pressing for entry into countries like ours, how often do we realise why? Increasing numbers of them are leaving places where extremes of climate and weather-related catastrophes are destroying harvests and turning farms into desert. Even before our own harvests are hit we are struggling to deal with other people’s loss of theirs. Pulling up the drawbridge won’t help. Only limiting the effects of climate change can do that, and there isn’t much time even when there is the political will.
In the past we have looked to overseas aid, charitable bodies and other sources of famine relief to alleviate the effects of natural and man-made disasters. No doubt this will continue, thanks to human concern and the amazing generosity with which appeals for help are greeted. But this won’t be enough if nothing is done – not so much to save the planet (which is in no danger) but to save the human community from the consequences of our own past ignorance and our present folly.
Love calls forth generosity when disaster strikes. People respond to their neighbour’s misfortune – wherever and whoever their neighbour may be. That is the Christian way. It is also the Muslim way and the Jewish way and the Buddhist way and the Hindu way and the Sikh way – and so on through the various revelations, just so long as they are true to their essential spirit. Or, if you prefer, it is the humane way, or the human way if, in any way, we see our shared humanity as something to be treasured, respected and acted upon.
It sometimes seems that the future is bleak, with a burning planet descending into a chaos of social disintegration, environmental collapse and war as the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse ride out. But it needn’t be like this. We have a fund of knowledge, a fund of wisdom and a fund of love to tap into, if we will. We can’t avoid all the evil effects of what we’ve done to the planet, it’s too late for that, but it is not beyond us to keep it habitable, beautiful and bountiful, rich in its diversity of living things. This is the harvest on which all our other harvests depend. And if enough people care, enough people see the writing on the wall, then there is hope. May we be among them. As Jesus said, “The harvest is great but the labourers are few. Beseech the Lord, therefore, to send out labourers to the harvest.” (Thomas 73).
Cliff Reed (CMR230923)