It is hard to believe two years have passed since we were in London. Back then, we were coming out of a long, dark and cold winter, and the early signs of spring were all around us. Flowers were budding, birds were singing, and people were out and about enjoying the lengthening days and warmer weather. And in this context, the church’s journey through the season of Lent and its’ preparations for Easter made good sense.

To put it differently, the cycle of life, its’ seasonal rhythm of death and rebirth, and the liturgical commemorations of the last days of Jesus’ life, his death on the cross, and the news of his resurrection were in step. Each added to the other and enriched the whole.

But, here in New Zealand, the situation is quite different. When the first missionaries arrived, they transplanted the Christian festivals without giving a lot of thought to the reasons why the dates were chosen in the first place. Not only did those festivals take over pagan rituals, like the birthday of the Sun and the festival of Eostre, but the church made use of the changing seasons to give us an insight into the meaning of Christ.

We see this at Christmas, which in the Northern Hemisphere falls at the same time as the winter solstice, and at Easter with all its associations with spring and new life. 

And just as what is said about Jesus in our worship and teaching can be understood only through an awareness of the Jewish scriptures and festivals, such as Passover and the Day of Atonement, so our celebrations of Jesus’ life and death and resurrection lose something of their power when they remain disconnected from the cadences of nature. 

Juliet Batten in her book, Celebrating the Southern Seasons, makes this point. She suggests we rework the Christian calendar so that it fits the context within which we live. 

Now, of course, this is much easier said than done; imagine celebrating Christmas in June and Easter in September. And there are real advantages of keeping the status quo, celebrating the major feast days at the same time as Christians around the globe, but I think she does have a point. And what we need to do, as some already have, is to infuse our liturgies with fresh meaning by paying closer attention to the world around us.

Let me read what Batten has to say about the Autumn Equinox…

‘There is a sense of calm around the autumn equinox as the fine weather lingers on with seductive steadiness, making winter seem far distant. Yet shadows are beginning to lengthen and sunbeams slant under verandahs, shafting in under low windows.

‘In the bush houhere (lacebark) is flowering with showers of delicate white blossom. However, for the most part, flowering is over and the season moves on into seed time. Tiny, purple pate berries dangle in long fingers. Round, black capsules of putaputaweta are now forming, together with small, purple kapuka berries, rimu and totara seeds, and the beautiful, juicy kahikatea. Yellow poroporo berries hang from the bushes, orange karaka may linger on, and autumnal red clusters of nikau berries push their way out under the new season’s fronds. The small, black fruit of the kaikomako attracts popokotea (whiteheads) and komako, or more commonly, korimako (bellbirds), after which the tree is named. On the bush floor the mature, round, female cones of the kauri tree fall and split open to reveal wing-like seeds, the small beginnings of forest giants to come. Along the coast black pods of harakeke (flax) lick the sky like charred flames, and burst to reveal small, black seeds that glisten in the mellow autumn sunshine…

‘This is the moment to tune in to the mystery of the changeover, knowing that what appears to be a time of dying is really part of the movement forward into renewal and rebirth. This is the moment to hold faith that the darkness will bring forth new life at spring equinox.’ 

Batten’s words offer a poetic description for what is happening about us now. But I also want to suggest they offer us a way of understanding the event which lies at the centre of our faith; the cross. Certainly, Jesus drew upon his observations of nature to help people understand what was about to happen to him. We see this in his words about his death. ‘In very truth I tell you,’ he says. ‘A grain of wheat remains a solitary grain unless it falls into the ground and dies; but if it dies, it bears a rich harvest.’  

Now, I think one of the hardest concepts for Christians to get their heads around and communicate to others is the reason why Jesus had to die. This came up on Wednesday at the Lenten group, when one woman told us of a friend who had asked her how God could allow his son to be crucified. None of the answers we give seem to be completely satisfactory. We talk of his death as a sacrifice, as the author of Hebrews puts it, a gift that makes peace with God; we talk of it as a ransom for sinners, as Mark writes in his gospel, to set us free from sin’s hold over us; and we still talk of Jesus going to the cross in our place, taking upon himself the guilt of humankind, a satisfaction for our sins. 

These images may help us to understand Jesus’ death, but they do not give a complete answer. They are not to be treated as the decisive theory. As Rowan Williams says, ‘[i]n the kind of world that you and I inhabit, the kind of world… you and I make or collude with, this is what the price of unrestricted love looks like.’ It is as simple as that.

And possibly in a different context, Jesus would have used the image of a cone falling from a kauri tree and splitting open on the forest floor, to speak about his death. Jesus offers up his life for the world; for he knows only this act will free us from ourselves.

Traditionally, in the church’s year, today is known as Passion Sunday. It marks the transition from a time of reflection on human sin and our need for repentance, to the suffering of Christ. These days leading up to Good Friday are an invitation to journey with Jesus the way of the cross. And although, thankfully, for most of us, that journey will not end in physical death; it does involve us learning to let go of our habits of self-absorption, the tendency to use our freedom to protect ourselves rather than to bring life to others; and to breathe in the breath of God, the spirit of hope and life and joy.

As Michael Leunig, the Australian cartoonist, puts it: 

‘That which is Christ-like within us shall be crucified. It shall suffer and be broken. 

And that which is Christ-like within us shall rise up. It shall love and create.’

So may these days of Passiontide, these days of walking with Jesus to the cross, be not without hope. As we let go of the self we create, and allow God’s love to transform our inner beings, may we come to know that the place of death is also the place of life. And as the seed that falls to the ground must die if it is to bring forth new life, may we know in our heart of hearts it is from this deep place within something glorious will arise.

Thanks be to God. Amen.

A sermon preached in St Alban’s Anglican Church, Eastbourne, on 29 March 2009, by the Ven. Damon Plimmer.

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