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A golden string of images of resurrection.

In Maccabees we hear the story of the persecution under King Antiochus, the appalling systematic execution of three brother. We hear that the brothers were required (as was the whole Jewish community) to "partake of unlawful swine's flesh."

Entering the presence of the beloved, all which previously held value and claimed one's attention - one's commitment and desire - withers and fades. In the presence of the beloved, the deepest recesses of the heart are known; nothing is hidden, all is "naked and laid bare" as the writer of Hebrews tells us.

The Psalmist, my namesake David, whom I cherish, sings in hope of our captivity, our tears midst the struggle of having lost our own world and having falling into bondage. He gives voice to our hearts cry, our despair.

Both the Genesis and Gospel reading show Christ being welcomed. They speak of the depth and significance of hospitality and call us to the path of preparation for the welcoming of the divine presence.

These are grumbly texts. Our glimpse of the Incarnation fades so quickly. It is just over a month ago, four Sundays into Ordinary Time, since we attended to the feast of the Incarnation. In such a short span we discover - just as the texts for today tells us - how quickly and easily we lose the edge on life.

Wilderness texts. Texts calling us to awaken to the gifts of the desert, the gifts of Great Lent, of this fortyday wandering. We, like Jesus in the Gospel, are invited to be "full of the Holy Spirit" and "led by the Spirit in the wilderness, where for forty days" we also are to become conscious of our temptations.

"This fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them."

Few texts in the scripture highlight the transformation the Gospel of Christ works in us with more poignancy than the parables Jesus tells the Pharisees and the scribes in today's reading…

When our life is in God, present to the Kingdom of God, it is illumined by God's glory alone. It is a life concerned only for the spiritual birth of those it touches. Spiritual maternity, midwifery and birth-giving, stand at the centre of the spiritual life and of today's readings…

The words of the Gospel are so familiar... haunting. "Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls…

At the conclusion of the reading from Exodus 17 we proclaim, "This is the word of the Lord. Thanks be to God." "Thanks be to God" for this, the beginning of what will be a seemingly endless blood-feud between the small tribe of Amalekites and their neighbours, the Israelites?

The words of the Gospel are so familiar... haunting. "Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls…

Today we say - in the ancient church they sang - that marvellous symbol of faith, the Nicene Creed. At its heart is the recognition of God, the "maker of heaven and earth," of Jesus Christ, "God from God, Light from Light, true God from true God" and the Holy Spirit, "the giver of life."

Suffering, purification and the journey into God's presence are the spiritual heart of today's readings. Here is our song on the human journey giving voice to our deepest desire to live in communion and the fullness of life in the presence of the Holy…

... They had become the liege servants,

not of a tradition thick with meaning but of progress;
not of the young but of their own self-interest;
not of life-serving institutions but commercial enterprise;
not of the wonder of being but of momentary entertainments.

"If God is God, he is not good. If God is good, he is not God." This refrain rings, not only throughout the remarkable play which retells the Job story, J.B. written by Archibald MacLeish, but in the lives of so many people throughout human history. It becomes a refrain for spiritually alive people at some point on their journey. So it was for Job, the righteous and most blessed of human beings.

It is not enough to be touched by Christ's redeeming love. It is not enough to recognize Christ in the stranger on the street or on the beach as in today's Gospel reading. Our texts for the third Sunday of Passover - our Pascha, our feast of liberation and freedom - show us the implications of the resurrected life, of our restored freedom. We are called to sanctify life, not simply to be grasped by the romanticism of the moment of redeeming love.

Commandment speaking to commandment. All commandments, their whole point and purpose 'summed up in this word, "Love your neighbour as yourself."' Not to recognize the entrance of estrangement into the life we have together with each other is to miss or ignore the entrance of estrangement into our soul. How easy it is to listen to the readings for this ordinary time and draw from them the injunction to judge and discipline. Whole Christian traditions have been based on such readings of Ezekiel…

These are grumbly texts. Our glimpse of the Incarnation fades so quickly. It is just over a month ago, four Sundays into Ordinary Time, since we attended to the feast of the Incarnation. In such a short span we discover - just as the texts for today tells us - how quickly and easily we lose the edge of life. We grow stubborn, harden our hearts and lose that clear vision glimpsed at the feast. At the feast, a short time ago, we were certain we had grasped the coming together of the sacred and the prophetic, the experience and call to the newness of life at the heart of the revelation of Christ's birth.

In both of today's narratives we have an outsider. All of our texts speak about healing but none of them are about the miracle of healing. All of them are about thanksgiving.

Today's texts speak of the freedom to express forgiveness without regard for one's own shame or honour. This freedom comes when faith is no longer a mask for self-interest - and this often includes the abstractions of religion - and has become that disposition of action which the Bible and the Church call love.