Unfinished Faith: Relearning God.

Week 34:

The bit where I introduce:

Something happened in the AFL this week that made me stop and think, not only about what allegedly happened, because the truth of that is still being investigated, but about the way we talk when difficult things happen.

Victoria Police are investigating a report of sexual assault at an East Melbourne hotel where Sydney Swans players were staying. No charges have been laid and there are important facts still unknown. That matters. People are entitled to a fair investigation, and we should be very careful not to decide guilt before the facts are established.

But something else struck me.

Very quickly the conversation began to include what this meant for the players, the club, reputations and the Swans’ finals campaign. Even some of the language used caught people’s attention, including the suggestion that players had “found themselves in this situation”.

And I found myself asking: Where were the women in all of this? Not because we know exactly what happened. We don’t.

But because sometimes the way we tell a story reveals who we instinctively believe is at the centre of it. Whose future are we worried about? Whose reputation? Whose loss? Whose pain?

Language matters because it can quietly curate our empathy before we even realise it.

And that took me to Jesus.

The bit where I refer to the Bible and ask a few rhetorical questions:

Mark 3:1-6

 Jesus went into the synagogue again and noticed a man with a deformed hand. ² Since it was the Sabbath, Jesus’ enemies watched him closely. If he healed the man’s hand, they planned to accuse him of working on the Sabbath.

³ Jesus said to the man with the deformed hand, “Come and stand in front of everyone.” ⁴ Then he turned to his critics and asked, “Does the law permit good deeds on the Sabbath, or is it a day for doing evil? Is this a day to save life or to destroy it?” But they wouldn’t answer him.

⁵ He looked around at them angrily and was deeply saddened by their hard hearts. Then he said to the man, “Hold out your hand.” So the man held out his hand, and it was restored! ⁶ At once the Pharisees went away and met with the supporters of Herod to plot how to kill Jesus.

Mark 3:1–6 is our passage this week. It’s short, but as always read around it if you can.

Jesus enters the synagogue and there is a man there with a damaged hand. But everyone is watching Jesus. There is tension in the room. The religious leaders want to know whether He will heal on the Sabbath because they are looking for grounds to accuse Him.

Here is what struck me when I read it again.

There is a hurting person in the room, but somehow the conversation has become about everything except him. The rules. The controversy. Who is right. What Jesus might do. What the consequences might be. And there stands this man whose suffering risks becoming little more than the background to somebody else’s argument.

Then Jesus does something beautiful. He says to him: “Stand up in front of everyone.” Come into the middle. I love that.

Jesus physically moves the person everyone could easily overlook into the centre of the story. And perhaps we need that reminder. Because we are very good at allowing institutions, reputations, arguments and consequences to become bigger than the human beings standing in the middle of them.

Football can do it. Churches can do it. Schools can do it. Families can do it. We can do it. When something serious is alleged, of course truth matters. Justice requires facts. People should not be condemned because of accusation alone.

But waiting for truth does not require us to suspend compassion. Those are not opposites. I think sometimes we struggle to hold two things together. We think taking an alleged victim seriously means deciding somebody else is guilty. Or protecting the presumption of innocence means we must remain emotionally detached from the person saying they have been harmed.

But perhaps Jesus shows us another way. Truth matters. Fairness matters. And the person who may be hurting matters.

All at the same time.

In the Swans story this week, some public discussion quickly turned towards what the allegations might mean for football. The season. The players. The team. The consequences. Those things are real. But if what has been alleged is eventually substantiated, the consequences for the women involved may not finish when the football season does.

There may be psychological consequences, relational ones, fear, grief, questions. Things that don’t disappear when the headlines move on. That does not mean we assume what happened. It means we remember who is standing in the room while we wait to know. Jesus asks the man with the damaged hand to stand in the middle because perhaps everyone else needed reminding what their argument was actually about.

A person.

Not an issue. Not a theological problem. Not an inconvenience. Not their job. A person. And I wonder who Jesus might ask us to put back in the middle today?

Maybe it is the person whose pain has become inconvenient to an organisation. The person whose story complicates something we love. The person who doesn’t have the reputation, status or public platform of everybody else involved. Perhaps this is why Jesus so often noticed the people everyone else seemed able to walk past. The woman others judged. The sick person everyone had become accustomed to seeing. The foreigner. The child. The person whose suffering was easily lost underneath bigger conversations.

Jesus had this beautiful habit of restoring people to the centre. Not by abandoning truth. Not by pretending wrongdoing didn’t matter. But by refusing to let a human being become invisible. I think that’s the challenge for us too.

Before the institution, remember the person.

Before the reputation, remember the person.

Before the argument, remember the person.

And yes, before the football, remember the person.

Because justice requires us to seek the truth. Grace requires us not to prejudge. But love requires us to notice who might be hurting while we wait. Maybe following Jesus sometimes looks as simple, and as difficult, as this:

Look towards the edge.

Notice who has disappeared from the conversation.

And invite them back into the middle.

The bit where you get to think about stuff: Questions for the week.

When difficult situations arise, whose future and wellbeing do I instinctively worry about first?

Have I ever become so focused on an institution, reputation or argument that I stopped seeing the person who may have been hurt?

How can I hold truth, fairness and compassion together without sacrificing one for another?