By Ralph Mangohig
Let us pray, May the words of my mouth, and the meditations of hearts be pleasing to you O Lord, our Rock and our Redeemer.
For those who don’t know me, I’m Ralph, and I’m a member of the Alice Springs Uniting Church.
Today I want to share a bit of my time in Alice, and 3 things from the texts: separation, salt and new bowls.
I’ve been part of this church since the beginning of 2020- so just over 5 years.
That may not seem long, but it actually represents half of my time living in Alice Springs.
I moved here in January 2015 as a 25-year-old starting my job as an intern at Alice Springs Hospital.
Fast forward 5 years, when I joined this church, I just finished my training to become a GP.
Mikaila and I were also pregnant with our first child Clara, who would later be born in August, and dedicated here in May 2021. Laylah would follow in May 2023.
A lot happened these past 5 years. COVID, Kumanjayi Walker, Bushfires, Ukraine, Gaza, Referendum (etc.)
But I wanted to talk about a part of that time that is very dear to my heart.
In the 2 -3 years before joining this congregation, Mikaila and I were part of small group of Christians meeting regularly in a sort of house church. Mikaila and I had also been attending a different church in town, which we left sometime in 2018.
That small group was a very committed bunch. Our meetings dug deep into scripture and prayer; practised honest sharing, and hospitality.
But what I treasured the most was the sense of permission and freedom to open scripture in a way that was honest, deep, and expansive.
For many reasons, that small group separated and eventually wrapped up, and Mikaila and I started attending this church more regularly at the beginning of 2020.
It was also around this time David and Sue Woods announced their intention to move to Adelaide, and the transition began of selling the Campfire in the Heart property which would finalise in 2022.
With a desire for a spirit of Campfire in the Heart to continue beyond 2022, Celia and others planned to pray and discern what could continue in the centre.
Inspired by Isaiah 43, we called the group Streams in the Desert.
So, on the 19th of July 2020 seven people prayed in the prayer room of Campfire in Heart.
Not all seven would have ongoing involvement. But by December 2020 we had our first gathering at St Mary’s Chapel.
Our December newsletter described Streams in the Desert as an ‘emerging ecumenical community in the tradition of lay Christian communities centred on prayer, scripture and hospitality.’
From 2021 to the end of 2023, Celia, Alex, Mikaila and I, held monthly meetings, biannual locals’ retreats, and online morning prayer.
We moved from meeting at St Mary’s to the Telegraph Station, and our identity formed as a group who cared about discerning Christ in this place, this people, this time and history by listening to God through scripture, each other, and the land.
In 2024, Celia moved to Melbourne and our meetings and leadership structure changed to reflect what was happening on the ground and online.
Which brings us to 2025, where Mikaila and I remain leaders of Streams in the Desert with Celia and Alex as close companions and support.
Why do I share this? I share it because the story to me feels a lot like our readings today.
In the Mark and Kings readings we catch a glimpse of an intimate community bound by loyalties and shared purpose.
Jesus describes his relationship to his disciples like a bridegroom to his wedding guests.
Elisha will not leave Elija’s side, despite several opportunities to leave. Much like Ruth clinging to Naomi’s side read in Gemma and Samson’s wedding last week.
I tasted this kind of community in the past 5 years- and it is why separation can be so hard.
But there is something about the Kings and Mark story that transforms the pain of separation, through the formation of new communities.
In Kings, there are four instances of things being parted/separated/torn/divided.
On their way East from Gilgal toward the Jordan (i.e. away from the Promised land) The Jordan is parted in two which makes a new way.
On his way UP to heaven, Elijah and Elisha are separated by chariots and horses of fire.
On his way back DOWN to the Jordan, Elisha tears his clothes and receives Elijah’s mantle and with it a double portion of his Spirit.
On his way back WEST towards the promised land, The Jordan is again parted, and Elisha rejoins the community of prophets.
There is always an emptiness and loss with every separation.
Much like the practice of fasting that leaves one empty, separation and loss can make room that God wants to fill.
‘Open wide your mouth, and I will fill it’, the Psalmists says.
And I think this is what Jesus was getting at when he says to his disciples, ‘it is for your good that I am going away. Unless I go away, the Advocate will not come to you; but if I go, I will send him to you’
That’s separation – now to salt.
Why does Elisha do this strange thing with salt?
I think symbolically, Elisha is enacting a kind of sacrificial offering here.
In Leviticus and Numbers, salt was an important part of the sacrificial system. Every offering was to be offered with salt, with particular emphasis on adding salt to first fruit offerings.
Elisha is offering the fruit that would come. He is consecrating it to God.
It is significant that Elisha does it in the land of Jericho.
Jericho was the first city taken by Israel under Joshua after Israel crosses the Jordan.
It is where the solider Achan takes the forbidden spoil which leads to the death of many soldiers and eventually his and family’s death.
Achan and others die because he takes something that solely belongs to God.
In a new Jericho moment, Elisha does the opposite of Achan. He consecrates the waters to God and in so doing heals the waters and the land.
It is also a proclamation that this water is in covenant relationship with God.
And in the ‘Torah’ way of thinking, any resource in covenant with God means justly sharing it for all, particularly to those who are vulnerable – the poor, widowed, orphaned, exiled (sojourners), or landless (priests).
Jesus takes on this salt imagery in the gospels.
In Matthew being salt and light of the earth is living the beatitudes and suffering like the prophets.
In Mark it is being able surrender parts of yourself (eye, foot, hand) to remain purely for God’s use and God’s use only.
In Luke it is to give up everything we have to be Christ’s disciples.
This is a hard call. And cannot be done in isolation. You need something to hold salty people together.
I think you need bowls.
The beauty of bowls is that they are both closed and open things.
They are closed because they have walls that enclose empty space.
They are open, because they have mouths that can freely receive and give things away.
Elisha asks for a new bowl. And in The Levitical paradigm new things are pure, unblemished and therefore fit for sacred use.
The newness signals holiness, and its walls protects from being profaned or pillaged for common use.
For those in Christian community, I think it calls for wisdom to spot when life giving salt is being pillaged and used for things other than God.
There cannot be God and golden calves. You cannot serve both God and money.
You need walls and boundaries to protect this from happening. But with walls, there is always a danger of accidentally shutting the living Christ out.
Sometimes, for new life to flourish, there needs to be a separation/a break from the old.
New wine ferments and is literally bursting with life energy.
The Hebrew word for bowl in this passage means tall vessel but can also mean to prosper or rush (like rushing water).
This isn’t to say that the new is superior to the old or vice versa.
New wine becomes old along with its wineskin- and both mature and grow in depth of flavour together.
Even Jesus says, ‘No one after drinking old wine wants the new, for they say, “The old is better”’.
I think what it calls for is a discernment for how we build containers to hold the live things that are found in the old and the new.
It is to recognise the Spirit resting on Elisha like Elijah’s old cloak, or the Holy Spirit like a dove resting on Jesus at his baptism, or the church speaking in new tongues at Pentecost.
I struggle to recognise this Spirit sometimes.
I’m a bit like the 50 prophets lingering to the point of embarrassment, searching for Elijah in a valley or mountain.
Or like the disciples gazing into the sky after Jesus ascends.
My version for this is spotting ‘dragons’ in the wild; or reading books by myself in the library.
I’m tempted to dictate how Christ comes to me. And not recognise Christ here and now.
I guess this is a confession.
This rock here is a symbol of Christ coming to me in that particular way through these deep communities.
It’s a rock at Undoolya hills outside the suburbs that I prayed on for many mornings. I still pray there.
Last Easter Sunday whilst praying on this rock and listening to Luke’s resurrection account, the rock split as I was sitting on it.
And these words came to me from Luke:
‘Why do you look for the living among the dead?’ and ‘the disciples returned to Jerusalem’
I’ve been trying to understand what these means. But here is what I have got to so far.
The rock is like an empty tomb, and I’m tempted to stay looking for Christ there.
But like the return to Jerusalem, I’m called to return to the suburbs.
The place where my weaknesses and failings come up in my relationships in ordinary life.
The back of our property has an easement. Some years ago, we cleverly planted native plants there. Mikaila has caringly looked after our irrigation system. We haven’t had sewerage blockages yet.
I get a view of that native garden when I hang out the laundry- which is more often these days. It reminds me of my own mess and poo that flows through that easement.
I’m learning to hear God through the laundry.
It’s like our Thursday bible study we talked about the ‘poo ponds’ and crazy bird life there.
Or like at church camp recently at Ross River, when Emily and I discussed her talk on the seven sins whilst walking on a dirt track. As we were walking, we saw butterflies fleeting over cow poo spread throughout the track. It was beautiful.
It was a great metaphor for Christian life and community. Messy, delicate and full of lively contradiction.
I see this church as a house of bowls carrying Christ amidst a messy world.
And of course, these bowls get messy. Cleaning each other’s feet is dirty business.
I also see our town like Jericho- with its history of stolen loot, poisoned water, and land that bereaves.
Our town has seen a lot of death and bereavement. It is desperate for justice and healing.
Desperate for salt you could say.
This is salt- a community with Christ and his cross hidden at its centre.
You can’t see salt. You have to come inside, sit down, and eat.
Or in Bonhoeffer’s words:
‘One has to live in community to understand how Christ is formed in it.’
My prayer is that we be like new bowls carrying salt ready to be flung into springs of water.
